sleep deprived

spilled ink and half-filled papers littered your work desk, while some lay crumpled and balled up by your feet. you tapped the end of your pen against the hard wood incessantly, your other hand clutching the side of your head, glaring at the few lines you just wrote. you’d been brainstorming ideas for your next book for the past two hours now, but none of them hit the spot just yet.

you sighed, leaning back on your chair as you rubbed and smoothed down your furrowed eyebrows.

two familiar beefy arms gently wrapped around your neck from behind, your girlfriend’s chin resting on the top of your head.

“ah, toph. it’s you.” you smiled, caressing her forearms and pressing a gentle kiss on them.

“writer’s block again, or whatever you call it?” she asked, feeling up the wads of paper on the floor with her toes.

you nodded, exasperated. “it’s terrible.. whenever i think ‘wow, yes! this idea is definitely it!’ i end up finding trouble inserting it into a decent plotline with good development.. i can’t even come up with a good starting paragraph!”

toph hummed, nuzzling your hair, “i have no idea what you just said, but that sounds cool.”

you chuckled, rolling your eyes fondly, “it’s anything but cool, tophie.”

“say,” her arms slightly flex around the delicate skin of your neck, “can you teach me how to write?”

that piques your attention. you glance up at her, curious, “you want to learn how to write?”

“if it’s not too much trouble.” she quickly adds, and you almost melt at the sweetness. you pat her forearms, “slide a chair closer.”

she lets go of you to do just that, reaching for the extra chair you always keep in the corner of your room, dragging it to the desk.

she sits by your side, and you allow yourself to stare for a minute. she was only in a tight tank top and shorts, her glorious muscles in full display for your feasting eyes. her dark hair was loosely brushed back in a low pony, porcelain skin marred with a few bruises from her last sparring match.

what a catch. you high-five yourself in your mind.

she scoots closer, and you set your daydreaming aside to grab an empty paper.

“mhm..” you scratch your head with your pen, thinking. “well, i’m not sure where to start. maybe the basics? we could start with the alphabet?”

she scoffs, “that’s boring. i wanna write proper words.”

“well, you need the alphabet to do that, toph.”

“make me write words!!”

you were already regretting agreeing to this. she was worse than a toddler.

you sigh, “how about we first write all the letters, then we can make words with—”

“no,” she reaches for your hand, taking the pen for herself. “hmm.. show me how to write my name.”

you glare at her, but you know better than to argue with your stubborn excuse of a girlfriend.

“fine then.” you sigh in defeat, holding her hand tightly along with the pen in her grip. “follow my lead.”

she nods, and you start with your instructions.

“first,” you move her hand with yours, “we dip the pen in ink, like this. then we tap it against the edge to remove the excess ink, so we don’t get blots on our paper. a very important rule is that it’s never dry. remember, dry equals bad. the tip must always be wet.”

she snickers, “like you.”

you give her a deadpan look, “why are you like this?”

“okay okay, yes.” she sits up straight, dipping it in the ink bowl and tapping it, then bringing it to hover over the sheet. “like this?”

“good girl. now, carefully feel my strokes,” you shift her hand with yours, drawing out the letters as she commits them to memory. “t-o-p-h.”

“so that’s my name,” she hums, bringing the pen to dip it again, “let me try it alone this time.”

you nod, and you watch her almost accurately write the same letters again.

“wow, impressive.” you kiss her cheek, looking down at what she wrote. “the letters are on point. your only problem is.. your spacing.”

“mhm? what about it?” she asks, gazing down at you.

“well..” you stare at the sheet of paper. “they’re kind of.. all on top of each other. but that’s fine, we can work on that.”

she shrugs, “it’s fine. i don’t mind them being on top of each other.”

your brow raises in confusion, but before you can question your weird girlfriend, she interrupts you with another request. “now, teach me how to write your name.”

you blink, spotting the eager glint in her eyes, then you chuckle. “my name? sure. are you really sure you don’t want to learn the alphabet first?”

“duh,” she rolls her eyes like you just asked the dumbest question in the world. “now show me.”

and once again, your lithe fingers find hers, teaching her the gentle strokes of your name.

when you let her do it alone on her second attempt, she repeats the same mistake of stacking all the letters on top of each other.

she says it’s not a mistake, though.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“mhh— tophh..” you mewl against her lips, your floor a mess of paper and ink when your girlfriend suddenly sweeped it all off your desk, deciding to do you instead of her homework.

her thumbs press and rub on your peaked nipples, swallowing all your moans with saliva-wet kisses, the sheer force of them keeping your head pinned against the wall behind you.

her hands squeeze your tits, sliding up and down the curve of your waist, grabbing at whatever flesh she could.

she licked the saliva that dribbled off your lips, tonguing it back into your mouth as her hand finally slid down to cup your clothed pussy.

you kiss her harder, desperately sucking on her tongue while her fingers graze your soaked folds through your panties. you buck your hips against her hand, and you whine when she leaves your swollen lips with a wet pop.

“shh..” she presses a hot kiss to your neck, “i’ll take care of you.”

one thing you loved about toph is that she never kept you waiting.

it took less than ten seconds for your legs to be spread wide open and hiked up on her shoulders, her hands finding the fat of your backside to pull you closer, bringing your aching cunt to her needy mouth.

she catches the panties between her teeth, tugging them to the side, her fingers refusing to leave the nice swell of your ass.

your eyes cross and roll to the back of your head when her tongue finally finds your leaking pussy, licking a big languid stripe right across the center.

you uselessly thrash in her grasp, tears already welling up in your eyes, the desk clattering with your movement while her unrelenting grip tightens around your thighs. the pace of her feverished eating increases and so does the pitch of your screams.

“toph— oh! oh my god!” you moan, glassy-eyed, her tongue swirling in oddly familiar patterns you couldn’t quite place.

“rule one,” she grins against your swollen pussy lips, “dry equals bad, must always be wet. done.”

before you can even register her words in your pleasure-addled haze, fast strong strokes are licked across your folds and your back almost breaks from the unnatural arch it snaps into.

“oh my fuck! toph!!” you cry out, writhing uncontrollably as you finally make out the pattern she was following.

fucking hell— she was spelling your name out with her tongue!

“mhhm,” a low chuckle rumbles through her throat, the vibrations only making your thighs spasm harder around her head. “see? i told you i didn’t need any spacing.”

her tongue laps at your puffy clit in harsh flicks, and your vision flashes white.

“t-o,” she continues sucking and licking through your orgasm, using the fresh gush of your slick to coat your folds even better, “p-h. toph. that’s who this pussy belongs to.”

her effortless eroticism is almost enough to have you cum again immediately.

weak whimpers slip out of your lips, your hand finding her head to push it off your overly sensitive cunt. she grins, pressing one last deceptively sweet kiss to your swollen bud before mercifully pulling away.

she lifts herself up to capture your quivering lips into a slower kiss you easily accept, tasting yourself on her tongue.

“did i do good?” she asks, and the knowing smirk on her face is answer enough to her own question.

you wipe the remaining tears off your face, wrapping your arms around her. “.. you’re so filthy.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

toph masterlist ᢉ𐭩

The room is candlelit, filled with that slow bloom of lavender and something warmer—jasmine? Chamomile? It smells almost toasted from where his palms heat up the oil, seeping into the air like steam curling off summer pavement after rain. Soft music is playing in the background, drumming low with every single lyric the singer sings; Katsuki has gone out of his usual way to make you feel comfortable.

You’re already half-melted into the mattress by now, face buried in a pillow that still smells like his skin, the edge of your tank top pushed up to your ribs. You feel him behind you, quiet, deliberate, the bed dipping beneath his weight as his hands find the bottle of oil again.

When his hands leave your back, you’re back to feeling like hell, like all the alleviated pain just punched its way back into your rear.

To save you from this agony, Katsuki’s hands—those massive, brutish hands that have torn through half the villains in Japan, the hands that have been worked in excruciating and harsh conditions over the years—are moving over your back again like they’re made of sunlight and patience.

He presses again, harder this time. Not cruel, not rough. Just deliberate. One thumb working in a crooked elliptical circle beneath your shoulder blade while the heel of his other palm drags slow, wide strokes across your lower back. There’s no rhythm to it, no pattern. Just instinct. Just him. And maybe that’s why it feels so good. Because it’s not technique, not some learned routine from a textbook. It’s just him and the way he cares about you. Cares enough to soften his rough edges, to make his hardened palms feel incredible and soothing on your back.

Katsuki settles on either side of your legs, sitting on his knees above you as his oily thumbs hook under your bunched up shirt, coaxing you to lift only ever just a little, so he can take the article of clothing off of you.

With only a small tag, the flimsy piece of clothing is over your head, discarded onto the edge of the bed and Katsuki moves over your legs again, this time sitting low, just over the back of your knees. Rough palms that drip of fresh lavender oil feel your tummy as you stay lifted up, running up, up, up, until they slide across your breasts, thumbs softly brushing your nipples.

You moan with a rasp, at the loss of the feeling, or maybe at how hot his palms are when they engulf your shoulders and give a pinching little rub. 

You feel Katsuki press in with a slow, unyielding pressure that makes your breath hitch against the pillow. He knows exactly where to go—where you hold stress, where it bites. Right between your shoulder blades, far up on the back of your neck, low at the base of your spine, the outer edges of your hips. His thumbs circle there, digging in just enough to ache, then easing off like a tide pulling back from shore.

He tags at your pyjama shorts next, just the waistline at first, then the start of your panties, but his thumbs stain the fabric in lavender sweetness, tagging even further when he says “Off”

You lift your hips without a word. It’s not even a decision—it’s instinct. A quiet offering. A permission that’s already been granted a hundred times in your body before it ever reaches your lips.

The shorts slide down slow. The elastic tugs over the swell of your ass, catching just slightly at the curve of your thighs before easing off, guided by thumbs that are far too gentle for how rough they look. His hands are reverent, even now. Even with your bare skin revealed under the low flicker of candlelight, with the smell of lavender thick in the air, wrapping around you both like a silken ribbon.

There’s a pause. Not long. Just enough to make you breathe in, hold it. You feel the weight of his gaze on your back. Feel it like a touch. Like heat.

Then his hands are on you again, and it’s almost worse than before. Better. Unbearably better.

His thumbs drag low, slow, slick with oil as they part the dip of your spine. They don’t press too hard. Just smooth you open—figuratively, literally—with strokes that make your toes curl into the sheets. His fingers knead into the meat of your hips now, heavy and full, pressing into places that ache with tiredness, places that never get touched this way unless it’s under the guise of something much filthier.

“You wait too long,” he mutters. Voice rough, low, almost annoyed—but not really. Not at you. “Could feel the knots from the second I touched you.”

You hum, something low in your throat. Almost a laugh. Almost a whimper. “Didn’t have time.”

“Make time,” he snaps, but it’s soft. Almost affectionate. His hands say more than the words ever could. They dig in again, dragging slow zigzags along the base of your spine, making your back arch and your thighs twitch. He smooths them over your ass, dragging the oil agonisingly slow over you, until his thumbs brush over the lower crevices of your bottom.

“Just ask, I’ll rub your back”

You can’t tell if it’s the oil or your own sweat making your skin slick now. Can’t tell where the ache ends and the heat begins. Can’t tell where you end and his skilled fingers begin.

All you know is that Katsuki’s hands are still on you—huge and hot and unrelenting—and that you never want them to stop.

You’re starting to forget the ache.

Not because it’s gone, but because it’s changed, morphed into something else under his hands. It’s still there, but not sharp. Not angry. Just… full. Blooming warm in your chest and pooling low in your belly like syrup, like honey slowly melting down a spoon.

You breathe again. Really breathe. And it comes out shaky, lips parted against the pillow, lashes fluttering in the candlelight.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Not directed at him. Not even really a word. Just a sound of surrender.

Katsuki shifts behind you, and you feel it—his weight bearing down gently on the back of your thighs, his thighs bracketing yours now, his body closer than it was before. Still clothed. Still in control. But not distant.

Never distant.

You feel his breath brush across the back of your neck a second before his lips do.

A soft press. Nothing more. Just warmth. Just acknowledgement.

“I know you’re tired,” he murmurs, voice low, sticky with quiet tenderness and worn-down. “But you can’t let yourself get like this.”

You nod—barely—but he sees it. He always sees you. Even when you try not to be seen.

“I’m here,” he says. “You got a boyfriend to fix your back anytime”

It’s simple. Not romantic, not flowery. Just your usual Katsuki. 

His palms flatten against your waist again, spreading out like wings, dragging slow and deliberate as they glide up your sides. They pass over the swells of your breasts without urgency this time, just pressure and heat and familiarity, before curling over your shoulders. His thumbs dip under your arms, into the softest parts of you, and rub gentle, grounding circles.

You lean into it. Into him.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur, voice hushed against the pillow. His hands still. Not gone. Just still.

You call out his name, almost sheepishly, sleep dragging a voice that’s ready to complain, in contrast to your previous statement. You pout even, “Don’t stop babe i'm sore” 

Katsuki exhales through his nose, and it sounds like a laugh, except it’s lower. Thicker. Like he’s trying not to let on how fond he is of you when you get like this tired and whiny and melting beneath his hands like you were made to be touched and felt up by him.

“Yeah?” he mutters, and you hear the smirk even before you feel it. “Thought I didn’t gotta fix everything.”

You nuzzle your cheek deeper into the pillow, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

He hums. His thumbs move again, slow, small circles into the soft spot just below your shoulder blades. You sigh, finally loud and satisfied again—and he shakes his head like he’s trying to be annoyed, even as his hands keep coaxing little, blissed-out sounds from your throat.

“Back’s all locked up like you’re made of concrete. What the hell’ve you been carryin’ around?”

You shrug lazily, the motion barely registering. “Life?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Too much of it.”

He shifts again, the bed dipping as his weight adjusts. One arm slides beneath your stomach, anchoring you gently, while the other keeps working slow and steady down your spine. Every stroke is fixated to every dip of your back like he’s trying to draw something out of you. Not just the tension. The tired. The worry.

You make another soft, contented noise, and he presses his lips to the side of your neck again—no heat, no rush, just a quiet, grateful touch.

One moment you’re relaxed, open, muscles soft, the dull ache of being rubbed with such pressure weighing you down to complete relaxation and the next—Katsuki’s lips find the edge of your shoulder blade. Smooching once, twice over spots that are oiled up.

He can’t help himself.

The lavender scent. The way your ass is curved upwards, so perky. The oil makes your skin shine in the low light of the candles. The angelic way the music starts sounding as the notes hit your skin like the softest raindrops on flower leaves; He feels himself lean into the fondly softness of the moment, growing hotter by each second. His cock has already started giving him warning throbs inside his briefs.

It’s almost quite dangerous, what you do to him. The sight of you sprawling limp and sleepy and soft under just the touch of his hands. So in a bold movement he smooths his wonders once again over your ass, thumbs parting your legs from the inside of your thighs, just a little. When he pulls back to his original position, vermillion eyes flicker where your slit is, glistening softly, not throbbing quite yet.

The slow drag of his hands, smoothing lower, is parted only by a moment from the pause just above the dip of your ass, where his thumbs rest—hover—like he’s thinking something over. Like he’s holding himself back, the way he always does when he thinks this might be too much, too soon, too selfish of him.

But to assure him, it isn’t, you push your hips back, just a tiny bit. So eager for him as always, even in this vulnerable state.

“Katsuki,” you breathe through a moan slurred, not like a question, not a plea. Just his name. Like you’re granting him permission by calling it out.

It’s all he needs.

His hands firm at your waist again, grip tightening just slightly, a groan catching low in his chest as his body bows over yours. You feel the warm press of his mouth at the nape of your neck, open and slow and wet. Feel his breath, the way it shakes. The way it matches yours.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters against your skin. “Lyin’ here like this. Soundin’ like that.”

You’d laugh, a soft breathy chuckle, but it comes out like a whimper when his thumbs knead into the meat of your thighs and spread you gently apart. Lavender clings to everything. Your skin, your breath, the air—but now it’s mixed with eerie desire, like it wouldn’t turn out exactly like this when you asked him to rub your back.

His hands don’t rush, like they usually do when his chest is so tight with desire, arousal. They drag over your hips, your waist, until his fingers slide down the sides of your belly and find the edge of your hips again. This time, when he tugs your love handles, doughing them into the pads of his palms, there’s no hesitation. Just soft skin and warm oil peeling away from your skin, pooling on the sheets behind you.

You’re bare. Completely. The candlelight flickers, catching the sheen of sweat and oil across your back, your thighs. Katsuki pours more oil on his palms. You feel it trickle down your spine, between your legs. You feel him there too, kneeling behind you, hovering over you like heat itself.

And when his hands return, when his fingers slide between your thighs and find you already wet, already open—his breath punches out in one low, reverent curse, like he doesn’t remember seeing the way you were glistening when he looked over a second ago.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands slowly opening your ass cheeks “Look at you.”

You press your face harder into the pillow, hips tilting, thighs spreading wider in a silent invitation you’ve never needed to say aloud with him.

He slides one thick finger through your slick and groans, low and guttural like it hurts. Like he’s the one unraveling.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says, voice rough, dazed, groaning out his words “fuckin’ dripping…”

The first push of his fingers is slow, deliberate—just one at first, thick and sure. Dragging the edge of the knuckle softly against your clit. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open. His other hand braces at your hip, grounding you, owning you.

Then another finger joins the first.

And god, his fingers are just as big as his hands, and you swear they’re made for this. Not gentle, but not rough either. Just pressure. Heat. Depth. The kind of stretch that makes your legs tremble, your body pulse with something deeper than need.

You sob into the pillow, and he shushes you softly—lips at your shoulder, tongue dragging the edge of your skin, teeth sinking in.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes in your ear. “Let me make you feel good.”

You shiver when the pads of his thumbs push on the outter lips of your pussy, spreading you wider for him with that same careful control he uses in a fight—like he knows exactly how much force to use, how far to take it before it ruins you. And maybe you want to be ruined a little.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Katsuki murmurs, voice nearly gone, wrecked from how hard he’s breathing. His thumbs hold you open while his fingers curl slow, deep—dragging against that spot, under the hood of your clit that makes your thighs jolt, makes your chest squeeze tight. He watches you clench around him, watches the oil and slick mix and drip down to the crease of your thighs. Watches everything with that starved kind of look on his face, biting his lips and scrunching his nose, eyes blown wide like he’s being allowed to witness something sacred.

And he can’t help himself, once again, not to drag his left thumb over your entrance, circling softly, to gather some slick before his finger taps at your other puckered hole, rubbing once, twice, before slowly sinking in.

At the same time, almost, his right pointer finger enters your pussy, the thumb never leaving your clit, always circling it lazily, elliptical.

You both hiss, you at the feeling of both of your holes being entered, him at the feeling of how tightly you clamp around just his fingers.

His cock is furious inside his pants now. Angry at the top and leaking over the spot the tip has settled at.

“Fuuuuck,” he whispers again, this time quieter. Like it’s just for himself. Like he can’t believe how good you feel, how warm and wet and tight you are, clenching down on both fingers like your body’s trying to drag him in deeper.

And he feels like he might as well go insane.

Because it’s not just the way your body reacts to him, not just the way you sob and tremble and push back against his hand like you can’t get enough, though all of that drives him crazy. It’s that you let him see it. Let him touch you here, like this, in this kind of quiet, candlelit intimacy where everything is soft and raw and slow.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

It’s too much and at the same time, not enough.

His left hand, still slick and strong, adjusts where it holds you open. That finger still lazily and slowly pumping —almost still of movement— in the hole of your ass, teasing in slow, subtle pushes that make your whole spine tense, makes your toes curl into the sheets. And all the while, his right hand works in tandem; pointer finger deep inside your pussy, thumb lazy and steady on your clit like he’s marking time. Like he knows just how fast to take you, just how slow to pull you apart.

You whimper, shamefully loud. 

It’s the kind of sound you’d usually try to bite back, bury into your wrist or his bicep, but Katsuki doesn’t let you this time. He growls at it, low, like a threat, pushes in just a bit deeper, rubbing the pad of his thumb in slow, wet circles against your clit until your hips twitch again.

“There you go,” he mutters. “That’s it. Let me hear it, baby.”

You do. Because you can’t not.

As you carefully wiggle your hips just a little more upwards, you yelp, feeling just a little pain from the thick finger in your ass and it takes all of Katsuki’s humility to gather a ball of spit in his mouth and let it go off, past his raspberry blown lips and onto the slit of your ass. 

His finger exits so, so, so slowly, still you groan at the slight discomfort due to it, making his chest swell, and he catches some of his spit with his finger and enters you again.

