for ages, he’s spent countless hours by himself. whether it be during battle, at sea, or simply within the quiet croaks of his castle.
and for a long time, mihawk thought that he’d prefer the silence. that it was better to be alone, as it created less issues. or maybe it was that it’s easier to keep everyone at arms length than let them in.
i guess maybe it was just his lack of trust. how was he supposed to trust anyone in a world like this?
somewhere along the lines, he ran into you.
mihawk can remember the exact moment he laid his eyes on you. it lays vivid in his memory.
beautiful legs that were accentuated by those black strappy heels. a figure of a goddess. lips painted in a dark blood red, tempting him to smear it with his lips and fingers. and most of all, eyes that made him feel like he was drowning in something unknown.
you quickly began to make a mess of mihawk’s life. or maybe his mind. or maybe his heart. whatever it was, mihawk wasn’t sure how he survived this long without you.
and today, as he returns home after a cross guild meeting he sees you in your shared bedroom. wearing a black thin silk robe with lace on the edges.
you sat on your vanity. soft music played off the record player. you had just completed your makeup, and were putting on a pair of earrings that mihawk had bought you for your wedding anniversary.
mihawk got drunk off the sight of you. divine creature, bewitching his mind, body, and heart.
how could this feeling be real.
within a moment, you noticed mihawk staring at you through the mirror.
“dracule,” you said breathlessly.
you turned your head to face him. his gaze was so sharp, always so laser focused. and it made your heart thump.
sometimes it’s hard to believe this is real.
mihawk walked closer to you. he reached out for your hand, slowly pressing a soft kiss.
mihawk thought he didn’t understand what soft meant before you. he thought everything in life was supposed to be done harsh and rough. but with something as delicate as you, how could he be anything but soft?
you were the reason for every breath. you were the reason for the end of every battle he fought. you were the reason he fought carefully. you were the reason he saw good.
deep down, you were the only thing that kept him bound to the world.
“i say we skip this gala, darling wife,”
“and what do you propose we do instead?”
you were both standing now. you stood so closely together, eyes intently staring at each other. his hands lay tight on your waist, as if you were his anchor.
in turn, you placed both of your hands softly on either sides of his face. it grounded both of you.
for a moment, mihawk really didn’t think.
i mean how could he, when his eyes were locked on yours. pools of thoughts and lust we’re gathered in his mind.
“dracule?”
mihawk softly placed his head against yours. and he began to move slowly, so that you both ended up dancing to the melody playing softly.
and in this moment, mihawk could only think of one thing. how incredibly lucky he was.
“So it’s either live with what happened or live without you? I can handle the first, I could not bear the latter, my light, so please don’t make me.”
Genre/Tropes: angst (with happy ending), hurt/comfort, established relationship
Word Count: 5,7k
Warnings: none
A/N: This scenario oughta have been done a hundred times, angst potential is just too good, but interrupting my Whole Cake binge with a Moulin Rouge rewatch really made me wanna write my own version, so let’s goo
“Sanji!!”
He doesn’t turn back around at the sound of your voice, no matter how much he may want to, but of course you catch up to him and grab a hold of his hand, forcing him to a halt. He knows he’ll break if he so much as looks at you, so his eyes stay downcast at your intertwined hands as you lean in close so only he can hear. “Whatever they’re threatening you with, we can take them. You know our captain, you know this crew, have some faith in us. Come home, okay? Come back to me.”
It takes every ounce of willpower he has left not to collapse into your waiting arms right here and now, to pretend all of this was nothing more than a long, horrid nightmare. But then you move your hands just slightly, jostling the golden bracelets still tightly closed around his wrists like a hangman’s noose and reality comes crashing back down on him with enough force to almost knock him to his knees. A reality in which the demons from his past that he so desperately tried to keep from reaching their depraved claws out towards his family, towards you, are a few mere feet away, ready to tear you all to pieces just for the fun of it if they decide he takes too long. The thought of you still holding onto him when the explosives are set off makes his stomach turn so violently, he almost loses last night’s dinner on the grass.
You have to leave. He has to make you leave. And just like he’s already done to his captain, he’ll have to hurt you to do it, even as he can feel every single cell in his body rebelling against it, rejecting the mere notion, turning his blood to poison in his veins.
Cold isn’t a word anyone who’s met the cook of the Strawhat Pirates would use to describe him. He’s passion and kindness and warmth; the sun reflecting off the ocean’s waves on a summer’s day in glittering patterns and the vast, bright blue sky on a clear, beautiful spring day, the smell of flowers on the breeze.
And yet his gaze in this moment can’t be described as anything but, the soft blue of his eyes replaced with sharp ice, scowling at you like you’re not worth more than the dirt beneath his shoes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you, we all told you, we’re bringing you home. Now drop the arrogant prince act and—”
“No, no, what are you doing here, I mean? I thought my message was quite clear.”
“I don’t— What are you talking about?”
He barks out a laugh then, harsh and cold and cruel, unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before.
“Wow, you’re something else, you know that? I quite literally ran away from you to get married to someone else and you still don’t get it?” The wicked grin he’s regarded you with until then slips from his lips, leaving something apathetic and bored in it’s wake. “I’m done with you. Get lost.”
“And if I don’t?” you challenge right back, crossing your arms over your chest, utterly unimpressed with his performance so far.
Shit. You’re not buying a single word he’s saying. He needs to do worse.
“Then you’ll look even more pathetic and sad than you already do, but I suppose you must be used to that by now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, stepping closer and crowding your space. “It means I’m about to marry a beautiful, sweet woman who also happens to be the daughter of an Emperor of the Sea. So what could I possibly still want from a dirty, used little lab rat like you?”
It’s brief, barely even there and if he didn’t know you as well as he did, he probably would’ve missed it, but Sanji catches the flicker of hurt and uncertainty in your otherwise defiant stare, the slight change in posture as your shoulders grow tense. It’s the right angle, the right button - now all he has to do is push.
But he absolutely can’t bring himself to do it while holding your gaze, so he drops his eyes to his hands again, picking at a nonexistent loose thread on his sleeve.
“If I’m so beneath you, why even put up with me for so long?”
“Honestly? Because you were there and so ridiculously willing. Easy and convenient, nothing more.”
“So look me in the eyes and say that.”
“Good grief…” Sanji groans under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, helplessly trying to keep his voice from cracking and foolishly ignoring the burn of tears behind his eyes.
Fuck.
He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.
He has to.
He has made damn well sure you’d never doubt his love for you - and now it’s coming back to mock him.
Sanji curls two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up in a familiar gesture of warmth and tenderness in a pointless effort to lull himself into a false sense of security.
“You want the truth? You are a needy, clingy and exhausting little thing. Always looking for attention, needing reassurance and affection, disgustingly desperate for someone to love you. All it took was a hollow smile here, a fabricated compliment there and you were bending over backwards for me - or just bending over really, if we’re being honest.”
You physically startle at the crude comment, attempting to retreat and get away from his touch, but he doesn’t let you, even if it costs him his own sanity, the grip with which he traps your jaw is harsh and he prays to any deity willing to listen that the shock he watches take over your entire system has you mistaking the disgust he knows to be contorting his features at his own actions as something directed towards to you.
“Stop it…” you whisper hoarsely, clawing at his wrist, silently begging for him to let you go, to end this, defiant and stubborn, despite the tears he can see gathering at your lashes, his chest seizing like it’s about to cave in at the mere sight.
“Stop what? Telling the truth? Your own parents, the first people who were supposed to love you, sold you as a science experiment for a few Berry and you genuinely thought you’d find someone else in this world who’d love you unconditionally? You’ve only ever been worth what people could take from you, no more, no less.”
Every insecurity, every fear, every personal hell, entrusted to him during sleepless nights spent talking on deck with freezing fingers curled around steaming mugs, during rare lazy mornings whispered between the sheets with the first rays of the sun as the only witness. All of the pain, once calmed, hushed and made bearable, now weaponized against you with venomous intent to pull you apart at the seams by the very same person.
“It was fun while it lasted, but I’m done taking, so save yourself whatever little dignity you might have left and get. lost.”
Sanji turns then, striding towards the waiting carriage without another look back. He doesn’t need to. The image of your tear streaked face, bottom lip trembling, beautiful eyes glassy and wide in disbelief and horror and hurt, is gonna be burned into his retinas for the rest of his miserable life.
You don’t call out to him again, don’t reach for him, not when he climbs back into the carriage and not when they start moving again, pulling him further away from you.
He buries his hands in his hair, tugging on the blond strands harsh enough to sting, trying to hide his own tears and anguish from his laughing brothers and distract himself from the sheer agony of his heart coming apart in his chest, jagged, broken shards burrowing into his rib cage to make a new permanent home. His teeth come down on his bottom lip hard, struggling to keep the sobs at bay, until the tangy, warm taste of copper creeps onto his tongue.
Good. If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll choke on it.
Sanji wakes in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around his longs legs and shirt sticking to his clammy skin, the memory of the taste of his own blood still clinging to the back of his throat, sending him upright retching and gagging. No matter how many gulps of air he forces into his lungs, it isn’t enough to assuage the burning ache in his chest, so he scrambles out of his bunk, yanking a hoodie and his cigarettes from his locker as he stumbles toward the door on unsteady legs.
The low growl of thunder accompanied by the occasional streak of lightning cutting through the night off somewhere on the far horizon greet him when he steps outside, the gusts of wind reaching the Sunny still enough to snuff the flame from his lighter. Curses fall from his lips as he climbs the steps to the second floor, trembling hands cupped around the cigarette between his teeth until the end finally catches flame, a dimly glowing ember when he takes a drag. His back collides with the railing in exhaustion, head tipping back to exhale in a long heavy breath, watching the smoke curl up and disappear against the dark, starry sky. The second cigarette is already reduced to nothing by the time he realizes he’s wandered close to the sick bay without meaning to, drawn to you like moth to flame, as he always is.
He chances a glance through the bullseye on the door and finds Chopper safely tucked in and contentedly snoring on the bed, no doubt your handiwork; an attempt at a placating gesture, considering you are blatantly ignoring the doctor’s orders for bed rest yet again. As hard as the little reindeer has tried to make the space that is the sick bay as warm and inviting and comforting as possible, you could never stand to be around anything even remotely resembling a laboratory: syringes, vials, medical notes. Everything too much like the cage you’d been locked up and used in for so long, the subtle reminders always enough to leave you nauseous and anxious. Sanji knows this, of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve bolted from the infirmary to be literally anywhere else on the ship.
Most nights, you had ended up in the kitchen - supposedly because it was the closest room. Gentleman that he is, Sanji had never doubted you. Maybe, once upon a time, it had actually been the truth. Not anymore, though. It hasn’t been the truth, your real reason for seeking comfort in the kitchen of all places, for a long time. Now, with the remnants of a wreckage of his own making staring back at him, the cook has to wonder if you’ll ever look at him like that again. Between stopping the wedding and running for your lives, you two haven’t had the time to speak about anything that’s gone so wrong. But he has to set things right, try to at the very least, you have to know how he really feels, that he didn’t mean a single word of the hateful vitriol and vile lies he spat at you. Of course he won’t blame you if it doesn’t change anything; after he took the beautiful thing you’d built together and twisted it into something ugly and horrid? Yeah, you should hate him.
He makes a quick stop in the kitchen to prepare something to keep you warm tonight where he won’t be able or wanted, then proceeds to check the rest of the Sunny, ultimately finding you at the back of the ship, arms crossed on the railing, head buried between and it could be an illusion, nothing more than the moon’s rays reflecting off the waves, but he swears he sees your shoulders shake.
Are you crying?
‘And whose fault is that?’ a voice in the back of his head asks, snide and cruel.
‘Pretentious aren’t we? Why would they be wasting tears over a failure like you?’ another one answers, mocking and apathetic.
Sanji begs them both to just shut up for once in his life.
The scent of lavender and honey carried along with the sea breeze reaches you, your head snapping up instantly to find a steaming mug on the railing next to you, placed with such practiced ease and quiet care, if you weren’t so attuned to his presence, you probably wouldn’t have noticed until after he had gone again. Swiveling your head to search for the source of your comfort, you find him a few feet behind you, so busy shrugging out of his hoodie, he completely misses how your entire face lights up and the tension bleeds from your whole body at his presence. Warmth engulfing you follows, accompanied by the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and spices clinging to the fabric now draped over your shoulders, and the way he so desperately makes sure not to touch you while doing it, trying to preserve whatever fragile semblance of peace the blanket of night has provided over the current mayhem in your lives by not invading your space, has your heart twisting painfully in your chest.
“I know you don’t like being confined in the sick bay, my love—” He cuts himself off abruptly, unsure if he’s still allowed to call you his, then continues with a little shake of his head, voice quiet and strained. “Please do make sure you get some rest nonetheless.” He turns to leave so fast, you barely manage grab a hold of his hand, effectively and immediately stopping him in his tracks, frozen mid step, upper body angled away from you as you tug on his hand gently in a clear demand for him to stay. He does, yet he refuses to look at you and no matter how long you wait, silently begging him to acknowledge you, he doesn’t budge. Realizing you’ll have to be the one to make the first move, you circle around, coming to a halt in front of him, fingers still tightly wrapped around his wrist, terrified he’ll bolt if you let go. Stubborn to a fault, he’s still turned away from you, hair falling into his face to hide his ocean eyes from your searching gaze. Calling his name quietly, begging and oh so soft, only has him flinching away from you as if struck, so careful fingers instead trail up his arm to gently trace the bandage that peeks out from under his shirt sleeve, desperately trying to coerce him into lifting his head through touch instead of words.
When he doesn’t recoil again, your fingers drift higher, along his shoulder, over his collarbone, his neck, until finally your knuckles ghost over his cheek in a barely there caress, avoiding the fading yellow bruises, still an ugly violet in parts, matching the scabbed over cut below his visible eye and the split lip. All recent injuries, yes, but not fresh enough to have come from your struggle escaping Big Mom’s territory. You’re very well aware where they actually came from, who inflicted them on him and your heart aches for him all over again.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, my light.” you croak, the sting of unshed tears already in your eyes as you bring your other hand up as well, your touch growing firmer but no less gentle as you cup his face. “I wish I could’ve done more. I should have.” That’s what finally has his gaze snapping to yours, eyes wide in shock and horror, mouth falling slightly agape as he stares at you as if you’ve lost your mind. You don’t let it deter you though. “I was so worried about you the entire time you were gone, I… You didn’t deserve to get trapped with those monsters again.” He springs into action as if struck by distant lightning, long, slender fingers curling around your wrists in a soft, grounding touch, lips tugging upward in a joyless, rueful smile that doesn’t reach his sapphire eyes, wet with unshed tears. “You see that’s where you’re wrong, I did. I deserved that and so much worse, a just punishment for my actions and yet nothing they could inflict on me could ever pain me as horribly as what I did to you. Mon cœur, not a single word I said was true, I need you to know that.”
A small, sad smile matching his precedes your next words, heart cracking at the mere notion that he genuinely thought you’d ever truly doubt his love and devotion for you. “You really think I didn’t already know? You were trying to protect me by pushing me away, I understood that while it was happening, Sanji.”
The frown on his handsome face only seems to etch itself deeper.
“The end doesn’t justify the means. You trusted me with something as precious as your heart and I couldn’t even keep it safe and cherished, fitting for a failure like myself. Instead I humiliated you and treated you like dirt.” A bark of laughter, incredulous and self deprecating, as he releases his hold on you and steps out of your reach, digging a cigarette out of his pockets and lighting it with trembling fingers, a deep inhale to soothe his nerves before he continues speaking. “So why aren’t you furious? Why do you still care about me? After all of it, how can you even look at me with anything but disgust?! I don’t—” He interrupts himself with another long drag, then moves to throw the butt of his cigarette overboard, leaning his elbows on the railing, back to you and both hands buried in his hair, anxiously tugging at the blond strands like he always does when he’s upset or worried. Meanwhile you remain rooted to the spot, slipping your arms into the sleeves of his hoodie before wrapping them around yourself for comfort, aching to reach out and soothe him, but you know he wouldn’t allow it right now, so you give him his space, let him work through this on his own.
The lull of the waves against the hull of the ship and the song of distant thunder fills the silence between you for a while and only when you see him drop his hands from his hair, his shoulders no longer heaving with heavy breaths, followed by the familiar click of his lighter do you move towards his form with quiet, careful steps, coming to stand beside him, mindful to keep some distance between you. Your back is against the railing, stealing wistful sideways glances at his profile, trying to gauge what’s going through his mind as you watch smoke curl towards the stars.
It takes him another moment to gather the courage to speak his next words aloud. “My intentions don’t matter, there’s no excuse in this world or the next that could justify my actions, I… I hurt you.” The poor cook can barely bring himself to say it, fresh tears brimming in his pretty blue eyes when he finally brings his gaze to yours again. You open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t let you, fully aware of what you’re going to try and do. “Please, mon étoile, don’t pretend I didn’t. I could see it in your eyes.”
Yet again you want to argue but one look at him is enough to have your shoulders slumping in defeat. “I… I won’t lie to you, my love, after all, you’d catch me in it anyways.” A weak, humorless chuckle follows, then you mirror his stance to stare out at the horizon, watching lightning split the sky as you stall for time, struggling to find the right words. Words that will be truthful but won’t cause him any more pain and guilt - a fruitless endeavor, the longer you think on it, so you start speaking even if you don’t feel ready. “There’s always been a part of me… a little, cruel and mocking voice in the back of my head, constantly telling me I’m not worthy to be part of his crew, that I don’t deserve to have someone like you loving me. Always reminding me that I’m too much, yet not enough and hearing you of all people confirm that just… well, that voice is just gonna be a little louder now, I guess…”
Said voice has also started to sound an awful lot like your lover, but you could never bring yourself to tell him that. Not when he already looks like he’d rather throw himself overboard and drown than to have ever had a hand in your suffering.
“I’d give my life to take it all back.” he confirms, grief making his voice crack halfway through.
Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you offer him a weak, but genuine smile as you push his hair away from his eyes and gently cradle his face in both of your hands.
“So it’s either live with what happened or live without you? I can handle the first, I could not bear the latter, my light, so please don’t make me.”
Tears slip down his cheeks, brushed away by a stroke of your thumb as he leans into your touch, nuzzling into your hand before turning his head to press his lips to your palm, the touch lingering and reverent, then, in a voice so low and wrecked with guilt it almost gets carried away on the sea breeze, “So what can I do…?”
‘Absolutely nothing.’ is what you want to say, that he’s long since been forgiven for any sins he thinks he has to atone for, that you’ve been waiting for him with open arms and an open heart since he left, but he’ll never accept that. Luckily you know him well enough to have anticipated this predicament.
“I’ve been thinking about that, actually…” you start, his full attention on you in an instant, sapphire eyes bright with determination, tightly clasping your hands in his like a lifeline.
“Anything. I’ll do anything.” The fact that he truly means it melts your heart as much as it terrifies you.
“Since you seem so adamant about proving that your words weren’t true, I want you to do just that. I wanna be showered in affection and compliments and fall asleep every night feeling cherished enough to not question my worth. Love me loud enough so that the little voice in my head doesn’t even get the chance to speak up.”
He blinks owlishly, processing your words, trying to make sure he heard you right. He couldn’t have.
Of course you know what you’re asking of him - or rather aren’t asking, after all, he already heeds all of these requests every single day without fail and without even trying. Your cook wears his heart on his sleeve and his love for you is no different; it’s ever present, constantly wrapped around you like a warm blanket. You’ve never felt more protected and cherished, downright worshipped, then when he’s by your side, inner demons recoiling and retreating at the light he brings into your life, yet he’s constantly insisting that he’s the lucky one to have you, readily and proudly declaring himself yours whenever given the slightest opportunity.
His arms your home, his voice your lullaby, his heartbeat your safe haven, his laugh your sun - his love loud and encompassing in the best, most beautiful way imaginable and it comes to him so naturally and effortlessly, you can’t imagine asking for more.
So you don’t, instead disguising his regular adoration and devotion as your idea for his supposed atonement, even though you know he’ll abhor the idea, yet what is he going to do, refuse you?
The longer he continues to gawk at you in utter disbelief, the harder it becomes for you to keep the self satisfied grin off your face, eventually trapping your bottom lip between your teeth in a futile attempt. Realization finally settles over his features and for a moment, you think he’ll argue, insist it’s not enough, but he only ends up heaving a sigh while running a hand through his hair before he leans in close to leave a kiss on your temple.
“Well, you sure set this trap up quite brilliantly.”
“Why thank you, I thought so, too.”
Sanji watches another lightning bolt branch across the horizon over your shoulder, bright against the dark backdrop of the night, the distant clap of thunder close behind. A storm just like this one had accompanied your first meeting and he almost wants to slap himself for how obvious it all was from the very start.
Coup de foudre.
A lightning strike. Or… love at first sight.
The universe itself going out of it’s way to show him just how important you’d be to him the second he first laid eyes on you and even so it had still taken him longer than he’d ever care to admit to finally understand why everything felt brighter and easier and more beautiful when you were by his side.
“There was a thunderstorm the night we met, too, do you remember?”
You pull back from his embrace to look at him quizzically, clearly confused by the sudden change of topic, but you go along with it, nodding in confirmation. “Yes, I remember that mess…”
A miracle really, considering most of your early time with the crew is a bit hazy. That night though… a horrible storm that had threatened to tear the ship apart, a frightened, feral little thing, freshly awoken in an unfamiliar place full of strangers after years of imprisonment and torture, and a poor cook with the misfortune to run into said terrified creature, who still carries the faint scar from that encounter on his jaw today. You’ll end up placing a kiss on that exact scar more often than not, a never ending apology, your memories of that night not something you recall fondly.
Judging by the look he’s fixed you with, though, he clearly feels differently and you understand the workings of his mind well enough to know what’s coming, so you immediately put a damper on what you’re sure he’s gonna say next.
“Sanji, if you now try to tell me something about love at first sight, I’m officially declaring you insane.”
He simply shrugs and grins at you, the bastard. “Would you prefer I phrase it differently, ma chérie? Becoming aware of the certainty that my life would change because now you were in it? The whole world shifting on its axis to bathe everything in a new light?”
“Considering the storm, you think that might’ve just been the ship tilting?” you ask, tone bone dry, earning yourself a slight pinch to your sides and an indignant huff, all mock annoyance and very real fondness.
“Not quite love at first sight maybe, but… intrigue. Curiosity. The need to learn everything. Looking back on it now, that stormy night was when I lost the first piece of my heart to you and the more I got to know you, the more pieces I willingly gave without even realizing until one day I just looked up and my heart wasn’t beating in my own chest anymore, safely cradled in your gentle hands instead and what a wonderful, magnificent, perfect place for it to be.”
Any and all teasing has slipped from your face, replaced by awe and reverence for the man in front of you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes when he gently gathers your hands to press your palms against his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft under your fingertips, the beat of his heart strong and steady.
“As long as it’s beating, it’s yours. Come what may, it’ll belong to you until I take my last breath. No matter the distance between us, no matter the time we have to spend apart, if nothing else please know it to be true that I will love you until my dying day.”
Sight blurring, you blink away the tears until his handsome, kind face swims back into focus, wetness now clinging to your cheeks instantly brushed away by warm, soft thumbs as he cradles your face, your own hands still on his chest, desperately clinging to the song the rhythm of his heart provides.
“Did you mean for that to sound like wedding vows?” Sniffling, you try for a teasing tone and a confident grin - you miserably fail both, if the way his blue eyes cloud over with shame and the hold on your face growing firmer, more reassuring is anything to go by.
