girl lover

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.

Your mouth flails open and closed for a couples seconds but no words exit you.

The only thing that happens is her body finally pressing towards your naked one again, sturdy hands finding your thighs again with ease as she pushes them apart impossibly wider. The nudging of her palms alone has your cunt gushing out an embarrassing slather of slick onto nothing. Fuck, every second without any part of her inside you was driving you insane.

Making up for the lack of your response, “Can’t see the faces you make when you cum but I still manage to get you there no problem,” She continues, smiling to herself as if proud. “Shall I go on?”

You grumble something just under your breath—which she definitely hears, but decides to let slide for the time being—and then sigh, “Can you just put them back in?”

With them referring to those perfectly stern fingers of hers, Toph quickly moves a hand back in between your parted limbs to near the puffy folds of your pussy again. A grin paints across her plush lips, “Say please.”

You groan, “Please, Toph.”

“Hahhhh, no.” She mocks, moving to instead hold her hand out, “I don’t think you deserve it anymore. If you wanna feel something so badly then here, grind.”

Your lashes go fluttering as you look down in between your bodies. The gorgeous plane of her palm is angled ever so perfectly for you to plop your needy cunt onto. You always wonder how she manages to have her hands exactly where you need them despite not being able to see. “But, I wanted-“

“Less talking, more grinding,” Your girlfriend demands, dark brows twitching into an anxious furrow, “I wanna see how impatient you really are, c’mon.”

You wanted to make another blind joke, you really really did, but seeing as her hand suddenly comes smacking! up against your cunt, you’re a left all too distracted to do so. It’s as though her quick smack was meant to encourage you or something.

…And encourage you it did.

Because now—now you’re slowly easing yourself down into her hand and letting out a moan as he politely cups the entirety of your cunt. Something short of a purr simpers somewhere in her throat at the slobbering feel of you on her hand.

Toph swears you’re absurdly wet for a woman who’s not even a water bender—who are known to be particularly soaking when aroused.

“Nngh-,“ You let out softly, your face scrunching up at the feel of your sensitive clit getting brushed over by the softly rubbing motion of her palm.

You’re too distracted at the sight below to realize she’s leaning her face towards where she believes yours is until a pair of lips are greeting yours. You’ve no idea how she does it—it’s like the moment your pussy is a pliant puddle in her hands (literally), she can see all of you and more. Especially when you finally begin to rock your hips forward to draaaag your aching cunt across her palm.

Toph’s mouth only detaches from yours so she can whisper something warm against your lips, “Yeahh, just like that. You’re such a pretty mess in my hand, I love it.”

At that, she earns a jumpy throb from your swollen cunt—the sensation leaving her no choice but to gift you with a couple more loving smacks. Squelchy drips of your arousal fly from the motion and the wet slaps echo out around the room.

Then her hand begins to press forward with this sudden pressure applied to it and your breath hitches in your throat.

To which she smiles fully, “You like that?”

You’re nodding as if she can see you doing so, “U-Uhuhh..”

“Gonna cum from this?” She taunts.

“Yeah-, fuck.. Toph!”

“Hm, that’s funny…” Her hand begins to rub and smudge up ‘n down all sloppily against your clit, leaving your jaw to fall slack from the stimulation. “I don’t recall givin’ you permission to do that.”

“Please,” You whine.

“Hm?” She pretends not to hear you, even though you know she could hear even the very rapid beating of your heart.

“Pleasepleaseplease-,” Now you were whimpering and her hand was shifting, palm detaching with messy slops of slick stringing in between her skin and yours before two firm fingers slip right into you.

Then she’s fucking her digits in rudely—prodding against the depths of your cunt and treating each clench like a guide as to where exactly she should poke her fingertips at next.

Toph’s fingers curl suddenly and your start to grab at her bulky arms, your nails scraping at her skin harshly enough to make her hitch.

You’re whispering something about wanting to cum and although she defiantly hears you, she merely smiles wickedly. “Darn, if only I could see you right now.” Then she leans to (where she hopes) your ear, “Bet you’re falling apart, huh? Probably making the prettiest face right now.”

“M-Mhmm,” You babble.

Toph’s fingers begin to spread out against your walls in delectable scissoring motions, “Alright, you’re trembling now so I guess I’ll let you cum. But, you’ve gotta promise me something first.”

You gasp, “Anything. Please just—“

“We have Sokka here next time so he can describe the faces you’re making to me. Sound good?”

banner art by Rororogi Mogera || tags:

Warning/Content: TW: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Violence, mentions of blood, alcohol abuse, mentions of depression, Sucidal ideation, heart break, toxic relationships, longing, Toph is going through it, modern AU with bending, reader is the chief and apart of a distinguished family in Republic city, Toph comes from a broken home and has alot of trauma, poor baby, read at your own discretion please, kissing, jail sex, fingering, rough sex, biting, hate sex, but not really because they love eachother, if I missed tags I'm sorry.

AN: Okay, so I was in my bag when I wrote this and its really angsty. You dont need to know anything about arcane to read. This is my own spin of it. Again, if you're going through something right now please read with caution. Otherwise, enjoy.

When the call crackled over the radio, dispatching you to an abandoned warehouse in the underbelly of Republic City, a cold knot of dread tightened in your gut. You knew that part of town like the back of your hand. It was a place where the law was a suggestion and the earth stayed stained with things people wanted to forget.