Every nerve in your body is lit, every edge of you aching and raw. Katsuki doesn’t let up and with his chest bearing all this excitement and humility that makes his ears red and tingly from seeing you so spread open like this, he doesn’t stop. Just holds you open like you’re something precious and obscene all at once, his fingers working slow and deep until you’re shaking under him, toes curling, face buried in the pillow to keep from sobbing his name.

Suddenly, the bed creaks under his knees as he leans down, dwelling chest brushing your back, breath hot on your neck. His fingers never stop working—sliding deeper, curling, then scissoring your pussy open just slightly as if to test how ready you are for what comes next. He simply rasps at how wet you are, but it’s swallowed under the silky sounds of your squelching.

You feel open, loose, hot to the touch and unable to move, like your lower half has been lost in a cloud of overbearing pleasure.

Then, like you're kicked to the gut and jolted out of your pleasure cloud nine— you feel it. The weight of it.

Katsuki’s cock, hard and heavy, presses against the swell of your ass, sizzling hot even through the thin cotton of his boxers, begging to be set free.

You feel yourself leak, a beady drop of sticky sleek that trails down the lips of your pussy and onto his thumb. He presses down on your clit like it’s a button, squeezing just enough before flicking it, left then right, up then down and all over again until you’re screaming into the pillow.

Your pussy feels like it’s on fire and for once, the finger in your ass is starting to feel way more pleasing than it’s ever felt in the few times you two have tried this.

You feel the steady pulse of his throbbing mushroom tip beneath your skin, a weight that drags and shifts with every careful motion of his hips, like he’s tracing the shape of you without needing to see. Every inch memorized in the heat of this moment.

Slowly and so deliberately, his hands exit out of you with a pop and a treacherous whine from the depths of your chest that drips on your lips and slip to the waistband of his briefs, fingers rough only to himself as they peel the fabric down his thighs, releasing the tight hold. The cool air hits the bare skin of his cock, already glistening with heat and promise, and your breath catches at the sound of his dick hitting his abdomen.

Katsuki shifts closer, lips trailing a feather-light kiss along your shoulder, warm and urgent, grounding and electric all at once. His fingers slip free from where they held you open just moments ago, replaced by the thick, slick head of him pressing between your folds, nestling there like he’s already part of you.

His cockhead on your clit feels like heaven. Everything nice. Big and bulky and heavier than his thumb, it glides over a few, agonisingly slow times, before his voice breaks into speech. 

He finds your clit again, traps it between flesh and fingertip, giving a small, delicious pinch that makes you shiver and arch against him.

“Y’gonna let me in, baby?” he whispers, lips dragging over your shoulder as his fingers slip free, replaced by the thick head of him nestling between your folds again.

You’re going crazy. Aching at the loss of his tip on your entrance. Drool catches at the side of your mouth and spills over the pillow, walls clamping down around thin air. You need him inside you right now or else you’ll combust. You’ve been spread out and toyed with for oh so long.

“Y-yes, please baby, put it in”

His breath fans across your skin, hot and ragged, as he shifts the last bit of distance between you. The head of him presses deeper, teasing the wet, swollen gate of your slit, just at the edge of full surrender. Your body tightens, trembling with the delicious agony of waiting.

Then, painfully slow, he pushes inside you, past the tight rim of your entrance—inch by inch, and so deliberate, a tender invasion that makes your chest rise and fall in ragged gasps. The heat of him floods you, filling every ache and hollow with only his tip that's pouring clear precum like a river. A vein on his cock throbs, catches close to your g-spot and you moan at the feeling, your clit throbbing like its on fire, by the action.

Katsuki’s hot hands slide down your hips, gripping firm enough to anchor you but gentle enough to let you melt beneath him. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses that trail lower—each one a quiet confession, a promise stitched into flesh. He bucks into you again, broken breath and a rhythm to match it, hips far from even stuttering against you.

All Katsuki can think right now as he looks down at his hands on your plush skin is that he loves you. All blown out and barely spread open as he pushes your ass close, chanting his name as he feels you trap his veiny cock inside your walls. He couldn’t keep his hands off you for a second and it’s like a blessing that you asked him to massage you. A curse too, because he knew he wouldn’t hold back from turning it into sex even if he tried.

With every -barely- measured thrust, you feel his chest swell against your back, pounding with something more than desire—a love so raw and fierce it almost hurts. His cock drags deep inside you, the slow rhythm setting fire to every nerve, every whisper of skin-on-skin.

He buries his face into your shoulder, breath hitching, biting onto your earlobe and sucking before he speaks, voice thick and vulnerable at once. “Love you babe.”

Your body trembles, caught between the sweet sting of pleasure and the weight of his words. You press back into him, aching to close the distance, to be lost in the overwhelming pull of this moment—where every touch, every breath, every heartbeat says you.

“Love you too” you whisper, finally.

You gasp when he grinds deeper, and he groans like he’s hurting, like it physically aches how much he wants to make this last.

And then he starts kissing you. Everywhere.

“I gotchu babe, let go” he whimpers “You’re killin’ me,” he breathes. “Feels so good—I just wanna stay here, baby, please—lemme just…”

His hips stutter and you feel him shake into your sore neck, just a little—and his lips press harder, tighter, to your shoulder as he groans your name into your skin like a vow. Like he’s praying and you're his only god.

Your hand reaches back blindly, desperate to touch him, to grab at something real, with your face still squished into the pillow and he catches the movement, brings one of his hands to match yours and threads your fingers together without a second of hesitation. His hand tangles with yours above the pillow. Fingers sticky with lavender oil and need, pressing into yours like he needs the anchor. The other stays at your hip, guiding you back into him with the same rhythm he holds in battle—steady, devastating.

You can feel the way his heart beats against your back when he leans in close. Can hear the way his breath hitches when you let out a soft moan into the pillow, hips pushing back into his, seeking more.

His grip is tight, grounding. A promise made in the trembling space between sweating and hot skin.

You feel every inch of him, not just inside you, in the squelching in and out and the sound of skin slapping, but around you, covering you, his chest flush and hot on your back, the way his arm tighten around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

With every thrust, he leans in, chest brushing your back, lips dragging kisses along the curve of your shoulder, your neck, the back of your ear. His breath is warm and ragged, but his mouth is gentle. If saying ‘I love you’ wasn’t enough, his cock spells it out inside you, like he can’t stop saying the phrase without saying it out loud.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, kissing the nape of your neck, voice breaking against your skin. “Don’t even know what you do to me.”

Katsuki’s hips roll again, and you gasp more from the emotion than the sensation. You’re so full, he’s so deep in it almost hurts. But he’s so tender with it. You feel him kiss your shoulder again, then the spot just underneath your ear. You shiver under the weight of it, under the heat of his breath.

“Can’t get close enough to you,” he mutters, almost like he’s mad at himself for trying. “You’re all I fuckin’ think about.”

You reach for him with your other hand as well, fingers searching behind you until your hand finds his forearm. Taut, huge as always and trembling from the control he’s holding. You clutch him there, and he groans at the contact, your nails dig in and he’s thrusting just a little deeper, a little slower.

Each time his hips meet yours, your breath stutters, your throat tight with the aching swell of something bigger than arousal. It’s overwhelming—the way he fills you, how soft he’s being, how quiet and gentle he is when usually he’s all noise and heat and thunder. But now? There’s no room for temper now. And if he’s always just slightly embarrassed and aroused by that feeling in the bedroom, this time, it’s becoming something worse. His belly tightens, stomach tight and numb and falling like he’s been punched.

That bubbling feeling is travelling straight to his cock, making him impossibly hard, letting the start of an orgasm shimmer, his balls tightening so much he can feel it.

You can feel it where his hard abs brush your back, where his nose presses into your shoulder blade, where his hips move with more emotion than rhythm. His voice is cracking, his fingers are squeezing yours for dear life.

But the way he is fucking into you, is not rough, nor fast. It’s worship. Slow and delicious.

Every inch of his body sings with it, matching the soft song in the background. Every part of him is working to memorize a body he already knows like the back of his hand—not just how you feel around him, but the sound of your voice when you gasp, the way your hand tightens in his when the pleasure crests too high, the way your breath stutters when he kisses the back of your neck like he’s saying sorry for every time he ever doubted he’d deserve this.

He doesn’t even know what’s gotten into him right now.

It’s probably that he only feels safe when you touch him, when he touches you. It’s probably that the feeling of your skin on his is unlike any touch that he despises in this world. The hand you're digging your nails in is scarred, littered with skin tissue that’s newer, tissue that isn't going to match his old skin no matter how many years pass. And even though he hates looking at it, his cock throbs inside you at the sight of your bodies connecting there.

And it’s in every groan that leaves his lips, every kiss he drags across your spine, every tremble in his arms as he pulls you impossibly closer, like he needs your bodies fuse when he fucks you fron the back like a sin. Slowly, never picking up pace, likes he’s fucking you through it instead of towards it.

Your stomach feels likes it’s dropping, adorned in adoration, his love laced rhythm, that slow-motion hammering way he’s fucking you with is messing with your mind and body in delicious ways.

You’re almost at your breaking point.

Your breath catches again, again as the tension rises unbearably, a string pulled tighter and tighter through every snug and wet thrust, every kiss he plants tenderly, along your back 

Katsuki’s forehead falls to your shoulder. He’s barely trembling by an inch but you feel it. Not from strain, not from fatigue, but from the way this is undoing him. And fucking hell if this isnt the hottest sex youve had in a while.

There’s no fight for dominance, no cockiness, just tenderness. Him not being close to you enough, you not being close to him enough either.

He desperately wants you two to merge into one.

You can hear it in his voice when he speaks next. Not a growl, not a command. Just a whisper. Frayed, cracked, raw.

“Can’t—can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

The words split you open somewhere deeper than sore muscle. Because it’s not just the way he’s moving inside you, it’s the way his heart feels like it’s pulsing against your spine, the way he’s holding you like you’re both breakable.

You're scared for a second, that he's going to get irregular heart palpitations again, but the thought is pushed away when his lips brush your ear. “Your pussy 's so tight. Fuck...I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

But he doesn’t make a move to pull away despite his words. Doesn’t even speed up. If anything, he presses in closer. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize this exact second—the shape of your back under his chest, the soft pull of your fingers on his scarred forearm, the hitch in your breath that comes every time his hips roll forward.

You can feel the tremble in his thighs now. The catch in his rhythm. You’re so close, just on the edge, and he knows it. You know he is too. But he’s holding it back like he’s trying to stretch this moment out forever, like climaxing would mean letting go and he doesn’t want to let go.

But oh—you can feel it coming, like thunder on the horizon.

It coils in your belly, winds tighter with every breathless thrust. Slow, grounding, devastating in its tenderness. Katsuki’s mouth is at your shoulder again, dragging crazed open-mouthed kisses along your skin, the base of your hair, drunk on the scent of lavender and your skin like it’s an aphrodisiac.

You think you hear him whisper your name. Just your name. Not even his usual ‘babe’ like it’s the only word he remembers how to say, but it’s so cracked and under his breath you can’t pinpoint it over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

His cock pulses deep inside you, catching the perfect angle of your g-spot and it’s so hard now it aches, dragging against every place that makes you cry out, stretch, tremble. He’s still slow. Still careful. Always clinging to you like the act of letting go might mean waking up from this.

His arms wrap tighter around you. His scarred hand finds your chest from underneath you , just above your heart, and stays there, pressing down like he needs to feel every beat. His other is tangled over yours, fingers still locked tight, sweaty and trembling and unrelenting.

“Katsuki—” you choke, and he moans like your voice alone just finished him. A total fatality.

“I know, baby,” he breathes. “I know—‘m right here, come f—ah— for me. Let me fucking feel you. Say it babe, say you wanna come and I’ll —fuck, I’ll get you there”

“Wanna come on your cock Katsuki, feels s’good”

“Let go babe, ‘m here, I got ya” he whispers against your ear.

“Please… please, mhmm”

You shudder under him, your legs trembling as you reach that edge and go right over, your whole body clenching, fluttering around him, pulling him deeper as everything breaks open inside you. Your cry is caught in the pillow, but he feels it. Feels you squeeze, feels your hips arch, your back press flush against him, feels your ass fill out the space on his v-line.

And then he loses it. Sweat drips from his forehead and it takes all of his restraint to not let anything in his body ignite his quirk right now. You feel so good, so wet, so hot around him. 

He sinks as deep as he can go and stays there, buried, kissing your cervix with his leaky tip, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, one long broken sound leaving his chest as his body jolts once, twice, into yours.

You feel him come inside you. Hot. Filling out every tight spot his cock doesn’t kiss in you. And still, he doesn’t stop holding you.

His breath is a mess against your skin. Lips still find you in the aftermath—your shoulder, the side of your neck, the shell of your ear. Your cheek. His arms won’t stop shaking. Neither will yours.

But he doesn’t move. He goes still. Stiff like his whole body is cramping.

Minutes pass like this. Breathing each other in. Skin to skin. Not a single space left between you as he pushes you with his hand from underneath you, into his chest.

You shift your head, enough to reach for him with your mouth, just barely brushing your lips to his knuckles where your fingers are still laced together.

“Babe—Kats,” you breathe, lunges closing in, a hint of guilt closing in as you know he has no other way to make you feel he means it when he says he loves you “I love you so much but I’ll pass out”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me—” he shifts a little, just to pull out, dragging his hand just enough to flip you over as he lays on the bed “all good now. Love you”

Katsuki catches your cheeks and presses a tiny kiss to the apples of both your squished cheeks. He flattens you against his chest with that same arm—the one that pulled you through it all. His hand is spread wide over your back like he’s trying to cover every inch of you.

Your cheek rests against his collarbone, lips parted, lashes damp. You feel the flutter of his pulse against your mouth, a part of you, the one that’s worried about his heart, tries to count how many times his heart beats in sixty seconds.

“I can’t feel my thighs,” you murmur, the words slurred, not really a complaint, when you decide his heart is pumping just fine.

“Shut up,” he says, but it’s all rasp, no bite. His lips press to your sticky forehead like punctuation.

You hum a soft laugh against his chest, then pout as you hold and squeeze onto his peck, kissing the outer rim of his scar over and over again. “No, really. I think I forgot how to walk, you’re gonna have to massage me all oooover again”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

his hand reaches for the hem of your shirt — well, his shirt — fingers rubbing the fabric between them before slowly sliding underneath. the tips of his fingers brush against your bare thigh and hip as he huffs quietly through his nose.

“katsuki, I’m tired,” you mumble, already feeling the redness creeping across your cheeks when his eyes darken.

“too tired to put on underwear?” he asks, fingers grazing higher against your naked skin. you can feel the warmth of his hand even through your embarrassment.

“you always complain it’s in the way,” you shrug weakly and he groans, tilting his head back for a second like you were testing his patience on purpose.

“but you’re still tired?” he asks with a raised brow, staring at you carefully.

you smile at him innocently.

“oh yes, very,” you push his hand away gently before bending down in front of him. the shirt rides up instantly, giving him a full, clear view of your bare ass as you grab his gym bag from the floor.

you hear his sharp inhale behind you.

“take a shower then come to bed… oh, and solve that in your pants, please,” you smirk, glancing back at him as your eyes flick down to his crotch.

his gaze follows yours automatically and he sees the growing tent straining against his sweatpants. his jaw tightens immediately.

“fuck.”

You’re six months pregnant now, and the baby kicks like a tiny, stubborn earthbender practicing their first seismic sense—soft, insistent pulses low in your belly. You feel them best when you’re lying on your side, bare feet pressed into cool packed earth, eyes closed, palms resting over the swell. And beside you—always beside you—is Toph.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the woven grass mat beside your sleeping pallet, back against the sun-warmed adobe wall of your little home just outside Gaoling. Her bare feet are splayed wide, toes curled slightly, sensing everything: the lazy crawl of a beetle beneath the floor, the slow drip of condensation from the clay water jug, the subtle shift in your breath as you drift between wakefulness and doze.

She doesn’t speak. She rarely does—not unless she has to. Not since the day you came home from the healer’s hut and told her, voice soft and trembling, “My ears don’t forgive loud things anymore.”

Toph didn’t say I’m sorry. She didn’t say I’ll fix it. She just reached out, cupped your face—her calloused thumbs brushing your cheekbones—and whispered, so low it was almost vibration alone, “Then I’ll learn how to live in quiet.”

And she did.

She learned to close doors without letting them click. To pour tea without the clink of ceramic meeting rim. To walk barefoot not just because she liked the feel of the earth, but because her soles could tell her exactly how much pressure would echo through the floorboards—and she adjusted, always, always , for you.

Right now, she’s braiding her own hair—slow, deliberate, fingers moving with practiced grace—and you watch her from half-lidded eyes, heart swelling like warm honey.

“You look like moonlight caught in river reeds,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

Toph’s hands still. She doesn’t turn. But her lips lift—a small, private thing, just for you.

“Moonlight doesn’t have split ends,” she says, voice barely louder than wind over dry grass. “Or tangles from sleeping on my arm all night.”

You laugh—soft, breathy—and the sound makes her shoulders relax further. You push yourself up slowly, one hand bracing on your lower back, the other resting instinctively over your belly as the baby rolls, a soft thump-thump against your palm.

Toph’s head tilts. Her eyes are fixed on you, but her expression is pure knowing . She feels the shift in your weight, the change in your heartbeat, the tiny ripple of muscle as your abdomen tightens around the baby’s movement.

“Little boulder’s practicing her stance today,” she murmurs, shifting closer. She doesn’t touch you—not yet—but her knee brushes yours, warm and solid. “Left foot forward. Right foot rooted. Very serious.”

You grin, reaching out. Your fingers skim her wrist, then travel up her forearm until they reach her hair. You thread your fingers through the thick, black strands, separating them gently, finding the rhythm of her braid again. You’ve done this a thousand times. It’s your ritual. Your grounding. Her hair is soft at the roots, coarser at the tips, smelling faintly of crushed mint and sun-baked clay.

“Mmm,” you hum, pulling the braid taut just enough to feel the tension. “She takes after her Mama. Stubborn. Focused. Unbelievably beautiful.”

Toph exhales and leans into your touch, her temple brushing your knuckles. “She better. I spent years being told I was ‘too much’ for everyone else. If she’s anything like me, she’ll spend her whole life proving people wrong just by existing.”

There’s no bitterness in it. Just quiet pride. And love so deep it hums, quieter than your tinnitus, warmer than any sun.

You finish the braid, tying it off with a strip of soft green silk—the same color as the scarf you gave her on your first real date, the one where you sat on the roof of her family’s old estate and watched the stars without talking for two hours straight. You tuck the end behind her ear, then trail your thumb down her jawline.

“My Angel,” you whisper, the pet name slipping out like breath. It’s only for her. Only ever for her. You said it the first time you saw her kneeling in the garden, barefoot in the rain, pressing her palms flat to the soaked earth, feeling the tremors of distant thunder—not to warn, but to wonder . You thought, She is the most breathtaking thing I have ever seen , and the words stuck. Like roots.

Toph’s breath catches—just once. Then she lifts her hand, slow and deliberate, and places it over yours, covering your fingers where they rest on her cheek. Her skin is warm. Her pulse thrums steady and strong beneath your thumb.

“My Angel,” she echoes, voice barely audible, rough with something tender and raw. “Who forgets to stir the rice and burns the dumplings every single time .”

You snort softly. “Who also once used seismic sense to find the exact spot where Sokka hid the last piece of candied yam and ate it before he could blink.”

A real smile this time wide, lopsided, dazzling. “He deserved it. He laughed while I choked on dust trying to earthbend that stupid rock out of my shoe.”

You both laugh then you press your forehead to hers, eyes closed, breathing her in. In this moment, there is no ringing. No distant thunder. No memory of pain or fear or the hollow echo of a world that used to be louder. There is only this: the press of her nose against yours, the soft give of her lips when you kiss her—slow, unhurried, tasting of mint and morning air—the way her fingers tighten just slightly around yours, like she’s memorizing the shape of your bones.

Later, you go out to gather herbs—chamomile for tea, feverfew for your occasional dizzy spells, lemon balm for calm. You move carefully, deliberately, your bare feet sinking into the soft loam of your garden patch. Toph walks beside you—not ahead, not behind—but with , her hand resting lightly on the small of your back, guiding not with direction, but with presence. Her touch is your compass.

You pause near the eastern fence, squinting at a cluster of purple blooms. “Are those the ones we want?” you ask, voice low.

Toph crouches, presses her palm flat to the earth, closes her eyes.

A beat passes. Then another.