“Not necessarily, no. But considering you’re the only person I’m ever truly going to marry, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be allowed to hear something akin to vows now.”
“Is that what you really want, though?” you question, voice quiet and strained with the effort to keep the sobs trapped in your throat, tears only falling harder, trembling hands fisting in his shirt and your head dropping low, unable to still meet his gaze, causing his hands to fall from your cheeks and find purchase softly wrapped around your tense wrists instead. You’re trying to keep it together as best you can, but the joy and relief of having him back is ebbing away, the grief and terror of almost losing him in so may different ways in such a short amount of time finally catching up to you, your own suffering and fears rearing their ugly heads. “Sanji, if you think the only way you can rejoin the crew is to come back to me as well even though it’s not what you want, then I… I don’t— You shouldn’t—”
I don’t want you to.
You shouldn’t have to.
But your battered, selfish, aching heart doesn’t let you say it. Doesn’t want to hear what his answer might be. And with all the damage he managed to do by trying to protect you now staring him straight in the face, Sanji can feel his own heart bleeding alongside yours.
“Oh, mon étoile, no, you have it the wrong way around. I longed to return to you above all else. Not even an hour went by when I wasn’t thinking of you and ways to make amends for what I did.” A stuttering, heaving breath from you, the terrible word ‘But’ barely out of your mouth when he’s already speaking again, voice soft and warm, utterly unwilling to let you continue this horrendous train of thought, closing the small distance between you to press a kiss to your hair. “Why do you think I always call you that, hm? My star?”
The question is enough to cut through the cruel voices in your mind, the beautiful man in front of you already delivering exactly what you asked of him, and has you lifting your head to look at him because it’s true - as fond as he is of pet names for just about anyone, you’ve never heard him use that for anyone but you.
You give him a tiny, uncertain shrug, releasing the death grip on his shirt in favor of wiping a sleeve over your eyes. A steadying hand finds your waist, the other cradling the back of your head while his lips brush against your forehead in a quick, soft caress before his ocean eyes find yours again. “It’s because you’re my North Star, the beautiful constant that will always be there to guide me home, the light that remains when the rest of my world goes dark, the invisible pull I will always blindly, happily follow.”
Heat crawls up your neck and has you burying your face in your hands, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth breathing for, coupled with his words too much for the current fragile state of your heart, hammering against your rib cage so viciously you’re certain he has to feel it in his own bones. Dragging oxygen back into your lungs with heavy, shuddering breaths, you try to calm and compose yourself, while long, slender fingers draw soothing patterns into your skin, not pushing or demanding, simply a constant, reassuring presence, as he always is. You scrub your hands over your face a final time before you instead go to hide in the crook of his neck, arms coming around his waist in a hug tight enough to steal the air from his lungs, not that he would ever mind.
“You’re really mine, then…?” It’s barely a whisper, yet oh so hopeful.
Sanji just barely bites back a laugh, he’d never mean to belittle or make light of your insecurities and fears, he’d have the moss head run him through with all three swords before he’d even think of it, but the notion of him being anyone else’s is so utterly ludicrous, he can’t help it.
He returns your hug just as fiercely, lips leaving a whisper of a kiss just below your ear, then, “Je suis avant tout à toi. Never doubt that.”
A little laugh, soft and helpless. “I don’t… I don’t think I can promise that.”
Another kiss, chaste and gentle, to your jaw this time, then your cheek. “That’s okay. I’ll be here to remind you whenever you need.”
Your press yourself impossibly closer, arms tightening further, nails undoubtedly leaving marks on his back, meanwhile the kiss you leave on the pulse point of his neck is as tender and vulnerable as your voice. “Gods, I love you.”
His heart stutters like it’s about to stop, jumping in joy and devotion, desperately trying to find a way out of the prison of his ribs back to it’s real home. “I love you, too. More than I could ever hope to put into words. And I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”
That has you pulling back slowly, carefully, not letting him go, never again, but far enough so that you can see his face, look into his beautiful ocean eyes when you speak. “Forever?” you suggest, peeking up at him through your lashes, lovely lips tugged upward in that crooked smile he adores so much. A low chuckle, his warm breath fanning over your face as he leans forward to seal his next words into your heart, body and soul with his lips finally finding yours again after so long.
You didn’t pretend to be asleep purposefully but often, your crew made assumptions when you lounged in your favoured hammock with a hat tipped low over your eyes.
The ropes creaked softly each time the Sunny rolled against the waves, warm sea wind drifting lazily across the deck. It was your usual place after all, half-hidden between the chatter of the crew and the steady groan of the ship, and sometimes you wondered if you’d simply become part of the scenery.
Certainly, nobody watched their tongues when you were there and you sometimes overheard the funniest conversations.
Because not everybody thought you blended in that well.
Nami clicked her fingers three times. “Sanji! Please. I need you to focus and not drool.”
“Sorry, my darling Nami-san but I can’t help it,” he lamented, their voices drifting to you from just past the staircase. “You can hardly hold it against me when I’ve been blessed with such a sight. I can’t help but stare at the love of my life.”
You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, the brim of your hat hiding it easily. He was always so sweet, even when he thought you couldn’t hear him.
Nami scoffed. “Love of your life? You’ve had far too many of those. Now, please, can we focus on changing the ship’s course just slightly. I think there’s a sea mount here.”
“You hurt me, sweet Nami,” Sanji said but you felt the sway of the ship. “My heart has settled.”
“Sure, it has. A little further to the right.”
“Do you really not believe me? I made a special breakfast this morning cooked with all the love in my heart.”
“No, I don’t,” she answered quickly. “You do that for every woman you come across. Sometimes, they’re not even women but we just don’t bother telling you.”
You chuckled softly under your breath, quiet enough that the sound became lost to the waves. You never minded his flattering attentions turning elsewhere, especially because when he looked at you after, because only you could kiss him until he forgot any other woman existed.
“That’s different,” he protested. “I acknowledge beauty when I see it but I would never look away from the goddess in front of me.”
Nami sighed, clearly unimpressed. “I suppose you do badger her more than everybody else. You probably should let up a little.”
You heard him spluttering a response as the familiar heels clicked back toward her navigation room. You reached for your hat and sat up but Sanji must have followed her because you found yourself alone on the deck.
Although you meant to talk to him about it, the only alone time you found came long after dinner had passed.
A quiet hush had settled over the Sunny by the time dinner dishes had long since been cleared away. The kitchen lights still glowed warm against polished wood but the room sat empty, abandoned aside from Zoro asleep at one of the tables with his head tipped back and a bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. The usual noise of the crew had faded into the rush of waves against the hull and the distant groan of timber beneath your feet.
It was a lovely quiet but a worrying one and you didn’t slow until you spotted the familiar curl of smoke against the inky night sky. You made your way across the swaying deck, your steps careful against the uneven tilt of the deck beneath your feet.
“You seem to have plenty on your mind,” you commented as you approached.
Sanji smiled though he still looked concerned, teeth worrying the end of his cigarette. “I always have space in my thoughts for you.”
“Everything alright?”
“Do I badger you, mon amour?”
“Badger?” you repeated, hearing the echo of Nami’s conversation echoing through your mind as you stepped next to him. “I wouldn’t say so. Maybe you’re sweeter to me than to others but… well, I’m not complaining about that.”
He nodded, his gaze slipping to the waves. “Do you know that nobody thinks we’re together? They don’t believe me either.”
“I heard you talking with Nami,” you admitted. “She’s not very romantically focused.”
“No, I wish it was just her,” he lamented. “But I spoke to the others and none of them listened. Brook, Franky, and Robin all thought I was imagining things.”
You had to fight the urge to giggle at just how affronted he looked at the notion.
“It’s alright,” you reassured. “If you want, I can talk to everybody tomorrow at breakfast. Or maybe just kiss you good morning. That’ll set things straight.”
A faint red caught at his cheeks but he shook his head. “No, chérie. You don’t need to do anything to prove something but I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe. Maybe because you’re so beautiful, they couldn’t imagine it.”
You smiled at the theatrics. “They’re just being oblivious. Or maybe they’re even just teasing because they already know. It wouldn’t surprise me with Robin.”
“I think they’re convinced my flattery is meaningless.”
You reached out to fix his collar, smoothing the fabric where it had folded crooked beneath his jacket. As your fingers brushed the bare skin at the edge of his collar, Sanji went still beneath your touch, all warm skin and cigarette smoke against the sharp bite of the night wind.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I love the flattery. Whether it’s meaningless or sincere.”
He looked far less reassured than you’d hoped him to, concern furrowing his brow. “But it’s never meaningless,” he insisted. ““If it troubles you, then I’ll devote myself only to you. Gladly.”
“No, no,” you hurried to say, short breathless laugh escaping you. “You don’t have to do that. I know that it’s not the same as when you tell me you love me.”
“It’s insulting,” he muttered. “As though what I feel for you is the same as simple admiration.”
“They’ll know,” you promised. “Are you certain you don’t want me to tell them?”
He considered it before he huffed. “If they’re not going to believe me, I shouldn’t have to involve you. I can show them what I mean.”
You reached over and plucked the cigarette from his lips, bringing your lips to his instead. He made a surprised but pleased sound, kissing you back gently before you straightened.
You brought the cigarette to your lips playfully and he immediately snatched it back.
“Chérie, that’s terrible for you!”
“And yet I think this is your second pack today.”
“It’s not,” he protested, drawing you close with his free hand but keeping the cigarette decidedly out of your reach. “Besides, you deserve something far higher quality than these if you must.”
You laughed softly. “See, it’s those things that will prove it to them in a heartbeat.”
But whatever reassurance you gave him disappeared the next day.
The waves were choppy in the morning but not bad enough for you to consider going inside. You stood a little closer to the railing than you should have, allowing the wind to play with your hair as you swayed against the motion of the ship.
An errant tip of the Sunny sent you stumbling a little, far from anything dangerous, but enough that a smooth arm wrapped around your waist.
Sanji pulled you into his chest, hand resting against your hip firmly. “Careful,” he warned. “We’re having your favourite for lunch and it’ll taste far worse if you’re drenched.”
You stabilised yourself against his chest, laughing softly. “I’ll try my hardest.”
He smiled down at you when Zoro barked from nearby, “Quit hanging off her while we’re moving.”
Sanji’s head snapped to him immediately, glare sharp and agitated. “What are you on about now?”
Zoro glanced down toward the hand on your waist. “Just saying.”
“If my love didn’t want me to touch her, she’d let me know without you interfering,” Sanji hissed.
“Sure,” Zoro snorted as he walked away.
You shook your head at him but Sanji seemed far more appalled at the conversation than you had been. “Nobody,” he said. “Not even that idiot mosshead believes that we’re together. This is ridiculous.”
“You could probably try Luffy,” you suggested. “Or Chopper. They’ll believe just about anything.”
Sanji’s jaw twitched but he sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
You hoped he’d ask Luffy because you were quite certain that your captain already knew. Or, rather, you had told him. Several weeks ago, he saw you kiss Sanji on the deck and asked. He’d nodded and accepted your response though you had to admit, at the time, he was far more focused on lunch than you.
Not an hour later, you spotted Sanji talking eagerly to Luffy who simply nodded and offered him a thumbs-up that backfired shortly after.
“Sanji says they’re in love,” Luffy informed a sceptical Robin.
“I’ve heard that a lot lately,” Robin said sweetly and she smiled at you. “Do you believe it, Captain?”
“Sanji always says he’s in love with women so it’s probably true.”
Sanji who had been not-so-subtly eavesdropping hit his forehead against the wall and you had to stifle the desire to just outright confirm it. If not to ease his suffering. You waited until Robin left and he brought you a drink to offer a hand against his jaw in sympathy.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?”
“I should be able to prove my love to a lady without her needing to make declarations,” he muttered. “Though I am starting to believe I’m surrounded by idiots.”
“Nah, they’re just used to you doing strange things,” Luffy said and you’d honestly forgotten he was still there, looking at your drink suspiciously.
You moved it away from him. “Luffy, I genuinely can’t tell whose side you’re on sometimes.”
“There are sides?”
“Mm,” you said. “Either you believe that we’re together or you don’t. We are, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said.
You laughed softly. “Alright then that’s settled. One person believes you, my love.”
Sanji sighed. “I suppose I cannot be picky anymore.”
A few hours before dinner, you were discussing budgets with Nami when you heard your name called over the deck. You lifted your head to meet Sanji’s gracious smile.
“When you have a second, mon amour, I could use your brilliant tastebuds,” he offered.
You smiled and tapped on the front of the book. “I’ll be there shortly.”
He disappeared back into the galley and you smiled at Nami who was giving you a look. “Did you know that you two are apparently together?” she asked. “Sanji hasn’t stopped about it for the past few days.”
You hummed in acknowledgement. “So, I’ve heard.”
“You’re encouraging him too much,” Usopp told you and you caught his wrist before he could change the number Nami scribbled down.
“That is my goal,” you said. “All things considered though, he’s grown very immune to my charms. I can flirt endlessly and sometimes, he doesn’t even blush anymore. It’s very sad.”
Nami counted out some beri and shoved it toward Usopp before he could continue to complain about what was reasonable for ship repairs. You were just grateful that Robin was distracting Franky so this conversation could be had at a decent volume.
“I’m sure it’s just because you haven’t really been trying,” she told you. “With him being ‘in love’ and everything now, I promise, one touch to his arm and he’ll probably pass out.”
“I don’t know…” Usopp said. “He’s been getting more resistant to you know who.” He nodded toward you as though you couldn’t see him.
“You know my name,” you reminded him. “But I agree, he’s far more resilient to me.”
Nami rolled her eyes. “You two have too much faith.”
Usopp looked down at the beri in his hands and then back at her. “Want to put some money on it? If I’m right, we double the budget.”
She pressed her lips together. “I’ll give you an extra five hundred if you’re right. No more.”
“Eh… close enough.”
You raised an eyebrow at the bet being placed in front of you. “Do I get a say in this?”
“Not really,” Nami said. “You’re the one with so much faith in him. Go and bat your eyelashes or kiss his cheek and the moment he gets a nosebleed; I’m reducing the budget by a thousand for complaining so much.”
“Hey! How’s that fair?” Usopp asked.
“It’s not!”
You knew you could protest enough to get it dropped but also… it was sort of sweet that Sanji had grown slightly immune to your more obvious affections. It was a good thing too because if he started swaying every time you touched him like he’d once done, you’d never get anything done.
Nami cleared her throat and you stared at her over the table. She nodded her chin toward the galley.
“Words, please,” you asked.
“Go,” she insisted. “While he’s doing something unimportant. I don’t want this to impact dinner.”
You sighed as though they were asking you to move a mountain before standing anyway. “Why must I be involved in this?”
“Because you started the conversation in the first place.”
Evening had yet to arrive but the galley was already alive with the sounds of dinner preparation. Steam curled warmly through the kitchen and the sharp rhythm of Sanji’s knife carried above the crackle of the stove. Something sweet simmered faintly beneath the richer scent of butter and garlic as he worked steadily at the counter. His expression softened when you entered, gaze flicking past you just as the door to the galley swung closed.
“Are you aware you’re being followed?” he asked.
You didn’t even need to look to know both Nami and Usopp had their faces pressed against the circular windows.
“I am,” you said. “They’re debating budgets again. Usopp wants… to be honest, I wasn’t listening.”
He chuckled. “So why are they following you?”
You stepped into his space, tilting your head so they could see and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He paused chopping briefly, turning to you so that he could smile softly, a gentle love clouding his eyes.
But no nosebleed. No fainting.
“They asked me to give you a kiss on the cheek,” you said with a smile.
“Well, I’ll never turn down something so sweet,” he answered. “But is that truly everything they wanted? Have you been talking to them about…”
“A little,” you laughed. “But I haven’t said anything too incriminating. They think you’ve become immune to my charms.”
Sanji lowered his knife completely, looking almost offended. “Chérie, that would be impossible. I could never become immune to you. You know that your beauty stuns me every time.”
“Mm, I think Nami just wanted an excuse to try spend less on the budget.”
Behind, you heard a sharp shout of acknowledgement, turning just in time to see Nami shaking her head in disappointment. They both disappeared from the door and you smiled faintly. At least Usopp got something out of this.
“Ah,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. He picked up his knife again and resumed his dicing. “I’m being used as part of some scheme then.”
“Maybe a little.”
“I still got a kiss from you,” he said and he sounded unbearably pleased with himself over that fact alone. “I can hardly be upset over something so sweet.”
You smiled at him and your eyes flicked to the chopping board, noticing something off in his rhythm. “I can see you’re not entirely immune.”
“How so?”
You stepped behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating through his shirt. Your arm slipped carefully along his until your hand settled over his, thumb nudging his fingers back into their usual grip around the knife handle. It was as though you turned him to stone, his body stiff as he stared down at your hands.
“You almost never change your knife grip,” you teased. “Unless you’re distracted.”
Sanji tilted his head slightly to you, bright blue eyes stunned. A faint red appeared under his nose and you reached for a nearby cloth, holding it out to him. You left him standing there, still slightly stunned, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before you made your way back to Nami, mind still slightly focused on budget discussions.
You should probably just tell everybody because honestly, this was getting a little ridiculous though you still gave him a chance.
But your actions in the kitchen clearly made Sanji decide subtlety was no longer worth attempting.
He set your plate carefully in front of you while the rest of the crew continued eating around the table, overlapping conversations and clattering cutlery filling the space beneath his painfully fond smile. “For the most special person in the world. I made you your own dish this evening, crafted exactly to your liking. As my beloved, my angel, the dearest woman in the world and – ”
“Are we seriously still doing this?” Zoro muttered.
Nami didn’t even look up from her map. “Didn’t you say the same thing to a random girl at the market two islands ago?”
Sanji’s shoulders deflated. “No,” he protested. “I didn’t. My compliments to her were far lighter as Franky can confirm.”
“I don’t really listen when you start with the women nonsense,” Franky said factually. “Started tuning it out way long ago.”
“I think most of us do,” Usopp said.
You couldn’t really protest because you had to admit you’d also started to ignore exactly what he was saying when it involved strangers. What could you say, it got repetitive and those words were so boring compared to the compliments he offered you.
You took a sip of your tea, wondering if you should just kiss him and get it over with.
Though the perfect opportunity presented itself a few days later after the Sunny made it safely to another island.
With surprisingly little trouble to get into, the crew eventually crowded into a small café near the harbour. Warm light spilled across polished wooden tables while rows of glossy fruit pastries sat neatly arranged behind curved glass displays. The air smelled thickly of sugar and fresh cream, softened further by the sound of quiet conversation and dishes clinking somewhere behind the counter.
“Cook’s at it again,” Zoro told you and you raised your head to find Sanji deep in conversation with the other chef.
She was clearly flattered by his attention, smiling shyly as he talked about the various goods she was cooking. You watched with bemusement, wondering if it was the same as ever. He seemed cursed to never notice a women when she was interested in him.
He’d been exactly the same when you first met him.
Nami looked over the scene and huffed. “This is why I don’t listen when he says love of his life. Though admittedly he’s being… better than usual.”
“It still lasted longer than I thought it would,” Usopp said. “Guess you’re finally free then.”
“Oh, I hope not,” you said. “Sanji.”
He turned immediately at your voice, expression softening immediately when he met your eyes. You gestured him over to your table and he hurried to say something to the chef, making quick steps over to you.
“Yes, love?”
You reached for his tie, wrapping it around your hand and tugging him down. His lips met yours and he froze for a second before he returned the kiss sweetly, one hand settling lightly against the side of your face as he leaned down into you.
Then you let him go and smiled.
“You can go back to your conversation now,” you said, eyes flicking to the other chef just briefly to see her mildly annoyed expression. “I just had to prove a quick point.”
“Wait, Sanji was being serious?!” Usopp’s voice made you jump and you turned back to the rest of the crew with a slight shrug.
“Obviously. I never said he was wrong, did I?”
“I told you all,” Sanji huffed, his arms crossed over his chest. “But not one of you believed me.”
Nami’s expression was locked on you though and you shrunk a little under it without knowing what you’d done wrong. Then she folded her fingers together in front of you. “You made me lose money to Usopp? When you knew that would happen?”
Oh. Right.
You laughed nervously. “Nami-Chan, we’ve been friends for a very long time and I really value you as a person.”
She turned to Usopp who did flinch. “Give it back.”
“What?! But we bet that he would react and he didn’t! I didn’t say they were dating!”
“You had insider information!”
“I didn’t!”
“Like I’d believe you!”
Zoro lowered his bottle to give you a look between the argument. “Seriously? Him?”
“Not a word from you!” Sanji snapped. “You couldn’t get a beautiful woman to love you! Not with a thousand lessons.”
“Sounds troublesome. I’ll keep my blades.”
“What kind of a stupid comparison is that?!”
With both arguments rapidly climbing over each other and several nearby customers beginning to stare openly toward your table, you smiled apologetically to Robin who was simply sipping at her tea.
“I must admit, I didn’t guess you would finally do it,” she admitted. “But why the secrecy? I’m sure nobody would have minded.”
“It wasn’t a secret,” you said. “It just didn’t come up. I told Luffy about it almost the same day.”
“Oh right,” Luffy confirmed with a nod. “That was like months ago though.”
Several heads turned toward you, an overlapping chorus of ‘months?!’ exploding around the table. You were definitely getting kicked out of this café.
Sighing wistfully, you watched from the window as Perona carefully bandaged Zoro’s wounds. Mihawk’s training wasn’t gentle or easy; only someone with both a strong mind and spirit could see it through to the end. So far, Zoro hadn’t broken yet.
And judging by how much he’s been improving, you doubt he ever will.
Perona has been growing up too. She’s still the same loud girl who loves pink, but her skills as a nurse have improved; Zoro was no longer bandaged up like a mummified corpse. It was adorable to watch, though utterly ineffective. It took a lot of work to get her to give up her bad habits.
The thought made you smile with a strange tenderness. Neither of them was initially welcome when their presence in the castle was discovered. It had always been you and Mihawk and Mihawk and you, no one else, so the scandalous duo unsettled you at first. You were against their stay, bothered by how much your life would be affected, but for the first time Mihawk had accepted an apprentice— and you didn’t want to take that away from him.
“My love,” your husband began slowly, leaning against the wall near the window. His gaze first fell on those in the garden before turning to you, his crimson eyes glowed with a mixture of adoration and concern. “I’m afraid you’ve forgotten that the children you’re referring to are, in fact, both adults. Perona is older than Zoro.”
“And more importantly than that, they are not our children.”
A loud sigh escaped your lips at his statement. You knew that, of course you did, but it seems age has softened you, for the affection you felt for them was indeed unusual. Turning away from the window, you mimicked his relaxed pose; the only difference being your wide-open eyes watching him intently.
It was unsettling just how dazzling you found him even after so many years. His black hair slicked back, the well-groomed beard you took pride in trimming every morning. His chest slightly exposed by the open buttons—all that once drove you crazy continues to torment you. Without realizing, you stepped from the wall and walked toward him.
“I know,” you said in a low voice, as if someone other than him might hear you. And maybe they could, who knows what haunts that place? “It’s just that…well, I think I’ve accidentally grown attached to them.”
It didn’t take long for Mihawk to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you slowly toward him. Eager for his touch, you let yourself be led, more than happy to be held in his arms.
A slow kiss landed on your shoulder as your hands rested beneath his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt was a welcome distraction from the eyes watching you so intently.
“But you see,” you continued as you played with the white fabric. “they could very well feel like our children. Zoro is grumpy and fascinated by swords just like you, and Perona… well, she’s the kind of daughter a man like you would definitely have. Unfortunately, my dear, I can’t torment you all the time.”