Before you even arrived, the radio was a chaotic mess of static and disbelief. You listened to your officers describe a scene that sounded less like a brawl and more like a natural disaster. The chatter was frantic, detailing how the earth had buckled and split, swallowing three patrol cars whole, totaling the fleet before the first officer could even draw their cables.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and iron as you stepped onto the scene. Blue and red lights pulsed against the grime streaked windows, illuminating the paramedics who were hunched over a body in the center of the floor. They were working frantically, their voices low and tense as they tried to stabilize a street fighter whose face had been beaten into something unrecognizable. You could see the fractures in his skull and the protruding bone. The man looked like he had gone ten rounds with a mountain and lost.

“He’s got a pulse, but just barely,” One of them shouted over the hum of the ambulance that they reversed into the doorway to make his transport easier. “The entire orbital bone is shattered. It looks like he got hit by a wrecking ball.”

A bitter chill settled in your stomach because you knew they were right. He had been hit by a wrecking ball. Just not the kind made of iron and cable. He’d been hit by a woman with so much rage bottled up inside her that if she didn't release it, the pressure threatened to consume her.

Every crack in the floor and every broken bone in that man’s body was a physical manifestation of the storm Toph carried. She wasn't just fighting for money or sport, she was screaming into the earth with her fists, using the world as a punching bag because she didn't know how to carry the weight of her own mind anymore.

You watched her through the haze of your own grief, seeing the woman you used to hold buried under layers of grit, spite, and cheap whiskey. She was a landslide in human form, and you were the only person still standing in her path, trying to stop the devastation before there was nothing left to save.

You didn't need a forensic team to tell you what had happened here, the story was written across the walls in a spray of blood. The air itself felt heavy, still vibrating with the echo of a violence so absolute it had reshaped the room. You turned your gaze toward the center of the makeshift ring that was really a circle of packed dirt and cracked stone and saw her.

Your breath hitched.

Toph was sitting on a rusted crate, one leg crossed casually over the other, as if she were resting after a light stroll rather than a massacre. She was a mess of grit and dried sweat, her knuckles were split open and raw, painting the gravel by her feet. She was a ruin of the woman you once knew, and that realization made your throat burn.

Your officers and the forensic team moved around her with a wide birth of caution. Treating her like a ghost or in this case, a live bomb. They knew the protocol you had set in stone. When it came to the earthbender, you stayed clear until the one person she might actually listen to arrived to make the call.

The gravel under your boots crunched as you approached her, and despite the darkness, and all the people around, she sensed you the moment your weight shifted. Toph didn't turn her head, but you watched her jaw set, her entire body tensing into a weapon that was already for whatever you had in store for her. To everyone else, she was a monster. To you, she was a tragedy you still weren't sure you could survive.

The closer you got, the heavier your legs felt, as if you were treading through a quicksand of your own making. Every step toward her felt like a step deeper into your own doom. And when you saw the state of her clothing, it really solidified that for you.

Toph was painted in a sickening spray of blood. Her chest bindings were soaked through to the point they werent even white anymore. That could only happen if she were directly over him and you had to swallow the bile rising in your throat. You could envision her looming over him, her expression a mask of stone as she rained down blow after blow until the sickening crack of his facial bones finally echoed through the warehouse.

Her pants were shredded, the fabric sliced open where sharp, jagged rocks had likely burst from the floor during the struggle. You stared at her, your chest tight, desperately searching for any trace of the woman you once loved buried beneath the filth, the iron, and the agony. But the woman sitting on that crate looked like a stranger. A force of nature that had long ago forgotten how to be human.

“Took you long enough,” Toph said, her words slurring a little at the end. Your eyes left her and flickered down to the empty bottle of whisky by her feet. “I was starting to think I’d have to walk myself to the station.”

The sight of the bottle hit you harder than the carnage in the ring. It wasn't just the violence anymore. It was the slow, steady erosion of her spirit. The woman you used to wake up next to was here, drunk, and didn't even care that she was sitting in the wreckage of a man’s life. You didn't reach for your handcuffs immediately. You just stood there, the weight of your badge feeling heavier than usual.

“You're drunk,” You whispered, the realization making your stomach churn. “You're drunk and you're out here cracking skulls like it's a game.”

Toph let out a sharp laugh, her head lolling back slightly. “It is a game. One I'm really good at. Besides, the whiskey helps quiet the noise. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Miss High and Mighty with her shiny badge and her clear head.”

“He’s likely going to die, Toph,” You said, your voice tight, hovering on the edge of a break. You stepped closer, trying to force her to feel the proximity of the person who once knew her better than she knew herself. “Does that mean anything to you? Or have you finally buried what was left of your humanity under all this rubble?”

Toph didn’t flinch. She simply spat a thick glob of blood onto the floor and stood up, her sightless eyes fixed somewhere just past your shoulder. She was indifferent to the carnage, the corners of her mouth turning upward as she flashed you a bloody smirk, slowly licking her teeth as if savoring the metallic tang of the fight.

“Then he shouldn't have bet his life on a fight he couldn't win.” Toph said, her voice devoid of even a shadow of remorse.

The callousness of it shattered the last of your hope. The woman you loved wouldn't have stood over a dying man and mocked his failure. She wouldn't have looked at you with that predatory grin while the air still tasted like a slaughterhouse.