Her brow furrows—not in frustration, but focus. Her lips part slightly, breath slowing. You watch her—the line of her throat, the sharp angle of her jaw, the way her lashes cast soft shadows over her cheeks—and you think, This is what love looks like when it listens with its whole body.

“They’re right there ,” she says finally, tapping the ground two feet to your left. “Three inches down. Roots thick and pale. They’ll taste like cool water and green light.”

You dig carefully, fingers working the soil loose. When you pull up the slender, fragrant roots, you hold them out to her. She doesn’t take them. Instead, she lifts her hand, lets your fingers brush hers as you place the roots in her palm. Her thumb strokes your knuckle once and she smiles.

“You’re getting better at listening to the earth,” she says.

You lean into her shoulder. “I had the best teacher.”

She doesn’t reply. She just tucks the roots into her satchel, then offers you her hand again. You take it. Her grip is sure. Her warmth seeps into your skin.

Back at the house, you set about preparing the tea. Toph sits at the low wooden table, sharpening her knife not for fighting, but for slicing ginger thin enough to dissolve in hot water. She moves with economical grace, every motion intentional, every scrape of metal against whetstone measured, softened by the cloth she wraps around the blade’s base.

You catch her watching you as you pour water into the kettle. Her gaze follows the curve of your spine, the gentle swell of your belly beneath your tunic, the way your hair falls over one shoulder as you reach for the teapot.

“Sokka’s coming by this afternoon,” she says, voice neutral, matter-of-fact.

You nod, stirring honey into the steaming cup. “He said he’d bring the dried apricots.”

“He also said he’d ‘check on the future patriarch’.” She wrinkles her nose. “I told him the future earthbender doesn’t need a title, just good shoes and decent aim.”

You laugh, handing her the cup. “He’s trying.”

“He’s Sokka ,” she says, taking the cup with both hands, cradling it like something sacred. “He tries very loudly.”

You sit beside her, leaning your head on her shoulder. She shifts just enough to make space for you, her free hand settling over your thigh, warm and heavy.

“We never told him why ,” you say quietly, staring into your own tea. “Why we asked him… to be the one.”

Toph is silent for a long moment. Then she sets her cup down and turns to face you fully. Her hands find yours, lacing your fingers together, her thumbs stroking the backs of your hands in slow, soothing circles.

“We didn’t need to,” she says. “He knew. He saw . He saw how I held your hand when you flinched at thunder. How I stopped mid-sentence if your jaw tightened. How I’d kneel beside you after a nightmare—not to talk, but to press my forehead to yours and feel your heartbeat slow back to steady.”

She lifts one of your hands, brings it to her lips, kisses your knuckles soft, reverent.

“We didn’t choose him because he’s non-bending,” she continues, voice dropping even lower, rough with emotion. “We chose him because he loves us . Because he loves you . Because he looked at you— really looked—and said, ‘Whatever this baby is, whatever they can or can’t do, they’ll be loved like crazy. And I get to help make that happen.’ ”

Your throat tightens. Tears prickle—warm, quiet, unashamed.

“And because,” she adds, her voice cracking just a little, “I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else’s blood in you. Not when yours is already the only thing that’s ever made me feel whole .”

You cry then—not sobbing, just soft, slow tears tracking down your cheeks. Toph doesn’t wipe them away. She just pulls you closer, tucking your head under her chin, her arms wrapping around you, one hand splayed wide over your belly, feeling the baby’s next kick—strong, sure, alive .

“She’s going to be so loved,” you whisper against her collarbone.

“ We’re going to love her,” Toph corrects, voice fierce and soft all at once. “All of us. Me. You. Sokka. Katara. Zuko, if he stops pretending he doesn’t adore you both. Even Appa—he’s already nuzzling your belly like it’s his favorite pillow.”

You laugh through tears, pressing closer.

“I’m scared,” you admit, voice barely audible. “Not of the birth. Not of motherhood. But… of failing her. Of not being enough. Of my ears… of the quiet not being enough for her.”

Toph pulls back just enough to look at you—her blind eyes holding yours with terrifying, beautiful intensity.

“You are enough,” she says, firm, unwavering. “You’re more than enough. You’re the woman who taught me how to hear silence like music. Who showed me that strength isn’t just bending rock—it’s holding space for someone else’s fear. It’s braiding my hair when your hands are tired. It’s loving me even when I burn the rice and forget to water the basil.”

She cups your face, her thumbs brushing away your tears.

“And our daughter?” She smiles—soft, radiant, full of quiet certainty. “She’ll know love before she knows language. She’ll feel it in the earth beneath her, in the warmth of your skin, in the way I’ll press my ear to your belly just to hear her heartbeat echo back at me— thump-thump-thump , steady as tectonic plates. She’ll learn love in vibrations. In touch. In stillness. In us .”

She leans in, forehead to forehead again, her breath mingling with yours.

“Our world isn’t quiet because it’s broken,” she whispers. “It’s quiet because it’s ours . Because we built it—brick by gentle brick, breath by careful breath—to hold us . To hold her .”

You kiss her then—long, slow, full of everything you can’t say aloud. Love. Gratitude. Relief. Awe. When you pull back, your noses still touching, you whisper, “My beautiful Angel.”

She smiles—that rare, full, unguarded smile that makes your chest ache.

“And you,” she murmurs, “are my whole damn world.”

Later, Sokka arrives not with fanfare, but with a sack slung over his shoulder and his usual blend of awkward charm and genuine warmth. He knocks once , softly, with the flat of his knuckle and waits patiently until Toph calls, “Come in, meat-brain,” in a voice that’s teasing, fond, utterly devoid of sharpness.

He grins, stepping inside, and immediately drops to one knee beside you, placing a gentle hand on your belly.

“Hey, little boulder,” he says, voice hushed, reverent. “Uncle Sokka brought snacks. And wisdom. Mostly snacks.”

Toph rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she tosses him a plum from the bowl on the table. He catches it one-handed, winks at you, then glances at Toph.

“Rice okay today?”

She snorts. “Burnt. But edible. Barely.”

He nods solemnly. “I brought extra apricots. For emergency sweetness.”

You laugh, reaching out to squeeze his wrist. “Thank you, Sokka.”

He meets your eyes—warm, kind, steady—and gives your hand a gentle squeeze back. No pity. No hesitation. Just love. Pure and simple.

That night, after Sokka leaves and the fire dims to embers, you lie beside Toph on your shared pallet, wrapped in soft wool blankets. The baby kicks—three quick, playful thumps—and Toph’s hand finds yours, guiding it to the exact spot, her fingers curling over yours as you both feel the movement.

You’re quiet for a long time. Listening—not with your ears, but with your skin, your bones, your heart. To the slow rise and fall of Toph’s chest. To the soft sigh she releases as she shifts closer, her leg hooking over yours, her arm sliding around your waist, her face burying in your hair.

The ringing is still there faint, familiar, like distant wind chimes.

But it doesn’t drown out this :

The weight of her trust.

The safety of her silence.

The certainty in her touch.

The love that lives not in noise, but in the deep, resonant hum of two hearts beating in time earth and sky, stone and storm, quiet and everything .

You turn your head, press a kiss to her temple.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?” she breathes.

“For building this world with me.”

She holds you tighter, her lips brushing your ear—not speaking, just feeling the shape of your earlobe, the delicate curve, the old scar along the edge, the way your pulse jumps when she touches you there.

“For loving me,” you add, softer.

She doesn’t answer with words.

Instead, she slides her hand down your spine, slow and sure, and rests it low on your belly.

You had a feeling when you woke up that morning and dressed for your date with Toph, that your life was about to change. At the time, though, you couldn’t have guessed in what way.

By evening, the world seemed to hold its breath around you two. A cool breeze wandered through the sweeping branches of the great willow trees, stirring their silver-green leaves into a hush of whispers overhead. The air around you was heavy with the rich perfume of blooming jasmine, its sweetness drifting through the secluded clearing like something soft and sacred.

You and Toph were nestled close atop a soft woolen blanket spread thick across the grass, an open wicker picnic basket resting between you like a small offering. Inside lay the remains of the quiet feast you had prepared with careful hands.

Spicy fire-flakes sat scattered at the bottom beside a platter of half eaten miniature sandwiches you brought from one of your favorite spots. To satisfy Toph's sweet tooth you packed some ripe moon-peaches which were rare and difficult to find, their fragrant skin still warm from being plucked fresh.

Tucked carefully beside them was a steaming thermos of tea, brewed for nearly an hour until it was crafted exactly the way Toph liked it. Every once in a while she would offer you her cup so you could heat the liquid with your bending because if it wasn't scalding hot she wouldn't drink it.

The two of you had been wrapped in the rare luxury of complete isolation, hidden away in a forgotten corner of the park. It was a tranquil refuge Toph had stumbled upon during one of her patrols, a place so far removed from the rest of the world that she insisted no wandering crowds would ever find you here.

Yet, as the sun slowly dips below the horizon and the quiet afternoon softened into dusk, you picked up on subtle change in the air.

Over the slow sips of her tea, you notice that Toph has grown uncharacteristically still. The easy, playful banter from earlier had faded into a gentle stillness that seemed to settle over her shoulders, grounding her in a deep, contemplative silence.

Toph frequently drifted into these silent spaces beside you, retreating into the depths of her mind as though navigating a world entirely of her own. It was never a sign of distance, she made it undeniably clear that every moment spent enveloped in your presence was something she deeply cherished.

But you could tell with the approach of your one year anniversary that a force was pulling at her. An unvoiced turbulence of thoughts and hidden vulnerabilities she wasn't quite ready to lay bare before you just yet.

“Toph?” You turned to look at her, your hand reaching out to cradle her jaw as you pressed your thumb into her cheek, soothing the tension forming there.

Toph leaned into your touch, her eyes closing as she let out a shaky breath. The usual rigidity in her posture began to ease beneath your hand, leaving her looking softer and more vulnerable than she ever allowed herself to be around the rest of the world.

“I can tell something is bothering you.” You say as your fingertip swept gently beneath her eye, brushing away a fallen lash that had caught there. “You're never this quiet.”

She hums thoughtfully, the sound rumbling in her throat. Without a word, she moves the picnic basket out of the way, closing what little distance remained between you. Toph then eases down onto your lap. Her muscular arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she buries her face against your stomach.

The sudden need for physical closeness catches you completely off guard, sending a spike of concern through your chest.

Something was really troubling her, and you had no way of reaching whatever storm had drawn her so deeply inward.

“Just thinking,” Her voice emerges after a long moment, softened where it was muffled against the fabric of your shirt.

“About what?” You wondered aloud, encouraging her to keep going as you thread your fingers through her hair, gently massaging her scalp to ease her mind.

She attempted a shrug, but the movement was awkward against your lap. So she simply pressed her face deeper into your stomach, as if trying to burrow away from the sudden intensity of her own vulnerability.

“You, us, everything,” Toph mumbles, the words bleeding into the fabric of your shirt.

Your fingers faltered in her hair, freezing entirely as a sharp spike of anxiety hit your chest. “Oh.”

“It’s nothing bad,” She added quickly. Sensing the sudden, erratic leap of your pulse beneath her cheek, she knew you were already starting to spiral.

Toph pulled away just enough to turn, rolling over onto her back so her head remained comfortably rested in your lap. She stared blankly up at the vast, darkening sky, her fingers loosely curling around the hem of your shirt to keep you close.

“I just love you a lot,” Toph proclaims, her voice dropping into a low, almost inaudible whisper. “And sometimes I just wish-”

She grits her teeth, stopping herself mid-sentence. You can already feel her slipping away, the familiar metal walls slamming back up as she tries to bury whatever she was about to reveal.

Refusing to let her retreat, you tighten your fingers gently but firmly in her hair. Your other hand moves swiftly to curl around her jaw, tilting her head so she has no choice but to face you, her clouded eyes staring into yours earnestly.

You don't need to say a word. Every measured, unwavering thump of your heart revealed everything she needed to know. Through that shared pulse, and the gentleness of your touch. You promised her that she was entirely safe here. No matter what confession she voices in this secluded clearing, it would never change how you feel about her. In fact, her honesty would only make you love her more.

“I wish I could see you,” She finally settles on, the admission tearing out of her as tears begin to gather in her eyes. “Your smile, your eyes, even that tiny dimple in your cheek that pops out every time I kiss you, the one you always claim you don't have.”

“Because I don't!” You manage a soft laugh, though your heart aches for her, Your thumb soothingly traces a reassuring pattern across her cheek in hopes of calming the racing of her heart.

“You do, baby, I can feel it every single time,” Toph insists, her voice cracking slightly under the gravity of the moment.

“Whatever you say, Chief.” You relent affectionately, yielding the point this one time.

“Anyways,” Toph’s voice trailed off, the sudden swell of emotion catching painfully in her throat. She lifted her hand slowly, her fingers trembling faintly as they traced along the line of your jaw with a reverence that made your chest ache.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Her thumb drew circles across your cheek. “There are parts of you the rest of the world just gets to have.”

“They get to see you walking down the street, hear your laugh, watch the sun land on your face.” Her voice roughened with quiet longing. “And they don’t even realize how lucky they are to witness that.”

Toph swallowed hard before leaning closer, her forehead nearly resting against yours.

“It makes me jealous sometimes,” She stated. “Because you’re mine.” Her fingers curled gently against your skin. “And there are days I wish I could keep every single part of you all to myself.”

You remained motionless at first, completely caught off guard by the raw honesty in her voice. The confession settled heavily in your chest, so intimate and raw that for a moment all you could do was stare at her in stunned silence.

Then, slowly, you lifted your hand from her jaw and let your fingers glide gently along her skin until they found her unsteady hand resting against your cheek. You carefully intertwined your fingers with hers, giving them a soft, reassuring squeeze before guiding her palm fully against the side of your face.

You leaned into her touch without hesitation as you closed your eyes for a brief moment, silently encouraging her to feel every piece of you she longed for.

“Then let me show you,” You intoned, the words wrapped in certainty as you pressed her palm more firmly against your cheek. “Don’t look at me with the world’s eyes, Toph.”

Your expression softened beneath her touch. “Look at me the way you always have. With your hands and your heart.”

You slowly guide her index finger up to the smooth skin at the outer corner of your eyelid.

“If you could see my eyes,” You whispered tenderly, allowing her to feel the delicate flutter of your lashes against her fingertips, “You’d see a deep, radiant gold.”

A soft breath left you as you leaned further into her touch.

“Not the kind of metal you bend beneath your hands every day. Nothing cold or rigid.” Your voice softened into something almost dreamlike. “More like the liquid light of a setting sun spilling across the horizon.”

You kept her hand there, letting her map every delicate detail through touch alone.

“Think of them as a serene kind of comfort that always settles whenever they find you.” Your thumb swept lovingly across her knuckles. “And mirrored at their very center would be a sanctuary of amber fire, a steady, devoted flame that was kindled in the dark just to guide you home, burning only ever for you.”

You guided her hand downward, letting her fingertips wander along the elegant slope of your cheekbone before tracing the clean line of your jaw. You could feel the careful way she memorized every contour beneath her touch, as though she were sculpting your face inside her mind.

“My features carry that distinct grace the Fire Nation is known for,” You explain, guiding her palm to rest fully against your skin. “There’s refinement in the shape of them, sharp, deliberate lines softened by warmth.”

“My face is smooth beneath your hands, but there’s still strength in it. The kind your fingers would recognize immediately.” A faint smile touched your lips. “The striking edges of my nation shaped into something softer by the fire living inside me.”

You leaned further into her touch, your voice lowering into something achingly sincere. “But I want you to understand that it only burns this calmly because it reflects you.”

“Because when I look at you, baby. I don't just see the fierce warrior everyone else admires. I see a beautiful, intricate landscape, someone whose hidden softness is a treasure that I am lucky enough to hold.”

Toph’s breath hitches sharply at your words, the sudden depth of your confession striking a chord deep within her. Her fingers faltered faintly against your jaw as emotion tightened painfully in her throat, forcing her to swallow hard around it.

You could feel the realization settling over her in quiet waves- that you truly saw beyond the loud, unbreakable image she showed the rest of the world. Beyond the stubborn bravado, the sharpened edges, and strength she wielded like armor.

A silent tear slipped from her sightless eyes, tracing a slow path down her flushed skin as she melted fully into your embrace.

Your own chest tightened painfully beneath the sheer weight of the moment, emotion swelling so intensely inside you it nearly stole the breath from your lungs. And still, you refused to stop, she needed to hear this.

You needed her to understand that while the rest of the world only ever saw fleeting pieces of you- passing glimpses, surface-level beauty, and fragments they would never fully comprehend. Toph was the only person who had ever reached beyond all of that. She was the only one who truly held the keys to your soul.

Carefully, you move her finger along the edge of your eyelid, where the smooth texture of your skin changes slightly.

“And right here, I wore something special for you tonight,” You shared sweetly, guiding her fingertip along the elegant sweep lining your eye. “A delicate stroke of Fire Nation ink tracing the curve of it, meant to make the gold of my eyes stand out more boldly.”

“And above it, there’s a dusting of shimmer across my eyelids,” You added, your voice lowering beneath the hush of the clearing. “So fine it feels almost weightless beneath your fingertips, like the softest silk.”

The willow branches swayed gently overhead while you leaned further into her palm, savoring the careful way she explored every detail.

“To everyone else, it only catches the light for a fleeting second before it disappears.” Your voice wavered under the weight of your affection. “But tonight, it was meant for you. A private canvas made entirely for your touch.”

Toph’s tears fell completely unchecked now, tracing a hot, relentless path down her cheeks as she clung to every word leaving your lips. Even though there was a quiet ache blooming inside your own chest, you kept going.

Slowly, you gathered a thick section of your long hair into your free hand before carefully guiding her unsteady fingers through the silken strands. The dark locks slipped smoothly between her fingertips, cool and weightless against her skin as you let her explore them at her own pace.

“You always tell me it feels like water running through your hands,” You said with a small smile. “Long, soft, almost impossible to hold onto for too long.”

You guided another thick curl through her fingers, watching the strands spill between them like flowing silk.

“And when the sunlight touches it,” You impart quietly, “It catches along the waves in streaks of warm amber and burnished gold, as though pieces of the evening sun became tangled inside it.”

Your gaze softened as you wove her fingers through the curls once more. “Tonight, it falls in deep waves all the way down my back. They twist and wind around each other like a midnight breeze caught in motion.”

A gentle hum settled in your voice as you spoke. “It’s beautifully wild, but it always settles back against my shoulders in the end, waiting for your hands to card through it again.”

You guided her hand lower, letting her fingertips trace the elegant curve of your collarbone before drawing them slowly downward. Her touch ghosted over the softness of your chest, then along the warm plane of your stomach, until finally you settled her palm against the sweeping curve of your waist and hip.

“My body is softer than yours,” You tell her openly, your voice carrying no shame now, only devotion. “Not weak, just different. Warm in places where yours is carved from stone and muscle.”

You pressed her palm more firmly against your hip, letting her feel the seamless transition of your shape beneath her hand.

“My body is an expanse of soft, generous curves because you know how much I love to eat,” You explained with a quiet, playful warmth. “It flows effortlessly from one curve into the next, holding a full, rounded weight that belongs entirely to you.”

Your thumb traces slowly across her knuckles as you guided her touch along the slope of your hips.

“Imagine it like this, baby,” Your voice lowered into something rich and intimate beneath the willow trees. “The curve of my hips is shaped like the gentle incline of a quiet valley at dusk. Soft beneath your hands, but resting firm and certain beside you.”

You held her there for another lingering moment before speaking again.

“Every line of me was shaped by fire,” You revealed quietly, “But not the kind meant to destroy.” Your expression warmed as you were overcome by emotion. “Something steadier than that. A flame that offers warmth instead of ruin. One that only burns brighter whenever you’re near it.”

Toph’s breath shudders completely at the touch, her palm flattening against your skin as if trying to memorize every line of the map you are giving her. Her fingers flexed against the softness of your hip with sudden intensity, grounding herself in the overwhelming realization that you, this breathtaking, living person wrapped in warmth and firelight, belonged entirely to her in this hidden corner of the world.

Her chest rose rapidly as another wave of tears slipped free. The emotional weight of it all had stripped her completely bare. Even now, her hands shook faintly against your body while she fought to steady herself, biting down against her lower lip as though it were the only thing anchoring her to the moment.

And still, she leaned closer.

Now completely defenseless in your embrace and undone by the safety of your body pressed against hers and the impossible depth of love woven through every word you spoke.