Finally meeting his red eyes, Mihawk looked at you as if you were crazy. He may not be openly expressive, but his furrowed brows and twitching eyelid indicated just how absurd he found this situation. And you? Well, you did nothing but blink innocently with a slight smile on your lips.
“Frightening.” Mihawk finally managed to say. “Please don’t say things like that again. If we had children, they would be infinitely more polite and civilized, not rude or scandalous like the ones you speak of so affectionately. ”
You could certainly put an end to this delightful debate right now, but it’s strangely pleasant to hear your husband talk about what your hypothetical children would be like. It’s something you’ve never really given much thought to, honestly. Mihawk and you have been together for years, and never, not even for a single moment, have you felt that anything was missing—a child, to be more specific.
What you two had transcended the concept of “enough,” yet what harm would there be in indulging in an innocent family fantasy?
“How can you be so sure?” you teased Mihawk more, curious about what was going through his mind. “As far as we know, if we had children, they could very well turn out to be rude and scandalous just like the ones you speak of so coldly.”
“Never.” The answer was immediate, without any need for reflection. Mihawk was thoroughly convinced of his beliefs. “ They would be our children, raised and educated by us. You would guide them through the dark arts, and I would teach them the sword. ”
“We already do that with Zoro and Perona.”
“Perona doesn’t know how to wield a sword, and Zoro can barely read.”
“But she can read, and he can hold a sword.”
“Nothing more than a shared obligation; they’re here for a reason,” he muttered, beginning to grow annoyed at how easily you found similarities between them. “A child of ours would be gifted with both abilities, not just one.”
The hands on your waist moved upward until they found your arms, covered by the long lace sleeves that veiled your skin. Mihawk caressed the fabric slowly; there was no reason to rush when touching you. Every stroke, every touch, every squeeze filled with love and patience—he was in no hurry to adore you.
You fought the temptation to close your eyes when his lips found your arm. His kisses were always more than just a pleasure for you.
Pleased with the lovely husband you had, you watched patiently as Mihawk’s caresses slid down your arm until they found your hand. There, no fabric prevented you from feeling his warm lips and rough stubble dragging across your skin. A final, lingering kiss was left on your fingers.
“And they would look like you,” he said again in a low voice. “they would have the same eyes and the same hair, the same passion for the unthinkable and the damned. The same smile and the same heart...”
“Mihawk, my love,” the corners of your red lips slowly turned up; you wouldn’t be able to contain the delight that possessed you even if you wanted to. You too were not immune to certain romantic clichés—especially when they came from a man like him. “You speak as if this thought has haunted you for a long time”
“Perhaps it has.” With a knowing smile and an intense gaze, he dared to confess.
Sliding your hands down his neck, your fingers tangled in the black hair as you locked your eyes on his.
“Tell me,” you spoke again. “do you really want to conceive a child with me, bring another poor soul into this corrupt world, condemning them as we ourselves are condemned...”
Each word slipped out in a whisper, heavy with unspoken intent. Mihawk was drawn to the sound of your voice. His eyes followed the movement of your lips and, slowly, he brought his mouth closer to yours.
“Or are you just trying to stop me from talking about Zoro and Perona as our children?”
At this point, there was no longer any need for teasing or half-truths. In fact, there never had been for him; Mihawk knew exactly what he wanted now, and so did you.
His hands gripped your waist, pressing you to his body. So close—you could almost taste the wine on his lips, smelled steel on his skin.
He paused just a few inches from your mouth, whispering before claiming your lips.
“Both, my love...”
a/n: I plan to write a story in which Zoro and Perona are Mihawk and the Reader's children, inspired by the Addams Family, but my own version. but in the future!! anyway, i hope you liked it :)
A/N: Tysmm for 300+ followers !! I appreciate it <3
ZORO -
In your defense, it’s not everyday you challenge the ship’s swordsmen and expect the man to kick you just when you blocked one of the three damn swords. Not only did he kick you in a sword battle, he also knocked you off the boat.
He sort of just stared for a second, registering the moment like you weren’t in the water. “Shit.” He dropped the sword and jumped in for you.
By the time you were hauled back onto the deck of the Sunny, your teeth were chattering so hard your jaw ached. Saltwater clung to your skin, your clothes heavy and cold against you as you wrapped your arms around yourself.
“Has anyone told you how much of an ass you are?” You hissed through the shaking. “I will, you’re such a fucking ass for kicking me off the Sunny!”
“It was an accident, I didn’t know you were so light.” Zoro wrung out the hem of his shirt, water streaming onto the wood beneath his boots. “I’ve saved you, didn’t I? What’s the problem.”
Your face scrunched in a way that questioned what exactly went through his mind. “This is your fault,” you continued, tugging uselessly at your shirt. “It’s freezing and it’s clinging and—“
“Tch.” He began grumbling curse words, throwing down his own shirt. “Stand still.”
Before you could ask what he meant, Zoro stepped closer and grabbed the side of your shirt near your waist. With zero warning, he twisted the fabric hard, wringing it out like it was just another soaked rag.
In a far distance, you could hear Sanji’s strangled cry.
Cold water streamed down onto the deck, some spilled down your thigh. You stiffened instantly, “Zoro, what are you doing?”
“What?” he grumbled, focused entirely on getting the water out. “You’re complaining about it being wet, so I’m helping.”
With how thin the fabric already was, the twist lifted the hem just slightly higher than you were comfortable with. You felt your face heat up, eyes narrowing.
And you weren’t willing to admit you liked how his hand looked next to you.
“I didn’t realize,” you said slowly, arching a brow despite the embarrassment creeping in, “you wanted me taking off my clothes in front of you, Zoro.”
He blinked carelessly, looking up with a slight glare. “What are you taking about?”
“I dunno, you’re the one practically undressing me.” You said, gesturing down with a single finger
Zoro finally seemed to register how close he was. His hand was still gripping your shirt, his knuckles brushed your waist. The fabric, wrung tight, left very little to the imagination.
He dropped it instantly, droplets of water still on his hand. “Shut up.” he said flatly. “You aren’t even attractive wet.”
“Huh, What’s wrong?” You hummed, a little bit too pleased with yourself. “Citizen of hell cant handle it.”
Zoro suddenly leaned forward to intimidate you, faces only inches apart. “Seems like I should beat your ass again.” He scowled, completely oblivious to the fact that his gaze instinctively looked down again.
Shit.
“Are you distracted, Zoro?”
“Go to hell!”
ACE -
The deck was warm under your palms, sunlight spilling across the wood in bright gold streaks, but none of that mattered because Ace was currently holding Pip hostage, your son.
Who was also a plushie.
He stood there shirtless and smug, arm stretched high above his head, your poor penguin plush dangling from his fingers. “You’re taking this way too seriously,” he laughed, leaning back just enough to make it worse.
You jumped, fingers brushing the cool air and a part of his chest. “Give me my son back,” you hissed, grabbing his shoulder for leverage. “You are jealous of a stuffed penguin.”
“I am not jealous!” he said immediately, which made it obvious he absolutely was. But you already guessed that from the start.
You tried again, pushing up on your toes, gripping his shoulder harder. He only stretched farther, grin widening at the sight.
“Can’t reach it?” he teased, tilting his head to the side. That’s when you made your mistake. You put your full weight against him on accident.
Ace wasn’t bracing for it, he probably should’ve with how adamant you were. His heel slipped on the deck. There was a sharp inhale, a half laugh half yelp, and suddenly everything tilted.
Ace’s back hit the deck with a dull thud, using his elbow to hold the top part of his body up. His arm was still raised, stubbornly clutching Pip even in defeat.
Your body was in between his legs, your hands planted on both sides of him. He stared up at you, breath knocked out of him for a second. “Ow.” he muttered faintly, mouth pouting ever so slightly.
You ignored him and lunged sideways for Pip, the only thing in your sight as you crawled.
In the scramble, your knee slid forward carelessly, and the movement dragged across his groin in a way that made Ace’s entire body lock up.
His breath hitched sharply, parting his lips to let out a sound. “aah…”
You froze instantly.
Ace’s freckles stood out harshly against the red blooming across his face. His jaw tightened. The hand holding Pip twitched, you looked down at him, he stared up at you in an equal amount of shock.
The deck went very, very quiet.
Oh.
Oh.
“So.. I’m so sorry.” You tried to shift back to avoid the embarrassment, that only made it worse because you did it again. Ace sucked in a breath through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for half a second.
“Don’t—” His voice cracked with a whine, dropping Pip as his hand instinctively grabbed your waist. “Stop moving like that, please.”
LAW -
You’d been holding your own for longer than you expected, but that hope didn’t last long. You stepped in too aggressively. Your heel caught the uneven boards. The next thing you knew, your back hit the wall of the top polar tang with a loud thud, breath punching out of you.
Law didn’t hesitate, he stepped forward, closing the gap instantly. The flat of his sheathed blade came up under your chin and slid to the side of your throat, pinning you there. Not enough to cut, he wouldn’t do that, but enough pressure to make the point clear.
Your own blade clattered to the floor.
You lifted your hands slowly, mock surrender written all over your face. “Isn’t this a bit much?” you tried, forcing a grin. “You win..”
He huffed through his nose, unimpressed with you. “Yea right.”
His coat brushed your arm as he adjusted, his blade leaning in just enough to emphasize the win. But that cocky action did not do the job as intended, instead something completely involuntary left your mouth.
You made a sound, a soft whimper that was impossible to ignore. Heat flooded your face in pure horror.
His eyes widened just a fraction. The confidence in his posture faltered, and for the first time since the spar started he looked genuinely thrown off.
“Are you seriously into that?” He breathed in disbelief, though a small part of him got flushed at the idea.
“Just shut up!” You bit out, sinking more and more into the wall.
Without thinking, your knee raised in between his crotch. Law groaned, head leaning into your neck. The grip on his sword faltered, and you took the chance to shove him in the chest.
He stumbled back a step, and the sheath slipped away from your throat.
You didn’t even look at him while you ran. ignoring the faint, stunned silence behind you as you disappeared down the corridor.
SABO -
To be honest, you weren’t too excited fighting Sabo after he got his devil fruit powers. His strong technique before was already a hassle, imagine now, with fire? Now there were flames licking off his knuckles that were extremely hot against your skin.
When his hand brushed your waist during a turn, you hissed, the sting immediate. A faint mark where the heat lingered.
Yeah. He was extremely annoying about it too.
He rolled one shoulder back, adjusting his stance with his usual calm expression. “Don’t look so nervous,” he said lightly. “I’ll try not to burn your cloths.”
You didn’t respond, only rolling your eyes before moving again.
You aimed low, trying to knock him off balance before he could counter again. For a second, it worked, you caught his arm, pivoted, nearly had him.. and then your footing slipped on loose dirt.
Both of you fell together in this attempt of a fight, a yelp shortened before a thud, then silence.
There was a brief puff of dust that went up when you fell. Your hands braced against the ground on either side of him, but you felt a soft cushion on the right side of your cheek. When you opened your eyes to check your surroundings, you realized it pressed against his inner thigh.
Too close to his groin for comfort.
You froze, looking up to meet his cocky grin, a hint of innocence to top it off. “That was an accident, I didn’t mean to—“ you scrambled, making a attempt to stand up from your position.
But it was futile since you felt his hands slip in your hair, pushing you farther in until you met his skin again, only satisfied when he heard your muffled confusion.
“What?” His voice was innocent in a way that made it worse, a tease in his voice that made your eyes widen. “You look really good like this.”
Sighing wistfully, you watched from the window as Perona carefully bandaged Zoro’s wounds. Mihawk’s training wasn’t gentle or easy; only someone with both a strong mind and spirit could see it through to the end. So far, Zoro hadn’t broken yet.
And judging by how much he’s been improving, you doubt he ever will.
Perona has been growing up too. She’s still the same loud girl who loves pink, but her skills as a nurse have improved; Zoro was no longer bandaged up like a mummified corpse. It was adorable to watch, though utterly ineffective. It took a lot of work to get her to give up her bad habits.
The thought made you smile with a strange tenderness. Neither of them was initially welcome when their presence in the castle was discovered. It had always been you and Mihawk and Mihawk and you, no one else, so the scandalous duo unsettled you at first. You were against their stay, bothered by how much your life would be affected, but for the first time Mihawk had accepted an apprentice— and you didn’t want to take that away from him.
“My love,” your husband began slowly, leaning against the wall near the window. His gaze first fell on those in the garden before turning to you, his crimson eyes glowed with a mixture of adoration and concern. “I’m afraid you’ve forgotten that the children you’re referring to are, in fact, both adults. Perona is older than Zoro.”
“And more importantly than that, they are not our children.”
A loud sigh escaped your lips at his statement. You knew that, of course you did, but it seems age has softened you, for the affection you felt for them was indeed unusual. Turning away from the window, you mimicked his relaxed pose; the only difference being your wide-open eyes watching him intently.
It was unsettling just how dazzling you found him even after so many years. His black hair slicked back, the well-groomed beard you took pride in trimming every morning. His chest slightly exposed by the open buttons—all that once drove you crazy continues to torment you. Without realizing, you stepped from the wall and walked toward him.
“I know,” you said in a low voice, as if someone other than him might hear you. And maybe they could, who knows what haunts that place? “It’s just that…well, I think I’ve accidentally grown attached to them.”
It didn’t take long for Mihawk to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you slowly toward him. Eager for his touch, you let yourself be led, more than happy to be held in his arms.
A slow kiss landed on your shoulder as your hands rested beneath his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt was a welcome distraction from the eyes watching you so intently.
“But you see,” you continued as you played with the white fabric. “they could very well feel like our children. Zoro is grumpy and fascinated by swords just like you, and Perona… well, she’s the kind of daughter a man like you would definitely have. Unfortunately, my dear, I can’t torment you all the time.”
Finally meeting his red eyes, Mihawk looked at you as if you were crazy. He may not be openly expressive, but his furrowed brows and twitching eyelid indicated just how absurd he found this situation. And you? Well, you did nothing but blink innocently with a slight smile on your lips.
“Frightening.” Mihawk finally managed to say. “Please don’t say things like that again. If we had children, they would be infinitely more polite and civilized, not rude or scandalous like the ones you speak of so affectionately. ”
You could certainly put an end to this delightful debate right now, but it’s strangely pleasant to hear your husband talk about what your hypothetical children would be like. It’s something you’ve never really given much thought to, honestly. Mihawk and you have been together for years, and never, not even for a single moment, have you felt that anything was missing—a child, to be more specific.
What you two had transcended the concept of “enough,” yet what harm would there be in indulging in an innocent family fantasy?
“How can you be so sure?” you teased Mihawk more, curious about what was going through his mind. “As far as we know, if we had children, they could very well turn out to be rude and scandalous just like the ones you speak of so coldly.”
“Never.” The answer was immediate, without any need for reflection. Mihawk was thoroughly convinced of his beliefs. “ They would be our children, raised and educated by us. You would guide them through the dark arts, and I would teach them the sword. ”
“We already do that with Zoro and Perona.”
“Perona doesn’t know how to wield a sword, and Zoro can barely read.”
“But she can read, and he can hold a sword.”
“Nothing more than a shared obligation; they’re here for a reason,” he muttered, beginning to grow annoyed at how easily you found similarities between them. “A child of ours would be gifted with both abilities, not just one.”
The hands on your waist moved upward until they found your arms, covered by the long lace sleeves that veiled your skin. Mihawk caressed the fabric slowly; there was no reason to rush when touching you. Every stroke, every touch, every squeeze filled with love and patience—he was in no hurry to adore you.
You fought the temptation to close your eyes when his lips found your arm. His kisses were always more than just a pleasure for you.
Pleased with the lovely husband you had, you watched patiently as Mihawk’s caresses slid down your arm until they found your hand. There, no fabric prevented you from feeling his warm lips and rough stubble dragging across your skin. A final, lingering kiss was left on your fingers.
“And they would look like you,” he said again in a low voice. “they would have the same eyes and the same hair, the same passion for the unthinkable and the damned. The same smile and the same heart...”
“Mihawk, my love,” the corners of your red lips slowly turned up; you wouldn’t be able to contain the delight that possessed you even if you wanted to. You too were not immune to certain romantic clichés—especially when they came from a man like him. “You speak as if this thought has haunted you for a long time”
“Perhaps it has.” With a knowing smile and an intense gaze, he dared to confess.
Sliding your hands down his neck, your fingers tangled in the black hair as you locked your eyes on his.
“Tell me,” you spoke again. “do you really want to conceive a child with me, bring another poor soul into this corrupt world, condemning them as we ourselves are condemned...”
Each word slipped out in a whisper, heavy with unspoken intent. Mihawk was drawn to the sound of your voice. His eyes followed the movement of your lips and, slowly, he brought his mouth closer to yours.
“Or are you just trying to stop me from talking about Zoro and Perona as our children?”
At this point, there was no longer any need for teasing or half-truths. In fact, there never had been for him; Mihawk knew exactly what he wanted now, and so did you.
His hands gripped your waist, pressing you to his body. So close—you could almost taste the wine on his lips, smelled steel on his skin.
He paused just a few inches from your mouth, whispering before claiming your lips.
“Both, my love...”
a/n: I plan to write a story in which Zoro and Perona are Mihawk and the Reader's children, inspired by the Addams Family, but my own version. but in the future!! anyway, i hope you liked it :)
ace who visits islander!reader whenever he can, surprising her with gifts he stole found from the various places he’s visited. jewelry, hair accessories, flowers that he tried his best to keep alive, small kimmidolls etc, all things that he’d think you’d like.
the only issue is that whenever he brings you these stolen gifts it ends up in rejection and a soft spoken lecture on how you won’t accept his stolen gifts because of karma! his cabin on pop’s ship is full of trinkets that were all softly denied by you.
he’s is constantly questioned by his brothers on all these random items in his room but were only met with a deep sigh. ace was a pirate, why should he buy gifts and treasures with his hard taken earned berries when he’s a globally feared devil fruit user? he just doesn’t get you.
you were in your hut, bangles jingling as you moved around the candle lit room, gathering medicine for a child who waited behind you. the girls mother was sick and was sent to go get medicine from you, you with a devil fruit that could make any plant you knew of. you who provided for the islands village whether it was prayers or medicine. you who didn’t charge for anything because you thought you had everything you needed in life already.
you put the medicine into a small jar, closing the top tightly before kneeling in front of the child and handed it to her.
"two spoonfuls a day, one in the morning once at night. take good care of your mother, okay?"
"yes, miss [᪥]. thank you!"
when the child left, you sighed as you stared at the familiar hatted shadow outside of your hut.
"ace."
there were a few seconds of silence before he stepped in. shirtless per usual. he took off his bright orange hat with a small sack that made the same jingling noises as your wrists.
"hey, [᪥]."
he looked almost bashful, sun-kissed skin glowing from the candles as he relaxed in the arms you wrapped around him and pressed your lips to his cheek. he stiffened a little when your hands felt up his arms, gentle squeezes on his biceps to feel the man you haven’t seen in cycles.
"your gained a little. in a good way."
ace was still stiff under your touch, suddenly pushing the pouch into your hands.
"got these for you. didn’t steal ‘em this time either. promise."
your eyes widened a little, opening the pouch to reveal jade bangles that would go perfect with the gold ones you wore on your wrist already. you examined the very much real jade in your hands, sliding them gently past your fingers and thumb and gave them a little shake. they were beautiful.
"where’d you get these? they’re beautiful."
"got them from some trader in alabasta a while back for you. been sitting in my cabin for a while."
his words came out in mumbles, eyes fixed on a lit incense on your table. nervous hands planted on your waist as you took off one of your necklaces to put it on his neck. the gold layered with his red beads that lingered above his chest.
he was about to protest before your lips pressed into his, fingers trailing to cradle his face. gods did Ace miss you.
a/n from layla ❀: first time publishing for one piece and don’t know how to feel.. was kinda inspired by the first scene of smoke and annie from sinners. i miss aceeeeeuhhhh.
Once, when you thought you had a good understanding of how he worked, you were certain Shanks was best enjoyed in pieces.
Drinks shared and nights spent with his hand at your hip and his mouth against your neck before dawn. But always in fleeting moments. Never for more than that. It was easier that way. If you stayed longer than a night, it became more difficult.
And Shanks had never been the type for anything more than easy.
You had assumed, at least.
The first time he made the offer was in a room already hot with the lingering aftermath of the evening. Rough sheets twisted around your legs, sticking to sweat-slick skin while the open window did little to chase away the summer air. Bruises were already beginning to bloom along your throat from the lazy path of his mouth before he slipped between your legs and pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, softer than anything he'd given you before.
“Come with me tomorrow,” he said, offering another further up your thigh. “Sail with us.”
You lifted your head, curious at the gentleness of his words and his touch. “Join you?” you asked. “Do you not have a full crew already?”
“We do,” he said, his smile lazy as ever. “But I’ll make space for you.”
You laughed quietly to yourself, brushing some of his hair away from his face so you could appreciate him better. Too handsome for his own good. He knew he could get away with anything if he looked at you like that.
“I see a problem with your offer,” you said and he kissed further along your thigh.
“What is it?”
“It’ll make you lose interest too quickly.”
Shanks paused, leaning his cheek against your skin. “Lose interest?”
You moved your leg from his shoulder and leaned down to drag him higher up your body, fingers tangled in his hair and lips locked in a messy kiss. He still tasted of the drinks he’d downed earlier and that explained enough about his impulsive offer.
“It won’t be fun if I’m already on board your ship,” you teased.
“Nonsense. If I had you on my ship, I'd never get anything done. Becks would have to start captaining properly.”
“Don’t you do that when I’m around anyway?” you asked.
He hummed and kissed you again as though to distract you. “Maybe.”
You chuckled softly, unwilling to admit to him how much his offer tempted you. He was far too addictive to turn down. Especially when his tongue was in your mouth and his hand was dragging your leg back up his hip. If you didn’t focus, you could almost believe he wanted you to stay with him. But pretty words alone couldn’t sway you.
You still left the next morning and he didn’t stop you, just pressed a kiss to your shoulder as you slipped from the bed.
“We’ll see each other soon,” he said and he sounded far too confident.
You smiled. “I suppose it depends on if the sea favours us.”
“The sea’s a big friend of mine,” he reassured you. “I’m sure she’ll bring you back to me.”
He wasn’t wrong. No matter how far you sailed, the ocean didn’t give you long before it reunited you with the Red Hair Pirates. You stopped shying away from them after the third encounter, growing bolder with each offer Shanks tossed your way.
Now when you saw the Red Force docked in harbour, her flag snapping high above the masts, you'd wander the island until you found the right tavern. It was never difficult. Somewhere there would be a building with music spilling from the windows, laughter loud enough to shake the walls and patrons pretending not to stare at the cluster of infamous pirates occupying half the room. The Red Hair Pirates had a talent for making themselves at home wherever they landed.
They were a friendly crew. A mostly peaceful one, even. But they were the crew of an emperor and people respected that deeply.
You walked in most times, walked out with your hands in Shanks’ hair every time, and it was never a problem.
Not until the one evening when you waltzed in and half of his crew nudged their captain as though he hadn’t already raised his head to look at you. You smiled at him and made your way to the bar, not bothering him and the woman currently pressed to his arm.
But he never wasted time in approaching you, even if he was busy. He slipped up behind you as you ordered your drink and nodded to the bartender.
"Whatever she's having is on me."
You hummed. “You’re going to run your ship dry if you pay for the drinks of every girl that smiles at you.”
His arm slipped naturally around your waist, resting on your hip as though it belonged there. “Not every girl with a great smile,” he corrected. “Just the ones who need a bit more convincing to dance with me.”