It caused something in your chest to tighten at her words. It was a dull, throbbing ache that radiated from the place where your love for her still lived, stubborn and uninvited. You stepped deeper into the ring, the grit of the warehouse floor crunching under your boots. You felt the sickening snap of what were likely the other fighter's teeth, marking the grim distance between the officer you had become and the woman you used to be for her.

“Why do you insist on doing this?” You asked, each word feeling like it was being pulled from the wreckage of the heart you’d left in her care. “Why destroy every good thing you have, Toph? Why do you have to sabotage parts of yourself instead of just letting me help you?”

Toph didn’t move, but the air around her seemed to thicken, the very ground beneath your feet was vibrating with a low, mournful hum. And just for a second, the mask wavered, revealing a glimpse of the hollowed out woman who had once called your name in the dark.

“Help?” Toph spat, the word dripping with more bitterness than the whiskey. She finally turned her head toward you, her sightless eyes wide and searching your face as if she could actually see the grief etched there. “You don't want to help me. You want to change me. You want to take all the cracks and the dirt and the rage and polish them until I’m something you can show off at brunch.”

She took a step closer, her boots grinding more of the fighter’s teeth into the dust. “I'm not sabotaging myself. I'm finally free and letting the rot out. If you wanted to help, you would’ve stopped trying to fix a woman who was never broken to begin with. I'm just built for a world you’re too afraid to live in.”

“This isn't freedom, this is your death.”

The words physically pained you to say, leaving a bitter, metallic taste in your mouth. You watched them land right where you intended, hitting with the force of a heavy rock. The smirk died on Toph's lips. Her shoulders, usually held with the rigid tension of a fighter ready for the next round, slumped just a fraction. Through the soles of her feet, she wasn't just feeling your heartbeat anymore. She was feeling the absolute, crushing sincerity of your grief.

“You're not free down here, Toph,” you say, your voice wavering. “You’re just dying in the dark where nobody has to watch. You’re trading a life for a suicide note written in someone else’s blood.”

Toph went quiet. The warehouse seemed to grow colder, the only sound you could hear was the distant drip of a leaky pipe and the retreating footsteps of the paramedics. Toph didn't spit out a retort this time. She didn't laugh. She just stood there in the center of the ring. Looking less like the monster she wanted you to believe that she was and more like the woman who used to reach for your hand when the world felt like it was closing in.

“I never asked you to be anything but yourself Toph. We had a life, a good one. And you threw it away for cheap liquor, a pile of dirt, and the validation of a few criminals.”

You watched that muscle jump in her cheek, seeing the exact moment she chose to bury the woman who used to seek refuge in your arms under another layer of cold, unyielding stone.

“Typical. Always making things about you,” She scoffed, the bitterness in her voice cutting through the humid air of the warehouse. “You say you never asked me to change, but that’s a lie. You wanted the version of me that came home at night and left all the dirt and grime at the door. But look at where we are now. You’re standing in the mud, and I’m the one who’s actually covered in it.”

“This has always been who I am,” She added, taking a step closer, her boots grinding into the blood slicked earth. “You just couldn’t see it behind all those fancy dresses, estate dinners and meetings with royalty. You were blinded by the gold trim. I was never meant for that life, and unlike you, nothing was ever handed to me by mommy and daddy on a silver platter. I had to break bones just to feel the ground that was under me.”

The unfairness of her accusation made your vision blur. She was speaking as if you didnt know her at all. Like you were the one who had been blind the entire time. Blind to her nature, blind to the trauma of her upbringing like you hadn't held her those nights she'd wake up screaming from the nightmares of her past. Her words cut deeper than any stone she had ever thrown at you. Your anger and turned into something you could no longer contain.

The air between you turned ice cold, the sirens outside fading into a dull hum compared to the ringing in your ears. Your heart hammered against your ribs not with adrenaline, but with the agony of a woman who had burned every bridge she owned just to build a path to Toph.

“Is that what you tell yourself to justify this?” You asked, your voice dropping. “That I’m just some privileged rich girl who doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a hard life?”

You stepped into her space, forcing her to feel the heat of your fury. “I gave up everything to build a life with you. Not an estate, not a title, a home, Toph. I was disowned by my own family. I walked away from the silver platter and all the safety nets that I had and I did it without looking back.”

You leaned in close, your voice cracking under the weight your anger. “How fucking dare you stand here and act like I haven’t suffered. I lost my name just to keep yours. I gave you the softest, most vulnerable parts of myself only for you to stomp on them. I gave you my heart, Toph! And you just walked away with it, leaving me with nothing but this hollow, relentless ache in my chest that refuses to go away.”

Your gaze was piercing her vacant eyes now as if you could force her to see the wreckage she’d made of you.

“But unlike you, I actually sit with my feelings. I cry. I adapt. I don't throw my life away and hurt the only person I have left for a bottle of cheap liquor and dingy warehouses. I did the work to survive us, you just chose to bleed out in the mud instead of with me.”

Through the soles of her feet, she could feel the truth, the erratic, painful thrum of a heart that had been broken long before you stepped into this warehouse tonight. Toph opened her mouth, her voice smaller than you’d heard it in years. “I never asked you to lose everything for me.”

“No,” You whispered, the first tear finally spilling over. You quickly wiped it away. “You never asked. You just let me do it. You watched me burn it all down for you, and then you left me standing in the ashes alone.”

The silence that followed was heavy, vibrating with the ghost of every choice you’d made and every bridge you’d burned. Toph's expression shifted to something close to anguish. Her jaw had tightened so hard you could hear the bone creak, and her bloodied hands curled into trembling fists at her sides.