You gave her a moment to breathe through it, your thumb brushing slowly across her knuckles while the jasmine of the willow branches wafted in the air. Then, with endless care, you guided her hand lower until her fingers settled around your wrist, where you pressed her thumb gently against a small patch of raised skin there.

“Right here on my wrist is a birthmark,” You stated, guiding her thumb along the delicate edge of the raised skin. “It’s small and uneven in shape, almost like a tiny island drifting alone on a map.”

A faint, nostalgic smile touched your lips. “My mother used to tell me it looked like hidden treasure waiting to be discovered whenever I asked about it as a child.”

You let her continue tracing it as you stared off into the distance, briefly losing yourself for a moment.

“It’s been there since the day I was born.” Your voice lowered slightly. “I usually hide it beneath makeup because I always thought it was ugly.”

The confession settled heavily in the air between you before you curled your fingers around hers.

“But I’m showing it to you now because I want you to know every part of me, baby.” There was this far off tone in your voice. “Even the pieces I still struggle to look at myself and the parts of me I’ve hidden away out of shame.”

Toph freezes at your words, her thumb lingering against the small patch of raised skin as though she could somehow feel every insecurity you had ever poured into it. A quiet breath caught painfully in her throat, the fragile confession settling deep within her chest.

Slowly, she lifted your wrist toward her lips.

Her movements were impossibly careful now, stripped of all her usual roughness, as though she were handling something sacred in her hands. The warmth of her breath fanned across your skin for a brief moment before she pressed the softest kiss directly against the birthmark.

You knew she wasnt doing this out of pity or kindness born from sympathy. Toph loved the way mountains endured storms, without hesitation or fear of the damage it might leave behind. She took this hidden piece of you, buried beneath years of shame and held it with the same reverence one might cradle a dying flame through winter. Beneath her touch, those wounded parts no longer felt ugly or burdensome.

It was as though she had pressed her hands into the deepest soil of your heart and found something living there still.

Toph hovered there for several long seconds, her lips resting against the hidden piece of you the world had never been allowed to touch. The moment felt ancient somehow, sacred in a way words could barely contain. Like the earth itself had shifted softly beneath you, recognizing the quiet miracle of being loved so wholly in the places you had once condemned.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead fell gently against your wrist, her shoulders shaking faintly beneath the gravity of what you were sharing.

“Don’t ever call this ugly again,” She said, her voice hardening with a protective edge. “You hear me? This is part of you. Which means it’s beautiful too.”

“And until you can see that for yourself,” Toph says, her voice faltering with fierce tenderness. “I'll love this part of you enough for the both of us.”

Your eyes slipped closed, an unsteady breath escaping your lips as the unfiltered truth of her words hit you with a force you weren't prepared for. Something that felt alot like sorrow climbed painfully into your throat, you felt the sting of tears threatening to spill over despite your efforts to keep them contained. But you forced it down, tonight was supposed to be entirely about her, about easing the burdens that she carries.

It was just, Toph has always possessed an uncanny ability to reverse the roles between you. No matter the circumstance, she somehow made sure that you felt seen, understood, and protected within the shelter of her love.

Even now, when all you wanted was to pour every ounce of your devotion into her, Toph had unconsciously turned the focus back toward you, prioritizing your heart with the same unyielding care she gave to everything she loved. You've never had a partner quite like her and the fact that she could reach the darkened places others couldn't made you feel deeply cherished, and incredibly whole.

Sucking in a labored breath to quell the fluttering in your chest, you finally lift her hand back up, letting her index finger follow the outline of your lips. You parted them just a fraction beneath her touch, letting her map their shape while you leaned into the heat of her palm.

“They’re soft,” Your lips grazed her fingers as you spoke. “Always a little warmer after kissing you. Tonight, I wore a glassy gloss over them that tastes like the sweet watermelon you always buy me from my favorite stand.”

You gently press her fingertip more firmly against your lower lip, letting her feel the slick texture there. “It almost feels liquid beneath your touch, doesn’t it? Like water reflecting moonlight.”

You smiled faintly at her as you gazed into her clouded eyes. “And I’m sure you can feel the way my lips are curved into a breathless smile. It's an expression meant only for you to feel in this space with me, baby.”

Toph's fingertip rested against the glossy curve of your mouth as though she were trying to memorize the feeling of your smile beneath her skin. The delicate hitch in your breathing did not escape her either. Through the constant pulse vibrating beneath your lips and fingertips, she could feel exactly how deeply her touch affected you too.

Her finger remained on your lower lip, languidly tracing the shape of your happiness as another tear slipped down her cheeks.

“I can feel it,” She voices, sniffling. “I can feel all of it. You’re gorgeous, baby. I love you so much, you have no idea how much this means to me. I would give anything to see your smile right now even if it was just for a moment.”

You gazed at her, your chest aching with an immense, all-encompassing warmth that makes your own eyes blur. Leaning forward, you brushed a kiss against her forehead before resting your brow against hers, allowing Toph to feel the soft rise and fall of your breath mingling with her own.

“You do see me, Toph,” You assure her, your voice unwavering and resolute. “In the only way that will ever matter to me.”

Toph's breath catches, her fingers tightening around your shirt as she pulls herself closer into your lap.

For several heartbeats, she remains entirely still, absorbing the distinct, soothing thump of your heart against her cheek. You watch as a small, watery chuckle breaks through her tears, and she burrows her face right back into your chest, clinging to you as if you were her sole sanctuary in the dark.

“Yeah,” She mutters, her voice thick but returning to that fiercely affectionate tone you love so much. “I guess I do.”

You leaned forward, closing the final distance between you before pressing your lips gently to hers. It was a kiss that held nothing back, a passionate exchange brimming with a love so deep it felt capable of rewriting the very essence of your soul. You poured every ounce of your adoration for Toph into the kiss, hoping that with each slow sweep of your tongue against hers, she could feel the unwavering constancy you knew you would carry for her always.

As the kiss deepened, Toph’s hands rose to the back of your neck, holding you there with quiet desperation. With her head still resting in your lap, the angle allowed you to kiss her more deeply, until the rest of the world seemed to disappear into the space between your breaths.

Her fingers threaded through your hair as she pulled you closer, pouring every fiercely protected fragment of her heart into your mouth. In your embrace, the hard edges she carried so carefully began to melt away, leaving behind the gaurded softness she trusted no one else to hold besides you.

As your lips continued to move with hers, the unwavering certainty of everything Toph had just shared settled deeply in your chest, soothing something profound and broken within you. A choked sob slipped from your throat, muffled softly by her lips as she kissed you more intensely, drinking in every ounce of your emotion without pause.

Toph knew.

She understood exactly what had unraveled inside you, and through the aching press of her lips and the grounded way she held you, she affirmed that she felt it too, that neither of you were alone in this, and somehow, in each others arms, you were going to be okay.

As the kiss gradually softened into something slower and more unhurried, your mouth finally curved into a wide smile. You were so hopelessly in love with this woman that it felt almost unreal. Your heart was unbearably full beneath the protective presence of her touch.

With her lips molded seamlessly to yours, you felt Toph’s mouth mirror your own, her smile soft and luminous in a way that made your heart thrum. She pulled away only a hair, barely sufficient to catch her air, her fingers still quivering faintly as they mapped along the curve of your face.

“See? Right there,” Toph mused, her thumb pressing affectionately into the small indentation beside your mouth. “You’re smiling right now, and your dimple’s there. I can feel it.”

You let out a boisterous laugh, tossing your head at her playful insistence. You tilt forward to press another kiss directly upon her cheek before resting your forehead once more to hers, a genuine solace settling over you.

“Fine, if you’re so sure it’s there, then it’s there.” You leaned into her touch, your teasing tone dropping to a quiet, fierce promise. “As long as you know that every single piece of me belongs to you, Toph.” Your hand rose to cover hers against your cheek. “Dimple and all.”

Toph let out a content sigh at your words. Still faintly glowing from the emotional day she'd had, she eased backward, sliding down until her back rested against the woolen blanket, pulling you down with her in the process.

You lay side by side in the quiet clearing, the echo of your heartfelt promise hanging in the air between you. Your shoulder pressed solidly against hers, your fingers laced securely together while your lips still tingled from the kiss you had just shared.

Toph rolls onto her side, pressing her cheek against your shoulder as she absorbs the cadenced pattern of your breathing.

“You know,” Toph spoke into the darkness, her voice lowering into something quiet and fiercely honest, heavy with years of unspoken longing. “I spent most of my life believing I was destined to be alone.”

A tightness seized her throat, forcing a brief pause before she could find her voice.

“I stood on the sidelines as every single one of my friends fell in love, got married, and built homes and families with the people they loved.” Her voice roughened faintly, cracking under the strain of a lifetime of quiet isolation. “After a while, I just assumed that kind of life belonged to everyone else, while I was meant to stay in the dark.”

Toph squeezes your hand with a sudden, desperate strength, her fingers wrapping around yours tight enough to bruise. She looked so vulnerable as she tried her best to anchor herself to the reality of your presence before the dread and that familiar solitude consumed her whole again.

“I wasn’t even sure what true love was supposed to feel like,” Toph admitted, the words wavering beneath the raw strain of finally exposing something she had buried for years. “Growing up locked away in that estate, hidden like some shameful secret, love always felt like a cage- suffocating, controlling, and completely isolating.”

Toph paused before continuing, and you drew her even closer, molding her frame against yours until she was completely enveloped by your protective embrace.

“It twisted the way I understood affection. Made me believe that being cared for required losing your freedom, and love meant being trapped somewhere dark and impossible to escape.” Toph sucked in a breath as she blinked away tears. “So when Katara used to talk of love- finding someone who makes the world feel lighter, safer, whole. I honestly thought it was just some impossible fairytale meant for other people.”

“I didn’t need my parents to tell me I was difficult to love,” Toph said, the words carrying the shadow of a truth she had known far too young. “I understood that from the second I was old enough to understand words.”

“Whenever I feel control slipping away from me, I build walls so high that nobody can get close enough to hurt me.” Her fingers flexed against yours. “After a while, I stopped believing anyone would care, or fight hard enough to break through all that stone just to reach me.”

“But then you came along,” Toph shifted closer, her voice trembling with an urgency that told you if she didn’t force these words out now, she would regret the silence for the rest of her life- and when it came to you, she refused to risk that.

“And you shattered every rule and expectation I thought the world had set for me.” A tremulous exhale left her. “You didn’t just look past the armor I built around myself. You made me want to tear it down with my own hands.”

“I never thought I’d find a partner like you, baby. Someone who makes me feel this adored and safe.” Emotion thickened her voice until each word sounded painfully sincere. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes, baby. I trust you with every single piece of me I have left that wasnt ruined by my life experiences or the world.”

“And one day, I’m going to marry you.” The words settled between you like an unspoken vow. “I know exactly how rare what we have is and I’m never letting you slip away from me.”

Your heart stops at her declaration, your entire body stilling as tears welled in your eyes now, completely ruining your makeup. Toph, who guards her independence like an absolute fortress, had just offered you her entire future with zero hesitation.

The realization that she is already choosing you for a lifetime causes your throat to tighten with a sudden, joyful ache as the sheer magnitude of her love completely rewires your world. You slide your arm beneath her, cradling her head closer against your chest so she can feel the deep, steady resonance of your voice when you spoke next.

“You were never destined to be alone, Toph,” You answered quietly, your voice filled with absolute conviction and a fierce protectiveness that wrapped itself around every word. “And you were never supposed to spend your life hidden behind walls or treated as something that needed to be tucked away.”

“It breaks my heart to know they ever made you feel difficult to love, because you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, baby.” Your heart thudded in your chest as your eyes burned with more tears. “The world just took its time bringing us together because like you said, a love like this, what we have right here is rare. Beautifully rare, and worth every lonely second it took to find.”

Toph buries her tear stained cheeks deep into the crook of your neck.

“You have me now, completely and entirely.” You promised her. “I’d marry you in a heartbeat, baby. I am yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

Her quiet sighs fanned over your bare skin as a tearful laugh escaped her. Her fingers gripped your shirt with a sudden intensity. Toph locked herself in your embrace as a glowing smile completely transformed her features.

You marveled at her in silence, overwhelmed by the breathtaking sight of her vulnerability. It was a beauty untouched by anything superficial, something visceral and enduring that eclipsed every shallow definition the world tried to force upon it.

Pride swelled painfully within your chest. You knew how much courage this had cost her, how terrifying it must have been to dismantle walls she had spent a lifetime building, and you would never take the gift of that trust for granted.

There was something truly sacred about watching her now with that unshielded expression softening her features beneath the sweeping canopy of willow branches. A few wild wisps of her midnight-dark hair caught the evening breeze, lifting like shadows against her skin. You realized right then that Toph Beifong was a masterpiece shaped equally by storm and stillness.

Toph was a woman powerful enough to shake the earth itself, and still she had chosen to soften within the safety of your arms. You made a silent vow to yourself in this darkened corner of the clearing to protect her fiercely and hold every vulnerable part of her soul for as long as she granted you a place by her side.

You tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear as you took in the beautiful flush spreading across her cheeks beneath the dim glow of the evening sky. You would never tire of seeing her like this, softened by vulnerability and wrapped so openly in your love. It made your own heart thrum in your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and scattered a flurry of kisses across every inch of her face, each one tender with affection. The quiet clearing soon filled with Toph’s breathless laughter as she squirmed beneath your attention, giggling while she playfully shoved at your shoulders in a half-hearted attempt to make you stop.

“Baby, you keep talking about my smile,” A quiet, lovestruck grin pulled at your mouth. “When honestly, you’re the most beautiful thing in this entire park.”

Toph was caught entirely off guard by the compliment. She shied away from your touch, pulling back just enough to break the direct contact as she tried to salvage what was left of her composure.

“You’re laying on the compliments kinda thick,” Toph cleared her throat, you could see how fast her heart was beating in her chest as she spoke. “If I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to get into my pants.”

You let out a knowing chuckle, your lips ghosting the shell of her ear as your arms tightened around her waist. Your voice dropped into a smooth, seductive murmur that was warm enough to send heat crawling beneath her skin.

“Well,” You husked softly, punctuating each word with a playful nip against the sensitive spot beneath her ear, “We both know if I really wanted to get into your pants, I wouldn’t need to sweet talk you first.”

Your smile deepened against her skin. “You’d just spread those gorgeous legs for me, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Toph hid her burning face in the crook of your neck, her breaths breaking into shaky, uneven hitches against your skin. You felt her nod quickly against your collarbone. You had rendered her speechless now that your voice had dropped into that devastating tone she could never resist.

“Good girl,” You purred beside her ear, your voice low and delivery, sending a flush of heat directly to her core.

Her reaction did not disappoint, a quiet, helpless moan escaped her lips before she could hide it, the noise dissolving into the stillness of the night as she buried herself further into your neck.

“Baby,” Toph breathed, the word breaking apart into a helpless whimper as her fingers clawed tightly into your shirt, clinging to you with quiet desperation.

“I know.” You cooed as your hands slid lower, mapping the graceful curve of her hip before your fingertips traced slow, deliberate patterns against her skin, each touch drawing another labored breath from her.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” You rasped into her ear. “I wanna take care of you properly.”

Toph didn’t need to be told twice. The charged energy between you shattered instantly as she shot upright so fast she nearly sent you sprawling backward onto the grass.

She immediately began scrambling to gather the abandoned picnic supplies, her movements rushed and completely lacking the usual composure she tried so hard to maintain. The urgency behind every motion revealed just how desperate she was to get you home.

You managed to stare at her for all of two seconds before completely losing it. Bright, helpless laughter burst from your chest, your head tipped back as the sound echoed freely through the secluded clearing.

Across from you, Toph was muttering a heated string of curses under her breath while aggressively trying and failing to force the picnic basket shut after stuffing everything inside with absolutely no organization whatsoever. Causing the basket to sprang back open, the contents nearly spilling out again.

“Spirits,” Toph snapped under her breath, shoving at the lid harder. “Why is this stupid thing fighting me right now?”

“Somewhere urgent you need to be, Chief?” You asked innocently as you rose to your feet beside her.

You reached down to help fold the blanket, your movements intentionally unhurried, giving yourself every excuse to admire the sight in front of you. Heat was practically radiating from Toph’s flushed skin in powerful waves, her cheeks now permanently stained a deep crimson while her hands fumbled helplessly with the basket for what had to be the fifth time

And spirits, she was breathtaking like this. So unraveled beneath your attention, all of her sharp composure and confidence completely stripped away before you had even truly touched her. You bit back another smile as her fingers slipped again, sending a pair of chopsticks clattering noisily back onto the grass.

“Baby,” Toph groaned under her breath, sounding one step away from combusting entirely under your heated gaze alone. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I dont think I will,” Your voice sinks into a dark, alluring tone as you invaded her space, crowding her with the intensity of your presence.

Your hand slid across her waist before settling possessively over the curve of her hip, drawing her body flush against yours with enough intent to force her breath to hitch in her throat.

“You’re already unraveling for me,” Your lips caressed the skin beside her jaw, your smirk evident in the low vibration of your voice. “And I’ve barely even touched you yet.”

You pressed a slow, deliberate kiss beneath her jaw, savoring the way her intake of air faltered the instant your lips sealed against the sensitive skin there.

“If I slid my hand into your pants right now,” You husked directly to her throat, your voice melting into a sultry hum. “Would I find you already wet for me?”

Your fingers continued their possessive map of her frame, sliding down her sides and spreading across her back until they found the slope of her backside. You palmed the plush curve of her ass, feeling the fullness of it as Toph molded herself into you. Because she stood shorter than you, her head nestled naturally against your chest, which only seemed to amplify the charged energy now that she was locked in your embrace.

“I think I would,” You added, your tone dripping with a smug confidence. “You get so worked up from the smallest things, baby.”

A deep chuckle vibrated in your throat, sending an intentional shiver straight down Toph's spine. “All I have to do is talk to you like this, and you melt for me.”

Toph tenses instantly, her face flushing a deep crimson as your fingers locate the sliver of bare skin where her shirt has ridden up. The moment your fingertips trace that exposed line, her entire body erupts in goosebumps.

Toph bites down hard on her lower lip to smother a rising moan as her entire body burns with an aching need. She pushes back slightly against your chest. She still has a reputation to uphold, and she knows that the longer this continues, the harder it will be for either of you to stop.

“Shut up,” Toph gasps, her voice strained as she shakes her head, trying to find her footing. “Baby, we are out in public! Anyone could walk by and see this.”

Before the conversation can continue, she reaches out and snaps her hand around your wrist. Her grip is firm, leaving no room for argument, as she begins to march away from the clearing, pulling you along with her, you barelt had time to grab your things.

“Since when has that ever stopped you before, Chief?” You counter, allowing yourself to be dragged along just so you could deliberately slow your steps to keep the tension.

Toph swallows thickly, her throat tightening hard as she struggles to maintain her brisk, commanding pace against the sheer weight of her arousal.

“Stop calling me that,” She mutters, her voice dropping into a breathless register that completely betrays her.

“Why?” You grin, your thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “Is it turning you on, Chief?”

Toph pulls you forward with an urgent, unyielding strength until you finally reach the car. Snapping open the passenger door with her bending, she pauses for a single, breathless second, casting a fierce, burning glare blindly into the darkness where she knew you stood smug.

“You’re impossible,” She huffs, her voice a tight, husky friction before she slides into the seat with a frantic sort of haste, completely silent as she tries to master her own unraveling senses.

As you pulled out of the parking lot and eased onto the quiet road, the low hum of the engine settled warmly through the cabin. Streetlights flickered past the windows in soft golden streaks while the lingering tension from the park still clung thickly to the air between you.

One of your hands remained loose on the steering wheel while the other drifted instinctively onto Toph’s thigh. Your palm sank against the firm muscle above her knee, fingers curling there with slow familiarity as though they belonged nowhere else.

Toph’s entire posture locked instantly, a sharp gasp catching in her throat as her back pressed flush against the passenger seat. She didn’t pull away, but her thighs drew tighter together beneath your hand, the tension in her body almost palpable in the confined space of the car.

While seated at a red light you glanced over. Toph's fingers twisted helplessly into the fabric of her pants while her breathing turned uneven, every slow pass of your palm along her thigh sending another visible shiver through her.

The sight alone nearly ruined your composure. Your thumb dragged lazily over the tense muscle beneath your hand, relishing the way Toph’s lips parted around another strained breath.

“Don't,” She chokes out, though the words lack any real conviction, her voice entirely broken and vibrating with the heat of the moment. “You're going to get us killed out here.”

You only hum, your thumb torturously stroking higher up her leg, feeling the furious, erratic thumping of her pulse vibrating through the seat.