The music in this tavern wasn’t quite suited for dancing. It was softer and almost impossible to hear over the shouts of his crew.
“I might need more convincing than a drink,” you commented.
“Name your price.”
Shanks was far too good at making your heart flutter, no matter how often you were exposed to his seemingly endless charm. He already knew he’d get what he wanted that night and you knew it too but sometimes, making him work for it was part of the fun.
“You’ve been trying to guess at my price for a while now,” you said. “You haven’t gotten any closer.”
“I’ll figure it out with enough time.”
You turned to face him fully, draping your arms loosely over his shoulders. “I’m lucky I managed to find you without any other pretty women around, hm? Ones with more reasonable demands?”
He chuckled and leaned in to press his lips against the side of your throat. “There are plenty. Funny thing is, I keep ending up back here.”
You tilted your head to the side. “As easy to lead back to your bed?”
The expression he gave you was off – a smile that didn’t quite get to his eyes. “Such little faith in me. You’re lucky I don’t get hurt easily.”
“It’s not a lack of faith,” you corrected. “But I know you enjoy the chase more than the reward.”
“I enjoy both as long as you’re there.”
You smiled. “I think you’d miss it too much.”
“Miss what? Waking up alone? Sounds awful.” He pulled you closer. “Can’t say I’d mind having you there instead.”
“The pining,” you corrected. “The wondering when you’ll see me again. Trying to convince me every time. If I was already there, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”
Something unreadable flickered over his face. “You think I’m trying to convince you for fun?”
“You wouldn’t do it if it was unpleasant.”
“Or if it wasn’t worth it.”
You couldn’t help being flattered by him, always so smooth. You loved the way he spoke sometimes – the way he made you feel as though you were the only important person in the world.
“I’m surprised your crew isn’t filled with women thanks to those pretty words of yours,” you said. “Even I struggle to tell you no.”
Shanks laughed, a short sound. “Wouldn’t have guessed you struggle with it.”
You leaned in, your mouth hot against his. He kissed you lazily as though you had nowhere else to be, allowing you to lead him through it.
“I’ll get us a room upstairs,” you said with a hum.
For a second, he smiled. Then he leaned in to press a swift peck to the corner of your mouth and said, “No.”
It was as though even the music itself paused as you blinked at him. “No?”
“As much as I love chasing you,” he said, stepping away and leaving the space in front of you feeling very empty. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being chased more than you want me. We set sail in the morning. The offer still stands.”
You watched him walk away in mild confusion, still a little lost before his words caught up to you.
Was he serious?
The bartender placed your drink down next to you but you barely heard it. The music carried on around you as though nothing had changed. A few members of the Red Hair Pirates were starting up a song. The woman he’d been talking to earlier grinned when he returned but he took a seat aside Yasopp instead.
You looked around the party and shrugged, taking your drink and a seat at the bar. If he didn’t leave, you had no reason to either.
Maybe he was trying to prove a point? You thought he might look for another woman whose words didn’t sting as bad as yours did, but he drank and laughed with only his crew and you pretended not to see the way he looked at you. As though he was waiting for something.
You finished your drink and swung off the stool, sliding the beri across to the bartender.
“Isn’t – ”
“I can pay for myself.”
The cold night air was refreshing against your face but the familiar curl of cigarette smoke drew your attention to a very unaffected Beckman. You paused when you saw him, not sure if he had something to say. He looked like he did.
“Running away again?”
“No idea what you mean,” you retorted.
He tilted his head toward the swinging door of the tavern; each time it moved, the raucous din bled through into the night. Beckman wasn’t even really what you would consider an acquaintance but he’d dragged Shanks out your bed more times than you could count.
“It’s early for you to be leaving alone,” he noted.
You didn’t have any reason to explain the break in routine to his first mate. And yet…
“Change of pace tonight,” you said. “I think I offended him.”
Beckman nodded. “You did.”
“I didn’t even know that was possible.”
He shrugged and offered you a cigarette. “I didn’t think it was until recently. Not many people can get under his skin.”
“I’m not wrong though,” you defended yourself.
“No,” he agreed. “You weren’t at one point. I’ve long since lost track of how many women I’ve had to drop off at port in the mornings but none of them were recent. Since he met you, there’s been no others.”
You didn’t want to admit to the way that made your heart flutter just slightly. “It’s the challenge. He tries to get me to join your merry little crew, I do, and then he gets bored in a month.”
“It’s possible.”
You didn’t know why it annoyed you so much that he agreed with you but you felt the glare before you could stop it. True or not, he could have said it in a better way.
“Why does it bother you so much then?” Beckman asked. “If you’re so sure that it’s the truth?”
“It’s still not nice to hear.”
“Because you’ve fallen in love with him?”
You shot him a sharp look. If you didn’t know quite how dangerous this man was, you may have snapped a little more venomously. How you hated him for saying the quiet parts of your worst thoughts out loud.
“I don’t fall in love that easily,” you huffed. “I just don’t particularly feel like joining a pirate crew to be a pretty face on the sidelines.”
“He says you have good enough aim that you won’t be wholly useless. And I’m sure he’ll teach you more if you ask.”
You had no other defence. On a different crew, you may have believed him but you’d heard the legends of the Red Hair Pirates and their skills. You would not sail with an emperor just for the sake that he found you attractive. That was a ridiculous decision. Even without the risk that he lost interest once you gave him what he wanted.
“You can see where we’re docked?” Beckman asked.
“Hard to miss.”
“Then you may as well prove your point.” He blew a puff of smoke into the sky. “You can be useless, let him lose interest and I’ll concede that you’re right.”
“And if I would rather things remain as they are?”
“They won’t. You’ve already ruined that part.”
You almost didn’t board. The Red Force came to life while you stood on the dock, shrouded in shadows and watched the sun rise over the horizon the next morning. The crew woke with complaints of headaches and aches as they got to work.
They were about to weigh anchor by the time you finally found the courage to walk forward, catching Hongo with a look right before he raised the ladder.
He stared for a second and then gestured you to board.
It was a strange feeling to step onto the Red Force. The gangplank creaked softly beneath your boots and the ship rose and fell beneath you with the easy rhythm of the sea. For years she had existed as something distant, spoken about in stories and rumours across countless ports. Yet the deck felt solid beneath your feet. The tarred ropes smelled no different from those of any other vessel. No monsters waited beyond the railings. Just a few curious glances and shouted greetings as the wind swelled her sails.
“He’s downstairs,” Hongo said. “Drank more than usual so he’s still nursing a hangover if you want to see him.”
You looked toward the ship’s doctors. “With how much you lot drink, I’m honestly surprised you don’t have a cure already.”
He smiled. “Maybe I do but I simply enjoy the peace in the mornings. Do you want a tour?”
It wasn’t as though you had anything better to do although it did catch you off guard just how unsurprised the Red Hair Pirates seemed to be about your arrival. Not one of them even mentioned your arrival as the wind caught her sails.
Not even Beckman who gave you a simple nod.
The Red Force was kept in beautiful condition. She was evidently loved and no room felt neglected as you followed Hongo through her passages.
Hongo walked you through the galley, the infirmary, the stores, and everywhere else you might need aboard. You memorised the route as best you could, making note of scuffed boards and chips in the wood rather than considering the ship as anything more. It was easier to focus on that, you realised.
Hongo stopped at a door at the end of a passage that led through the quarters and he pushed it open with casual ease.
“This one’s yours.”
You frowned at the way he said it before stepping inside.
A warm, clean room waited beyond the doorway. Sunlight spilled through the small window, stirring the pale curtains where the sea breeze caught them. A narrow bed sat against one wall with blankets folded neatly across the end while an empty chest waited beside a small desk untouched by clutter. Nothing looked lived in. Nothing looked abandoned either. The room carried the strange feeling of something prepared and patiently waiting.
Guest quarters maybe? Though that hardly made sense and this didn’t look like a spare room, briefly swept out when you stepped aboard. They wouldn’t have had time for that.
There was an explanation that made sense though not one you fully grappled with.
“How long has this been here?” you asked.
“Couple months now. Captain wanted it ready if you ever changed your mind.”
You tried not to let it show just how much that made your stomach twist. He’d prepared a room on his ship in case you joined?
Still, you tried to ignore the topic for a little longer by returning to the deck after leaving your bag. You found an opportunity to lean against one of the cannons, talking to Yasopp about nothing of importance while you watched the island fade behind you.
The door onto deck opened and Shanks stepped out, dishevelled and hiding his eyes from the sun.
Naturally his crew all shouted at once in response to his obvious headache and he winced visually, which only made the others laugh harder. You couldn’t help but smile, chuckling softly at their torment.
He spun at the sound, grin disappearing at once.
Your heart lodged in your throat as you stared, not certain what you should say.
“You’re here?”
Well, he didn’t have to sound so surprised.
“Have been for the whole morning,” you said, your voice quieter than you meant for it to be. “But I thought I should let you get your beauty sleep.”
He chuckled as he walked over, smile gentler than you’d ever seen it before. His eyes glinted with barely concealed excitement as he approached. “Did somebody show you around? To your room?”
“You set that up a while ago,” you said. “Very confident.”
“Hopeful,” he clarified. “How long are you staying for?”
You hesitated before you answered. If you really wanted to, you could disappear the next time you found yourself at an island. But something about that room sitting and waiting for you made leaving feel far less appealing than it ever had before.
“I haven’t decided yet,” you settled on saying.
“That’s fine. When you do leave, just tell me before you go.”
“I will,” you promised.
How many years had passed since you made that promise now? You thought back on it, trying to remember while you swirled the drink in your hand, Shanks’ hand still resting on your hip where it belonged.
“Lost in thought?” he asked.
“Lost in memories,” you corrected with a small smile.
“Oh?” He leaned in close and pressed a kiss right behind your ear in the way that always made you laugh. “Which ones?”
“Ancient ones. I realised that I’m still waiting for you to get bored of me so I can run away.” You took a sip of your drink and tilted your head toward him. “You getting there yet?”
He laughed proudly. “Nowhere close. I should probably be more careful though. Think you’d sooner shoot me than run away now.”
You chuckled in agreement and leaned in to kiss him, slow and lazy as ever. “Maybe. I’m no longer much of a runner.”
content: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (a lot!! very fluffy i promise), prideful!toph, toph is bad with words, fem!reader, established relationship, miscommunication, reader is zuko’s little sister, some sibling fluff too because it’s so cute
summary: you and zuko are summoned to the fire kingdom, where you spend three whole years away from toph. at your return, you immediately look for her, excited to see the love of your life again, only to get a reaction you didn’t expect.
author’s note: this is a req ᢉ𐭩 i loved writing this :’)
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a heavy silence filled the room after zuko finished reading the newly received scrolls to you. he rolled them back with a sigh, setting them down on his desk as he leaned back against his chair, both of you tiredly looking at each other.
you groaned, elbows resting on the hard-wood desk, clutching your head. “seriously? this shit again?”
he ran a hand over his disheveled waves, brushing them back as he nodded, just as exasperated as you. “we’re expected to leave tonight at most, there’s no time to waste.”
“this is ridiculous!” you threw your hands up in the air, frustrated. “this already happened last time. father keeps dumping all the work on us like it’s nothing. why the hell does he think we’re fine with such a big decision on terribly short notice??”
zuko only rubbed over his scar and exhaled, “i know, i know. and you know i agree with you. but the fire kingdom’s on the line, information’s too scarce to properly assess the situation over there, and we really don’t have the time to debate this with such a looming threat before us. i get father’s unbearable, but.. just this time, pretty please? come with me?”
you huffed, rolling your eyes. “you know i wouldn’t let you go alone, zu.”
you weren’t the only ones perturbed by this sudden summon. while zuko ensured an emergency ship was ready to go, you were in charge of explaining to your friends that you’d both be gone for an indefinite amount of time — a week, a year.. you had no idea. they all frowned, offering you sympathetic words of comfort and gentle pats on your shoulder; except for one, of course.
“again?” toph spat, crossing her arms.
you sighed, guiltily scratching your head, “i know.. i’m sorry, baby. this isn’t something i can help. you can blame my stupid father for that.”
“or you could just let zuko go alone.”
“you know i can’t do that, toph.”
“well if you cared enough, you would.”
you knew she meant none of her words, so they didn’t really affect you. she never seemed to take your leaving well, and she’d just end up talking to talk, even when you both knew her arguments held no ground.
“i’ll be back soon,” you tentatively reach to cup her face. you sense her tense under your touch, like she was considering pulling away to keep up her sulky act, but she decided against it.
after all, who knew how long it’d be before she felt this hand on her skin again.
“i love you,” you press a soft peck to her pouty lips, stroking her cheek, “i’ll write to you as much as i can.”
she huffed proudly, like she wasn’t needily leaning into the palm of your head. “you better.”
you smiled and kissed her once more; a slower, sweeter one to remember you by. you chuckled at her flustered blush, finally pulling away. you hugged the rest of your friends tightly, promising them a safe return.
aang gave you his biggest smile, hyping you up with two thumbs up’s, “you’ve got this! we’ll be here, missing you both dearly!”
“don’t worry,” katara added, pulling a disgruntled toph to her side, “we’ll take good care of your pissy girlfriend in your absence, and read her your letters.”
she whined, pushing katara’s grinning face away, “get off me!”
you laughed fondly, giving them a final wave as zuko called for you to get on the ship. “i’ll miss you all. especially you, my beautiful girl. wait for me.”
you walked away, but not before taking one last glance back, smiling at the adorable pink color that tinted her cheeks.
you made it aboard, waving at them again over the railing as the anchor got steadily heaved up.
you watched toph’s angry features melt into sadder resigned ones, her lips moving. too far for you to hear, but clear enough for you to read.
your heart squeezed at each word you made out.
“i. will. miss. you. too.”
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three entire years.
three entire years you and zuko spent in the fire kingdom, the work seemingly endless as piles and piles of paperwork filled both your desks, solving crisis after crisis. many times you’d snap, throwing them all on the ground and angrily stomping on them, screaming about how badly you wanted to strangle the living daylights out of your father. when you and your brother arrived, the first thing you were greeted with was worried castle staff informing you about your dad’s departure.
that piece of shit. that was his goal all along; luring you with an ominous letter to keep you both trapped here with his duties until he decided to come back.
only zuko had kept you sane for this agonizingly long time, taking on most of the hectic work so you’d have more chances to rest, believing it was his responsibility for “asking you to come along.”
“i came by my own will, zu. this isn’t your fault in any way,” you’d reason, feeling guilty for how overworked he was.
he’d shake his head, writing report after report, “i can handle all of this. i just asked you to come because i like it when you’re with me. your presence makes it all feel less impossible.”
you’d smile, ruffling his hair. “what a sappy older brother i have.”
he’d just shrug, not lifting his gaze from his work, “it’s all true.”
“i know.”
with only that pitiful excuse of a dad for family, you and zuko had grown up incredibly close, shielding yourselves from the world, constantly holding onto each other no matter what mundane tasks you were engaged in.
even now, much more grown in your late twenties, you might not be the little clingy kids you were anymore, living in separate houses with your respective partners, but your bond hadn’t budged one bit. he really was your rock, keeping you grounded, especially in times like these awful three years cooped up in the kingdom you clearly fled for a reason.
and speaking of rocks..
there you were now, finally arriving at your destination, as you looked for your favourite rock. the beautiful, moody rock you missed with every fiber of your being.
who would probably earthbend actual rocks to smash your head in for how long you were gone for.
zuko helped you off the ship, and you two made your way to where the gaang would most likely be at this time of day (crashing at aang and katara’s place). since you left as suddenly as you were summoned, you didn’t find time to tell them about your return in advance, so you decided to surprise them instead.
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“ta-da!” you barged in, arms open wide in a show of victory despite your exhaustion, interrupting their dinner (in a rather chaotic manner). sokka got so startled he snorted his noodles out of his nose, aang screamed and jumped out of his place, knocking katara down with him as he tripped over his seat.
then you heard a bowl shattering against the floor, shards of it scattering everywhere.
toph’s eyes were blown wide, staring at you almost like she could see you, her bottom lip quivering, her shaky hands still held up in the position she had her bowl in.
you smiled wearily, walking over to her. your safe haven.
you had waited for so, so cruelly long to be cradled in those warm, lovely arms of hers again. the thought of coming back to her, the girl you loved most in the whole wide world, was what kept you going all this time.
you knelt next to where she was seated, leaning in for a hug — only for your girlfriend to quickly crawl away, her hand pressing over a sharp piece of glass in the process, cutting through her palm, but that did not seem to dull her shock in the slightest. she stared at you, so bewildered and hurt, and you felt a confusing dread pool in your stomach.
“toph—”
“i thought you were dead!” the sudden rise of her voice made you violently flinch back. you didn’t know what you expected to leave her mouth, but it was definitely not this.
“huh?” was the only word you managed to stupidly utter, completely taken aback.
toph scoffed, clenching her fists which in turn made the cut on her hand bleed more profusely. “what? you abruptly stop writing to me for an entire year, not even updating me once; what the hell did you expect me to think?”
there was so much, so much you wanted to say, but your tongue felt so heavy, a huge weight settling on your chest. so many excuses wanted to slip out of your trembling mouth, “i was too busy”, “the fire kingdom was in a dire situation and i couldn’t find a minute for myself”, “i was exhausted”..
but you also had no effort left for this. the trip left you entirely drained, the only moment you looked forward to was this very one: when you’d come back and fall into your girlfriend’s open arms, as she held you on her lap, gently stroking your hair and kissing your worries away.
this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
“i-i’m sorry,” you pathetically stammered. all your excuses felt so flimsy under her furious gaze, you could only find it in yourself to apologize. “forgive me.”
you’d somehow hoped that would butter her up, tug at her heartstrings enough to feel pity for you; poor little you who had just spent three whole years alone with only her brother for company, as she relentlessly worked day and night because of her irresponsible father..
but she only huffed defensively, rolling her eyes. “oh, you’re sorry! how sweet. yes, let me ignore my girlfriend for over a year and then act like a kicked puppy for the reaction i get.”
you frowned at her mocking, “that’s not what i—”
“ahem,” zuko gingerly cleared his throat, the others not daring to even breathe as they awkwardly witnessed the couple fight.
he looked down at toph, “it really wasn’t her fault, i promise. it’s mostly because last year, we unfortunately had this huge incident with the neighboring—”
“i don’t care!” she interrupted, angrily standing up over the same shattered glass with her bare feet, her steely features unmoving as it dug into her soles. “i did not ask for a sob story.”
and with that, she turned on her injured heel and left, leaving you no time to process what happened or why it happened or how it happened.
your heart felt just like that bowl: smashed to jagged bits, trampled on without the slightest wince.
a lump formed in your throat, your hands clutching the fabric of your robes. this was what you had been so eagerly waiting for?
katara’s arm looped around your shoulders, gently pulling you to rest against her, and that was the final straw. you gave in, immediately breaking down into tired sobs, burying your face into the crook of her neck as she comfortingly rubbed your back.
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you knew you weren’t blameless, that you shouldn’t have written so little to her, and that this was all just a manifestation of her worry for you.. but it still stung. did you not deserve the smallest of breaks? it’s not like you were away on a tropical summer trip, surfing on gorgeous beaches and deliberately ignoring her.
even with zuko’s immense help, you still sometimes needed many sleepless nights to catch up with all the kingdom’s demands.
and when you were finally done with your daily tasks, the thought of sitting at your desk again, writing more during your tiny bit of free sleeping time, did seem like a hassle, and you promised yourself you’d write tomorrow.
tomorrow.
tomorrow.
your eyes welled up again; you felt so guilty, so hurt, so exhausted.
you wanted to apologize, but you also wanted to yell at her. maybe you were in the wrong, but so was she! after all, you did come back. shouldn’t she be grateful that you didn’t die?
shouldn’t she have missed you?
it was unfair! she didn’t know how your conditions there were, or why you couldn’t write, so why was she so quick to dismiss your feelings and get upset with you before even hearing you out?
“you can stay over if you want,” katara suggested after your crying subsided, her hand still gently threading through your hair.
what an embarrassment. spending your first night back from an exhausting trip at your friend’s rather than your girlfriend’s.
you rubbed your eyes, offering her a small smile, “thank you, katara. but it’s okay, i still have to unpack at my house anyway, and..”
you looked down at your lap, fingers curling around the silk of your robes, “.. we’ll have to talk eventually. might as well do it tonight.”
she sighed and nodded understandingly, “you’re right. i’m really sorry about her outburst today. but don’t take it seriously, she’s just really hurt. you know, while you were gone, she’d come over and intensely knock at my door — even at 3am — whenever she got a letter from you, waking me up to read it for her. she hasn’t been herself since they stopped coming. i swear, she terribly missed you.”
and deep down, you knew. you knew she did miss you, maybe just as much as you missed her. you also knew that you did earn her wrath in a way; you had left her worried with no updates for the past months.
she had every right to be upset. you just wished she could have seen past that, understood your struggle, and celebrated your return.
you shook the thoughts off, finally sliding off katara’s grasp. dwelling on this any further would do neither of you any good. the sooner you talked, the faster this would be over.
“thank you, ‘tara.” you squeezed her hands in appreciation, to which she smiled back.
“you’re welcome anytime, darling.”
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you unlocked the door quietly, stepping into your home. you inhaled deeply, hoping to undo the tight dreadful knot forming in your abdomen.
you silently tip-toed up the stairs so she wouldn’t hear you; you didn’t even think of what to say when you’d actually see her. should you apologize again? should you sit down in front of her and wait for her to seek your forgiveness instead?
overthinking the numerous possibilities would only make you stop in your tracks and avoid this confrontation forever, so you decided to just show up and see where the wind takes you.
you stopped in front of your bedroom, about to walk in when muffled whimpers reached your ears.
you blinked, confused, pressing your ear up against the door.
you felt your heart sink to the deepest levels of the ocean you’d just sailed.
she was crying. toph beifong was crying in your room.
you wanted to break the door down, get on your knees, grovel and apologize desperately until your throat was sore, kiss her tears away — but that was only a recipe for disaster when you were dating the toph beifong, she’d only consider it a blow to her ego.
you swallowed, guilt and dread pooling in your gut, lifting your hand to knock softly.
an abrupt silence immediately followed, all her sounds coming to a stop. you weren’t even sure if she was still breathing.
you awkwardly stood there for a good minute, before the door finally opened, revealing a puffy-eyed toph.
her lips were pursed tightly, like she was holding herself back from yelling at you again.
you wished she would. it wouldn’t compare to the current painful throb in your chest.
“i’m sorry.”
“i’m sorry.”
…
you blankly stared at each other, the words leaving your mouths simultaneously. you expected her to seize that chance and double down on you, saying something along the lines of “yes you are. you better be.”
but she only chewed nervously at her bottom lip, her sightless gaze downcast.
“i’m sorry,” she repeated, your eyes widening. “i missed you.”
you let out a shaky exhale, trying to reign in all the emotion flooding your body, “i’m sorry too, toph. i missed you too.”
“i-i didn’t mean..” she started, trailing off, her fingers anxiously curling around her pants.
“i know,” you took hold of her tense hands, pulling her closer to you, noses almost touching. your voice lowered down to a gentle murmur, “i know you didn’t.”
her breath hitched audibly, the warm exhale hitting your cheek, and her hands immediately ditched yours to grab handfuls of your hips, smushing her mouth against yours.
her tongue darted out to prod at the small gap between your quivering lips, and you acquiesced, letting the pink muscle in to lick the neat rows of your teeth.
so many unspoken apologies in the soft squeezes of your hips, her needy whimpers on your mouth.
neither of you wanted to fully pull away yet; you’d only stop for a few seconds to catch your breath, chests heaving, before melting back into your sloppy, wet kiss. you were perfectly satisfied with this kiss as your conversation.