“If I ruined your life and your precious reputation so badly, then why do you keep coming back?” She choked out, her voice vibrating with a mix of self-loathing and desperation. “Why don’t you just let me rot? If I’m such a disaster, why are you the one always pulling me out of the wreckage?”

Toph wasn’t mocking you anymore. She was pleading for an answer that would finally give her a reason to let you go. The tremors in her fists spoke of a woman who had spent her whole life fighting to be strong, only to realize she was drowning the only person who had ever truly seen her.

“Just do it,” She whispered brokenly, her head bowing as she thrust her wrists toward you again, the metal of her bracelets clinking. “Let me go. Put the cuffs on and take me in. Stop trying to find something in me that isn’t there anymore.”

You looked down at her, at the dirt in her hair, the smell of cheap gin clinging to her skin, and the way she still stood as if she were waiting for the earth to swallow her whole. The handcuffs felt like a cold, final barrier between the life you wanted with her and the reality you were living.

“You’re wrong,” You whispered, stepping into her space until the tips of your polished boots touched her bare, dirt stained toes. You forced her to feel your presence, to feel the heat of the person she had tried so hard to push away. “The woman I love is still there, Toph. She never left, she’s just hurting. She's drowning in her own trauma and sorrow, and she’s trying to take everyone else down with her because it's too much for her to deal with on her own.”

Toph flinched as if you had visibly struck her. But you didn't stop, you needed her to hear the sincerity in your words.

“You want to know why I keep showing up?” You continued, your voice trembling but firm. “It’s because I'm still in love with you and unlike everyone else in this shit hole that is here to watch you bleed out and kill people. I’m the one who cares about the person behind the mask and if they are still breathing the next morning.”

For a moment, the tension in her shoulders snapped, and she looked small, fragile in a way that no amount of earthbending or compartmentalizing could fix.

“Then you’re a fool,” Toph hissed, though there was no bite left in her words.

You didn't answer. You simply reached out and took her wrists. They felt so delicate in your hands now that you were seeing her for what she was. Her fingers were trembling as you brushed against her bloody knuckles causing her to hiss.

The metallic click of the cuffs echoed through the hollow warehouse, sounding more like a final slamming door than a piece of police equipment. The cold steel bit into her skin, and for a moment, you felt her pulse jump beneath your fingers and you recognized the feeling immediately.

Fear.

Toph didn't fight you. She didn't crack a joke or use her bending to shatter the restraints. She just let her hands go limp, her head hanging low as the weight of the cuffs dragged her arms down. The fight had finally vanished, leaving behind only the woman who was too tired to keep running.

“Let's go,” you said, your voice thick and devoid of the professional authority you usually wore like armor.

You placed a hand on her shoulder. Not to shove her, but to guide her. Toph leaned into the touch for a fraction of a second, a ghost of a gesture from a different life, before she snapped out of it and pulled herself upright. As you led her toward the exit, past the bloodstains on the floor and the discarded whiskey bottles, the flashing red and blue lights of the cruisers outside painted the warehouse in violent colors. It was a harsh reminder of what has become of you.

“Don't expect a thank you,” Toph muttered as you reached the cruiser, though the usual venom was replaced by a hollow exhaustion.

You opened the back door, the stale air of the police car rushing out to meet you. “Don't worry, I'm not looking for one. I just want you to survive until morning.”

‧₊°♱༺𓆩☠︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.‧₊°♱༺𓆩☠︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.

The next morning, the precinct was a sensory overload of ringing phones and the scent of burnt coffee. You hadn't slept. Every time you closed your eyes you saw Toph standing in that dirt ring, a ghost of the woman she used to be. You were haunted by the memory of the life you’d shared before her inner demons took hold.

You walked down to the holding cells, the metal heels of your boots echoing against the concrete. There wasn't anyone else down here besides her. When Toph was brought in, you made sure to keep her away from other prisoners out of fear she'd just hurt someone and get a longer sentence. It was just safer for everyone this way. The air in isolation was cold and smelled of floor wax and old sweat. When you finally reached the last cell, you stopped.

Toph was sitting on a narrow cot, her back against the damp stone wall. She looked smaller without the adrenaline of the fight to puff her up. The dirt on her face was clean now, her hair was still a tangled mess, but you had given her access to the showers and a fresh change of clothes before you left last night.

Toph tilted her head, her ears twitching as she recognized your footsteps.

“You're running late one of your guard dogs already delivered my pitiful breakfast.” She said, her tone borderline teasing, the old Toph flickering through the carefully constructed walls she had put up now that she was sober and of clear mind. “Usually, you're here with the sun, giving me that life lesson speech. The one where we both know you don’t even believe half that horse shit you’re spewing.”

She shifted on the cot, the rusted springs letting out a shrill protest. Even in a damp cell, smelling of iron and dried blood she managed to project an air of untouchable cool. But you could see the way she gripped the edge of the mattress, her knuckles still swollen and purple from the night before. A reminder of the weight she was still carrying on her shoulders.

“I was busy making sure the man you nearly killed doesn't have a funeral tomorrow,” you snapped, though the heat in your voice was fueled more by relief than anger. “Its hard to give a speech when I’m drowning in the paperwork required to keep you out of a cage for the next ten years.”