“Just lean back and enjoy the ride, baby.” You instructed, your eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead as you press down on the gas. “We're almost home.”

Your mood has been so low that you haven’t even left your house for days… and only because you’re going crazy over that little baby bump that has started to grow morenow that you are 17 weeks pregnant now.

“Maybe I just need to poo a little…” you murmur.

Obviously, trying to convince yourself with that lie doesn’t help.

You turn and stand on your side, looking at your reflection again.

Your throat tightens. You feel tears start to appear in your eyes.

You’re gaining too much weight.

“Fuck… Why do I have to look this ugly… Leon won’t probably love me anymore if—”

You hear the bathroom door open and immediately shut up.

You turn around… and, of course, there’s Leon. 

He’s leaning against the doorframe with one arm, looking at you with a tenderness you aren’t able to tolerate right now.

When his eyes meet yours, he immediately realizes that something is wrong and that you’re really not okay.

“Hey, love…” he says softly, his voice gentle as he walks toward you with his arms open. You let yourself fall into them. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply instantly.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. You’ve been together long enough not only to be engaged, but also for him to know that said nothing usually meant the exact opposite.

“You’ve been in here for a while. I was starting to worry,” he says, still calm, crossing his arms. “Do you know those movies where women suddenly go into labor in their bathroom? That’s what I thought happened.”

You let out a weak laugh, trying not to make him feel worse than you already know he does because of you.

“Hey, just tell me…” Leon insists gently.

“It’s just that… I don’t recognize myself. I look horrible. I’m so ugly, and—”

Leon feels awful hearing you insult yourself like that, but he doesn’t interrupt you. He lets you vent, even though he completely disagrees with everything you’re saying, even though he wants to tell you that you’re the exact opposite and that it’s the pregnancy hormones very clearly talking for you.

He goes to you carefully, not daring to touch you because he knows you might not feel comfortable. You ignore him and, instead, lean against the wall in front of the mirror, avoiding both Leon and your reflection.

Your fiancé respects the space you’re asking for, but he doesn’t give up. He sits on the sink, crossing his arms, and keeps his eyes on you.

“Talk to me, please... What’s going on?”

“It’s just that…” you shake your head. He’s probably going to think what you’re about to say is stupid. “I look… fatter. Much fatter. And yes, I know… I know it’s normal to look like this,” you gesture to your belly, “but that doesn’t make it any easier. And every day I’m fatter, and uglier, and… God, this is fucking exhausting…”

Leon watches you. He notices how you instinctively suck your stomach in. How your hands tremble, especially when they get close to your belly, as if they’re afraid to even brush against it. How you rub your hands on your face out of desperation.

“You’re not getting fat, you’re—”

“Leon…” you huff, already afraid of his answer.

“I’m serious. You’re not getting fat: you’re creating a life. Love, you’re conscious about it? I think you know the difference.”

“My jeans definitely don’t,” you snap, sharper than you mean to. You regret it immediately, though Leon doesn’t seem affected. “Sorry, I don’t want to blame everything on hormones…”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed it’s the hormones,” your fiancé says with a laugh. “Yesterday you cried because I ate the last yogurt.”

“It was my yogurt! You even got it for me!” you protest, feeling those damn hormones take over you again. “And besides, why would you eat a banana yogurt if you don’t even like bananas?!”

Leon smiles, his lips curling shyly. This time he does step a bit closer, carefully placing his hands on your hips, his thumbs starting to trace little circles over the fabric of your t-shirt.

“Take it easy…” he kisses your forehead, and you rest your head against his chest. “It’s normal that you feel like this, even if it’s something we’ve wanted for a long time…”

“I feel terrible for feeling terrible,” you confess. “I mean, yes, I’m happy to be pregnant, but I’m not happy seeing myself look uglier every day. I feel ungrateful—”

Leon lifts your chin and shuts you up with a kiss.

“You’re human,” he says when he pulls back, still looking at you. You hold his gaze too, which relaxes him noticeably. “You’re pregnant, and very, very emotional. That’s ok.”

“But I’m not even that pregnant yet. I’m only 17 weeks.”

“You’re that pregnant, love. Everything’s happening very quickly. It’s completely normal that you feel this way,” he repeats.

You watch his hands slide down to your belly. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. It’s just Leon, your fiancé, the other half of the reason you’re growing a whole baby right now.

You see that all his attention is focused now on gently stroking your bump.

You feel a tightness in your chest.

“What if I never feel like myself again?”

Your voice is barely a whisper, but Leon hears you. He lifts his head and looks for your eyes, which seem completely lost.

“Then we’ll get through it together. It’s all fine.”

He wraps his arms around your body, pulling you gently against him.

You don’t say much for a while. Leon hums a song as he sways you from side to side, as if you were shyly dancing.

“God, I can’t believe that… you’re already 17 weeks,” he says after a while, pulling you away slightly. “That’s… almost halfway to meet our girl.”

“Don’t say it like that…” you reply, frowning a little.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s something important.”

Leon lets out a soft chuckle.

“Of course it’s important. We’re almost halfway to meeting our baby girl, love. That’s the best present we’re going to get in our lives.”

“Well, I feel like I’m still at the very beginning,” you admit, embarrassed.

Leon knows why: you’re exhausted from such a rough pregnancy. It wasn’t just the first-trimester nausea, how you could barely eat, and even how water made you want to throw up… It’s also been how hypersensitive you’ve been, and how you almost spent a whole month barely able to get out of bed.

“Sometimes I don’t even feel pregnant, just…” you say, trying to control those intrusive thoughts. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“You’re overwhelmed, love. But I’ve told you: it’s normal,” he repeats once again, hoping you’ll really believe his words this time. “It’s completely valid that you feel this way. And besides, if you’re bigger, it’s because there’s more of you, another part of you, I can love.”

That makes you laugh with those ones that you can’t stop for a while.

“Why do you have to be so cheesy?”

“I don’t see you complaining about a word I said,” he shoots back.

“But… you like it?” you dare to ask, hesitant, hoping he understands what you mean.

“Like what, love?”

“This,” you gesture to your baby bump, and then to your body. “That I look like a completely different person and much more f—”

“Don’t you dare say that word, please,” Leon cuts you off.

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from doing it, even though you really want to.

“I love it, really,” he says, hugging you again. “God, you have no idea how much I love seeing you like this, all pregnant, with that cute baby bump…”

“Leon.”

“I’m being completely serious,” he adds, his hands moving back to your belly, caressing it gently. “Our baby is right here. Fuck… you’re making a baby. It’s not just that I like how beautiful, how perfect, you look… it’s how much I admire you for being capable of creating our daughter.”

Your throat tightens.

You clear it nervously, intrusive thoughts creeping back in no matter how hard you try to focus only on your fiancé’s words.

“And what if it just gets worse?”

“How could it get worse, honey?”

“What if I get stretch marks everywhere? And my face changes even more than it already has and gets even worse... And what if I never lose the weight and I stay this ugly forever…” 

You force yourself to stop talking. You pull away from Leon, and he doesn’t resist. 

You feel your whole body trembling. 

“What if you stop loving me because of all this?”

Leon doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he takes your hand and leads you out of the bathroom. He knows that seeing your reflection, even just a bit of it, is hurting you, making you think awful things about yourself that aren’t true. 

He knows you don’t deserve to think that way of yourself.

Leon hates that you see yourself this way, and he does everything he can, every day, to change it even if some days, like today, are much harder.

But he’s not giving up.

You both head to your bedroom. Once there, he gently grabs you by the waist and lifts you up to make you lay on the bed even though he knows perfectly well you can do it yourself.

Then, he sits beside you, not able to take his eyes from you.

“Nothing you’ve said is going to make me love you any less, ever. And no, not how you look, alright?”

“But—”

“No. Listen to me.”

He cups your cheeks and gently strokes beneath your eyes, where he can still feel the dampness of the tears that fell, feeling them appearing again.

“If you gain more weight, I’ll still love you. If your body stays exactly as it is and never goes back to how it was, I’ll still love you too. I don’t care if you have stretch marks, if you need a c-section when the baby is born…” he rests his forehead against yours and sighs. “I loved you, I love you, and I’ll keep loving you, always, for who you are.”

“And what if I don’t love myself anymore?”

“Then I’ll love it for both of us until you’re strong enough to love yourself the way I love you.”

That breaks you completely.

You start crying uncontrollably. Somehow, at the same time, you start laughing, overwhelmed by all the emotions bubbling to the surface. You collapse against Leon, who wraps you tightly in his arms, one hand sliding to your baby bump, protective.

“It’s completely valid to miss your old self even while you’re excited about the new version of you that you’re becoming,” he murmurs into your hair. “One thing doesn’t invalid the other, okay?”

“Why do you have to be so good at comforting me…?”

“I’ve been doing it since we were 21,” he says with a smile. “We’re almost 28 now. I think I’ve had a few years of practice.”

You pull back just enough to lift your head and look at him.

“Do you promise you don’t think I’m… ugly? Even more horrible than before?”

“Love, if you’ll let me say something… you look so much better now. I don’t want to think I’m some kind of perv or that I’m too horny, but… you’re getting insanely attractive,” he admits, a little embarrassed. “With the way your tits are getting bigger… That’s really driving me crazy.”

“Leon!” you smack his chest. He smiles at realising you’re laughing.

“Okay, okay!” he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll just say that I’m already used to seeing you eat pickles with Nutella, butter, and ketchup at three in the morning, and I still think you’re the hottest girl on Earth.”

“I only made that combination once,” you protest.

“Sure… And what about that time you mixed cotton candy with mayonnaise? Or what about Coke with fries and sweetener? Not to mention the time you cried because you ran out of pickles to dip in Nutella,” he adds.

“Those were cravings! You should be the one getting pregnant and going through all this… then you’d understand cravings better.”

Leon smiles so widely that it makes you blush, feeling like you’re back on one of your first dates.

His other hand moves to your belly, and as he pulls back slightly, he lowers his head toward your bump.

“Leon, what are you—?”

“I’m admiring my fiancée. I’m not allowed to do that?”

He lifts your shirt just enough to leave your bump exposed. It’s hard for you not to pull it back down, but you start to relax the moment his hands begin to caress it and when presses a kiss on it.

“This little belly is doing more than mine ever will. If I get fatter, it’s just because I won’t stop eating and I stop going to the gym.”

You laugh, and he laughs when he hears you.

“I’m really, really grateful, and proud, to be going on this journey with you,” he adds.

“You’re going to make me cry again…”

“That’s not what I want, but if you need to…” he kisses your baby bump again, then looks up at you, lips tilting into a soft smile. “Do it. It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

You hold back the tears, exhausted from being so emotionally unstable.

“And listen to me…” Leon adds, sitting down. “You’re the most beautiful person in this room. And in the whole world. And baby bump is included.”

“Do you really mean that?” you ask, unsure.

“Of course.” He grabs your waist and kisses your neck, tickling you with the bit of stubble he has. “Do you even know how much in love I’m with you? Because now, knowing you’re carrying our baby… even more.”

Leon brings his hands back to your belly.

He doesn’t pull them away, quite the opposite.

It gets worse.

“Well… hello there, little one,” he says softly to your belly.

“Leon…”

He ignores you, completely focused on the baby bump and, as it seems, talking to the baby.

“It’s me, daddy,” he continues, his voice even softer now. You’d never, ever heard him speak to anyone like this, not even to you. “I know you weren’t expecting me to talk to you yet, even between you and I… I’ve been talking to you for a while now but, today… I think you might need a bit of calm after mommy got so nervous today.”

“For God’s sake, Leon…” you roll your eyes.

“You’ve already been here for 17 weeks. Mommy’s practically got you half cooked already,” he grins at your belly like an idiot. Then, he looks up at you. “Is that how you say it? That the baby is half cooked? I’ve heard people say that a lot when someone’s pregnant… especially dads,” he smiles even more as he says that last word.

“Oh my… Leon, you better don't start with those dad jokes already.”

“Oh, bold of you to assume I’m going to stop making them,” he taps your belly gently. “You’re probably already kicking mommy and moving around or… I don’t know, whatever you babies do,” he keeps going. “I just want you to know that mommy is being really brave making you even if she doesn’t think she is. So you better behave yourself with her, okay? She’s very strong, and she’s taking great care of you even before you’re born.”

“Leon, stop it…” you wipe your eyes. Even though you know he’s joking, you can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed.

Leon kisses your belly again and rests his head against it, trying to feel her.

“You’re already spoiling her…” you whisper, running your hand through Leon’s hair.

“Absolutely. She’s going to love us both, but don’t take it personally… she’s definitely going to be a girl dad.”

You know he didn’t mean to hurt you with that, but you can’t help it.

Those words are enough to make you overthink again.

“What if she hates me?”

Leon sits up immediately. He looks hurt, realizing his words affected you. Your eyes soften a little, and you know that means he’s apologizing without saying it out loud.

“She won’t. She’s going to love us both,” he repeats. “And even if she’s daddy’s girl… I know she’s going to love her mom more than me when you take to her to those cute little dates I bet you have in mind.”

“And what if I mess everything up with her?”

“All parents mess things up with their kids,” he says casually. “I’m going to mess up with her too, love.”

“And what if she has my nose?”

Leon raises an eyebrow at the sudden topic change.

“For fuck’s sake, love… as if that would be a tragedy.”

“Yes, it is,” you shoot back. “It’s crooked. And it’s ugly…”

“It’s perfect,” he corrects you.

“You’re way too in love with me…”

“I know, and I’m not going to stop reminding you until it finally sinks into that head of yours.”

You have no idea how many more minutes Leon keeps talking to your baby bump.

He tells her how you met and how you ended up where you are now, waiting for her to be born. He makes promises for when she’s born and she grows up, everything you’re going to do together as a family. He talks to her about how he already knows Chris is going to be the cool uncle who gives her beer at sixteen, and how Claire is going to give her a one of those toy motorcycles when she turns 1 and that’s going to give her mommy, you, a heart attack. 

You feel a mix of emotions building inside you.

You can’t help but feel even more grateful to have Leon by your side on this wild journey. 

After a while, your fiancé gets up. You don’t know where he’s going, but you don’t ask either. You see how he grabs the TV remote and turns it on, putting on one of your favorite shows on Netflix, and then leaves the room.

“I’ll be right back!” he calls out once he’s already gone.

“Leon, you don’t have to do anything!”

“I want to spoil my girls today!” he yells back, and you hear what sounds like the fridge opening.

A few minutes later, he comes back.

He’s carrying a small tray filled with crackers, fruit quickly cut, cheese, a little bowl with yogurt, your beloved jar of Nutella, pickles, and a few gummies.

You look back and forth between him and the tray as he places it on your lap.

“This is… too much.”

“As you deserve.”

“Leon, this is too much… It’s already nighttime.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve eaten all this, and much more, at night,” he fires back. “Come on, you have to rest. My little girl needs to treat herself today, and so do you.”

“If I eat all this I’m going to get even fatter,” you reply.

“Our little one needs to grow and, for that, she needs to have her belly full. And how does she do that? Having you eating.”

You stare at the tray, undecided.

You hate pregnancy hormones and everything they can make you feel in just a matter of minutes.

You watch how Leon takes one of the pickles, takes it toe the open jar of Nutella, and brings it to your mouth.

“Open.”

You don’t.

“Leon…”

“Open,” he repeats.

“Leon, I’m not hungry—”

Carefully, he presses the pickle covered in too much Nutella against your lips.

“Open for me, love…”

You give in, grumbling. 

You open your lips and he feeds you. Before you can even complain again, the taste floods your mouth, and you can’t help but let out a soft moan space your lips at how good that taste.

Leon smiles, satisfied, and gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

When you finish eating the pickle, he kisses you again. He takes you by the waist to pull you closer and deepen the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck to do the same, being careful not to move too much so the tray doesn’t fall.

“God, Leon…” you say softly when you pull apart. “You’re going to have to keep doing all this. I’m loving it.”

“Do you really think I’d mind?” He kisses your forehead, and once again one of his hands moves to your little bump. “You have no idea how much I love spoiling you...”

You settle carefully against the pillows. You grab a piece of strawberry and eat it, then take the little bowl of gummies and devour them eagerly.

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” you ask him with your mouth full when you notice he can’t stop looking at you.

“How insecure you are today and how much are you insulting yourself? No, definitely not,” he says with honesty. “But taking care of you? You have no idea how much I love it. Not because I have some kind of savior complex or anything… I just don’t want you to feel bad.”

“I meant you being all bossy about making me eat and all that,” you say, smiling mischievously at him. “Though, you being this soft… I can’t complain.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” he says with a laugh. “I think I’ve made enough horny comments for today. Let’s just stay like this tonight… and let me take care of you and the baby.”

You rest your head on Leon’s shoulder while he keeps stroking your belly.

You feel it.

You both do.

You look at each other the moment you realize the baby has kicked you.

“Great,” your fiancé says, smiling way too much and not holding back from kissing you. “See? Our baby girl seems to agree with me.”

“Fuck…”

You watch Leon drop the backpack he always carries to work onto the floor beside the entryway table, just like he always does. He runs a hand through his completely messy hair while setting down his keys, then quickly hanging up his jacket on the coat rack before turning his gaze toward the living room.

His eyes find you instantly, and a smile begins to appear on his lips.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says calmly, now taking off his shoes.

“You got home earlier than usual.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, walking over to you. “I finished earlier than expected. Thank God we’re working with the BSAA and have more people helping with investigations and paperwork, if not…”

Leon sits down on the sofa and wraps his arms around you, kissing your forehead and then your lips. You let out a quiet complaint of discomfort when he hugs you again, enough for him to immediately realize something’s wrong.

“You okay?” he asked worriedly, pulling back slightly.

That was enough for you to feel a knot begin forming in your throat and heat gather behind your eyes. You also feel tears threatening to spill, but you somehow manage to hold them back.

You try your best to pretend you’re fine, though Leon knows it was quite the opposite.

“You’ve had a hard day,” he states.

“I’m fine, Leon,” you lie, your voice cracking when you feel another stab of pain in your hip.

“Of course you are,” he cups your face with both hands and presses a short kiss to your lips. “Come here…”

Leon moves even closer, sliding one arm around your back until his right hand rests on your waist. The other one settles on your belly, gently stroking it protectively the way he’s so used to doing.

You feel the baby kick almost immediately, and you can’t help but look at your husband, who’s smiling even more now.

“Hey there, sweetheart…”

Leon leains in again, kissing your temple before taking your chin in his hand to make you look at him.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You sigh far too heavily for it to sound convincing you’re okay.

“I’m just tired, really. Just that.”

“Yeah, I know. But…”

“My feet hurt too,” you add, shifting uncomfortably when you feel the baby’s feet pressing hard against your side again. “And I feel huge. Soon you probably won’t even be able to hug me anymore.”

That makes Leon laugh softly under his breath before kissing your temple again.

“You’re huge indeed,” he says sweetly. “But I’ll still be able to hug you even if you get even bigger, so don’t you dare worry about that.”

You shoot him an unamused look.

“You’re huge because our daughter’s in there,” he quickly corrects himself.

Even though all you wanted to do was cry, a faint smile is what ends up appearing on your lips.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, now rubbing your belly with both hands. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You don’t know what to answer because, if you lie to him, he’d immediately know, but if you told him the truth…

Leon immediately raises an eyebrow, clearly knowing exactly what’s going through your mind.

“Love…” he insists.

“I’m not very hungry,” you quickly answer, sitting up a little.

“You need to eat. If not for yourself… at least think about baby girl.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know…”

You answer exhaustedly and way more sharply than you mean to, regretting it immediately.

God, the last trimester of pregnancy’s really driving you crazy. The days feel unbearably long, and you can’t wait for labor to finally start so all of this is finally over even though, of course, the newborn stage would probably even worse.

But, at least, you’ll have your little girl with you.

Leon sighs, clearly worried about you

“Alright. Then I guess tonight I’ll have to take extra care of you.”

“You always take care of me, Leon. Especially since—”

“I know. That’s my job as your husband,” he interrupts. “Besides, why do you think I said a extra care of you?”

Before you can even answer, Leon carefully stands up, making sure not to hurt or discomfort you, and positions himself in front of you, offering you both of his hands.

“Come on. Get up.”

You groan dramatically while he helps you stand on your feet. The moment you’re finally up, you feel even worse than you’ve been all day.

“Oh my God…” you mutter under your breath.

“Does it hurt more? Do you need to sit back down?”

“Just… Can you massage me a little, please.”

Leon immediately places his hands on the small of your back while you wrapped your arms around his waist. He rubs slow little circles with just enough pressure to ease the pain. Meanwhile, you can’t help but lean against his chest, closing your eyes and quietly moaning as you start to feel a little better.