“i missed you so much,” she breathlessly panted against your lips between kisses, “i was so scared.”
you cupped her face, just as breathless, pausing your dazed making out for a moment. “i’m so sorry. you were right, i should have still made time to write to you.”
she only shook her head, her eyes uncharacteristically glistening with raw remorse, “it’s not your fault, you were too busy. i was just really surprised when you showed up so suddenly.. so i reacted badly, like i always do.”
“and i forgive you,” you stole another brief kiss, “like i always do.”
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“i’m really sorry, tophie.” you apologized as she rubbed the shampoo into your roots, “i should have been more considerate of your feelings.”
you were laying in the bathtub, toph sitting on the edge of it behind you, still clothed as she massaged your scalp. “yes you should have, dummy. i was really worried.”
“i’m sorry..” you blew bubbles into the warm water, relaxing, her hands working out every tangle.
“close your eyes.”
“hm? aahh! tophhh!” you squealed as she washed out your shampoo, some of it getting into your eyes.
“idiot, i told you to close them!” she yelled back, rubbing frantically at your eye area with her clean hands.
“you gave me no time to do that!”
…
a short silence followed, then you both burst out laughing, as she leaned down to press a kiss to your soapy lips. “you never listen to me. see, this is what it gets you. shampoo eyes.”
“sorry, tophie.”
she huffed out a breathy laugh, lightly flicking your nose, “you’re not.”
you chuckled, “am not.”
“so cheeky,” she cupped your face, peppering a few more kisses over your dripping face, then resumed her pampering.
you smiled, all warm and fuzzy inside, enjoying the feel of her firm but gentle hands on your hair, soothing your nerves. you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning your head on her knee.
she rolled her eyes and nudged you with it, “hey, get off, you’re getting my clothes wet. plus, i can’t wash your hair properly like this.”
you sighed, lifting a submerged hand off the bath water to grab her leg, “don’t be so mean to your moist girlfriend.”
“hey!” she whined, trying to free her leg from your grasp, “stop that, you moist girl!”
“if you can’t love me like this, how would you love me if i was a snail?”
“and why the hell would you be a snail?”
you shrugged, patting her thigh, leaving your wet handprint on her shorts, “you never know.”
she sighed, giving up on stopping you. “that’s a problem for future me, then.”
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* i love toph beifong so much guys i love toph i love toph i love i’m in love i ugh
policechief!toph x f!reader — raising lin and suyin ᢉ𐭩
content: fluff, kind of angsty, age gap relationship, toph sucks at parenting, lin’s mommy issues.
summary: after you got married to toph, you found the next challenge to be her kids, especially the eldest. how will you get them to warm up to you?
!! disclaimer: this part is kind of a sequel, mostly centered around how you deal with toph’s kids (requested). if you want a more toph-focused part, check out part 1 here. it’s not necessary to read, but it’ll make more sense. muah, enjoy !!
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chief beifong was not what people would call an exemplary mother.
you and toph had been married for some months now; and while your age gap was heavily questioned by both your families and almost everyone around you, the ones who were most shocked about your marriage were her kids.
you had only seen them a few times while you were dating, since you were still living separately and rarely crashed at her place, and most of the time they would just give you an indifferent nod and excuse themselves to their rooms, leaving you and toph be. they assumed you were just some girl she’d spend a few weeks with, then ditch.
after all, toph was hardly a committed person.
so it was to their complete surprise when she called for them, introducing you as their new step-mom.
you were a nervous wreck that day. sure, they may be only kids, but they were going to be your kids. the last thing you wanted to do was start off on the wrong foot.
the oldest, eleven-year-old lin, stared at you incredulously for a good while, then barked at her mother. “is this a joke?”
well, ouch.
toph only scoffed, wrapping her strong arm around your waist to pull you closer to her side, “and what exactly about this looks like a joke to you, young lady?”
lin threw her arms up, bewildered, “you can’t be serious! she’s like a teenager, and you’re all old and wrinkly.”
a choked sound left your throat at that. was this little girl really eleven? you covered your mouth, taking the “teenager” note as a compliment that she probably didn’t mean. hey, at least you looked that young.
“say that again, you little shit!” toph spat, chasing after her.
you frowned, about to say something about her cussing at the child, when you noticed lin instantly perk up at the attention, erupting in giggles as she ran away, “old and wrinkly! old and wrinkly!”
you watched them leave your field of view, running further inside the house, baffled. so this was what your wife was like with her children?
you were brought back to attention when a tiny hand tugged at your pant sleeve. you looked down, a wide-eyed grinning suyin looking up at you.
“my name is suyin,” the five year old stated. “s-u-y-i-n.”
“oh,” you smiled down at her, even though you already knew her name, “that’s a pretty name.”
“i know,” she crossed her pudgy arms over her chest. “you are too young, like a baby.”
seriously? the baby was saying that to you?
“i’m not a baby,” you knelt down to her height, patting her head with a gentle smile, “i know i’m much younger than your mom, but i’m in my twenties.”
she hummed, staring at you for a second, then looked away proudly, “of course, i know. you are twenties.”
later that night — much to your amusement — you were informed that suyin could only count up to ten.
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even though suyin was definitely the more troublesome child, the one who took the longest to warm up to you was lin. and the difference between them was nothing to scoff at.
she wasn’t a bad kid, not at all; she just refused to acknowledge you. she wordlessly helped with chores, only spoke if spoken to, addressed you as “miss” or by your name, never really asked for anything.
you couldn’t fault her, really. with an absent father, a little sister to care for, an overworked mother.. too much responsibility had been placed on her shoulders far too young.
and you desperately wanted to fix that; you wanted her to scribble on the walls, leave crumbs on the sofa, show you very poorly drawn portraits of yourself. you wanted her to feel safe enough to mess up with you, to be more carefree..
but that proved to be extremely difficult. while she didn’t cause you trouble directly, she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in talking to you, and wanted to be left alone most of the time. the only times you’d see her light up were when toph came home, as she hung on to her every word with rapt attention.
you’d always watch the exchanges carefully, toph’s blindness rendering her oblivious to the excitement in her daughter’s gaze as she recounted whatever happened at work today.
your relationship with lin stayed rather tense for a while, and sometimes her bluntness would leave you rattled for the rest of the night, earning very curious questions from your wife later in bed. but you didn’t want to tell her about this, she could get mad and take it out on lin, and that would in turn only worsen the latter’s resentment for you. you were determined to fix this yourself.
it was on a random wednesday night, when an argument finally cracked through the tough facade of the older child.
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your wife was kept up late at work, so you decided to tuck the kids into bed alone. after a lot of whining and some tears, suyin tired herself out and fell asleep in your arms. you chuckled softly, picking her up and setting her down on her bed. lin was still standing in the hallway, arms crossed, stubbornly glaring at you.
for an eleven year old child, that glare had you as scared as your wife’s did. she was definitely toph’s daughter, through and through.
you walked over to her, leaning down a bit to her height, giving her a nervous smile, “lin, honey, are you not sleepy?”
“no.” short and straight to the point. her features did not soften.
“ah, i see,” you scratched your head, a little lost. you never really knew how to deal with situations like these, you didn’t know how much authority you held, and you really didn’t want to be stern on a child who hardly accepted you, who didn’t even consider you her mom. you cleared your throat, tone gentle, “but it’s getting late, honey. toph is still—”
“i don’t care!” you flinched back at her raised voice; lin had never yelled at you before. she huffed, looking away, “i want to wait for my mom.”
you really, really didn’t know what to do. “um,” you stammered, still a bit shaken from her outburst, “s-she could be very late, sweetheart. how about i make you a cup of—”
“what do you know!” she snapped, so loud you were sure suyin would wake up. “you’re waiting for her, so why can’t i!?”
you frowned, gently seizing her shoulders to try and calm her down, “deep breaths, honey. you’re a child, staying up so late is bad for—”
“of course!” she interrupted you again, shrugging your hands off, voice cracking, “you want me to go to sleep so you can spend all her free time with her! i never see mommy— ahem, mom, all day, and now you’re here, hogging the tiny bit of time i had with her! it’s not fair, it’s not fair—”
oh goodness, there was so much to unpack here.
“hey, hey.” you grabbed her a little more firmly now, deeply upset. “lin, sweetheart, is this what this is about? you think i’m stealing your mom from you?”
tears started welling up in her eyes now, as she desperately wiped at them with her overly big sleeve. your heart broke at the sight.
you took her hands in yours, gently caressing them with your thumbs. “talk to me, lin. will you tell me what’s hurting you?”
she sniffled, staring at you quietly, her glare reluctantly softening, “i-i just..”
you nodded, spurring her on, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze.
she looked down at her feet, her eyes watery, “m-mom never spends time with us, she’s always busy with work, work, work all the time. i.. i did everything, i took care of the house, i even learnt to earthbend just like her, a-and i try to be the best, just like her, so she can be proud of me, and spend time with me..”
she stopped for a bit, her gaze briefly flitting up to you through her tears, then focusing back on her feet, “then.. you showed up. y-you’re not even a bender, you’re not strong at all, and yet you have all her attention. s-she always praises you so much, even though i did everything you do, and more. she spends her mornings with you, her nights with you. w-when she has a day off, she gets excited to take you out first. her days off were usually for me.”
you let out a shaky sigh, your heart torn to shreds. this is what she has been bottling up all this time? no wonder she resented you.
you knew toph had spent her entire childhood restricted, so she thought the best way to parent was to do the opposite and grant her children the total freedom she wished for. but in doing that, she failed to give them the love and attention they needed.
you swallowed, gently squeezing her hands again, “lin, i had no idea you felt that way. i’m so sorry. i.. i was trying so hard to get you to like me, i didn’t consider toph being a factor in this. that was stupid of me.”
she stayed quiet, hesitantly looking up at you.
“honey,” you let go of her hands to wrap your arms around her small frame, hugging her tight. “i’m never, ever, taking your mother away from you. she’s your mom first, my wife second. i don’t want you to think she’s neglecting you for me.”
“but she is,” she mumbled quietly against your chest, small fingers curling around your clothes.
“she’s not,” you denied, tenderly stroking her hair. “i promise you, even before we got married, she’d always tell me stories about her two daughters. especially you, lin. she was always proudly showing off how you could earthbend so well at such a young age.”
she glanced up at you, and that was the first time she ever looked at you with anything other than disinterest or annoyance. she was listening to you. “really?”
“really.” you affirmed, tucking a strand behind her ear. you smiled, “your mother loves you a lot. thank you for opening up to me, lin. you’re a very strong girl.”
she hummed, a little flustered now, “d-don’t tell mommy— i mean, mom, about this.”
“i won’t.” you stroked her cheek, tilting your head, “and starting tomorrow? we’re going to be spending a lot more time together. and you can have tophie all for yourself in the mornings, how about that?”
an embarrassed blush set on her cheeks, as she reluctantly nodded. “thank you.”
“i’m always here for you.”
she rubbed her puffy eyes, the tiredness finally crashing down on her after that crying, “i.. i’ll go to sleep now.”
“alright,” you pressed a gentle peck to her forehead, “good night, lin.”
“good night.” she walked towards her room, then stopped in her tracks. she turned back to look at you, a little guilty. the sight made you raise a puzzled eyebrow.
“i..” she started, fidgeting. “i’m sorry for the stuff i said earlier. a-about.. you not being a bender, and.. being weak.. and stuff. i’m sorry, i didn’t—”
“hey,” you smiled, waving her apologies off, “don’t apologize for that. i promise, no offense taken. now, off to bed, you.”
she stared at you for a good minute, then nodded, finally going to bed.
thankfully for both of you, suyin was an incredibly deep sleeper.
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when toph finally came home that night, she found a very delighted you in the kitchen, humming a song as you heated up her dinner.
she purred, snaking her arms around your waist from behind, pressing lazy kisses to your nape, “somebody’s in a good mood.”
you chuckled, turning off the stove, “you could say that.”
“so i’m getting lucky tonight,” she grinned, suggestively kneading the flesh of your hips.
you rolled your eyes, turning back to face her, and she wasted no time in lifting you up on the counter.
since that day, lin significantly warmed up to you, and so did suyin as well. as the weeks went by, with all the time your wife spent at work and you stayed with the kids, you found them getting increasingly attached to you.
hell, they were actually calling you “mom” now. maybe you were their new favourite.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
* oh lin my sweetheart 🙁 and thank you so much for 500 followers guys, i love you!!
if you don’t leave replies, i will put an end to my days 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
adult toph beifong x f!reader
warnings: established relationships, arguments, very light angst
summary: you're a teashop owner that's too busy to give your girlfriend toph any attention. so naturally, she gets upset. based on this request.
toph wouldn’t call herself a needy girl.
but there are moments where she feels a massive craving to be touched by you. whether it’s a small hug, the brush of your hands, or a peck on the cheek. despite her feelings, she was never one to show pda.
and she was never one to interrupt you when you’re busy doing other things—being a burden was the last thing she wanted to be, especially if it was for something as trivial as wanting attention.
you were scrambling all day, being everywhere and doing everything all at once. the hands she wanted to grab were busy with paperwork, and the lips she wanted to kiss were always busy talking to someone else. just by tracking your movements, she could tell how swamped you were with your business. you were a tea shop owner, so you were dealing with several people at once about the building bills, supplies, and stock.
“i told you, we needed fifty of these bags by tomorrow morning!”
“this isn’t nearly enough. we need to order another box.”
“what do you mean? i paid the bill just two days ago!”
you were busy, and she knew it, and the busier you got, the more restless she became. her foot kept tapping the ground impatiently, arms folded tight across her chest. you were having a bad day, sure, but she was having a bad day, too!
all she wanted was just five, maybe ten minutes of your time. just your attention for a quick moment — a kiss and a hug here and there—but you were too busy.
too busy for her.
you were sitting at an empty table, hair a mess as you sorted through your paperwork. through her senses, toph knew there was no one else near you.
so, she took it upon herself to wrap her arms tight around you from behind, pulling you into a hug so deep it nearly threw you off the back of the bench.
“what—? toph—!”
“finally,” she hummed, nuzzling her nose into the back of your hair, breathing you in. “been waiting for this all damn day.”
“toph,” you sighed, pulling away from her as you started sorting through your papers again. “now’s not the time.”
“what do you mean?” she frowned at the loss of your warmth. “you’re not doing anything right now—”
“i’m doing plenty!” you argued back, your voice rising higher than you anticipated. you ran a hand down your face. “i’m sorry, tophie. i’m just really busy right now—”
your voice was interrupted by a harsh scoff from your stubborn girlfriend, her arms folding across her chest defensively.
“yeah—i fucking know that. you’ve been busy all damn day.”
you turned to raise a brow at her. “don’t give me that attitude, honey—”
“and don’t call me honey when you haven’t even acted like a good partner at all today!” she yelled even louder, her body shaking from all the frustration that had built up.
that’s when you got up, giving her your full attention — but not in the way she wanted.
“excuse me? what did you just say to me?”
“you heard me alright,” she spat back. “i’ve been wanting something—anything from you all day. a kiss... or... or maybe even a hug! but i was respecting you and your business and didn’t want to make you look unprofessional. now that you finally have a second, you’re still giving me none of it!”
her words made you recoil.
“not acting like a good partner?” you repeated, your voice dropping from a yell to a broken quiet. “toph, i am running myself into the ground trying to keep this place afloat. i’m doing this for us. for our future. so excuse me if i’m a little distracted when the supplier tries to screw us over on shipping costs!”
toph didn’t back down. what did you expect? she never did.
she stepped closer, jabbing a finger to your chest as her eyes drifted a little past your shoulder. “i don’t care about the supplier right now! i care about the fact that i’ve been sitting in the corner like a piece of furniture all day. i don’t need a whole grand gesture. i needed two seconds of you acknowledging i exist!”
“i know you exist!” you snapped, rubbing your temples as a headache began to pulse behind your eyes. “but i can’t just drop everything the second you want a hug! i have responsibilities!”
“oh, so wanting to touch my girlfriend makes me a distraction? a chore on your checklist?” her voice cracked, a rare, vulnerable break in her tough rock of a shell. “fine. message received. go back to your precious papers.”
she turned on her heel with every intention to stomp back all the way home. but through her feet, she felt the way your heart raced in a panic.
before she could go out of reach, your hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.
“toph, wait. please.”
her back was still turned to you, stiff.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “i’m so tired. i’m failing at the shop, and now i’m failing you, and i just... i don’t have anything left in the tank today. i shouldn’t have yelled.”
there was a long, painful pause, and you weren’t entirely sure how toph was going to react.
toph’s shoulders slumped, her anger replaced by that same craving of just… wanting your attention. except now she felt ten times guiltier.
she hated when you got like this. she hated that she couldn’t see your face to know exactly how bad it was, but the way your breath shook told her enough.
slowly, she turned to you.
she didn’t say anything as she stepped into your space, crowding your body with hers as she slumped her head against your shoulder. she sighed softly, her strong arms wrapping you in a tight hug that you returned easily.
atlast. she finally got to hold you.
“you’re not failing the shop,” she grumbled softly, keeping her eyes shut as she soaked in your warmth and smell. “and you’re not failing me. you’re just.. bein’ an idiot who doesn’t know when to take a break.”
you let out a tired laugh, your hand rubbing her back up and down. you knew how much she liked it. “yeah. you’re probably right.”
“i’m always right,” she murmured, voice growing softer in ways that made your heart ache.
“now shut up and just hold me for five minutes. the paperwork can wait.”
Synopsis: While on a date Toph confesses she wishes she could see you. Based on this request.
Content/Warnings: sfw, kissing, picnic date, emotional toph, fluff, kinda suggestive towards the end, flirting.
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.”
Synopsis: Toph has been buried in her work and hasn't left the police station in days. So you decide to stay up and wait for her one night. Only, what was supposed to be a kind gesture turns into a confrontation that threatens to ruin your marriage. Based on this request.
Warnings: Sfw, Hurt/Comfort, slight angst, argument, toph is a little mean but shes hurting, tickling, massages, Lin and Su mention, toph is in her 50s and struggling with getting older, Lin lowkey saving her parents marriage(we love her), stubborn toph, toph hates that she's aging and its doing a number on her mental.
You were curled up on the sofa, a thin blanket draped over your shoulders. The glowing screen of your phone read 3:42 AM, casting a sharp blue light across the dark living room. You stared at the digits, feeling the crushing weight of the silence around you.
For three consecutive days, this has been your life. Waiting up into the exhausting, early hours of the morning for Toph, only for the familiar sound of her breathy grunts and harsh footsteps to never come. The only confirmation you had that your wife was even still alive was the phantom trail she left behind at dawn. Every morning you would wake up to the faint, bittersweet scent of her citrus soap lingering in the bedroom air.
Your chest ached again with that familiar, suffocating loneliness that you couldn’t seem to shake. The more you thought about the way both of your lives seemed to be changing, the more you felt a desperate, driving need to intervene to steady it all again.
A paralyzing fear trickled up in you the longer you were left alone with your thoughts. It was the sort of cold realization that had you wanting to step in before the distance between you grew so wide it couldn't be fixed.
It has only been three days, and your life already felt like it was completely falling apart. You couldn't even begin to imagine the state of your heart if you went weeks without seeing her, or months without hearing the sound of her voice.
You knew that if you let this continue, Toph would take your silence as permission to keep slipping away. She never asked how the distance felt, which was the quiet fault line running through your entire marriage. Toph always had a way of simply shifting the earth beneath your feet, and just expecting you to adjust your stance and fall into line with whatever rhythm she dictated.
But your vows weren't a contract of quiet compliance. Marriage was a lifelong commitment to protect one another, and you refused to sit back and quietly accept the self destructive stranger she was forcing herself to become.
You knew her patterns too well to believe this would just pass. If you didn't draw a boundary tonight, the cycle would repeat forever, because in her world, there would always be another cold case to bury her mind in, another crime to solve, or another suspect to chase into the dark.
You didn't care how long you had to stay up, or how tired you would be the next day. You wouldn't go another day without laying eyes on your wife and hearing the familiar rough sound of her voice. You were going to wait on this couch until that front door opened.
Since the moment you met Toph has always been fiercely independent. She despised clinginess, and she hated when people hovered over her. She tolerated it with you, but even then, you knew she had her limits. Her age had only hardened her exterior, making her more stubborn and grumpy as she threw herself into her work as if she were constantly trying to outrun the clock and catch up on time already lost.
It worried you, seeing just how much of herself was slowly eroding away at that police department. Toph had spent so much of her life giving everything to others and saving people, while completely neglecting herself and her own needs in the process. It made you terrified that beneath her gruff exterior that she may be harboring quiet regrets.
She simply wasn't as young as she was when she used to run around the world with the Avatar. You had just celebrated her fifty-fifth birthday a month ago, a milestone that brought her changing body into sharp focus.
Her hair was heavily laced with black and silver streaks now, a look that you thought refined her appearance beautifully. You absolutely loved the silver, even though she insisted on you dying it dark again. When you asked, Toph claimed she didn't want her officers to think less of her or see her as weak.
You recognized it as a deep seated insecurity that you couldn't fully relate to since you were considerably younger than her. So to protect her peace and avoid an argument you dyed her hair every few months.
You were just starting to nod off when the heavy front door finally clicked open, breaking the silence. Toph dragged her feet across the threshold, her shoulders hunched tightly under the crushing weight of her armor. At fifty five, the relentless strain of the job was visibly catching up to her.
She walked like her limbs were constantly aching. Toph was slower now, moving with a stiff, heavy exhaustion that was very hard to hide especially from you. She winced with every step she took into the home, it was a brief flash of vulnerability that she quickly masked before settling her expression into a hard line as if she hadn't meant for you to see. But you always noticed everything when it came to her. Over the years of your marriage you've memorized every hitch in her breath and every slight shift in her posture.
Toph didn't even bother using her metal bending to strip her armor which was telling, She just kicked her heavy metal boots loose with a miserable sigh that echoed through the dark room.
“You know, you could just tell me if you're starting to sleep walk Chief.” You say softly from the darkness, offering a gentle, tired smile. “I usually charge an admission fee for people trying to break into my house at four in the morning.”
Toph flinched slightly, her milky eyes turning toward the couch. “What are you still doing up?” She grumbled, her voice scratchy and thick with exhaustion. The joke went over her head like most things lately. “Go back to bed and it's our house.”
“Really? Because lately its been feeling less like a home and more like an empty hotel,” You said, tossing the blanket aside and standing up to face her. “I haven't seen my wife in seventy two hours, Toph. I am not going to bed.”
Toph’s jaw tightened, the stubborn lines around her mouth deepening in the dim blue light of the room. She felt the shift in your posture, the sudden hardness in your voice that told her you weren't backing down tonight. Instead of softening, her defensive walls immediately flew up, fueled by a toxic mix of physical pain and sheer exhaustion.
“Don't start with me,” She growled, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register as she unbuckled her heavy metal breastplate with a harsh, metallic clatter. “I don't have the energy for a lecture right now so get off your high horse. I was running a sting operation on the Triple Threats down by the docks for thirty hours straight. I'm doing my job.”
“And what about your job here?” You asked, taking a step closer, your heart hammering against your ribs. “You slip in like a ghost in the early hours of the morning to shower while I'm sleep and then leave before the sun is even fully up. You aren't taking care of yourself, Toph. You haven't slept in days, and don't try to tell me you're resting at the office because I know you aren't. I can literally see the physical toll this is taking on your body. You're working yourself into an early grave, baby. Look at you. You're limping and you can barely move.”