Toph let out a dry, rasping chuckle. “Aw, sounds like Ms. Perfect had a long night. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were losing sleep over me chief. Its unfortunate that it isnt for more pleasurable reasons.”

This woman was unbelievable, but she was also yours.

“So what did you come down here for? To read me my rights?” When she didn't hear your response, Toph turned her head toward you, an arrogant spark in her sightless eyes. “Or maybe you just missed the sound of my voice. I know the precinct gets a little lonely when there’s no one around to give you a real challenge.”

The metal door slammed against the stone wall with a violent clang as you stormed in. You were across the cell in seconds, your movements fueled by a sleepless night of worry and a decade of repressed longing. Toph shot up from the cot, her usual smirk vanishing in an instant. Her milky eyes went wide, and for the first time in years, she looked genuinely caught off guard.

You pinned her space, looming so close that your breaths mingled in the damp air. The heat radiating between you was electric, a sudden, sharp current that made the hair on your arms stand up.

“Is that what this is to you? A challenge? A fucking game!” You growled, your voice vibrating in the small space. Your hands were balled into fists at your sides, trembling not with fear, but with the sheer force of trying not to grab her. Because you knew if you did, you wouldn't be able to stop.

Toph’s breath caught suddenly, she didn't back away. Instead, she tilted her chin up, her nose nearly brushing yours, her skin smelling of salt and the lingering whiskey from the night before.

“Maybe it is,” Toph whispered, her voice losing its edge and turning into something sultry. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could still make your heart race like that. Or maybe I wanted to see how far you'd go before you finally snapped.”

Toph reached out, her fingers grazing the fabric of your uniform right over your heart. “You sound like you're about to explode. So go ahead. Snap. Do something that isn't in your precious rulebook Ms. High and Mighty.”

In that moment, the restraint you have been clinging to for years disintegrated. You lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt and pulling her into a kiss that was less of a greeting and more of a collision.

It was fueled by a night of terror and a lifetime worth of resentment. It tasted of the bitter coffee on your breath and the sharp sting of whiskey combined with whatever they had given her for breakfast. There was no gentleness in it, only the raw desperation of two people who had spent too long trying to pretend they didn't belong to each other.

Toph let out a muffled gasp against your lips, her back hitting the cold stone wall with a thud. For a split second, she was still shocked by the force of your claim. Her fingers dug into the metal of your vest, fingers denting it as she pulled you closer until there wasn't a single inch of space between you. She kissed you back with the same reckless fury she brought to the fighting pits, her teeth catching your lip, marking you as hers even when she knew she didnt have any right to.

The heat between you was suffocating, drowning out the smell of the cell and the distant noise of the station. In this small, dark corner of the world, the heartbreak, the badge and the arrest didn't matter, only the agonizing reality that no matter how hard she tried to ruin herself, you were still there to catch the pieces before they even hit the ground.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead pressed against hers, both of you gasping for air.

“I hate you,” You hissed, your voice trembling with a love that felt like a death sentence.

Toph’s smirk was gone, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated hunger. "Then why are you still holding on so tight?”

You didn't give her the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you fisted your hands into her hair, tilting her head back and crashing your lips against hers again. This time, the anger was being swallowed by a desperate, starving need. It was a chaotic mess of teeth and tongue, a frantic attempt to reclaim every part of her that she’d tried to give away to the fighting pits and the bottle.

Toph let out a low, guttural growl, her hands moving from your vest to the back of your neck, pulling you down with a strength that reminded you exactly who she was. She pressed you firmly against her, the metal buttons of your uniform digging into her chest, but neither of you cared.

Toph tasted like everything you have ever loved and you drank it in as if it were the only thing keeping you alive. You pushed her harder against the stone wall, your body acting as a shield against the rest of the world. In this moment, you were just two broken people trying to fuse themselves back together in the dark.

You left a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of her neck, nipping and biting with a passion that left no room for doubt. Toph’s head fell back against the stone, a sharp, broken moan escaping her as your tongue found the sensitive hollow of her throat.

Your thigh surged upward, sliding between her legs and forcing them apart, pinning her more firmly against the wall. The friction sent a jolt through you both, a physical manifestation of all the years of tension and distance collapsing into a single moment.

“This has to be quick, we don't have all day,” You hissed against her skin, the words vibrating into her neck. “So be a good girl and take what you need, I want you to come on my fingers. Can you do that for me baby?”

Toph whimpered deep in her throat, as she nodded frantically. The endearment, that old, familiar spark of intimacy seemed to undo her more than any threat of prison ever could. Her fingers, still bruised from the fighting pits, gripped your shoulders with a desperate strength, her nails digging into your shoulders as she arched her back.

Toph didn't care about the risk, the damage this would cause later on when you both had to sit with what was currently happening. She just wanted the friction, the heat, and the soul crushing intensity of you.

And you were going to give it to her. Your hand slid beneath the rough fabric of her prison issue pants, immediately finding the hot, wet slickness of her cunt. Your fingers dipped between her folds, the familiar warmth of her slick coating your fingers. You had to bite down on your own lip to stifle the breathy sound that threatened to escape once you felt her. She was already so warm and wet and aching for you. Just like you remembered.

“Ohhhh.”

Toph makes a strangled noise as you press more firmly against her, your thigh providing the heavy pressure she was starving for as your fingers found her clit and traced sharp, even circles around it, sending a continuous pulse deep into her cunt.