“There you go, love. Feeling better?”

“A bit, yeah. But… keep going, please. I like being like this with you…”

You stay like that for a couple of minutes until the pain almost completely fades, but in its place, you start feeling overheated. You immediately pull away from your husband, already missing the contact you craved so badly during the whole day.

“Hot flashes?”

You nod at Leon’s question and, without an ounce of embarrassment, pull off the oversized shirt of his you’ve been wearing as a nightgown, leaving yourself in nothing but your underwear before heading straight to your bedroom and lying flat on your back on the bed.

Without even being able to control it, and feeling more and more overwhelmed, you start crying.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, sitting up. You don’t even know how to position yourself without feeling even more uncomfortable, which seems impossible.

“Hey, it’s okay…” Leon moves closer immediately, caressing your face once again. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh shakily while wiping away your tears. “Lately I feel like a complete fucking mess, and I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.”

“You’re pregnant. It’s normal.”

“I know, but I feel ugly, sensitive, tired all the time, useless… I can’t even do anything by myself at this point of the pregnancy, and it’s getting tiring…”

“Hey, calm down… Don’t say that…”

You try not to let Leon see you completely wrecked, overthinking everything, but it’s impossible because your husband’s doing everything he can to make you look at him.

“Hey, love, just listen to me… Do you really think you’re ugly?”

You look away again, embarrassed, and that alone’s enough to make Leon stare at you with hurt in his eyes, not knowing what else to do to make you feel better about yourself.

When he sees you turn over on the bed and face away from him, the only thing he can think to do is get up, walk over to you, and kneel between your legs, slowly sliding his hands along your thighs until they end up resting on your hips.

“Look at me,” he insists firmly, but softly.

This time, somehow, you end up obeying him.

“I need you to listen to me carefully,” you nod, wiping away your tears again. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Do you realize that, every time I look at you, all I can think about is how lucky I am to have such an incredible woman by my side?” his thumb brushes away the remaining tears. “Even exhausted, you’re beautiful because you’re giving everything you have so this little person,” he kissed your belly, “can grow. Do you know how proud I am of you and everything you’re doing?”

Leon stands up, sitting beside you, and kisses you.

The kiss lasts much longer than you first expected. When you finally pull apart to catch some air, you end up kissing again just a few seconds later, each of you wanting more of the other.

The pace and passion intensifies until Leon gently guides you onto your back and positions himself carefully above you, one of his hands caressing your belly while the other wanders across your body.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again. “God, you’re so beautiful, love.”

A soft moan escapes your lips when you feel his trailing along your neck, pressing a little harder on those spots Leon knows too well drive you crazy. At the same time, you feel the hand that’s resting on your stomach slowly and torturously moving lower until it hovers over your panties.

“Leon…”

You can’t stop yourself from trembling when you feel your husband begin to touch you over the fabric, his finger moving too slowly.

“Leon, please…”

You need more from him, and right now you don’t care the slightest about begging for it.

To your frustration, Leon breaks the contact when he feels your hand grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand beneath your underwear.

A desperate groan leaves your lips.

“Are you sure you want to…?” he asks a bit shyly, both arms braced beside you as he keeps looking at you. “I don’t want to…”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, desperate for him.

Leon slowly leans over you again and kisses you.

Your fingers slid automatically into his hair while your other hand moves beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles.

“Relax, love,” he kisses your lips before slipping your panties off with one hand. “You sure you’re comfortable with?”

“Yes.”

“Pretty sure?”

You nod, and while his right hand begins to touch you gently, his lips slowly travel along your jaw, your throat, every inch of your skin while he keeps whispering praises to you.

“God, you’re so beautiful…”

Gently, his thumb traces circles around your nipple, while at the same time you feel two of his fingers slowly penetrate you, curving just enough to reach your g-spot.

“Fuck, Leon, yes…” 

You can’t help but arch your back in response to the pleasure you’re feeling. Your legs tremble, forcing Leon to kneel in front of you, holding them as he begins to eat you out. His tongue teases your entrance first until you feel his lips sucking on your clit.

“Leon, please…”

“What do you want, love?” he asks, running the tip of his tongue quickly over your most sensitive spot again, then flattening it completely against you, licking you in long, winding strokes. “Do you need anything more than my mouth and my fingers? I told you I was going to take extra care of you tonight. You know I always keep my promises.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you beg, crying out at the end when you feel him slide his fingers back inside you, moving them faster.

“Don’t you like this? Do you really want more?” he insists. At any other time, you’d have played along, but today… he’s driving you way too crazy.

“Please, Leon…” you beg, biting your lower lip. 

Your husband pulls away from you and quickly strips off his t-shirt and boxers, starting to stroke his cock, already fully erect, and carefully positioning himself on top of you again.

He teases you a little longer, running the tip of his cock along your soaking wet pussy, until he decides he can’t control himself any longer and slowly slides inside you.

You both moan softly as Leon begins to thrust into you, slow but steady, but your voices start rising the moment your husband begins alternating between speed and depth, taking you completely by surprise every time he decides to change the rhythm.

“Leon! Oh my God!” you cry out, sobbing with pleasure.

“That’s it, love… You don’t know how much I love seeing you like this…”

Leon grabs your hips as he continues to fuck you and places one of the pillows under your lower back, slowing down to instead squeeze your ass tightly. You feel your pussy start to tighten around his cock as you feel that sensation you know so well building in your stomach.

Your husband slides a hand from your waist and brings it back to your clit, rubbing it quickly, making you feel even more shaken.

“Right there, Leon, yes…”

He licks his lips and a proud smile spreads across his face, slightly flushed.

“You want me to do something else?” he asks teasingly, fucking you harder now. “Want me to make you come already?”

You nod, your nails digging deep into his back as your moans go from being brief and soft to louder, screaming his name clearly.

“Come on, baby, let yourself go… I know you’re almost there… Come on…”

Those words and his fingers rubbing quickly against your clit, along with his thrusts, a little slower but much deeper, are enough to take you to the orgasm. 

You writhe beneath Leon as he keeps fucking you, now a little slower, until he finally cums shortly after.

“Oh my God, Leon…” you murmur as he pulls out of you, heading straight to the bathroom and returning with a towel. He starts wiping you down carefully despite hearing you protest. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m incapacitated, you know?”

“Of course I know,” he replies, planting kisses from your knee down to the inside of your thigh. You sigh, feeling aroused again but too tired to do anything about it. “But remember what I told you, that tonight—”

“You were going to take extra care of me, yeah,” you finish his sentence. He smiles, and you can’t help but smile back, stealing a quick kiss from him.

When Leon finishes, he lies down next to you, wrapping his arm around you as you snuggle against his bare chest, tracing patterns with your finger as the day’s exhaustion takes over you.

“Feeling better?” your husband whispers against your hair before kissing it.

“Much better. Maybe it’s true what they say about sex in the third trimester helping with the pain…”

“They also say it helps with labor,” Leon adds. “So now you know what we’ll have to do when you’ve only got a few weeks left…”

You stay quiet for a while, exchanging occasional kisses while shifting around beneath the blankets, cuddling closer to each other.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Leon asks, lifting himself slightly without letting go of you.

“I know,” you answer, even though your mind’s trying to convince you otherwise.

“I really mean it, love. I don’t want you overthinking anymore,” he kisses your forehead. “You and the baby are my entire world.”

You curl up even closer against his chest, wrapping your arms around him as if he might disappear at any moment.

“Sometimes… I worry,” you admit. “Lately I’ve been really sensitive, and I know I’m difficult because of all these mood swings. I also know I should control myself more, and I really do, but I don’t know what’s wrong with me that—”

Leon pulls back slightly to look directly at you. You immediately stop talking, embarrassed with yourself.

Your damn mind again.

“Sweetheart, I told you already: you’re creating a person inside of you,” he says gently. Then, for what feels like the hundredth time that day, he kisses your forehead again. “You’re exhausted, and that’s completely normal.”

“It hurts so much,” he kisses your cheek. Then, he places another one near the corner of your lips. “I’m really sensitive, and my head’s a mess.”

He kisses you on the lips, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you.

“If you only knew how much I love taking care of you…” Leon whispers when you finally pull away from him, stealing another short kiss from your lips.

“And if you knew how safe you make me feel…”

He pulls you even closer, his hand moving over your belly while he buries his face in your hair, against your neck, leaving soft little kisses that now tickle slightly with his beard.

“Sometimes it scares me how much I love both of you.”

You feel him disappear beneath the blankets, only for him to press a kiss to your stomach.

“Do you think she’ll have your eyes?” you ask sleepily, snuggling against him when he settles beside you again.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’d rather she had yours. They’re much prettier than mine.”

You laugh, though it quickly turns into a yawn.

“Come on now. Time to sleep and rest. You’ve both had quite a day…”

Leon adjusts the blanket exactly the way you like it and leaves a trail of kisses all over your face before lying down and curling up beside you.

“Get some sleep, mama,” you nod faintly, snuggling even closer against Leon. “If you need anything, you know I’m here.”

“Even if I want you to fuck me rough at 3 A.M.?” you ask drowsily, a small and playful smile forming on your lips.

“I’ll be here for whatever you need, love,” another kiss press to your forehead. “Take advantage of these six weeks to rest before the baby gets here.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Feedback, as well as comments and/or reblogs, are very much appreciated! My inbox is also open in case you want to make a request or talk to me! 💖

Crossing your arms, you approach the window. His helmet is lifted, and he grins cheekily at you, one arm stretched upward to hold the tape he's hanging down on. His lips start moving, but you can barely hear a word through the thick pane. You lean forward, cupping your ear. He pouts and taps the window, pointing upward.

You shrug, pretending you don’t get what he wants. He rolls his eyes dramatically, then lifts his phone and swipes his thumb over the screen. Seconds later, another text pops up.

🧻 Cellophane Let me in. Please? 🥺

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you stare at the screen. You make him wait—just a little—fighting the twitch in your lips threatening to give away your amusement.

👾 Me Why should I?

You glance up just in time to see him reading the text. His eyebrows draw together, lips pressing into a mock frown.

🧻 Cellophane Because I brought you a gift. ...But if you don’t want it~

You roll your eyes, but your curiosity wins. With a dramatic sigh, you unlatch the window and lean forward. “What gift?”

"Who said I had a gift?" he grins, kicking off the wall and swinging effortlessly through the window. You shuffle back as he lands with a soft thud, boots hitting your floor.

You gape at him, betrayed, as you raise your phone like it’s damning evidence. "You said you had a gift! That’s textual proof, Sero. Liar."

He just laughs, turning around to slide your window shut behind him. "Relax, pollita. I’m just teasing."

You blink at the nickname but let it slide as he removes his helmet, running a hand through his hair. It’s damp with sweat, strands sticking slightly to his forehead—clearly from patrol. You watch him without meaning to, eyes drifting from the curve of his jaw down to where his collarbone dips beneath his suit. Spandex really doesn’t breathe, you think absently.

His voice cuts through your thoughts. "See something you like?"

You jolt, heart stuttering as you snap your eyes back to his. "Looking for my gift, Mr. Liar."

"In due time," he says, strolling further into your living room like he owns the place. He drops onto your couch with a heavy sigh, boots propped up on the coffee table. If it were anyone else, you’d have smacked them and raised hell—but this was Hanta.

You two had been best friends for years now—crashing at each other's places, pulling late-night patrols, getting way too comfortable in each other's space. Seeing him make himself at home like that wasn’t unusual. It felt... natural.

You step over his legs and settle beside him. "How was patrol?" you ask.

He lets his head fall back against the cushions with a groan. "Exhausting, but fun. I got paired with Denks today—haven’t seen him in a while."

"Denki? That’s shocking."

Hanta’s lips twitch into a smirk. "Wow. Even I felt that one."

You grin. "I’ve been hanging out with you too long."

He stretches his arms behind his head, muscles flexing lazily under the fabric of his suit. "Apparently his agency’s been short on heroes. Since we’ve got history, they asked me to lend a hand. I didn’t mind."

You nod along, but his voice starts to fade as your eyes drift—again.

Seriously, did his suit have to be that tight? It clung to every line of his body like it was tailored for thirst traps, outlining the lean muscle he'd built over time. Back in school, Hanta had been lanky, all limbs and grins. But now? Somewhere along the way, he’d filled out. Toned. Broad-shouldered. Strong.

You blame the increased hero work. After all, you both had been busier since going pro. But this level of glow-up? It wasn’t just functional—it was criminal.

"And then he ate the trash," Hanta says, completely deadpan. "I was seriously impressed."

You blink. "Wait—what?"

He chuckles, catching you red-handed. One brow arches playfully. "Knew you weren’t listening. Where do you keep disappearing to, huh?"

"N-Nowhere," you stammer, clearing your throat and willing the heat in your cheeks to chill out. "I keep wondering when you’re gonna give me this so-called mystery gift."

You try to play it off, casual and breezy, but the question bubbles beneath the surface: What is wrong with me tonight? You've seen him in that suit a hundred times. Crashed on this couch with him dozens more. So why now—why tonight—does it feel different?

You shift slightly, as if the movement will dislodge the spiraling thoughts.

Get a grip.

Hanta finally relents and stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his thighs. "Alright, alright. I’ll get your gift out. It’s, uh... kinda tucked away."

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "What do you mean tucked away?"

He doesn’t answer. Just shoots you a mischievous grin as his hands reach up—fingers catching on the zipper at the back of his suit. You freeze.

"Hanta—wait—what the hell are you doing?" you squeak, whipping your head to the side the second he starts peeling the suit down his shoulders.

"What?" he says, all mock innocence. "I’m getting your gift. You’ve been impatient all night."

You groan into your hands. "Do you seriously have to strip to do it?"

"It’s not like this thing has pockets," he shoots back, the smugness radiating off him. You can hear the fabric rustling and it makes your heart pound. How much of it has he taken off? You don’t dare look. Nope. No. Absolutely not.

This is Hanta. Your best friend. Your ride-or-die. You have literally eaten instant noodles on this very couch while he snored like a chainsaw.

So why the hell does your brain suddenly want to short-circuit?

You really need to get laid, you think, mildly horrified at yourself. It’s been too long. Clearly. Way too long if you’re about to start thirsting over—

"Alright, got it," Hanta says, voice casual.

You let out a breath and turn around.

Your heart stops.

Instead of zipping back up, Hanta is just standing there—in the middle of your living room—with his suit bunched around his hips. Dangerously low on his hips.

"Tada!" he announces cheerfully, holding out a thin packet like he's not casually half-naked in your apartment. You don't move. You brain has completely frozen over. When you continue to stare, he wiggles it in front of your face. "Hello? You want it or not?"

"Yes," you blurt out—way too quickly. you don't even want to think about what you're answering yes to.

You snatch the packet with a shaky hand, eyes laser-focused on it like it's the holy grail. Anything to not look at the man with no shame.

Thankfully, the distraction words. you blink down at the gift, curiosity slowly overriding your panic. the packet is light, paper-thin, and rattles faintly when you shake it.

"What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

You lift the tab and peek inside. When you don’t immediately see anything, you tip the packet upside down into your palm, giving it a couple of gentle shakes.

Something small drops into your hand—metal clinking softly against your skin. You blink. It’s a keychain. Not just any keychain. A limited edition keychain… of your favorite pro hero.

Your eyes fly wide. "Oh my god!!"

You’re on your feet without even realizing it, the empty packet fluttering to the floor as you cradle the keychain in both hands like it’s fragile. "Where did you find this?"

Not only had it sold out the day of release, but production had stopped months ago. You’d scoured every corner of the internet, but anyone willing to part with it was asking a price way out of reach—even for something you loved this much.

“I have my ways,” Hanta says, wearing that trademark smug smile.

You shake your head, grinning. You don’t care how he got it. All that matters is that it’s yours now.

“Thank you so much!” you gush, surging forward and throwing your arms around his shoulders.

The move catches him off guard—you feel his body stiffen just slightly—but he recovers fast, arms wrapping instinctively around your waist as he pulls you in closer without hesitation.

“Glad you like it, querida.”

You giggle, warmth blooming in your chest as you rest against him. For a moment, all you feel is happiness—the kind that glows soft and golden. You’re still clutching the keychain in one hand when a sudden realization crashes into you like a freight train.

The Hanta you're hugging is the same Hanta who had nothing covering his torso. His very bare torso. The very bare torso that is now pressed firm against you.

You freeze. "Um," you breathe out, voice tight, almost laughing to mask the nerves as you try to step back. "Hanta—?"

But his arms tighten just a little around your waist, grounding you. Holding you there.

You barely have time to process the way his grip lingers before you feel it—his breath. Warm. Soft. Ghosting along the curve of your neck. It sends a chill right down your spine.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, voice low, almost a whisper.

"Okay." You lean back into the hug, letting your eyes fall shut for just a second, your body relaxing into his warmth.

"When I saw the keychain," he says, chin settling on your shoulder, "I thought of you instantly. Got lucky too—the guy who had it turned out to be a villain we picked up on patrol."

You huff a soft laugh, shaking your head. "You’re kidding."

"I wish. Denki and I found it in his stash. Would you be upset if I told you I had to fight Denki for it?"

"Fight him?"

"Well... more like rock, paper, scissors for it. But it was still a battle for the ages. I almost lost."

You laugh, but when you try to pull back again, his arms don’t budge. His hold is firm, gentle, but possessive in a way that sends static to the base of your spine. You don’t know where to put your hands anymore. Or your thoughts. Every muscle in you seems to remember that you’re pressed against him—skin to skin, practically. His chest is solid and warm, and you can feel the way it rises and falls with each breath.

You’re warm. A little too warm. And it’s not just from embarrassment.

Then, his voice drops a little.

"Would it creep you out," he says slowly, "if I told you that as soon as I had that keychain, I had to come give it to you? Needed to?"

Your heart skips. He finally pulls back, just enough to look at you—really look at you. His smile is soft, but there’s something deeper in it. Something that catches in your throat.

"No," you say quietly. "Why would that creep me out?"

His smile grows, just a little lopsided. "Because I only brought it so I could see that cute smile of yours."

Your breath hitches. "W-What?"

You take a step back, finally out of his embrace, needing space to breathe—but now you miss the warmth immediately. And the way he’s looking at you? It’s like he already knows.

He steps closer as you take a step back. "Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, mi cielo." You raise an eyebrow, and he presses on, "The extra attention? The increased hangouts?" You shake your head.

"Nothing’s been different than usual?"

"No?" Suddenly, your back hits the wall. He takes one more step forward and stops. "Because I’ve noticed. Noticed how your breath catches when I get too close, how your eyes drift away when you think I’m not looking, how your cheeks flush red whenever I’m near." To prove his point, he leans in, lowering his face closer to yours. Your cheeks instantly heat up, blooming a bright red. "See?"

"I—I don’t know what you mean."

Hanta shakes his head slowly. "I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean." His arms lift, hands coming to rest on the wall just beside your head, effectively caging you in. You fight the urge to stare at the flexed muscles of his forearms, the veins standing out sharply beneath his skin. Your mouth waters and you swallow loudly.

His smirk softens just slightly as he watches you wrestle with yourself, his voice dropping into something low and sure. "I've been patient. Been waiting. Giving you time. Figured maybe you just weren't ready yet. But the way you look at me sometimes?" He tilts his head, eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous. You blink up at him, throat dry. "Hanta..." He leans in, nose almost brushing yours. "Just say the word, and I'll back off. Say you don't feel the same way, and I'll go back to being your annoying best friend." There's a pause. You could laugh. You could dodge. You could tease him back like always. But instead, you do the one thing that feels completely terrifying and completely right at the same time. You whisper, barely audible, "And if I feel the same way?" His hands lifts, knuckles brushing your cheek so gently it sends sparks down your spine. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting," he breathes. "Can I kiss you?" Your heart thunders in your chest. But your answer's already formed on your lips. "Yes."

In a flash, his lips are on yours—urgent, hungry, like he’s been holding back for far too long. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape. His hands grip your waist with purpose, dragging you in until your bodies are flush.

You tilt your head, chasing more, and he groans into your mouth, the sound low and strained.

"Fuck," he breathes out as he pulls back for just a moment—only a heartbeat—before crashing back in like he never left. His teeth catch your bottom lip, and you gasp again, lips parting for him without hesitation.

He doesn’t waste a second. His tongue slides in, claiming you with a heat that makes your knees weak. He doesn’t ask—he takes—and you let him, melting against him as your moan echoes into the space between you.