“I am fine!” Toph snapped, her voice cracking in the quiet room as she spun on you, aiming her words to cut as deep as possible. “You think I don't know what's happening to my own damn body? You think I can't feel my joints grinding and my spine aching every single second of the day, knowing there is absolutely nothing I can do to change the fact that I am getting older?”
“I have to deal with enough shit at work all day. I don't need to come home to my wife coddling me, and keeping tabs on my hours like I'm incapable of figuring out my own life! You want a fragile little housewife who is home by dinner time and tucks you in at night before bed? Then go find one.”
She took a sharp breath, her sightless eyes flashing with a cold, defensive fury. “But I am the Chief of Police, and I have a duty to this city that I helped build. So if I have to stay at that precinct until dawn to keep the people that live here safe, then that's what I am going to do until my dying breath. If that's something you can't handle, then you should've thought about that before building a life with me.”
The harshness of her words sliced through the quiet room, leaving a ringing silence in their wake. You stiffened, staring at her as the raw cruelty of them hit you squarely in the chest, physically knocking the breath from your lungs. It felt like a sudden, violent eviction from her life as if all the years you had spent loving her, learning her rhythms, and holding down the fort and raising your kids meant absolutely nothing the moment you dared to care about her survival.
Tears burned like acid behind your eyelids, blurring the dark room, and you quickly tore your eyes away from her rigid form, realizing with a shattering certainty that she had genuinely wanted to hurt you and it had worked.
“Wanting to make sure your job doesn't take you away from me earlier than it's supposed to isn't coddling.” You said, your voice cracking into a fragile whisper as the first tear finally spilled over your lashes.
You choked back a ragged sob, pressing a hand flat against your chest to try and anchor a pain so sharp it made you physically ache. “You don't get to lash out at me and push me away just because you're terrified, Toph. This isn't about the city, and it isn't about me smothering you.”
“You are losing your mind because your body is changing and you cannot control it. You would rather bury yourself in work and actively destroy our marriage than admit that you are hurting, and that for the first time in your entire life, you can't just bend your way out of something. You are terrified that one day you won't be able to be Chief anymore, and you're scared that once that badge is gone, you won't have anything left- because you've let it become your entire life, your entire being, and the only identity you think you have left.”
Your voice dropped to a hollow whisper, heavy with the devastating weight of your devotion. “I am not saying this to hurt you, baby. But as your wife, I refuse to sit back in silence and watch you kill yourself for a city that will never love you back the way I do.”
“For the last three days I have bled my own heart dry keeping this home warm for a ghost,” You wept, with each word that spilled out from your lips you could feel another piece of your heart withering away. “And how dare you say I shouldn't have built a life with you just because I am the only person alive who dares to love you enough to try and save you from yourself.”
Toph stood entirely paralyzed in the dim light. Her chin, usually tilted up in fierce defiance, dropped as her chest barely rose and fell. Through the soles of her bare feet, she could feel the violent, trembling vibrations of your heart breaking right in front of her, and for the first time in her life, Toph Beifong had nothing left to say.
You turned your back on her, the movement sharp and heavy with a grief that nade it hard to breathe. You didn't wait for her response. You didn't want to hear another word that could fracture whatever was left of your dignity.
She didn't want your help, and she didnt want you.
Clutching the thin blanket tightly around your trembling shoulders like a shield, you walked away into the dark hallway, your bare feet paddling softly against the floorboards. Each step felt incredibly heavy, as if the suffocating weight of the apartment were pressing down directly onto your chest.
Walking away from her was the hardest thing you had ever done. Every single instinct in your body screamed at you to turn around, to pull her tightly into your arms, and to apologize just to stop the bleeding. You knew that leaving Toph alone in the dark meant abandoning her to the one thing she feared most: her own mind. Without you or the noise of a city to police or a fight to win, she would be left completely defenseless against the quiet terror of her own thoughts.
But as you sank against the closed bedroom door, pressing your palms hard against your mouth to stifle the ragged, broken breaths tearing from your throat, you knew you had no choice. You couldn't keep sacrificing your own soul just to keep her upright. Loving her meant refusing to become a casualty of her fear, even if the silence on the other side of that door felt loud enough to shatter you completely.
The distance that followed was a living, breathing entity that swallowed the apartment whole. When dawn finally broke, casting weak streaks of gray light across the guest bedroom floor, you didn't hear the familiar clatter of Toph dressing for work, nor did you hear her heavy footsteps heading toward the kitchen. She had probably left sometime last night after your argument, unable to be in the same home as you.
You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself out of bed as the bleak reality of the morning settled in. You immediately checked the bathroom, but the air was entirely dry, there was no bittersweet scent of her soap lingering in the breeze, no damp towel thrown carelessly over the rack. Walking into the living area, the kitchen counter was completely untouched. The tea kettle sat cold and mocking on the stove.
She was really gone.
This wasn't like the previous times she's left. Now, Toph was intentionally burying herself at the precinct, actively using the endless chaos of Republic City as a shield to hide from the smoking wreckage of last night's argument. She was running away from her own mind, leaving you behind to drown in an agonizing silence that felt loud enough to splinter the very walls around you. Every single time the old floorboards creaked from the settling building, your heart violently leaped into your throat, foolishly hoping it was her, only to be instantly crushed by the stark reminder that you were completely alone.
This went on for a week, neither of you spoke a single word to each other. When Toph did return home every few days, you pretended to be asleep as she moved through the bedroom and grabbed a fresh change of clothes to take back to wherever she was staying. You always left her dinner wrapped in the fridge, and it was on the forth night that you smelled the aroma of the chicken you had made, heating up as she sat stiffly at the counter and ate for the first time in god knows when.
It was when Lin showed up at your studio on the seventh day if you and Toph not speaking that you knew this had become something far larger than you could contain.
You were right in the middle of a session with a client when the glass door of your studio swung open. Lin stepped inside, her metalbending uniform clinking sharply with every rigid stride, her jaw was set hard into an expression of pure frustration. The tension radiating off her was enough to make the client freeze in surprise.
Lin didn't care about the disruption, her sharp eyes locked onto yours immediately, making it crystal clear that she wasn't here on official police business, she was here as a deeply concerned daughter who had seen far too much over the last week to keep silent.
Your relationship with Lin had always been close. You had stepped into her and Toph’s world when Lin was just a tiny, fierce toddler, and you had raised her as your very own from that moment forward. You were the one who wiped her scraped knees, cheered the loudest during her metalbending training, and held her hand when the weight of the Beifong name became too much for a young girl to carry.
As she grew, you became her ultimate confidant- the safe harbor she ran to whenever she got completely overwhelmed by the Chief’s harsh, uncompromising nature at the precinct, or when her little sister, Su, managed to work her last nerve.
You knew every line of Lin's stubborn jaw, her favorite comfort meals, and exactly how to interpret the rigid set of her shoulders. So it wasn't surprising at all that she was standing here in your studio now. You had a feeling that if Toph wasn't sleeping at home she was likely crashing on Lin’s couch.
Lin didn't wait for you to make excuses. She took one look at the client sitting in your studio chair, adjusted the metal cuffs on her wrists, and stepped forward with her signature, no-nonsense scowl.
“Session's over,” Lin announced, her rough voice cutting through the room like a siren. “Police business. Grab your coat and get out.”
The client blinked in absolute shock, looking between her and you. It only took them a second to realize Lin wasn't giving them a choice, they frantically scrambled to gather their keys and bag, muttering a hasty goodbye before practically sprinting out the front door. The bell above the entrance jingled frantically, and then the shop door clicked shut, leaving only the two of you.
Lin watched the door close, her rigid shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch as the tough detective persona melted away. She turned to you, her jaw still set tight, but her sharp eyes were filled with a deep, familiar concern.
“She's been crashing on my couch for a week.” Lin said bluntly, confirming your exact suspicion. “And she is making my life an absolute living hell. Seriously, you have to take her back before I lose my mind.”
Lin threw her arms up in total frustration, pacing the floor as she began counting her grievances on her fingers.
“She completely took over my space, Ma. Yesterday, she got bored and used her earthbending to permanently alter my apartment, fusing my favorite iron skillet to the stove burner because she said the heat layout wasn't right and all her food was still cold, mind you it wasn't even turned on!”
“Then,” Lin exaggerated the word just so you knew how serious she was. “She decided my kitchen counters were too low to the ground and made for ants so she bent the foundations three inches higher and now my countertops are almost as tall as me.”
You snorted at the mental image, but your daughter scowled at you so fiercely that you quickly flashed her an apologetic look to smooth things over.
“But it's not just the property damage, Ma,” Lin continued, crossing her arms defensively. “She is completely intruding in my personal life. She’s been interrogating me about who I'm seeing because she claimed she caught the scent of a woman's perfume in my bedroom. She is entirely wrecking my privacy, treating my home like her private precinct, and she's driving me completely insane.”
If it were any other situation you would have laughed. This was Lin's classic reaction whenever she had to spend more than five minutes alone with her mother. But now, knowing that your marital issues were actively spilling over and affecting your kids only made you feel worse, a heavy wave of guilt washing over your already exhausted heart.
“She doesn't want anything to do with me, honey. I-I don't know what to tell you.” You admitted, your voice wavering as you looked down at your hands, unable to meet her gaze.
“You guys always fight,” Lin said as she blew out a long, frustrated breath. “What’s so different now?”
You shifted your weight around on your feet before walking towards your office to put some tea on. Lin followed right behind you, collapsing onto the sofa with a heavy sigh as you made the both of you some tea.
“Your mother is struggling, Lin,” You said softly, handing her a steaming mug. “And I can't say too much because I respect her privacy. But just know I tried to get her to slow down, get some rest, and she did not take it well.”
Lin held the warm mug between her calloused hands, staring down at the swirling amber liquid. The signature scowl she always wore seemed to melt away, leaving her looking remarkably like her mother for a fleeting second.
“She told me to leave her the hell alone when I asked why she was sleeping on my couch.” Lin murmured, her rough voice dropping into a quiet, tone. “She's been a nightmare at the office, too. Screaming at the cadets, burying herself in twenty year old cold cases and sting operations with special forces. I knew it had to be bad if she was running this hard.”
Your fingers tightened around your own mug, the ceramic radiating a heat that couldn't touch the cold ache inside you. Toph was suffering, and it was utterly destroying you to be locked out of her world when she spiraled like this.
“I haven't physically seen her in a week and it's-” A lump formed in your throat, cutting off your breath. You swallowed hard, but the tears finally won, blurring the sight of your daughter sitting across from you. “It's so hard, Lin. I love your mother so much that I don't even feel like myself anymore.”
Lin stared at you, the heavy metal plates of her uniform suddenly looking far too massive on her as her hardened expression completely fractured. Seeing you, the steady, loving rock of their family look so broken down by her mother's stubbornness was too much for even her. Lin hated seeing you cry or be anything less than your annoyingly happy self.
She set her tea mug down on the table with a sharp click. Without a word, Lin leaned across the sofa, reaching out to grab your hand, her rough palm squeezed yours with a reassuring strength that calmed the racing of your heart you knew she could hear. You looked away, mortified that you were having a breakdown in front of your daughter.
“Hey. Look at me,” Lin commanded softly, her own voice cracking just a fraction. “You are the best thing that ever happened to her. You know that, right? She’s a stubborn, miserable old bat who doesn't know how to handle the fact that she's not invincible anymore. But she loves you. She's just too damn proud and terrified to admit that you're right.”
You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. Seeing her step into the role of protector for you made the raw ache in your chest soften just a bit. You watched as Lin reached into her belt pouch, the metal components of her uniform expanding as she pulled out a brass house key. She slid it across the table until it tapped against your tea mug.
“She knows she's wrong and she doesn't get to continue to hide out at my house just to avoid you,” Lin said, her expression shifting back into a determined, tactical scowl. “Take the key. She usually drags her miserable bones back to my place around nine to eat whatever scraps are left before heading out again. Go throw her off guard.”
You clutched the key tightly in your palm, feeling its cold, solid weight cut through your anxiety. Crossing the remaining space between you, you stepped forward and pulled Lin into one of those smothering motherly hugs. She didn't stiffen or become awkward like she usually did with others. Lin's rigid shoulders immediately relaxed, her armored arms wrapped around you just as tightly.
“I love you, Ma,” Lin whispered against your shoulder, her rough voice soft and laced with emotion.
Hearing those words made more tears spill from your eyes. It wasn't that you hadn't heard Lin say it before, but in this exact moment, you knew she felt just as terrible about how her mother was acting. She was standing with you, validating your pain, and reminding you that no matter how much the Chief pushed you away, you were still the heart of this family.
You gave her another tight squeeze before pulling away. “I love you too, Linny.”
—————ʕ·͡ˑ·ཻʔ︎ ——————ฅ՞••՞ฅ︎—————
Later that day you left your studio with a renewed sense of purpose. You stopped by a local market to gather some fresh ingredients for a dish you wanted to make. You couldn't bear the thought of Toph picking at cold leftovers on a lumpy couch, so you bought everything needed to cook her favorite comfort meal at Lin’s place.
Once inside Lin's apartment, the nervous energy took over completely. To distract your mind from the impending confrontation, you set to work anxiously cleaning the space. You scrubbed the countertops, washed the dishes rotting away the sink, and neatly folded the laundry and spare blanket tossed over the back of the sofa where Toph had been sleeping.
By the time 8:45 PM hit, the apartment was spotless, and the rich, savory aroma of dinner filled the home. You sat on the edge of the sofa, your fingers nervously tracing the fabric of your jeans as the minutes ticked closer to nine. Your palms were sweating and your heart hammered against your ribs at every distant sound from the hallway as you waited.
Just as Lin had predicted, the doorknob turned at 9:00 PM sharp, and the front door swung open with a familiar metallic creak. Toph dragged her feet across the threshold, her limbs moving with that stiff, aching exhaustion you knew all too well.
She looked terrible. In just a week deep, bruised bags had formed under her sightless eyes and her face appeared thinner and much paler than before. The deep crow's feet around her eyes were starkly prominent in the dim light, and her gray laced hair was messy, sliding completely out of the tight bun she normally forced it into while working at the precinct.
Toph froze mid-stride, her entire body locking up as if she had been struck. Her seismic sense instantly picking up the unique, unmistakable vibration of your heartbeat echoing through the floorboards. To make matters worse for her defenses, the rich, savory aroma of the comfort food you had just cooked was swirling thick through the air, entirely replacing the stale scent of Lin's apartment.
Toph stood in the threshold, one boot half kicked off. She tried to mask her expression with indifference but failed. You had already seen through the vulnerable cracks, and now there was no going back. The front door slammed harshly behind her, and she grunted in frustration, violently kicking her remaining shoe off against the wall.
“I gave you the house so you wouldn't have to be here.” Toph grunted, her voice cracking with an intense, raw bitterness.
You stood and walked towards her, narrowing the distance between you until you were standing inches apart. Toph didn’t flee. In fact, she subconsciously leaned into your comforting warmth- a sanctuary she had starved herself of for far too long.
“I don't want the house,” You whispered, your voice steady but thick with emotion. “I want you.”
You weren't an earthbender, so you couldn't simply bend the oppressive metal armor off her body. You did, however, know every inch of her uniform, including exactly where the emergency release buckles were hidden. Tentatively, you reached out and began unlatching them one by one. The metal plates felt cold and stiff in your hands, but the raw heat radiating from Toph’s body was undeniable as she let out a shaky sigh.
“I shouldn't have bombarded you the moment you walked through the door that night, and for that, I am truly sorry,” You mumbled, your fingers continuing their familiar, gentle work. “But what I will never apologize for is being terrified of losing you, or caring about your well-being. You can push me away all you want, but it won't change how much I love you.”
As the heavy breastplate finally unlatched and clattered to the floorboards, the fierce, untouchable woman you knew seemed to soften entirely. Toph’s shoulders slumped under the sudden release of weight, and she let out a long, shuddering breath, her defenses finally crumbling into the quiet room.
You gently took her calloused hand in yours, her fingers twitching slightly before wrapping tightly around your palm. Without a word, you led her over to the sofa. Toph didn’t resist, she let herself be guided, her usual fierce independence yielding entirely to her exhaustion.
“Lay down,” you whispered, patting the cushions. “Let me take care of you for once.”
Toph let out a low, defeated groan, but she finally complied, letting her large frame sink face down onto the couch. The moment her body hit the soft fabric, she let out a long, exasperated breath, her muscles beginning to slacken under your expert guidance. You sat on the edge of the cushions beside her and placed your hands on her bare shoulders, immediately feeling the rock hard knots of tension bunched up beneath her skin.
As your fingers began to deeply knead the sore muscles along her spine and shoulders, Toph let out a rare, contented rumble that sounded almost like a purr. The warmth of your hands seemed to melt away the last remnants of her stubbornness, leaving her completely relaxed and vulnerable under your touch.
But just as she began to drift into the quiet relief of the massage, you decided it was time to bring back the lively, spirited woman you loved. Shifting your weight, your fingers slid down her back and dug straight into her most secret, heavily guarded ticklish spots right along her ribs and sides. You hands moved feverishly, your hands sliding down her calves and ankles so you could tickle her toes.
Toph shrieked at the top of her lungs, her entire body violently twisting and squirming against the cushions as she tried to escape your treacherous fingers.
“Hey! What are you- stop it! Let go!” She wheezed, her rough voice cracking as she burst into loud, breathless, booming laughter. She blindly kicked her legs in the air, thrashing helplessly as her fiery spirit took over completely, the agonizing silence of the last week officially shattered by the beautiful sound of her joy.
You climbed onto her back and straddled her to keep her in place. You giggled, and for the first time in a week, your smile finally reached your eyes. You finally let up after she nearly flipped you over and tossed the both of you onto the floor. Even with her age, she was still significantly stronger than you, and if she really wanted to, she could have gotten you off her in a split second.
“You're so cute under all that brooding. I should've done this sooner,” You teased, your hands smoothing over her shoulders and the nape of her neck as you went back to massaging her.
Toph huffed, her head turned to the side as her eyes fluttered closed, completely surrendering to your touch. “I am not cute.”
“Sure you aren't, Chief,” You whispered affectionately, your thumbs leaning deep into the tight muscles of her upper back. “You're just my cute grumpy badger mole.”
With a sudden, explosive burst of remaining energy, Toph used all her years of combat training and twisted her body beneath you, using her powerful core to flip flat onto her back. Before you could even think about escaping, her hand shot out and grabbed your wrist with an iron grip, pulling you entirely off balance.
You let out a shrieking laugh as you tumbled forward, crashing right onto the sofa with her. Toph instantly locked her legs around yours, her muscular arms pinning you securely against her chest in an unbreakable hold that left you completely trapped beneath her weight.
“Oh, you think you're real funny, don't you?” Toph said, her chest heaving beneath you as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were still heavily flushed from the laughing fit, and her silver streaked hair was a wild mess across the cushions.
You took a moment to look at her, really look at her and your heart constricted in your chest. You reached out and traced the beautiful silver paths woven through her dark hair, feeling a profound surge of adoration for the woman beneath you. Despite what Toph might think. The lines etched around her eyes and mouth weren't signs of weakness to you, they were proof of her fierce resilience, a map of a life spent fighting for others, and you had never loved her more than you did right now.
Toph’s smirk gradually softened as she felt the shift in your breathing and the steady, warm weight of your gaze on her face. Her sightless eyes blinked softly, and she reached up with a slightly trembling, calloused hand, her knuckles gently brushing against your cheek.
“What?” She wondered, her tone dropping into a quiet, almost self conscious whisper. “Why is your heart beating like you just ran a marathon?”
A rare, vulnerable shadow crossed her face. Her hand continued to map your softened features, tentatively brushing against your jawline, your nose and over your eyes. Her fingers trembled as she grounded herself in your touch, reading the lines of your face as if she could picture how you were looking at her.
You leaned down slightly, gently cupping her hand against your cheek, refusing to let her pull away.
“Because I am completely enamored with you, Toph Beifong,” You whispered, your voice thick with a reverence so profound it seemed to quiet the entire room. “I look at you right now, and it completely takes my breath away. You think you’re hiding a breaking body behind all that armor and paperwork but all I see is the most beautiful woman I have ever known.”
Slowly, your fingers reached out and slid up from her jawline, your thumbs gently tracing the prominent crow's feet carved around her eyes. She shied away, a sudden twitch of self consciousness locking her posture as if she knew exactly what features you were focusing on, but you didn't let up. You held her face firmly but tenderly in your palms, refusing to let her withdraw into the dark again. She needed to know, down to her very bones, that your eyes didn't see her any differently than the day you fell in love with her.
“I love these lines,” You murmured, your touch as light as a feather over her skin, grounding her in the absolute safety of your gaze. “You hate them because you think they show your age, but to me, they are a map of your resilience. They are the beautiful marks of every single time you’ve smiled at me when the rest of the world wasn't looking. You trusted me with your heart, with the sacred duty to raise your family alongside you, and I promised you then what I am promising you right now.”
You leaned down further, pressing your forehead gently against hers, letting her feel the fierce, unshakeable depth of your devotion through the shared warmth of your skin.
“I am staying, Toph. Not out of some stupid obligation, and not because a marriage certificate says I have to. I am here because you, Lin, and Su all carry the very pieces of my soul. I gave my life to you three decades ago, and every single day since has been a gift. Without you, I could never be whole.”
You placed a kiss at the corners of her eyes. “And I know you're hurting so much, baby. It breaks my heart to think that you've been bearing this quiet, relentless weight all by yourself. That you've somehow convinced yourself that if you let me see the cracks in the stone, that if you're anything less than the untouchable force of nature the world expects you to be, that it would change the way I feel about you.”
“I want you to really hear me when I say this,” You pleaded, closing the final inch between you until your lips brushed against hers with every single word you spoke. “My love isn't conditional on your strength, Toph. Your changing body isn't a burden to me, it is a privilege to love, to protect, and to lift you up when the weight of this world becomes too much for even the strongest woman alive.”
A resonant, broken cry tore from Toph’s throat at your words, her fingers dug desperately into the fabric of your shirt as the final, tormenting walls of her isolation completely shattered. She pulled you down even more firmly against her chest, burying her face into your shoulder as she finally let go of the terrifying fear of losing herself, completely held by the realization that your love for her was entirely unconditional.
“I don't deserve you baby and I'm so sorry.” Toph’s voice was thick as her shoulders shook slightly as she clung to you.
“I was horrible to you,” She choked out, her rough voice cracking under the absolute weight of her remorse. “I said things I didn't mean and weaponized our love just to cut you down and push you away. Baby, I-..”
She couldn't even finish the thought as a broken, trembling breath escaped her lips. Toph tightened her embrace, burying her face even deeper against your neck as if she were trying to hide the raw, agonizing shame burning through her. Her fingers dug desperately into your shirt, her entire body shaking with the force of her regrets.
“I took the one sacred thing we built, the one place where I'm supposed to protect you, and I turned it into a weapon because I was too proud to admit that I'm breaking.” She whispered, her voice uncharacteristically small and entirely stripped of its usual bravado. “I wanted to hurt you before you could see how weak I felt. And the second you walked away, the guilt just completely swallowed me whole. I hate myself for what I did to you, sweetheart. I hate that I made you feel unloved or made you think I could ever live without you.”
You shook your head, the instinctive denial already spilling from your lips. “You didn't, baby, you could never. I was just worried-”
“No, don't downplay it,” Toph cut in, her tone dropping into a weighted register as her hands traveled up the expanse of your back, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin. She missed being able to touch you like this so now she was making up for lost time. “I already feel bad enough.”