Toph grinded down onto your thigh and met the sharp circles you were tracing on her throbbing clit. Every movement was desperate, purposeful. You bit into the muscle of her shoulder to keep her from crying out, but she just arched higher, her body molding into yours as if she were trying to climb inside your skin.

“Please,” Toph choked out, her voice a raw, ruined whisper in your ear. “Don't stop, I'm almost there.”

Your hand moved with a relentless, focused rhythm, the pad of your thumb circling her clit while your fingers delved between her slick folds and slipped two fingers inside of her aching cunt. You curled them deep inside, finding every sensitive nerve she had tried to numb with whiskey and violence and replaced it with your touch. Toph’s hips bucked instantly, her thighs squeezed around your fingers, locking you in place as she adjusted to the intrusion.

You watched her jaw slacken and her lips part as your fingers were buried deep inside her, filling her with a familiarity, a completion no one else could ever replicate. Once she recovered, Toph’s thrusts turned desperate, her hips rolling and hitching as she began to ride your hand with a starving speed.

You muffled her whimpers with another bruising kiss, swallowing the raw sounds escaping her lips before they could echo down the hall. You could feel her fluttering around your fingers, her body instinctively pulling you deeper as you twisted and turned your fingers with a relentless, focused rhythm.

Every drag of your fingers along her inner walls as you hit that sensitive, spongy spot inside of her had Toph's eyes rolling back and her toes curling desperately against the cold stone floor.

There was no tenderness in your movements. It was a display of raw, overwhelming power. Each forceful thrust was designed to claim her, stealing the breath from her lungs as the wet sounds of her squelching pussy filled the air. You could feel every valley and rigid curve of her as your fingers came almost completely out before slamming back in. You fluctuated between long deep thrusts and quick short ones, edging her through every single moment of her pleasure.

Your fingers moved with a possessive intensity, a silent vow that no matter how far she ran or how many times she broke your heart, she would always belong to you. You were marking her from the inside out, reminding her with every curl of your fingers that no one else would ever be able to reach the depths of her like this.

Toph was trembling around you, her body tightening around you as she met your thrust relentlessly. Every roll of her hips was a plea for more, a reckless drive toward the edge that made the danger of your claim and the fear of letting you back into her heart feel miles away.

“I hate you.” You breathed against the damp, heated skin of her shoulder, the words trembling and broken. Tears pricked at your eyes as the agony of your devotion finally spilled over. “I hate that I’m still in love with you and that no one will ever be you.”

A particularly hard thrust of your fingers that were dragging deep against her inner walls, forced a sharp cry from her throat. Toph bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle the sound, the sudden metallic scent of copper making your nostrils flare as blood welled from the pressure. You leaned in immediately, your tongue soothing the broken skin before your own teeth replaced hers.

“I-I cant let you go Toph. I won't, not again.” You growled into the heat of her mouth, pulling her lip between your teeth and sucking it hard, marking her with the same possessiveness you felt in your chest. “You can push me away all you want. You can tear up this city if you want to. But I am not giving up on you.”

“And I bet you like that, don’t you? Knowing that no matter what you do, no matter how much blood you cover yourself in, I’ll be right here waiting to pull you out.”

“Yes!” Toph mewled, the sound was so pathetic on her lips and it only made you keep the same steady rhythm. “Yes, f-fuck baby.”

You curled your fingers inside her again, focusing on that particular spot that you knew would push her over the edge. “Then cum for me and come home with me.”

“Fuckkkkk.” 

Toph buried her face into the crook of your neck as she shattered, her teeth sinking deep into your skin and biting hard enough to leave a permanent brand. Her body convulsed in your arms, her powerful limbs locking around you with such desperate strength that the air was crushed from your lungs. You were the only thing holding her up, Toph's legs hooked tightly around your waist as your fingers remained buried deep inside her, drawing out every aftershock until she released your neck and her body went slack against yours.

You gently guided her back to the narrow cot, lowering her down until she was laying on the thin, rusted mattress. But when you tried to pull back and return to your job and that mountain of paperwork on your desk she clung to you. Toph's fingers fisted into the fabric of your uniform, anchoring you there. Her breathing was labored now, the frantic thrum of her release replaced by the uneven hitching of someone drowning in their own grief.

She refused to let go, her forehead pressed into the hollow of your shoulder. And that's when you felt it. The first warm, silent tear sliding down your neck, right over the stinging mark her teeth had left moments ago. Something in you broke then, something ugly and raw and entirely human.

The silence in the cell was heavy, broken only by the hitching of her breath. Toph didn't need to speak. The way she clung to you, fingers white knuckled and digging into your back spoke of a terror she would never admit to. It was the grip of someone who had spent too long pretending she didn't need a soul in the world.

“Baby...” Your voice was thick, caught in the back of your throat. “I-I won't leave, I promise. Just let me take this chest plate off so you can be more comfortable-”

You didn’t even get a chance to finish. The metal of your uniform liquidated instantly. The armor melting away from your body like warm glue as she bent the components right off you, desperate to close the distance.

Toph released you now that she was sure you weren't going anywhere and lowered her head onto the thin prisoner issue pillow. You finally got a glimpse of the wreckage of her features now and it made your heart break in two.

Toph's cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, and her tears were endless voids that were flowing down her face in a silent, steady stream that seemed to carry all the years of repressed sorrow with them. She looked at you not with her eyes, but with a soul that was finally, painfully exposed. It was almost as if she were waiting for you to tell her what to do next because she wasnt used to feeling so much at once without punching things.