"C'mere," he murmurs, voice rough with want, hands sliding to the back of your thighs. Before you can react, he lifts you with ease, drawing a surprised squeak from you as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

He grins up at you—cocky, warm, wanting—and carries you to your room like he’s done it a hundred times in his head. When he reaches the bed, he tosses you down gently but with intent. You bounce once, maybe twice, breath caught in your throat, heart pounding in your chest.

Then he’s on you, crawling over your body with purpose, capturing your lips again in a kiss that leaves no room for second guesses. His mouth trails from yours to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, where he lingers. He suckles just below your ear, pulling a breathy moan from your lips as your head tilts back for him.

"Fuck," he exhales, pulling back just enough to look at you.—hair a mess across the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and parted. "Look at you."

He sits back on his haunches, dark eyes drinking you in like a man starved. His hands trail a slow, deliberate path down your sides, stopping to squeeze the flesh of your thighs as his thumbs rub soothing, tempting circles against your skin.

"I've dreamt of you," he confesses, voice husky. "Nearly every night." His words send a tremble rippling through your body. "Dreamt of the way you'd look beneath me... the way you'd sound when I touched you. Dreamt of holding you close until you melted in my arms."

Your breath hitches, pulse fluttering in your neck. The heat in his eyes is enough to set you alight, and the gentle way his hands roam is in direct contrast to the intensity behind his gaze.

"Hanta..." you breathe out, your voice fragile with emotion—equal parts overwhelmed and wanting.

He leans down, pressing his forehead gently to yours, his breath warm and steady. "Say the word, princesa,” he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing. “Just one word, and I’m all yours."

Your heart twists, aching in the best way—because even now, with all the heat between you, he waits. For you. You nod without thinking, but he gives a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Nuh-uh," he says softly, his lips brushing yours. "I wanna hear you say it, pretty thing."

You swallow, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Yes… please."

The smile he gives you then is slow, wicked, and impossibly tender.

"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise rolling off his tongue like velvet, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

Then he’s kissing you again—slower this time, deeper. Less like he’s claiming and more like he’s savoring. His hands roam more boldly now, skimming up under your shirt, fingertips tracing the dips and curves of your skin like he’s committing every inch to memory.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he says between kisses. "Wanted you."

Your fingers grip at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him like he's the only solid thing in the room. "Why didn’t you say something?" you whisper, dazed.

He pauses, forehead resting against yours again. "Because I didn’t want to risk losing what we already had… but tonight, when you looked at me like that—I had to try."

His honesty leaves you breathless, vulnerable in the best kind of way. You run your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he grins against your skin as he kisses a trail down your collarbone.

"Then don’t hold back," you murmur, voice low.

___ ok, I'm pausing there cause 1) it's 6:30AM and I still haven't slept and 2) I don't have much experience writing smut BUT I'm gonna try to write the next part which will be the smut scene So if you made it this far, thank you for reading. I'm so sorry to cliffhang you but once I'm well rested I shall return to finish this.

how he likes his coffee made, black, no sugar. how you can notice if anything was wrong with him, if he tried to hide it from you, having to hear you scold him each time, or if you noticed he had no lunch—you were the one who kept him together behind closed doors.

many, assumed you’re his wife, because of how close you two grew over the years of working together, but you always shut the rumors down before they can even bloom. you told yourself—it’s only a work relationship, nothing more would spark from it. except…the way he looks at you tells the media a different story. it wasn’t like any other look he gives the rest of his employees, it wasn’t that fiery glare, that meant business behind it. it was more. 

the kind of look that made you gain goosebumps, making your pulse jump, heart beat increasing. sometimes you could feel his stare piercing through you when you told him his weekly schedule, or the way he sneaked glances when you were at your desk, and you always pretended you didn’t notice. but God how your fingers would tremble, heart racing 10x faster each time. and when you would look up, he’d already be gone. you told yourself, maybe he’s just zoning out? 

then you caught him. 

it was after a fight with a villain he’s been tracking down for months. you were afar, speaking with police, gaining reports, when you felt his eyes, that same look. you couldn’t help but sneak a glance, crimson eyes already on you. they were dark, his usual scowl plastered on his face, eyeliner smudged across his eyes due to sweat, his mask pushing his hair back—when you two made eye contact, you felt your heart jump out of your chest, breath hitching, before he turned back to the new reporter. every time…every time your heart always betrays you when you say, it’s nothing more—but was that really true?

the night in the office was quiet, too quiet as you were sat at your desk, fingers typing away at your computer finishing up one of his reports. everyone else had gone home, hours ago, but you decided to stay back, wanting to get this reports filled out. when the door opened and closed, heavy footsteps echoing through the office, he noticed the computer screen on, raising a brow, stopping at your desk. “why’re you still here?” he asked, voice rougher, huskier than usual.

you flinched at the sound of voice looking up, it looked like he just got done from a fight. his eyeliner was smudged, his chest rising and falling, rapidly, his mask pushing his hair out his face, as sweat dripped from his forehead. you couldn’t bypass how attractive he looked, swallowing hard. “you look like crap.” you softly smiled, the only thing you could spit out, snorting, placing his gauntlets near your desk. “gee, thanks. exactly what I wanted to hear, after chasing a psycho for the past hour.” you rolled your eyes, going back to typing on the computer. “I just…wanted to finish your reports, so I decided to stay back.” you answered, voice warm, soft, pulse thumping against your skin. 

the smell of smoke, metal, and gunpowder was overwhelming, trying so hard to keep your composer. he gave a lazy grin, “y’know, you always stay here late, doin’ my dirty work.” he murmured, grabbing his gauntlet from the floor, walking towards his office. you stopped typing for a second, turning around in your chair, raising a brow. “it’s my job, isn’t it?” you questioned, stopping mid-step, glancing over his shoulder, crimson eyes baring into yours. “yeah…it is.” he said slowly, then there was a pause. you swallowed that lump in your throat, finger gripping the edge of your desk. “then why say it like it’s not?”

bakugo chuckled under his breath, turning back around. “cause’ i notice everything you do, the hard work you put in everyday. you’re not forced to stay here late—every damn night at that, but you do it anyways. I appreciate your work, y/n.” was the last thing he said before entering his office, shutting the door closed. your breath caught, heart skipping a beat. you’ve never expected to hear him say words like that. it wasn’t a direct ‘thank you’ but…it was his way of saying it. you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging to your lips. he appreciates you. 

you exhaled, trying shake it off, but you couldn’t. his words clung heavy to your chest, they were warm, soft. he appreciates me. your eyes flickered back up to his office, the glass windows were tinted, but it wasn’t enough to hide the faint outline of him shrugging off his costume—your eyes widened, you shouldnt be looking at him!! he’s your boss for crying out loud!…but the way his back flexed under the compression shirt, his movements, slow and deliberate—you couldn’t help but stare.

then he looked up. eyes straight on you. though the window was tinted, barley showing his face, you could still feel that same stare he’s been giving you all month. you squeaked out of surprise, tearing your eyes away, swallowing hard, feeling hot, going back to typing on the computer, but the tremble of your fingers made it hard to. then you heard the door open. you practically flinched at the sound. “you should…go home.” his voice spoke, low, husky. you looked up to the sound of his voice, to see him standing in the doorway. one arm leaning against the frame, messy hair, costume off, leaving him in the black compression shirt that hugged his body so fucking well. 

and that stare. his eyes were darker than usual, low lidded, glaring at you in a way that made your knees go weak. bedroom eyes. something mina once said, when she caught bakugo looking at you during an agency dinner. you didn’t believe her at first—until now. the way his eyes were heavy, saying many things, he didn’t admit out loud. your throat went dry, blinking, looking down, avoiding his stare, clearing your throat.”

“and you should rest, you’ve had a long day...dynamight.” he hummed, footsteps coming closer, heavier than before. “can’t.” he said dry and simple, you looked back up, “why not?” he leaned against your desk, close enough to feel warmth radiating off his body. “cause’ someones still here, tappin away like a damn robot.” 

your lips twitched, a small snort escaping your throat. “you mean someone who’s keeping your career from vanishing?” he chuckled, tearing his eyes away for a second, looking at you again. “yeah, that too I guess.” the air shifted between you both, the same thumping in your pulse increased, practically hearing your own heart beat against your chest. 

you could see his gaze faintly drop to your lips, then back to your eyes, gulping. “dynamight—“ you started, shifting in your chair, but he cut you off, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, feeling the faint heat in his palms. “you don’t get it.”

“what?” your breath caught, but he frowned, fingertips trailing across your jaw, “can’t even look at you without forgetten’ what the hell I was doin’.” your words caught, a nervous chuckle escaping your throat. “…you’re tired.” you whispered, almost weakly. “maybe.” he murmured, his eyes flickering, then he laughed softly, taking his hand off your face, running it through his hair, standing back up. “go home, and I mean it.” he said, walking back to his office, waving a hand. you stayed quiet. once you heard the door shut, you let out a big breath, placing a hand on your heart,

since that night, you haven’t seen him in two days, two nights. after that night, the silence felt heavier, thicker than before, his office was empty, cold, without his usual warmth, patrol reports still stacking on your desk—but even then. you didn’t text, didn’t call, you convinced yourself he was fine, he could handle himself, he always did, this was a normal thing that happened. but deep down, you still worried for him. wondering if he’s still alive, if he’s hurt. you tried not to think too much of it, trying to not think about the worse outcome to happen, and…and that night. you couldn’t get that moment out of your head, his eyes—God those eyes, his voice, his finger brushing against your cheek, your jaw. it was haunting you.

you tried to focus on typing the recent report that happened, your hair was messy, shirt slightly unbuttoned, trying to get this done, but it kept coming back. you couldn’t get him out of your head if you tried to—then the sound heavy foots, and a loud door slamming open made your ears perk up. the sharp smell of familiar smoke— gunpowder went up your nose. your heart skipped a beat. dynamight was there, standing in the doorway, chest heaving, mask hanging loose around his neck, eyeliner smudged again, his lip bleeding, and one of his sleeves from his costume torn clean off. 

he looked tired, furious—when he noticed you, he looked you up and down, scoffing. “you’re here again, huh?”  he said, voice low, rough. you blinked, standing up from your desk, ignoring his words. “you’re hurt..” you said, stepping towards him without thinking. he shook his head, wiping his mouth, turning to walk to his office. “i’ll be fine.” you frowned, following him, heels clicking against the floor. 

“is that all you say, after disappearing for two days?” he kept walking, you kept following, he pushed the door open to his office, dropping his gauntlets on the floor, not caring where they were, grumbling. “you keepin’ tabs on me now?” his back was still turned towards you, seeing his shoulder rise and fall, placing a hand on your hip, scoffing. “when my boss comes back looking like he flew through two buildings, yeah, i’m gonna check if he’s alive.” 

he halfed laughed, looking over his shoulders now—that look was back. “still mouthy, huh?” you furrowed your eyebrows, fists clenched together. “well someone has to be.” he turned his body to face you now and you swore for a moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. you could’ve swore, his eyes were darker this time, as his footsteps came closer, backing you up a little, gulping feeling your back hit the wall. 

but it didn’t seem like he cared, “you shouldn’t be here this late.” he said again, voice dropping, “…you said that the last time.” you whispered, eyes flickering between his eyes and lips. his jaw flexed, hands placing on the side of your head, feeling heat radiate off his palms. 

“katsuki.” your breath hitched, the distance around you, closing, fast. his name slipping out, made his pulse jump, leaning in. “say it again. my name..” he whispered, you swallowed, hands gripping your skirt. “you’re hurt, you need—“ he leaned closer, lips barley grazing each other, “stop worryin’ about me for a second, huh? I’m fine.” you could see every mark on his face now, the cut on his lip, faint marks of ash on his neck, hair messy, covering his eyes, you sighed, eyes going soft. “you scare me when you just…leave like that, and come back hurt.” his head tilted, eyes softening you didn’t know that could happen. “…sorry.” the words hung out low, loosely between you both.

“katsuki—“ then…his lips met yours. you squeaked, eyes going wide, feeling like your heart was going to jump out of your chest. the kiss was rough, desperate, like he’s been waiting for this moment, but even so—you have too, letting your eyes slowly fall closed, both hands on his cheek. he growled, feeling you nip at his bottom lip, clenching his hands into fist, fighting the urge to grab you, hands still hot, not wanting to burn you. 

he pulled back, kissing along your jaw, then towards your ear, whispering, like he was out of breath. “wrap yours hands around my neck.” you obeyed, “jump, and wrap your legs around me.” you did, you held on with a tight grip, gasping feeling him walk towards his desk, placing you on top of it, taking your lips back with his.

your hands tangled with his hair, moaning softly against his mouth, tugging on it. “you drive me fucking crazy..” he growled, pulling back, eyes glaring into yours, giggling, wiping a thumb across his bottom lip, tilting your head. “do I?” you teased, your legs pulling him closer. “you know damn well you do.” he scoffed, taking your lips again, giggling again, dragging him down as your back hit the desk. 

katsuki grumbled into your mouth, eyebrows furrowed, feeling his pants start to tighten. he hadn’t realized he was practically humping you like dog, his cock twitching in irritation, smirking. “you’re hard, huh?” you pointed out, pulling back just enough to see his eyes glare into yours, scoffing. “no shit.” he mumbles trailing his hands towards your dress shirt, unbuttoning it. you shivered feeling the warmth still lingering on his palms, arching your back slightly, giving him more room to tug it off. 

when he pulled back to take a look at you, his eyes darkened. they were hungry. needy, staring you down like you were his prey, lingering over your body. you were wearing a lacy bra, and from your skirt being slightly lifted he noticed you had the matching bottoms to it. he scoffed. you grinned, sitting up on the desk, placing one hand on his chest, the other trailing up his arm, tilting your head. “wearing that shit to work? you’re real fuckin’ bold.” you giggled shrugging. “I wanted to feel pretty today.” he clicked his tongue, cocking an eyebrow. “and you also stink.” your nostrils flared, rolling his eyes. “shut it.” he grumbled, wrapping your legs around his waist, lifting you back up. you flinched at the warmth of his palms, still hot, but it wasn’t enough to burn you.

he walked across the room, towards the showers. you didn’t get a chance to even take off your clothes before he turned on the water, wetting both you and him. “katsuki! my clothes—!” he cut you off, placing his lips back on top of yours, pinning you against the wall, shivering from the stone hitting your bare back. you melted instantly, tilting your head, deepening the kiss. katsuki growled feeling you tug at his hair, gripping the back of his neck, fighting him for dominance. he held you up with one hand, using the other to tug off his pants. you felt his tip graze against your panties, pulling back out of shock, looking down. he was big. 

he saw the way your eyes widened a bit, snickering. “scared?” he mocked, looking back up, frowning, shaking your head. “no.” but the way your voice wavered just a bit made him assume otherwise. “we don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.” his voice came out rough, like a soft whisper, gripping you tighter against him. your heart thumped against your chest in awe, laughing shyly. “I do want to…it’s just…” you trailed, biting your lip, too embarrassed to say it. katsuki cocked an eyebrow, but he knew, eyes softening. 

“virgin?” you immediately hid your face in the crook of his neck, in embarrassment, mumbling. “…yeah.” you’ve kissed people before, made out with them, gave hickey’s—but you’ve never went further than that. katsuki scoffed, but there was gentleness behind it. “there’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about, dumbass.” he said, but sighed. “…are you sure, you want it to be me.” you lifted your head back up to look into his eyes. they were so soft, filled with concern, unsure.

you gave a comforting smile, nodding your head. “I’m sure..I want—I want it to be you.” you breathed out, nervously, watching katsuki’s eyes trail down. his cock was pulsing, twitching, pre cum already dripping from the tip. he didn’t know why…but the thought of taking your virginity turned him on more. he grunted taking his cock into his hand, starting with slow strokes, tilting his head back up. “pull…your panties to the side.” he muttered, voice dropping. you bit your lip, nodding your head, obeying, shivering when you felt cold air, hit your folds, gasping when he rubbed his tip against you. 

it felt weird…but so good. you twitched in his hold, head falling to his shoulder already becoming a moaning mess. he rubbed his tip against your pussy, slow, and gentle, his grunts deep and needy, wanting to just slide into you already. “shit—didn’t even slide into you yet, and you’re already so wet.” your legs tightened around his waist, feeling him move to your pulsing hole. your pulse was thumping, anxiety building up. he felt you start to tremble out of fear, making him pause. “you’re trembling—“ he frowned, but you shook your head, nails grazing his back. “m’fine! just..,push it in.” your voice came out rougher than you meant it to be, katsuki still hesitated but, pushed the tip in slow. your eyes widened, toes curling every inch he pushed inside you. “f-fuck!” you cried out, tears instantly swelling up. 

katsuki groaned softly, feeling how tight and warm you were, pushing more into you. you trembled violently against his hold, biting your lip so hard you tasted copper in your mouth, tears falling on his shoulder. “i-is it in?” you asked weakly, against his shoulder. he hummed, nodding his head. “yeah.” you felt so full…you lifted your head to look into his eyes, yours watery, low lidded, like you were in a daze. “you’re so…big.” you whined, twitching against him. katsuki chuckled, using a hand to move a strand of hair out your face. “I’m gonna start movin’ ya, okay? relax f’me.” you said a small “okay.” relaxing your body just a bit—until it tensed right back up again, feeling a weird, painful sensation as he lifted you up and back down. you felt like you were out of breath, eyes squeezing closed, everytime he lifted you back down, you felt your tummy twist. 

he hissed under his breath feeling your nails dig deep in his shoulder, tears falling against your cheek. “i-it hurts..” you managed out, tears continuing to fall. katsuki hummed, grunting, feeling you hug his cock just right. “I know baby, it gets better.” he huffed out continuing to lift your hips up and down his cock. it only took a few more thrusts before the pain started to ease, turning into pleasure, getting used to his size each second. your moans began to spiral, getting needier, rolling your hips wanting more friction. “go…faster, please kat. I-I can take it.” you begged, lips finding his neck, licking, sucking, against his skin, feeling you bite at his neck like a damn vampire, bouncing you faster. 

every thrust he did, your body jolted up. the sounds you were making was pushing him over edge, the way you were getting louder, feeling him hit a sweet spot that drove you insane. “r-right there!” you panted, it felt so good. once he found your g spot you swore he went deeper on purpose, smirking, loving the way you clawed at him . “that feels good?” you nodded, whining in response. all the pain, nervousness washed over almost immediately. he leaned down to peck your shoulder blade, towards your neck, up to your jaw, his canines grazing against your skin just slightly. 

“you’re stil so fuckin’ tight..” he murmured, pulling back enough to look into your eyes. you looked cock drunk already. mouth parted just slightly, eyes half lidded, teary— you looked so fucking cute. thrusts after thrusts, you started to feel a weird tingle in your tummy. like you were going to pee—it was coming fast. your eyes widened, not liking that. “w-wait—!” you panicked, feeling it start to come. “I-I feel like i’m gonna—“ 

“pee?” he finished, keeping the same pace. you nodded quickly, wanting him to stop, but he snorted. “you’re not gonna pee. you’re hitting your first orgasm.” he pecked your jaw, closing his eyes shut, also feeling his knot come. “you’re fine, just—fuck, let it happen.” his voice dropped, moving your hips faster, sliding you all the way down his cock. 

your moans got louder, echoing through the shower, toes curling, feeling it come. “there you fuckin’ go…cum on this cock.” he growled, feeling you shake around him, “kat!” you screamed, jolting and twitching feeling a warm ooze spill down your thigh, onto his cock, your head falling on his shoulder as you came. “there you go.” he mumbled, rolling your hips letting you ride it out, whining when you felt how sensitive you got.

when he slipped out of you, groaning softly, he held you close to his chest, panting, heavy, chest heaving up and down, unwrapping your legs from his waist. you whined, feeling your feet hit the wet pavement, legs feeling like jelly holding onto him. when you looked down, your skirt was soaked from the water, and white drip down your legs. you grunted softly, at the icky feeling, then your gaze flickered towards his cock. he was still hard. you looked back up at him. “you’re still hard.” katsuki hummed, pecking your shoulder, exhaling. “I’ll be fine.” but you shook your head, biting your lip, trailing your hand towards his cock, taking it into your hand.

you felt him twitch in your hold, breathing going uneven. “what’re you doin..” you gripped onto his forearm to keep yourself steady, moving your hand slow. “you didn’t get to finish..” you replied, eyes focusing on his cock. he grumbled, hand curling into fists beside your head, his other hand gripping your waist. “I told you I was…fuck—fine.” he groaned, feeling you squeeze him, moving faster. “stop being so stubborn.” you argued back, never taking your eyes off him. “let me…help you, kat.” 

you pecked his shoulder, feeling his hips buck into your hand, head in the crook of your neck, covering his groans. “faster..” he whispered, giving in. you did. you moved your hand faster, squeezing him tighter, driving him crazy. his breaths hitting your neck, hips moving with your pace. he felt his orgasm come again, fast. “I’m gonna cum.” he growled, you used your other hand to tug his hair, pulling him back from your neck, placing your lips with his.

he instantly kissed back, eyebrows furrowing. you moaned softly, feeling him nip at your bottom lip, groans getting louder, feeling warm ooze leak onto your hand. he pulled back just enough, panting, hard and heavy trying to catch his breath, leaning his head onto your shoulder, hips twitching. “you came a lot..” you muttered, looking down to see your hand covered. katsuki scoffed, exhaling a big breath. 