Toph tilted her head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to the exposed skin of your collarbone before moving up to trail her lips directly over your pulse point.
“Don't protect me from my own mistakes, sweetheart,” She said, her voice tight with raw conviction. “I know exactly how hard those words landed. I felt your heartbeat stutter through the floorboards when I said them. I felt you freeze. I took advantage of the fact that you love me just so I could build a wall high enough to hide behind, and there is no excuse for that.”
She shifted underneath you, her touch remarkably gentle as her calloused hands slid up to rest flat against your chest, right over your heart, as if she needed to physically feel the life she had nearly broken.
“I need you to let me say it. I need you to know that I feel the pain I caused, and I'm not going to let myself run away from it anymore. You shouldn't have to carry the burden of my pride. I am a stubborn, difficult woman, but I love you too much to ever let my fear become your cage again.”
“I hear you, baby,” You whispered, leaning down until your nose brushed against hers. “I hear you, and you're completely forgiven. No more hurting each other.”
A soft, relieved smile finally tugged at the corners of her lips. You leaned in the rest of the way, sealing the apology with a tender kiss that melted away the very last remnants of the horrible week.
Once you pulled away, the rich aroma of the dinner you had cooked finally caught her attention, causing her stomach to let out a loud, traitorous growl that completely shattered the intense moment. Toph blinked, her cheeks flushing a brand new shade of pink as she let out a rough chuckle before pecking your lips.
“Alright, all that sap got my stomach screaming, sweetheart,” She grumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. “And this couch is doing no favors for my spine. Hand over the food before I start eating the cushions.”
You laughed and climbed off top of her, wrapping your arms around her waist to help her up into a sitting position against the cushions. “I don't think Lin will appreciate that.”
“Yeah well, Lin owes me for snitching!” Toph scoffed, a sharp grin cutting through her exhaustion. “I know she’s the only reason you even knew where to look for me. The kid’s got a big mouth for someone with a badge.”
“Hey, don't go blaming our daughter,” You laughed, nudging her shoulder with your own as you set the warm pan between you both on the hardwood floorboards. “Honestly, Lin looked absolutely terrified that you were going to stay here permanently. She loves you don't get me wrong, but I'm sure she'll be glad to have her apartment back.”
Toph let out a loud snort, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork before popping it into her mouth.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” She grumbled, though the playful edge in her voice had completely melted into a relaxed drawl. “Let her have her precious apartment back. Between you and me, her taste in tea is terrible, and the silence in this place is way too loud anyway.”
She shifted closer to you on the hardwood floorboards, her shoulder pressing comfortably against your arm as she swallowed her food. A small mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, her sightless eyes softening as she leaned into your side.
“Besides, the kid needs to learn that she can't just evict me whenever she wants.” Toph added, her voice dropping into a quiet, warm chuckle. “But I guess if it gets me back into my own bed with my wife, I'll let her think she won this round. Just don't tell her though it'll go to her head.”
You rolled your eyes, that Beifong competitiveness always shining through. If you were completely honest with yourself, you wouldn't change a single thing about her.
“Deal,” You smiled, leaning over to press a soft kiss against her cheek, catching the warmth of her skin. “Your secret is perfectly safe with me. Let's finish up this food so we can finally go home.”
Toph hummed in agreement, her posture completely relaxed against yours as you both shared the rest of the meal right there on the floor.
You've spent months making peace with the underground fights.
Making peace with the fact that Sukuna walked into one already injured turns out to be a different matter entirely.
cw: sukuna x f!reader, underground mma fighter!sukuna, hurt/very little comfort, angst, graphic violence, injury, blood, anger as care, violence as love language, rough caretaking, sukuna is his own warning, sukuna has no chill, protective sukuna, sukuna is soft (but he fights it the whole time) (in a fucked up way), sukuna is trying his best (derogatory), sukuna has issues, sukuna would rather get hit than talk about his feelings, sukuna needs several therapists but has a heavy bag instead, sukuna processes emotions through violence, sukuna is bad at being loved, and detailed fight descriptions
wc: 13.3k
notes: i think coming up with the cw tags for unsanctioned is my coping mechanism (and also my favorite part of writing these). though, i fear they're becoming their own genre at this point and one day they'll be longer than the actual fics
main masterlist ◦ series masterlist ◦ ao3 ◦ sukuna art by @hazaato
When you bring the groceries in, Sukuna doesn’t jump up to take the bags like he usually does. He's rooted to the spot on the sofa, where he sits unusually still and just follows you with his eyes. You struggle with a particularly heavy crate of bottled water, the plastic handles digging into your palms, and though his knuckles go white where he grips his knees, he doesn't move. Normally, he would’ve clicked his tongue the second he saw you step through the door, peeling the handles from your fingers with a grunt, acting offended that you didn't call him from downstairs.
You set the bags down on the kitchen counter with a quiet exhale, then automatically glance toward him, expecting some teasing comment about how many snacks you’ve bought or that you’ve probably managed to forget the coffee filters for the third time this week. But nothing comes.
Finally, Sukuna stands and moves through the apartment in the silence you’ve learned to associate with fight nights. He shrugs out of his oversized hoodie slowly, then tosses it over the back of the couch. The motion pulls his compression shirt tighter across his broad torso for a second, enough to make the faint outline of athletic tape show beneath the dark fabric. He doesn’t seem to notice your eyes lingering on it, or maybe he’s just decided that acknowledging your worry is more effort than it’s worth right now.
That alone doesn't mean much; half the people at the gym are taped up somewhere at any given moment, Sukuna included. You stopped reacting to it and the purple bruises months ago, understanding it's just part of him.
Still, your eyes linger on the line of his side a little longer, tracing how he holds his breath as he reaches for the fridge. He notices immediately, his eyes flicking toward you.
“What?” He huffs a breath and crouches slightly as he pulls a water bottle from the bottom shelf.
“You’re weirdly quiet,” you say, leaning your weight against the counter and trying to sound casual. “Even for you.”
The cap cracks softly under his hand as he twists it open. A small hum escapes him, somewhere between amusement and weary acknowledgment. He takes a long, slow drink, his throat working as he drains half the bottle before finally looking at you over the rim.
“Thought you liked when I shut up,” he mutters, with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I like when you aren’t plotting something,” you tease him as you start pulling items from the bags, and the crinkle of paper fills the space between you.
He snorts and nudges the fridge door shut with a sharp bump of his hip before walking back toward the counter. His free hand presses against the edge when he stops, flexing and digging his fingers into it for half a second before he forces them to relax.
“Paranoid,” he says, and his voice softens just a fraction. He offers a small, crooked grin that doesn't quite hide the tightness around his eyes.
As you continue unpacking groceries, he stands beside you, occasionally stealing pieces of whatever you pull from the bags before you can put them away. That’s the moment when he’d usually talk more, commenting on some idiot he saw at the gym earlier during the day or complaining about one of the newer members trying to throw spinning kicks before they can even balance on one leg. Tonight, his focus feels oddly distant, like he’s already miles away.
You hand him two cartons of eggs without thinking, expecting him to tuck them into their spot, but he hesitates, his hand hovering for a second before he pulls back. With a frown deepening, you end up setting them on the counter yourself.
“You sore?” you ask, tilting your head and gesturing toward his taped-up torso.
“Always sore.”
“You know that isn’t what I meant, Sukuna. Don't do that.”
He huffs quietly through his nose at that, lowering the water bottle onto the counter before rolling one shoulder carefully.
“Took a hit to the ribs during training,” he admits, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s fine.”
You slide the yogurt cups into the fridge, watching him closely. A second later, when he reaches up to close one of the upper cabinets, you notice him favoring his left side. It’s a tiny adjustment, but you know the rhythm of his body too well to miss it.
Sukuna’s always irritatingly sure of himself, even when he’s exhausted, as if he belongs wherever he is. Tonight, though, there’s a hint of stiffness in him. It’s subtle, and you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t been paying attention.
“You’re fighting tonight, aren’t you?” you ask carefully.
“Yeah.”
“Warehouse?”
He gives a slight nod without looking up.
“Thought you said you weren’t gonna for the rest of the month.”
Sukuna walks past you toward the living room and crouches by the couch, unzipping his duffel bag halfway to check inside. His wraps lie tangled near the top, beside his mouthguard case and a half-used roll of athletic tape.
“I wasn’t.” He digs briefly through the side pocket before finding whatever he was looking for, then straightens again, slower than he should. “Changed my mind.”
“What happened to taking it easy?”
“It’s a quick one. I’ll be in and out before the crowd even gets settled.”
“You always say that.”
“Because they usually are,” he retorts, his ego flaring up. It's a familiar spark, a bit of the old Sukuna returning.
That finally pulls a short laugh out of you. Sukuna’s head turns toward the sound instantly, and for a second, some of that strange distance leaves his face, and his expression softens.
He walks back to you and stops close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck as he carefully leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.
Before he can pull away, you reach up and cup his face in your palms, pulling him down. His mouth twitches immediately, already knowing exactly what you’re after, and lets you steal a quick kiss. And then a second one for good measure. You smile against his lips, earning a low huff of amusement from him, before he straightens a bit and gently pulls you into his body.
“Still thinking about those new pads?” you ask against his chest.
“Trying to,” he mumbles into your hair. His hand stays at the back of your neck, thumb moving lazily against your skin.
“You’ve already replaced half the old ones this year.”
“And the other half still suck,” he says, pulling back to roll his eyes. You snort loudly, a real laugh this time, earning you a genuine grin from him.
There’s more life in his voice now, more of the version of him you’re used to seeing at the gym, especially once he starts talking about equipment. He explains that the older heavy bags split too quickly under harder kicks, irritation creeping into his tone as he goes over replacement costs and suppliers.
“This payout's decent. More than decent.” He runs a hand through your hair, then gestures toward the flyer for equipment he pinned to the fridge months ago—the industrial racks and the heavy, leather-bound bags he's been eyeing like a kid in a candy store. “Enough for those and the Fairtex pads. Maybe even enough to repaint the main room and finally install the new mirrors.”
Knowing how much it all means to him, you can’t help but grin. Sukuna bought the warehouse and turned it into the gym before you met him, mostly with underground fight money. Ever since, he’s treated every extra bit of cash as another brick added to the place, piece by piece: better mats, better bags, more equipment, more space. The gym already works and survives on its own, but surviving has never really seemed good enough for him once he decides something can be improved.
It’s the only place where his restlessness seems to find a purpose. You know he’s already planning the layout for the new racks and mapping out the floor space in his head to ensure the footwork drills don’t get interrupted by the heavy bags.
“It’s really just a quick one, angel. I promise,” he adds.
You study him for a moment, then nod once. “Okay.”
When he finally pulls away, he grabs his keys, throws the duffel’s strap over his left shoulder, and reaches back, extending his hand for you to take.
“Let’s go.”
You step closer, lacing your fingers with his as you walk out of the apartment and down the stairs toward the car.
—
The cage door slams shut behind Sukuna with a metallic clang that gets swallowed up right away by the roar of the warehouse. The sound is sharp and jarring, and it still gets under your skin every single time.
The noise of the crowd is overwhelming, just like always. People are shouting his name from deeper in the warehouse, and cash changes hands beside the barricades. You’re pressed close enough to the fence that the cold chain-link digs into your forearms as the crowd pushes behind you. Your eyes are fixed entirely on him as he turns toward the center of the cage and rolls his shoulders beneath the harsh industrial lights.
Sukuna barely reacts to anything happening outside the cage. He looks completely relaxed, as only experienced fighters ever do right before violence breaks out. One hand briefly brushes the fence while he stretches his neck and sizes up his opponent, Hisakawa, with a small, mocking grin.
There’s something almost unfair about watching him fight, especially when you know him outside the cage. At home, he sprawls across the couch with one arm around your waist, criticizing terrible movies and stealing food straight off your plate with a wink. In here, surrounded by screaming strangers and the smell of copper, he looks exactly like the man this place was built for, and even when he’s still, he undeniably controls the space.
Hisakawa’s broad-shouldered and clearly cautious, bouncing lightly on his feet. He tests the distance with twitchy movements of his hands, but Sukuna just watches him with a stillness that’s far more intimidating, already knowing how this will end.
Since you found out about the underground ring, you’ve picked up on the signals that start each fight. They change with the organizer and location, but tonight it’s just a sharp, echoing bang as one lead pipe hits another. The fight’s on.
Sukuna claims the center of the cage without hesitation, cutting off the space until his opponent is forced to circle him instead. Hisakawa steps in first behind a quick, nervous jab, but Sukuna slips his head barely a few centimeters to the side before landing a low kick hard against the outside of the man’s thigh. The sound echoes through the warehouse, drawing a bloodthirsty roar from the crowd. Before Hisakawa can fully reset his stance, Sukuna’s already pressing forward, faking high and then digging a heavy left hook into the body.
You hear the breath leave Hisakawa in a wheeze that carries even over the shouting, and Sukuna just grins.
“Too open,” he says lazily.
The other fighter swears, his face twisted in pain, and answers with a harder combination—jab, cross, hook—trying to force Sukuna back toward the chain-link, but Sukuna moves through it. He slips the jab, blocks the cross with his forearm, and pivots so that the hook skims past his cheek before driving another kick low into Hisakawa’s calf. It visibly disrupts the man’s balance when his leg buckles for a split second. He tries to answer with a desperate overhand right, but Sukuna dodges it by the smallest margin, letting the punch pass by his ear.
The crowd goes wild, slamming their hands against the fence and making the metal rattle. Sukuna keeps moving forward, setting the pace so naturally and effortlessly that Hisakawa ends up fighting on Sukuna’s terms instead of his own.
That’s what always stands out when he fights. Not even a minute in, and his opponent already looks tense, shoulders tightening every time Sukuna feints because he knows something painful is coming. And Sukuna knows that he knows. That familiar sharpness you’ve learned to recognize over months of watching him in cages exactly like this one is clear in his expression. He’s enjoying this—the exact moment someone realizes they’re completely outmatched and starts getting desperate enough to make mistakes.
Hisakawa throws harder now, trying to overwhelm him with pressure, but Sukuna keeps picking him apart piece by piece. A jab comes too slow, and Sukuna bats it aside before landing another hard kick. The man tries to step in aggressively with a wide swing, and Sukuna slips cleanly inside and drives his knee into Hisakawa’s midsection, folding him against the cage for a moment.
“C’mon,” Sukuna taunts, stepping back just enough to let him breathe. “That all you got?”
You can’t help but smile a little. The tension in your shoulders slowly fades as you watch him. Whatever stiffness you thought you noticed back at the apartment doesn’t matter now. He’s still sharp and in control, moving through exchanges with that same rough confidence that always drives the crowd wild and makes you weirdly proud.
The crowd grows meaner and more confident in its bloodlust because Sukuna rarely gives them a boring fight. Even this early, people are already shouting for the knockout like they expect violence from him as naturally as breathing. Even you can easily understand why.
His timing’s perfect tonight. Every feint gets the reaction exactly where he wants them, every kick knocks the other man off balance, and more than anything, he still looks comfortable in there, talking between punches and smirking when the crowd gets louder, like the noise only makes him stronger.
Hisakawa finally lands a punch when Sukuna gets a little too arrogant—a quick jab clips his mouth, then another punch hits his left ribs. There’s a brief flash of annoyance on Sukuna’s face as he tastes copper, but he quickly answers with three brutal kicks to Hisakawa’s legs until the man’s movement slows to a crawl.
Sukuna feels that, and a slow grin spreads across his face as he circles closer, his hands hanging lower now, confidence showing in every move he makes.
Against your better judgment, you start to relax too.
After that, Hisakawa gets reckless. The change is clear, so that even the crowd notices, shouting louder every time Sukuna lands a kick that sends his opponent stumbling back to the fence. Frustration replaces caution in Hisakawa’s movements, and his punches get heavier and wider, thrown with aggression that usually appears right before someone makes a mistake against Sukuna.
You’ve seen this part many times before. Sukuna has a way of drawing desperation out of people, controlling the fight until the other person eventually starts fighting with their heart instead of their head. Once that happens, it’s usually over. You expect this fight to follow the same familiar pattern.
Hisakawa comes in with a double jab, trying to distract Sukuna long enough to land a combination. Sukuna dodges both and answers with a hard front kick that knocks Hisakawa back. Hisakawa’s guard drops for a split second, and Sukuna sees it. You recognize the setup from watching him finish fights like this before—the transfer of weight, the turn of his hips, and his right shoulder starting to move before the hook comes.
Normally, Sukuna’s power is terrifyingly fluid and looks effortless. His punches flow naturally, his hip turning into his shoulder, his shoulder into the punch, all in one smooth motion that drops opponents. But this time, something catches mid-swing.
The punch still sends Hisakawa stumbling backward, and the crowd explodes around you, people screaming themselves hoarse, but you barely hear them. Your eyes stay fixed on Sukuna’s right arm as he pulls it back. The delay’s tiny, and most people watching would never see it, but it’s there. His shoulder doesn’t turn all the way, and there’s the slightest hesitation before he pulls the arm back into his guard. That small hitch feels wrong, but you couldn’t explain how, even if you tried.
You find yourself rationalizing it right away, telling yourself it’s just a trick of the lights. Then you think you’re imagining things—anything to avoid the cold feeling in your stomach.
Fighters sometimes move awkwardly; bad angles happen, feet slip, and punches land in odd ways. But this is different. Sukuna still hits hard enough to stagger the other man across the cage, and a second later, he’s already crowding forward again with that same mocking grin while Hisakawa tries to recover his footing near the fence. The fight keeps moving so fast that it makes you forget the moment, and for a while, you convince yourself that nothing’s wrong.
At first, the changes are too subtle to seem like a strategy. Sukuna keeps controlling the center of the cage, but something about the fight slowly begins changing, and it starts scratching at the back of your mind. A left middle kick lands hard against Hisakawa’s ribs after a feint, folding him slightly at the waist, but instead of following up with his usual long combination, Sukuna resets right away and circles back to the center, eyes narrowed and watching every move Hisakawa makes.
Another exchange happens right near you, with punches flying fast enough that the crowd presses against the cage around it. But Sukuna only throws one punch and a kick before stepping back out of range instead of overwhelming him the way he normally would.
Then it happens again and again and again.
You start noticing it bit by bit before you fully understand what you’re seeing. The left side leads everything: the left hook, the left cross, left kicks, and even the left knee whenever he gets close enough to force Hisakawa into a clinch before breaking away. His movements lack the wild energy that usually makes him so terrifying to watch. Even his parrying looks different now, with his right elbow tucked tighter to his ribs while his left hand does most of the work, keeping distance and blocking strikes.
You try to explain it all away again because that’s easier than facing the other possibility. Maybe he just likes that angle. Maybe Hisakawa’s weaker defending on that side. Maybe Sukuna’s dragging the fight out because he’s enjoying himself too much again and wants to put on a real, bloody show for the warehouse. It isn’t like he’s never done it before; he’s never exactly been too merciful in cages.
The crowd seems sure everything is normal, completely missing the break in the rhythm. Every time Sukuna lands a clean shot, people slam their palms, rattling the cage next to your face, while others scream for a knockout like it’s only a matter of time before Hisakawa goes down.
But then Sukuna lands another vicious kick to the leg, steps into range behind it, and retreats instead of following up. That’s the exact moment something cold and heavy starts to settle under your ribs. Sukuna never stops there, not when someone is reeling, and today he’s already done it multiple times.
When he smells weakness in someone, he relentlessly layers on pressure until they drown in it. One strike leads right into the next, combinations coming so fast that the other fighter eventually runs out of room to reset between them. You’ve seen him break people down exactly like that before, trapping them in his rhythm until panic takes over, replacing technique.
Tonight, he keeps ending his attacks early—pressure, then space again—a clean opening abandoned instead of followed. When he parries, he takes Hisakawa’s strikes on his forearms and shoulders, avoiding any stretch of his right side. You feel your grip tightening on the fence, your knuckles turning white and aching before you even realize it.
Hisakawa starts noticing the small, strange openings too. His hesitation fades bit by bit as confidence grows, and soon he’s stepping in more aggressively, testing Sukuna with sharper combinations aimed at his ribs and shoulder. A quick jab catches Sukuna’s cheekbone. Another rough punch lands on his side during a messy exchange near the fence, but Sukuna answers right away with a brutal left kick to the body that folds Hisakawa and creates space again. Still, he resets instead of following up, as if he’s letting his opponent off the hook.
A few seconds later, it finally hits you. Hisakawa throws another right hand, and Sukuna slips outside before throwing a right cross in return. The punch looks wrong immediately. It lands, but without the usual snap, pushing through more like a shove than a real strike, and his shoulder dips lower than normally.
People around you miss the quick change in his expression, hidden by the movement, the noise, and the sweat in the warehouse. But you know his face too well not to catch it. For a split second, all his arrogance disappears entirely, his jaw clenches to show his teeth, and something sharp and ugly flashes across his face before he hides it again almost instantly under aggression.
It’s pain. Real pain.
Suddenly, everything makes sense at once: the taped torso, the careful, stiff movements back in the apartment, the unusual silence and focus, the short combinations, and the missing right side. It all makes an awful, frightening sense.
The tape isn’t for support, you realize, but desperate damage control. Heat rushes through your chest so fast it almost makes you dizzy, blocking out the crowd for a moment, because he must’ve known exactly how bad the injury was before he stepped into the cage. That means he looked you straight in the eye three hours ago and lied anyway. The fear that usually creeps over you during his fights turns instantly into a hot, sharp anger that threatens to choke you.
The worst part is that Hisakawa, even though he’s outclassed in technique, isn’t blind and sees it too. You notice the moment he figures it out, because the last shred of caution disappears from him completely after that. His confidence turns meaner and more opportunistic as he starts pressing harder, forcing more action toward Sukuna’s compromised right side and testing the small openings around his ribs and shoulder over and over again, now that he knows they’re slower to close.
Because of that, the crowd starts to sense it too. The energy around the cage changes subtly but unmistakably, and the initial excitement turns uglier and more desperate as people pick up on the weakness in Sukuna that wasn’t there before. Every clean shot Hisakawa lands now gets a louder, harsher reaction from the warehouse, with bodies pressing closer to see.
Suddenly, the fight doesn’t look like Sukuna’s fights anymore.
Usually, he enjoys himself in these cages much more than you’d ever like him to. He loves performing in them. He loves humiliating people once he realizes he’s better than them, loves dragging out exchanges to make the crowd go absolutely wild every time he lets a strike merely graze him before answering with something even more brutal. He loves showing the whole room just how much more dangerous he is than his opponent. If he’s giving up that performance on purpose and letting go of the technical flow and swagger that define him, then something is seriously wrong.
What’s more is that he has always fought with perfect balance in his violence. Punches and kicks flowed together so smoothly that no one could predict his next move. Now, it feels like half of that rhythm is missing. His right arm still moves, guards, and sometimes throws punches when he’s absolutely no other choice, but it’s not part of the fight like his left side. Every single time he uses it or takes a hit there, his posture tightens for a moment before he forces himself to relax.
Once you catch it, you can’t stop seeing it everywhere, along with every ugly little adjustment he makes. He kicks more now—not just the occasional low kick mixed naturally into combinations like before, but constant kicks to keep distance whenever Hisakawa pushes too hard toward the injured side. Front teeps and kicks slam into the stomach and chest to keep Hisakawa back, while low kicks land on his legs whenever he puts too much weight down, quickly followed by middle or high kicks meant to punish and intimidate. He’s using his legs as a shield.