You kicked off your boots, the heavy thud of them hitting the floorboards were the only sounds that could be heard in the cell besides her ragged breathing. When you moved to slide in beside her, Toph stiffened, her hands flying out to grasp your shoulders with a desperate strength.

“No,” She rasped, her voice hoarse and broken. “On top. Please. I-I need to feel the weight of you. I need to feel you everywhere. It makes them disappear.”

You paused, hovering over her, your composure breaking at the sheer vulnerability in her sightless eyes.

“Them?” You whispered, your hands framing her tear stained face.

“The voices,” Toph choked out, her head shaking frantically. “The ones that tell me I’m nothing. The ones that scream that I’m better off alone. When you’re on top of me, when I can feel your heart beating against mine, they finally shut up.”

You didn't wait another second, you moved over her, settling your body against hers, letting your full weight anchor her to the mattress. Underneath you, Toph let out a long, shuddering sob as she wrapped her arms and legs around you, pulling you into her as if she were trying to merge your two souls into one.

And it was there, in the cramped, cold space of the holding cell, you weren't the chief and she wasn't a criminal. You were just two people clinging to each other in the middle of a storm, trying to find enough light to survive the night.

“not to interrupt your daydreaming about me,” you jumped at her voice, startled. she smiled down at you, “i know i’m blind, but i’m not stupid. i can pick up on your silence and your heartbeat enough to understand you’re staring at me. plus, it’s what most of you sighted people do the first time you meet a blind person. kinda rude if i do say myself, and really repetitive.”

you blushed a deep shade of red, torn between shame and denial, “i—i wasn’t—”

“aw,” she cooed, rocking you in her arms like a baby, “you totally weren’t. i believe you, jingle bells.”

you groaned, squirming in her grasp, “you’re so annoying!”

“and you’re a shameless pervert.”

“p-pervert!?” your eyes widened, indignantly glaring up at her, “don’t try to flip this on me! i was just looking at your face, that’s not perv—”

“ah-ha!” she snickered, giving you a bounce in her arms, “now you admit you were looking. wow, i think you’re the worst liar i’ve ever seen. and i can’t even see!”

medically speaking, you could feel all the symptoms of a fucking brain aneurysm setting in throughout this conversation.

“you— you— you’re so— ugh! whatever!” you huffed in defeat, dropping your head on her shoulder, giving up on ever properly speaking to this woman.

she chuckled, hand flexing around your thigh, “i’m so what? so pretty, apparently, from how you spent the last five minutes drooling over me. am i reaaally that gorgeous? ouch!”

you pinched her torso, lifting your head to glare at her again, “you’re so insufferable. i’ve never met anybody who has made me want to end my life this much in the span of an hour.”

“oh stop it,” she fake moaned, the proudest of smiles on her face, “you’re turning me on.”

“i’m gonna— ugh! you know what? whatever!” you scoffed, cheeks flushed, taking your arms off her neck to cross them over your chest, “i’m not even gonna reply to you anymore. silence is the best answer to a dumbass.”

she hummed happily, “well actually, the saying is ‘silence is the best reply to a fool.’”

“does anybody like being around you?”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

even though you were only a street away, the walk felt like hours, your sanity hanging by a string as thin as your thong.

you let out the biggest relieved sigh when the bakery’s sign finally came in full view, your building door close to it.

“just here,” you tap her arm for her to stop, “i live here, thanks.”

“you’re welcome,” she lowers you down, and you reluctantly miss the warmth of her thick arms around you. but if it came with the price of her unending quips, you were ready to sleep on an iceberg instead. camp there, even.

your good foot touches the ground first, your hand on her shoulder for balance. you tentatively try to take a step with your injured one, but the loud wail slipping out of your lips is enough for her to tug you back to her side again.

“small steps,” she pats your hip, “your ligament probably tore a bit. hopefully nothing bad, but you should still get it checked out properly later, or tomorrow.”

you sigh, irritated, “you’re right. ugh, i’m never wearing those heels again. how am i gonna go up all these stairs now?”

she returns your sigh, “right? if only there was somebody around who could carry you. it’d be great if they could magically spawn right now. one can only dream. if only..”

you roll your eyes, exasperated, “did nobody teach you how to speak? you can’t even offer help without your stupid sarcasm?”

“nevermind,” she lets go of you, and you squeal, having nothing to hold onto, plopping back down on your butt. she folds her arms behind her head, uninterested, “i don’t feel like helping a bitchy little thing like you.”

“are you seriously—”

“ah, sorry,” she rubbed her ear, smiling down at you, “i can’t hear bitch.”

you scoffed, baffled, “fuck you, then! fuck you, and fuck your help. you’re so rude. i’m not gonna beg you to pick me up. you can go fuck yourself.”

“sure then,” she shrugged, turning on her heel, and you felt panic seize your heart. there was nobody else around here! how long would you have to wait before someone else passes by to give you a hand?? your only option left was to crawl your way to the bakery you went to every morning, humiliating yourself in front of the staff who saw you everyday.. no way.

“w-wait!” the word leaves your mouth before you can even think, and you could just tell she had the biggest grin on her face even though her back was facing you.

she stopped in her tracks, and you felt heat flood your cheeks with embarrassment.

“mhm? want something?”

your fingers curled around the fabric of your skirt, looking down, “i.. i want you to.. pick me up again..”