“thought you were damn…virgin.” you chuckled, “I am…well—not anymore.” you said shyly, “I just...watched a few videos.” you mumbled, bringing your hand up. when he looked up, seeing you lick up his cum off his hand, not missing the way your eyes were dark, lust lingering as you did. he swore you did that shit on purpose, smirking when you saw the way his eyes darkened, following your tongue licking your hand clean. “damn brat..” he snarled, giggling. “that tastes weird..” katsuki rolled his eyes, scoffing. 

“well no shit.” he pulled you off the wall, feeling warm water finally hit your back, leaning into his chest, feeling tired. “I’m so sleepy…Is that normal?” he nodded, “yeah…don’t go falling asleep, you need to wash up.” you hummed tirelessly, keeping your head on his chest, feeling the warm water hit your back. “that feels good..” you mumbled, hearing a small snicker, not missing the small his whisper. “cute.” leaning more into his chest letting your eyes close. “y’know you’re mine now.” he said, you looked up from his chest, giving a tired smile. “about time.

Hanta’s eyes widened, a groan slipping past his lips.

“Dangerous words, niña,” he growled with a smirk.

Before you could react, he tugged you down the bed, his grip firm on your hips as he pulled your rear flush against his crotch. The hard press of him against you left no room for doubt—his desire was very, very real.

“Han—”

“Shh,” he murmured, straightening up. That mischievous gleam in his eyes sent a thrill down your spine. “You told me not to hold back. So relax… and let me take care of everything, yeah?”

You shuddered beneath his gaze. Something deep inside you screamed to flee, but something deeper begged you to stay. Your underwear was soaked through as he raised one arm. With a swift flick, a strip of tape shot from his elbow, latching onto your wrist and yanking you up. Another followed, binding your other wrist—your arms now secured, completely at his mercy as he lowered you back onto the bed.

“You trust me, right?” Hanta asked, voice low as he leaned in, his lips brushing your jaw. A teasing nip from his teeth made your breath hitch as his hands resumed their exploration.

“Querida… do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you panted, body trembling with anticipation.

He chuckled softly, kissing the corner of your mouth before capturing your lips in a deeper, needier kiss. You melted against him, heat radiating between you.

Then came the familiar sound of tape unwinding again.

Your arms were pulled upward, fixed firmly to the headboard.

Now, there was no doubt—you were completely restrained, utterly vulnerable… and entirely his.

Satisfied with your confinement, Hanta lowered himself onto you, his lips leaving a trail of kisses and bite marks across your collarbone and torso. Like a master painting on a canvas, he dotted your upper body with pink and red marks—claiming you like a wild beast marking its territory.

Your moans grew higher and more desperate as he continued his slow descent, his hands sliding up to cup your chest. He paused to place one final, tender kiss just above your hip bone.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, clouded with lust. “Can I?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against the bare skin revealed by the hitch of your shirt.

You nodded eagerly, then spoke before he could. “Yes.”

A chuckle rumbled from him as he slid your shirt all the way up, pushing it past your mounds and resting it beneath your chin. He sighed, satisfied, as he trailed kisses back up your stomach, his attention zeroing in on your aching peaks. One hand pinched your left nipple gently while his lips latched onto the right.

You gasped at the sharp nip of his teeth before his tongue flattened against it, soothing the sting with a slow, deliberate caress.

What felt like minutes slipped by, his ministrations shifting between spots to ensure each one received its due attention. Your breath grew uneven, the ache burning hotter between your legs as you whimpered his name.

“Hanta, please.”

At last, he lifted his head, a lopsided smirk playing on his lips. “What is it, pretty thing?”

You whimpered, lifting your hips slightly to grind against him, making your plea clear. “Please, enough teasing!”

He hummed thoughtfully, hands continuing their slow massage over your chest. You arched into his touch, moans tinged with frustration.

“Hanta!”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, sliding his hands down to rest firmly on your hips. Holding them there, he thrust forward, pulling a sharp gasp from you as your core finally met the friction it craved.

“Is that what you wanted? You needy little thing.”

You shook your head, attempting to move with him, but his hands gripped your hips tightly, thumbs digging into your exposed skin.

“Nuh-uh. What did I say earlier?”

He paused, making you groan as you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“I said I’d do all the work, didn’t I?”

Your clouded mind flared with the urge to wipe that smug look off his face. Your hands twitched, reminded painfully of the restraints binding you. Hanta caught the movement, eyes flickering up to your wrists. His expression softened, and he leaned forward to kiss your forehead, one hand gently rubbing at your bindings.

“They’re not too tight, are they?” he asked quietly.

For a moment, you forgot your frustration, your body melting at the tenderness in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you breathed.

He smiled warmly, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

“Good girl.” Sitting back, he laid a hand on your lower stomach, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. “Since you’re being so good for me, I’ll go ahead and reward you.”

A sigh of relief escaped you as his hands danced along the edge of your shorts, sliding them down your thighs with gentle care.

The moment his eyes landed on the dampened spot between your legs, a low, filthy moan slipped from his lips. “God, look at you,” he murmured, shifting onto his stomach so his head hovered just inches above your most sensitive place.

You gasped, body humming with anticipation as you tried to keep your eyes on him. His gaze locked with yours before he dipped his head, his tongue flattening as it traced a wet stripe up your center—over the fabric.

Your head fell back, a moan echoing against the walls, needy and raw. Your hips twitched and jerked involuntarily against him.

“So divine,” he whispered against you, repeating the slow, teasing lick.

Growing impatient with the fabric between you, he pushed it aside with two fingers, another low groan escaping his throat as he drank in the sight of your glistening folds.

Wasting no time, he dove in, eagerly licking up your spilled juices like they were the sweetest flavor he’d ever tasted.

“That’s it, baby girl, sing for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he continued, his moans blending with yours while his tongue explored every inch of your core. He flicked expertly over your sensitive bud before sealing his lips around it.

Your head spun, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as your thighs twitched and trembled under his touch. You pulled harder against the restraints, desperate to bury your hands in his hair, to feel him worship you completely.

“Hanta!” you gasped, your voice a prayer that made the man between your legs hum with pride.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he panted, slipping a finger inside you. “Such a good girl. My good girl.”

Your walls fluttered around him, the sudden intrusion both foreign and achingly perfect. His finger withdrew slowly, only to slide back in to the last knuckle, repeating the motion with a gentle, teasing rhythm. Then, without warning, a second finger joined the first.

You gasped at the stretch, your back arching involuntarily.

It wasn’t that Hanta’s fingers were thick—but damn, were they long, reaching places inside you your own fingers never could.

His focus on your bud faded as he sank deeper into a trance, eyes locked on the way your needy cunt welcomed him, pulling him in as he stretched you open with deliberate care.

You felt it coil deep in the pit of your stomach—a growing heat tightening with unbearable pressure. Your chest rose and fell in heavy pants, your face flushed, body trembling with the desperate need to let that coil snap.

“Hanta! P-Please,” you begged, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes.

“It’s okay, mi amor. Let go,” he soothed, quickening his rhythm. “I’ll catch you.”

He added a third finger, groaning as your hips jerked wildly, another guttural moan spilling from you.

Your vision blurred as the tension shattered, thighs shaking uncontrollably, walls clenching around his fingers. The high you’d been chasing crashed through you in waves as you come, unsure if the moans you hear are yours or his, or both.

Hanta leaned forward, withdrawing his fingers to replace them with his tongue, groaning at the taste of you. He devoured every drop as you began to settle, his mouth worshipping you until a soft whimper escaped your lips.

Your thighs clenched around his head, body hypersensitive, every remaining twitch rolling through you like electricity.

Sitting up, Hanta wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chin glistening with you as a wide, satisfied smile spread across his face.

“You did so well,” he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead gently against yours. You hummed in response, your body still floating in the warm aftermath of your climax. He chuckled softly and kissed your cheek, then the side of your mouth. “Think you can still keep up with me?”

You blinked open your eyes, pupils still dilated with need that hadn’t quite been fully sated.

“Remove these, please,” you whispered, tugging gently at the tape binding your wrists.

Hanta nodded without hesitation, quickly peeling the tape away to free you. Your arms fell to your sides for a moment, muscles sore and blood slowly returning to normal. Dark red marks lined your wrists where you’d pulled against the restraints. His brow furrowed with concern as he leaned down, pressing gentle kisses over the tender skin.

“I’ll go get you some water, okay?” he offered, rising from the bed.

You nodded, too relaxed to do anything but watch him move. The sound of him rummaging through your kitchen was comforting. Soon he returned, kneeling beside the bed with a glass of water in hand. His free hand cradled the back of your head, steadying you as you lifted yourself up and took long, grateful gulps.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He smiled softly, placing the glass carefully on the nightstand before settling back beside you.

“Where’re your pajamas?” he asked, arching a brow as he looked at you.

You lifted your head, mirroring his raised brow. “What do you mean?”

He blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Your pajamas. So I can help you get dressed?”

You frowned, glancing down at the obvious hardened length still trapped beneath the bottom half of his suit.

“What about you?” you countered, nodding toward him.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said, shifting as if to lie down beside you. Once his back met the mattress, you summoned a little strength and climbed on top, settling your hips over his.

“¿Querida?”

“You asked if I could still keep up with you, didn’t you?” you teased back.

Hanta grinned, his hands resting behind his head as he took in your bare form. The sight made his length twitch, a movement you caught immediately, prompting you to start a slow, deliberate grind against him.

“I have to warn you—I can go for hours,” he murmured, low and teasing, a hidden challenge in his voice. Your body shuddered in response.

“I can keep up,” you panted, the spark inside you reigniting as the pace of your hips quickened. Hanta groaned, sliding his hands from behind his head to grip your hips firmly.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he warned, voice deepening. “Once I start, I won’t stop. Even if you beg.”

A last chance to back out. You shook your head, fingers trailing down his sculpted chest to rest on his abdomen, feeling the subtle twitch of muscles beneath your touch.

“Who says I’ll want you to?” you whispered.

You were about to slip your hands beneath the edge of his suit when a sudden buck threw you off balance. You gasped as he flipped the tables, trapping you beneath him once more.

“Hanta!”

He hummed, lips pressing against your neck. “What?”

“It was my turn!” you protested, pushing against him in a futile attempt to create space.

He chuckled darkly. “Was it? I thought it was still mine.”

“I want to make you feel good, too,” you murmured, voice soft.

He pulled back, his smirk softening. “Then help me take this off.”

You sat up as he leaned back, your hands working quickly to tug the suit down over his hips to his thighs. You couldn’t deny you’d been curious—imagining what the thing pressed against you looked like. But what you saw as it slipped free blew every expectation out of the water.

The length curved upward, the tip resting just above his belly button, flushed a deep red and glistening with need. Your mouth watered as your eyes locked onto it, drawing a low chuckle from Hanta as he watched your reaction.

“See something you like?” he teased, flexing a muscle that made it twitch subtly, as if putting on a private show just for you.

“M-Maybe,” you murmured, trying to sound coy—but the truth was, you felt a bit intimidated. Not even your biggest toy could compare; the most you’d ever managed was the so-called “monstrous” nine-inch that you kept tucked away in your bedside drawer.

“It won’t bite,” Hanta reassured you, catching your hesitation. “I promise.”

You swallowed hard, steadying your nerves. Bringing your hand up, you tentatively brushed the tip, your thumb sliding softly across the velvety head. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, his composure slipping for just a moment.

A surge of confidence flooded through you at his reaction. Leaning forward, you wrapped one hand around the base and began to give the tip delicate, kitten-like licks.

“Shit, babe,” Hanta groaned, his hand settling gently atop your head—not forcing, just holding as you continued.

The taste was peculiar, a mix of salty and earthy, but not unpleasant as you swiped your tongue over the slit. You part your lips and slowly let the tip slip inside, wrapping your mouth around him as you hollow your cheeks and gently suck.

Hanta’s hips jerk instinctively, his head tilting back with a deep moan. “Damn, baby, just like that,” he murmurs, encouraging you. You hum softly around him, making his hips jerk again as you slide down, taking a few more inches into your mouth.

Finding a steady rhythm, you slide up and down the length, savoring the feel. Your jaw starts to ache halfway through, the stretch too much to handle for long. Without missing a beat, your other hand joins the first at his base, stroking what you can’t fit inside.

You feel him begin to twitch inside your mouth, his hips stuttering with growing tension. Mentally, you prepare yourself, but just as you think he might release, Hanta pulls you off him. His breath is heavy, eyes darkened with lust as he looks down at you.

“As much as I love that,” he pants, “I’d rather finish with you for our first time.”

A shiver runs through you as you quickly shift, lying back on the bed. Hanta wastes no time climbing over you, settling his hips between your legs. His length rests against you, and you gasp, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hanta,” you breathe, eyes locked on his face as he places a hand between you, gripping himself and aligning his tip to your entrance. He pauses, expression softening as he gazes down at you.

“You ready?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you answer, your voice steady.

“Just tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop,” he promises, kissing your forehead before capturing your lips in a gentle, reassuring kiss.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close as you brace yourself. Slowly, he eases in, pressing just enough for the tip to breach you. You hiss softly, the sharp stretch sending a wave of pain through you—more than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

Hanta immediately stills, waiting patiently as you close your eyes.

“Breathe for me, mi amor. Breathe,” he whispers against your skin, his hand tracing soothing circles on your hips. You nod, focusing on relaxing, your muscles slowly softening under his touch.

Feeling you soften, he presses in further, more of him slipping inside you. The stretch returns, accompanied by the slick heat coating him, but your walls clamp around him with resistance.

“Shit,” he murmurs, sweat beading on his brow. “So tight. Gotta relax for me, baby. You can do it.”

You try—really try—but your body simply refuses to take all of Hanta. A whimper escapes your lips as he pushes again.

“It’s too much,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Hanta immediately stops, lowering his forehead to rest against yours. “I know, bebé, I know. I’m sorry.” His voice trembles with sadness and guilt.

You shake your head, clutching him tighter despite the frustration. “I—I just need a minute,” you pant, willing your body to loosen. Here he was, the man you loved with all your heart, and yet your body couldn’t quite take him.

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs with a soft groan. His hips tremble slightly, sending a small shudder through you that makes you hiss.

Frowning, Hanta slips a hand between your bodies, resting just below your stomach. His thumb finds your sensitive bud nestled in your folds and begins to trace gentle circles.

Your hips jerk, accidentally taking in another inch. “Nh!”

He pauses briefly, then resumes, his thumb moving in slow, soothing circles.

“Haré que el dolor desaparezca, mi amor,” he mumbles softly. You don’t catch the words exactly, but the tenderness in his voice eases your tension.

As his thumb picks up a little speed, warmth blooms inside you, the pain fading beneath the rising pleasure. A soft moan escapes, and he takes it as permission to move again—pressing his hips slowly forward.

The resistance lessens, his combined touch coaxing you open as your back arches just slightly.

“Hanta!” you gasp, tightening your hold on him. He chuckles, brushing a kiss over your cheek.

“Does it feel good, mi amor?”

“Yes!” you gasp as he applies a bit more pressure to your clit.

Hanta pants, slowly easing himself out just a fraction before sliding back inside.

You moan his name again, your head falling back into the pillows. “Oh god!”

He chuckles low and deep, repeating the motion—slipping more and more of himself inside until, finally, with a sharp snap of his hips, his entire length is buried deep within you. Your eyes widen, nails digging lightly into his skin.

“Fuck, cariño, you feel so good,” he pants, breath hot against your skin.

You lift your hips instinctively, meeting his thrust. He sets a steady rhythm, barely pulling out before easing back in, giving you every inch to savor.

“Look at you,” he groans, hips quickening their pace. “Just a moment ago, you were—nh!—barely taking an inch, and now—” He shifts his angle with a guttural groan. “Now you’re taking every bit of me, aren’t you?”

His words barely register as pleasure consumes you, your back arching into a flawless bow. Fingernails dig into his shoulder and back, every nerve ignited, your mind emptied except for the reverberation of his name—a fervent chant on your lips.

Hanta smirks, sliding his hands up to pry your arms free from around him, sitting upright to change the angle again. The new position drives him deeper inside you.

“I haven’t lost you yet, have I?” he teases, gathering your legs and lifting them so the backs of your thighs press flush against his torso. He trails a kiss down your calf, nipping lightly at the muscle, his pace relentless—his hips ruthlessly claiming every inch of you in a savage, unyielding rhythm.

Your breath catches in your throat as the new angle sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you, every thrust hitting deeper, setting your insides aflame. Your legs tremble in his strong grip, muscles aching as he pulls you closer, his body pressing firmly against yours.

“Hanta,” you gasp, voice trembling with need. “Please… don’t stop.”

He leans down, his lips ghosting over your collarbone before trailing to your ear. “Nunca, mi linda niña.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively squeeze your thighs around his waist again, urging him faster. The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, mingled with your shared moans and whispered names.

You feel yourself building again, the coil inside tightening unbearably as his pace quickens, hips slamming into yours with a wild urgency. Your nails returning to dig deeper into his shoulders, desperate to hold on as your world narrows to the exquisite sensation of him moving inside you.

“Now,” he groans, voice thick with need. “Let go for me, mi vida.”

The command breaks you. A cry tears from your lips as your body shudders violently, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a storm. Hanta groans deep in his throat, holding you through your release, his own climax following hot on the heels of yours.

For a moment, all that exists is the sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your hearts in sync, and the soft, satisfied smiles you share as he collapses gently beside you. The world outside your shared bubble feels distant and muted, nothing more than a faint hum beneath the electricity crackling between you two.

Hanta’s chest rises and falls against yours, each breath warm and steady, grounding you after the storm of sensation. His fingers trace lazy circles along your spine, sending gentle shivers through your skin as if to reassure you without words.

You reach up, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering on the heat radiating from his skin. His eyes flutter open, dark and glistening with a mixture of exhaustion and something softer — tenderness.

“Mi amor,” he murmurs, voice husky and low. “You’re incredible.”

You smile, breath still shaky but full of contentment. “So are you.”

Your smile falters, the warmth fading as your thoughts drift back to the very reason this night began—the unspoken questions that have been lingering beneath the surface. Hanta notices the shift immediately and gently lifts a hand to cup your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, his voice steady but filled with concern.

You hesitate, the weight of your emotions making your words catch in your throat. Finally, you whisper, “What does this mean? For us?” Your voice is barely more than a breath, fragile with uncertainty and the fear of what his answer might be.

Hanta’s movements still, his eyes locking with yours, searching for the right words. There’s a pause, heavy with meaning, as his gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, as if gathering courage himself.

After a moment, he finally speaks, voice low and sincere. “It means that what we have is real. More than just this night, more than just the passion. You—” He swallows, then smiles softly, “—you’re everything I’ve been waiting for.”

Relief and something warm bloom in your chest. The doubts that had crept in begin to dissolve, replaced by the promise in his words.

A comfortable silence wraps around you both, the kind that only settles when two souls have shared something deeply intimate, beyond words. Your fingers find each other, intertwining naturally as your racing hearts gradually slow, drifting together in the quiet aftermath.

Then, with a playful sparkle in his eyes, Hanta leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Ready for round two?”

End.

-- A/N: ... oh my god. I am not use to writing smut so I hope this is ok. It was very interesting to write 😳🥵

ANYWAYS! That wraps up this short little fic. I once again wrote way more than I thought I was going to, my goodness. Also, there is no beta reader and at 3:45AM, I don't have the energy to double check this, so I apologize for any mistakes you come across. Still hope you enjoy though!

Oh, and here's the translations for the Spanish:

niña - little girl Querida/¿Querida? - Dear mi amor - my love bebé - baby Haré que el dolor desaparezca, mi amor. - I'll make the pain go away, my love. cariño - dear Nunca, mi linda niña. - Never, my beautiful girl. mi vida - my life