“can’t hear you,” she walks back over to you, practically beaming, as she leans down to your height. “sorry, my hearing’s bad. could you speak up?”

what a bitch. she was blind, hearing was her strongest fucking sense. you had to bite your lip to refrain from cussing out her entire bloodline, only your earlier gratitude and current need were holding you back.

“i.. i said, i want you to pick me up again.”

she was all up in your face now, only a few inches separating you. she hums pensively, “hm, doesn’t sound like begging to me.”

your nails dig into your thighs through your clothes, the veins bulging out as you swallow your pride. “please, carry me.”

“my name’s toph,” she says it casually, like this was the best timing to exchange names. she grins, toying with a strand of your hair, “now say it all pretty for me. something like ‘oh, pretty please, beautiful toph. could you carry little ole me? please, toph, you’re the only one who can help me. i’m so helpless.’ “

the singy song lilt in her voice as she mocked you made your anger boil over. you grabbed her by her tank top, pulling her flush against you, your foreheads bumping.

you glared daggers into her, torn between slapping her or biting her smirk off, but she only tilted her head, smug as ever, “so? what will it be? i don’t have all day.”

“.. please, toph.” you grudgingly mumble, deciding to set your violent urges to the side until you were in a better position to backtalk her. “will you please carry me?”

she chuckles, and just like that, you’re back in her arms in seconds. “attagirl,” she croons down at you, “that wasn’t so hard now, was it? good job, jingle bells. i’m so proud of you. now, say ‘i’m your little bitch’.”

“don’t push it.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

she mercifully stays quiet as she takes you up to your floor. seriously, what were you thinking, renting an apartment on the fourth floor with no elevator available? you should’ve considered potential foot injuries, earthquakes, so many other things.. but oh well, the price and the view were good to pass up for a broke university student like you, and it honestly felt like an extension of you at this point, with all the years and money you spent decorating it.

when you finally make it, she gently sets you down on your good leg, holding you steady with one hand as you search for your house keys in your bag. you steal a brief glance at her, and despite her snappy attitude and how insanely annoying she was, you weren’t above common courtesy. after all, she did just carry you from your bus stop to your house. you could give credit where it was due.

you clear your throat, opening the door, “you can come in for a cup of tea, if you want. as a thank you.”

that earns you a soft squeeze on the hip. “i didn’t know you were into one night stands, jingle bells. but i wouldn’t say no to that.”

“nevermind,” you scoff, hand on the wall to support you as you make your way in ahead of her.

“don’t be like that. i’m just pulling your leg. well, clearly not your busted one.”

you completely ignore her, hearing the door shut behind her, before an appreciative whistle leaves her lips. “wow, you have a great apartment. it looks really gorgeous.”

you instantly perk up at that, buttered up in a second — you prided yourself on your taste, so compliments about it were your favourite, whether that be your taste in clothes, accessories, even your furniture. you turn to face her, excited. “ah, thank you so— ..”

you trail off, watching her bite back a laugh, confused. it takes you a second before the realization dawns on you. this asshole.

“tophhhh!! i hate you so fucking much!” you throw the nearest pillow at her, fuming, and she bursts out laughing, arms clutching her stomach as she doubles over.

she repeats your words, choking on her own giggles, “ ‘t-thank you so—’ ”

“get out!” you yell, the sound coming out all girlish and squeaky, flushed with embarrassment as you send a barrage of pillows her way.

the sight of her so exhilarated — literally rolling on the floor, her porcelain skin now a deep shade of red, unable to even properly speak through her laughter — eventually wore you down. you cracked a smile, your throws not stopping.

“s-shut up already!” you huffed out a small laugh, picking up the pillows that bunched up around her feet to hit her with them when your stock ended, “you’re the worst.”

she didn’t even bother protecting herself, flat on her back as she kicked her legs, and you joined in on her laughter too, giving her one last hit to the head before plopping down on her yourself.

“stop laughing!” you ordered, even though you were just as tickled, pinching her cheeks and stretching them out.

after a few minutes, your cackling finally subsided, leaving you both panting. you were still straddling her, her face marked by your long nails digging into her skin from your onslaught, as you tried to catch your breaths.

you flick her forehead, smiling down at her, “you’re not funny. you’re terrible, you don’t deserve my tea.”

“oh no,” her hands slide up to rub your hips, “not the tea.”

“but seriously though. thank you,” you brush away the mussy strands on her face, sweaty from all the movement, “you’re a cunt, but i do appreciate you going out of your way to help me out. so, thank you for that.”

“you’re so sappy, jingle bells.”

“you won’t get a reaction out of me. accept my thanks first.”

“i do.” she sighs, giving you a break, “you’re welcome, then.”

“good. i’m glad we’re on the same page.”

..

“.. also, toph?”

“mhm?”

“you do know that i can feel you groping my ass, right?”

she hums, giving it another unapologetic squeeze, “oh sorry, i’m blind. i thought it was.. your face.”

you roll your eyes, “my first impression of you was right, after all. you’re just a fucking pervert.”

“am nottt,” she quips, fondling the flesh without a care in the world, “you just have one hell of an ass on you. everyone else can see it, but i can’t. so be kind and let this poor, blind girl feel it.”

you slap the side of her head and get off her, limping off to the kitchen, using the walls as support, “i’m gonna piss in your tea. all nice and hot, just for you.”

you hear her shift on the floor behind you, “you promise?”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

* breathe if you love me ❤️