Unfortunately, Hisakawa can’t stop seeing it either and starts pressing even harder. In response, Sukuna forces ugly exchanges, using his left arm in a punishing clinch to pull Hisakawa into a pocket where technique matters less than raw grit. He starts throwing sharp, short elbows with his left and uses his size to smother Hisakawa’s attacks, leaning into him to protect his right side.
Then, Hisakawa finally spots an opening and tries to trap Sukuna against the fence, thinking he can overwhelm him there. Sukuna lets him get close for a moment too long before suddenly reversing the pressure, stepping in so hard that he drives Hisakawa back into the chain-link.
Sukuna’s left forearm immediately slides under Hisakawa’s jaw, pressing up across his throat and pinning his head awkwardly against the fence, not to choke him, but to force his posture open and leave him exposed while knees slam into his body from close range.
There’s nothing stylish about it anymore. It’s just raw violence from inches away, sweat spraying through the fence every time they crash into each other or into it.
Hisakawa tries to break free and finally wrenches enough space between them to get away, his shoulders jerking back as his hands come up instinctively to reset his guard. That’s exactly when Sukuna lands an elbow across Hisakawa’s cheekbone, much too early during the separation, but the contact is quick enough to look almost accidental if someone wanted to pretend otherwise. The impact snaps Hisakawa’s head so sharply that a fine mist of sweat and blood sprays through the cage directly onto your wrist. You flinch but don’t move your hand.
Sukuna fighting dirty means he’s adapting however he can. Forearm to throat, jamming Hisakawa’s head into the fence, elbowing during separation—in any legitimate fight, a referee would already be pulling them apart, barking warnings, and threatening point deductions for what Sukuna’s doing. But in this warehouse, nobody reacts except to slam their fists against the fence and scream for more blood.
Your hands ache where they grip the fence, and the heat in your chest keeps rising the longer you watch him. Every brutal move like that is another reminder that he never should have agreed to fight while injured.
You don’t know if Sukuna realized exactly what this would do to him before he stepped into the cage, but both options feel just as terrible. If he knew, he willingly walked in there prepared to drag himself through this. If he didn’t, he was arrogant enough to think he could still control the fight before the injury caught up to him. Either way, you can’t stop thinking about him calling it a quick, easy paycheck earlier.
Your anger hardens into a cold, heavy rage and a deep sense of betrayal that makes you want to climb into that cage and kill him yourself for being so reckless. Or, at the very least, do it right after this, if there’s anything left of him to kill.
From then on, the fight turns into a war of stubbornness. Sukuna stops giving Hisakawa space to build longer exchanges whenever possible, crowding him rather than maintaining the clean distance he had earlier. He repeatedly forces Hisakawa toward the fence, dragging him into clinches where the right side matters less, and the left can do the damage, his teeth bared in a snarl that’s more about pain than bravado.
Hisakawa finally manages to throw a desperate hook in return, and Sukuna slips inside it awkwardly. It isn’t as smooth as usual; the movement is tighter because his right side still isn’t rotating right, and you see the wince he tries to swallow. Still, it lets him get closer, forcing Hisakawa back until they both crash hard against the cage wall again.
Hisakawa is breathing hard, his chest heaving, but Sukuna doesn’t look much better. Sweat pours down his face in streams, his mouth slightly open between exchanges. Bruises darken under one cheekbone where punches landed earlier, a vivid purple against his pale skin. He looks more fragile than you’ve ever seen him, and somehow that makes your anger burn even hotter.
The end, when it finally comes, isn’t exciting. Sukuna suddenly gives ground, baiting Hisakawa into rushing forward before grabbing a tight clinch and driving him back against the chain-link once more. He traps Hisakawa against the wire and lands a heavy left uppercut that snaps his head back. Hisakawa brings his guard up high to protect his face after that, his eyes wide and glazed. He tries to swing his way out, while Sukuna keeps threatening elbows and knees from close range. For a moment, Hisakawa’s ribs open up, and that’s all Sukuna needs.
He drives a brutal left hook into the opening. It’s a short, savage punch from almost point-blank, putting all the force he can still manage on his left side straight into Hisakawa’s liver. The man folds, still conscious, his body shutting down faster than his mind can keep up as the air rushes out of his lungs in a broken, whistling sound. His knees buckle first, then the rest of him slides down the fence, one hand pressed to his side as he struggles uselessly for a breath that won’t come.
Body shots are ugly like that.
Head strikes look dramatic, usually cracking so loudly that crowds react instantly, and they’re violent enough to knock people out before they even hit the mat. But liver shots are different. They shut the body down from the inside, exhausting and debilitating it, draining strength from the muscles and air from the lungs all at once. There’s nothing spectacular or flashy about them, no flourish or performance—just the body deciding it can’t go on. It’s a quiet, internal collapse that’s much more frightening to watch.
The warehouse erupts into a cacophony of shrieks and whistles while Hisakawa stays curled against the fence, struggling and failing to force air back into his lungs properly. Sukuna stands there, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling heavily, while sweat drips from his jaw onto the blood-stained canvas. The crowd keeps screaming for more, but Sukuna just waits for the inevitable realization to settle over everyone watching.
When it’s clear Hisakawa isn’t getting back up, he doesn’t celebrate, pace the cage, or play to the crowd like he usually does after a win. He doesn’t have the energy for any of that tonight. Instead, he wipes his mouth with the back of his fist, leaving a smear of red on his wrapped knuckles, and turns straight toward where you’re standing. His chest is still heaving, and his eyes find yours through the fence right away.
As he comes closer, blood and sweat matting his pink hair, he doesn’t find the relief he expected. The adrenaline that kept him sharp and restless during the fight slowly drains away, leaving him looking hollow and battered when he sees your expression and realizes you aren’t looking at him the way you usually do.
Tonight, there’s no pride on your face, no leftover adrenaline, no small relieved smile for him to tease, not even the usual worry he knows how to handle with a cocky grin. Your jaw aches from clenching, and your fingers grip the fence so tightly your knuckles turn white, while anger burns in your chest, almost making you feel sick. For a moment, neither of you moves.
Sukuna looks completely exhausted, sweat streaming down his face and stinging a fresh bruise on his cheekbone. Up close, the damage is even clearer. You notice how he’s unconsciously protecting his right side, which slowly starts to turn into a darker shade, his shoulder slumped, and his posture just a little off in ways only you would catch. He’s hurting, but that only makes your rage grow instead of turning into sympathy. You don’t want to comfort him; you want to scream at him for being this stupid.
The small hope in his face disappears completely when you keep looking at him with fury in your eyes. For a moment, something wary and almost defensive crosses his expression before the cage door unlocks behind him with a metallic snap.
Someone stops him right after, shoving a few thick stacks of cash into his hand and shouting something you can’t hear over the warehouse noise. Sukuna takes the money without thinking, still breathing hard, his fingers trembling as he grips it. The whole thing feels so routine that it makes something inside you twist with disgust. It’s like this happens all the time—he just fights, bleeds, gets paid, and moves on.
Sukuna glances at the money for a moment before looking back at you, and his shoulders tense even more. He already knows exactly what’s waiting for him in your expression and that, for whatever reason, he’s about to catch hell.
You walk toward the back rooms in silence. The warehouse is still loud behind you, with people arguing over bets and replaying the finish so loudly their voices echo off the walls, but it all feels strangely distant. Sukuna stays by your side without touching you once, making sure nobody gets too close to you. He holds the money with his left forearm against his chest while his right hangs stiff and useless at his side, like a dead weight he’s trying to ignore.
For the first time since you’ve known him, he seems almost hesitant to break the silence. When Sukuna finally glances down at you near where he left his things, his expression sharpens and he frowns, getting ready for a fight he actually doesn’t know how to handle. He looks like he’s about to offer an excuse or a cocky remark to deflect the tension, but the words die in his throat when he sees your eyes.
“Get dressed,” you say flatly before he can even try to open his mouth. “We’re leaving.”
Sukuna freezes for a moment, then gives a single nod without arguing. Somehow, his sudden compliance only makes you angrier.
The cold night air outside the warehouse should help, but it doesn’t. You’re so pissed that you storm toward the car, forcing Sukuna to hurry after you, even though his every step is painful and slows him down.
There’s tension in his face and a slight stiffness in how he moves his right side. He opens the back door, grabs his hoodie from the seat with his right hand, and pulls it toward himself as if putting it on might make things normal again. When the movement tugs at his side, he winces sharply before he can hide it behind a cough.
That’s the last straw. The thin thread of your restraint finally snaps.
You shove him hard, slamming his back into the cold metal of the car door. One hand twists into his shirt, while the other presses against his taped right side without thinking about where it lands.
Sukuna immediately sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, but it cuts off halfway as pain locks up his body for a moment when you press on his injured ribs. His jaw tightens, tendons standing out in his neck as he swallows hard, forcing the rest of the breath down before it becomes a sound. He drops the hoodie, his fingers flexing at his side as he tries to relax against the car, clearly caught off guard by you.
"Ryomen Sukuna! What the fuck were you thinking?!" Your words are harsh, your voice shaking with fury now that the match is over and there’s nothing left to distract you.
Hearing his full name makes Sukuna’s stomach sink. He knows you’re furious, but isn't entirely sure why yet. He won the fight, got paid, and made it back to the car in one piece. As far as he's concerned, the night ended exactly how it was supposed to.
He exhales slowly through his nose, still pinned against the car by your grip. Before he can answer, you yank up his shirt to examine his skin from up close, and what you see makes your heart drop. Dark, mottled bruises spread under the tape in uneven patches across his ribs and side, ugly against his sweaty skin. The whole area is swollen, making it painfully obvious this was never just a minor strain he could push through.
Somehow, your idiot boyfriend still has the nerve to smirk at you. It’s that tired, crooked, and completely fucking infuriating tilt of his mouth he always uses to brush off anything he doesn’t want to deal with.
"It was fine," he grinds out in a low, rough voice as he tries to straighten up. “I handled it. I'm here, aren't I?”
“You call that handled?! You were one hit away from a punctured lung!”
“I won.”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing. That’s how he measures it—not by how he could barely rotate properly by the end, not by the dirty survival tactics he used just to keep going, not by being one bad hit away from collapsing. All that matters to him is that he stayed standing longer than the other guy.
Sukuna watches your expression change and feels a flicker of unease. He still doesn't get why you're looking at him like that, but he can tell he's losing ground anyway. He moves against the car, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt, then glances at the blood-stained cash in his hand.
“The payout was worth it.”
He says it so simply, like that explains everything, and money justifies walking into a cage already half broken and forcing himself through twenty minutes of self-destruction in front of you. That’s when your rage finally boils over.
"Shut up," you snap, your words coming out as a jagged snarl. "Don't fucking talk to me about what’s worth it."
You lean in, your face just inches from his, ignoring the sharp smell of blood and sweat.
"I don't care about the money, Sukuna. I'm mad because you knew," you hiss, your voice shaking with betrayal. "You knew you were hurt. You felt your body failing in the apartment, acted like it was nothing, and still walked into that cage. You sat there and watched me struggle with the fucking water, because you knew you wouldn’t even be able to lift it, and you still chose this."
His smirk disappears completely, and suddenly he looks small, exhausted, and pale under the dim street lights. For a moment, he just stares at you, struggling to understand why any of this matters. You saw him win, right? So the rest is just details.
"If you want to kill yourself for more money, go ahead," you say coldly, shoving him back against the car one last time. His face tightens in pain, but you don’t soften. "But find someone else to watch you destroy yourself for a few pads and some mirrors."
He goes still under your hands, not knowing how to explain why your words are so completely wrong.
—
The drive home feels suffocating. You keep your eyes on the dark road, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ache. Every few seconds, your fingers flex when the image of him in that cage flashes through your mind again, making your blood boil with fresh resentment.
Beside you, Sukuna’s finally crashing. The adrenaline that kept him going for the past few hours is gone, leaving only the reality of what he did to himself tonight.
He slouches deeper into the passenger seat than usual, leaning heavily against the window with his forehead pressed to the cold glass, hoping the chill will numb the pain in his side. Each time you shift gears, he tenses. Every pothole or bump makes him flinch before he forces it down, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as his fingers curl tighter against his thigh and his jaw clenches so hard it's a wonder his teeth don't shatter while he tries to stay quiet.
That, understandably, only makes you angrier.
The only sound in the silence is his rough, uneven breathing. Every deep inhale pulls painfully at his injured ribs. Sukuna tries to hide it, but his whole body jerks with every jolt of the car, making the lie feel more insulting with each passing kilometer.
The space around you smells of sweat and blood, and the sharp metallic scent of iron sticks in your throat every time you breathe. He keeps trying to sit like nothing hurts, shoulders stiff with the same stubborn pride that got him into the cage in the first place, but he’s so drained now that his mask keeps slipping.
You notice it every time he thinks you’re focused on the road instead of him. His breath catches when he moves the wrong way in the seat, and his right side stays unnaturally guarded even when he’s still. Sometimes he presses his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek, trying to turn the pain into something manageable just by being more stubborn than the pain itself.
Neither of you speaks. The silence between you isn’t explosive anymore like it was outside the warehouse. Now it feels raw, stretched tight between your anger and the obvious pain he still refuses to admit. All you want is to scream at him, to pull the car over and make him see the mess he’s made, but you just keep driving, knowing it won’t help either of you.
Once, when the car hits a particularly rough patch, Sukuna exhales sharply through his teeth before he can stop himself. His head tips back against the window and his eyes close. The sound is small and involuntary, and after everything you saw him put himself through tonight, it feels far too human. For a moment, your anger almost softens, but then you remember him calling it “worth it,” and it snaps back.
—
Sukuna sits on the closed toilet lid wearing only dark shorts. His broad shoulders are damp, and steam fills the room from the hot water you used to wash the blood and grime off him. The bruises on his ribs have gotten even darker since the warehouse, spreading a dark, ugly purple across his side.
Every now and then, his breathing catches slightly when he moves the wrong way. He leans forward, trying to protect his injury, but it only makes his jaw clench as he holds back a groan. He isn’t used to his body letting him down, and you can see the simmering frustration in how he grinds his teeth every time a simple breath takes too much effort.
The duffel bag sits on the floor where Sukuna dropped it by the bathtub earlier. You haven’t touched it since you got home, but every time your gaze drifts toward it, a fresh spike of cold anger rises in you, mixing with the hollow ache of seeing him so hurt.
Sukuna is quiet while you work. He stares at the floor, with his jaw set in that stubborn way that means he’s pulled back into himself. His forearms rest heavily on his thighs, and his hands hang loosely, one swollen and bloodied at the knuckles. Exhaustion drags his posture lower with every passing minute, making his massive frame look strangely vulnerable. Sometimes his muscles tense when you brush too close to a deep scrape, but he doesn't utter a single word of complaint.
After a few minutes of silence, he nudges the duffel bag toward you with the toe of his foot while you clean his back.
"Count it," he grinds out.
When you ignore him and keep your focus on the red welt across his shoulder blade, he gestures impatiently with his left hand. His right arm remains stiff, tucked protectively against his side.
"I said count it," he repeats, and this time, there's a sharp edge to his tone. He tilts his head back, forcing himself to meet your eyes. There's still some of that infuriating, stubborn pride in his face, but it’s starting to fade from fatigue.
Your hand stops over a particularly nasty scrape near his shoulder blade before you glance at the half-open zipper, where stacks of cash are visible. They look disgusting sitting there on the floor next to used tape and blood-stained gauze. The idea of touching that money makes your stomach turn.
He wants you to see his win, as if the physical currency could somehow balance the ledger for the damage you’re currently trying to wipe away with a cloth.
“I don’t want to.” Your voice is flat, devoid of the praise he's looking for.
“You should,” Sukuna says anyway, voice roughened by exhaustion and pain. “Some of those assholes short people if they think they can get away with it.”
The practicality of the comment feels surreal after everything that happened tonight.
You feel empty inside as you drop the cloth into the sink and reach into the bag, pulling out one of the stacks, mostly just to keep the conversation from turning into another argument. Some of the bills are damp, some with sweat and some with dark smears of blood from his split knuckles. The metallic smell hits you, and you almost drop the money back into the bag.
“You almost got your ribs broken in half for this.”
Sukuna exhales slowly through his nose and leans his head against the wall on his side, closing his eyes before he answers. “Didn’t happen.”
You let out a short, bitter laugh. “That isn’t the point.”
“It is the point.” His eyes snap open, burning with a sudden, fierce intensity. “I won. I got paid. The gym gets the equipment it needs, and we stop looking like some half-dead hole running on cracked mats and rusted racks.”
You stay quiet, still staring at the bloodstained bills in your hand. Sukuna mistakes your silence for stubbornness, not the disgust you actually feel.
“The heavy bags in the main room are already falling apart. You saw them,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his left hand while the other stays guarded instinctively near his side without him seeming to notice. “The floor padding near the weights needs replacing, the mirrors are cracked—half the equipment in there looks like it survived a fucking earthquake. If I want the gym to actually survive another few years, then I need to put money into it now instead of waiting until everything falls apart.” He pauses briefly, jaw tightening once as another wave of pain hits his ribs before he pushes through it. “And I’m done with this neighborhood. I’m done with you having to look over your shoulder every time you walk to the car.”
The frustration in his voice fades a little after that, though the words somehow start sounding heavier.
“That neighborhood five blocks over, we looked at—the one with the trees. The windows there don't rattle when the trucks go by on the main road.” A humorless breath, almost resembling a laugh, leaves him. “Nothing fancy. Just quiet.”
The bills suddenly feel way heavier than before, and you drop the stack that’s still in your hand into the duffel bag. You look up at the swelling on his side and his right hand turning a sickly shade of plum. The cold rage from the car finally turns into a desperate ache in your chest.
“Is a quiet street worth your body, Sukuna?” you ask quietly, full of disbelief from the absurdity of it. “Is this—is a few sets of windows and some floor padding—worth getting beaten to death for? Because I just watched you almost get your ribs caved in because you couldn’t move your fucking arm.”
For a second, he says nothing at all, but his jaw tightens so hard a muscle jumps in his cheek, and his fingers flex against his thigh like he’s physically stopping himself from snapping. He doesn't look ashamed; he looks annoyed that he has to explain the obvious to you.
“Yes,” he says through clenched teeth. “That money pays for safety. That’s the fucking point.”
His voice is harsher now, full of frustration because he genuinely can't understand why you're fighting him on this. He gestures at the bag, irritation rising as the conversation drifts from gym equipment to something much more personal.
“It pays the deposit on a place where the walls aren’t thin enough to hear every fight three apartments over—the first place I’ll ever have where I can leave you alone for one fucking night without wondering if you’re safe while I’m gone!”
You open your mouth to yell at him, but he doesn't let you get a word in.
“I didn't grow up with safety, okay?” He lets out a rough breath that catches as his ribs protest. “People talk about that shit like it’s a feeling. It isn’t. It’s a physical thing you buy. It’s neighborhoods where you don’t hear screaming outside at two in the morning. It’s locks that don’t break. It’s not having to worry about whether the gym will last another year. It's not having to choose between fixing a mirror and paying the rent.”
His eyes snap to yours, full of exhaustion and irritation, and his gaze becomes too heavy to hold.
“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” he asks sharply. “Just sit around and hope things magically get better on their own? Every fight I take moves us one step further away from this fucking apartment.”
His words hang in the air. Suddenly, the money in front of you doesn’t look like cash anymore but like pieces of him instead. Traded away slowly through split knuckles, damaged ribs, and ugly fights, all so he could drag the future forward by force of will, using his own body as the currency.
“I never asked for this,” you snap, leaning toward him until you're in his space. He goes deathly still. “I’d rather sleep on the gym floor than watch the light go out of your eyes just so we can live somewhere with a nice view.”
You can practically see the moment when the argument crosses a line that neither of you can come back from. Until now, he’s still been talking like this is a problem he can solve if he explains it well enough: more money, a better neighborhood, a safer apartment, better equipment, a better future. He’s built a wall of logic to justify all of it, but your rejection just broke through it.
“You went into that fucking cage injured for a down payment, and now you expect me to just sit here and thank you?!”
“I never expected a thank you, and you know that! But it was just one fight. I’ve taken worse hits for a hell of a lot less."
“One fight is enough for something to go wrong, for fuck’s sake! I don’t care about the trees, Sukuna,” you continue before he can interrupt. “I don’t care about the windows, the fucking mirrors, or if the heavy bags need replacing. I’d rather stay here forever than watch you destroy yourself for things I never told you I wanted.”
Sukuna’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might crack. “You say that now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he snaps, irritation flaring hard in him now, “you don’t get it.”
His words are rough, coming from somewhere deeper than anger. Sukuna sits up straighter, even though it clearly hurts his ribs. His broad shoulders are tense in the bathroom light, and the detached practicality is gone from his tone, replaced by wounded frustration.
“You think I wanted you standing in that warehouse tonight?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I wanted you looking at me through a fucking fence while people screamed for blood? Fuck, you think I wanted you learning about these fights—about any of this—at all?!” His eyes lock onto yours, bloodshot and full of a pain that isn't just physical. “I want you far away from that world, woman. I want us out of this fucking place—somewhere I don’t have to worry every time I leave the apartment.”
Sukuna loved fighting long before you came into his life—the adrenaline, the spectacle, the feeling of stepping into a cage knowing exactly how dangerous he was. It was always something he controlled and something that helped him build his gym. That was enough when he was alone. But then he met you, and suddenly enough stopped meaning anything at all.
No one ever taught him he could love without bleeding for it, so he treats self-destruction as a fair price for keeping you safe. For Sukuna, the two are so tangled together that he can’t see the difference.
Now, because of that, every broken rib and split knuckle turns into deposits, security systems, and safer streets in his mind. Deep down, under all his anger and stubbornness, he truly believes that being useful is what love looks like. He worries that if he ever stops providing safety in tangible, physical ways, he’ll have nothing meaningful to offer at all.
So, to him, those stacks of bills aren't lifestyle upgrades. They’re the only way he knows to create the security he thinks he owes you.
And suddenly you understand—he’s sacrificing his body now, thinking it will buy him a future where he can step into a cage because he wants to—and you know he does—not because he has to.
The worst part is that every payout teaches him the same lesson. Every improvement in his life comes with bruises and blood money, convincing him that suffering is a fair trade for security. Every step toward a safer future with you becomes proof that hurting himself is worth it.
“I never asked for this,” you say again, your voice sharper because the more he talks, the more it feels like he's turning himself into a bargaining chip you never wanted. You gesture at the bruises, the swollen hand, the tape still half-peeled from his skin after the fight. “I never asked you to fight like that just to drag home enough money for a better apartment. I don’t want a better neighborhood if it means watching someone drag you out of a warehouse dead and dump your body in an alley somewhere afterward.”
Something in his eyes breaks as he realizes the two halves of his life are finally colliding fully, and he can’t control it anymore, failing to keep them separate. Instead of it making him back down, he just gets more defensive and more frustrated, like he’s being cornered and the only way out is to fight harder.
The problem is that the words that leave your mouth mean something painfully simple, but Sukuna hears something completely different.
You don’t want him tearing himself apart trying to buy you safety. You don’t want him walking into fights already injured because he convinced himself it’s what he’s supposed to do. You don’t want him treating his own body like something disposable as long as the payout is enough to make both of you ‘safer’. You're trying to tell him your future isn't worth gambling his life for. You're trying to save him from himself.
But what he hears is far worse—it’s dismissal. To him, you’re rejecting the only thing he knows how to give and telling him that his love, in the only form he understands, has no value and was a mistake from the start.
“Then what the fuck do you want me to do?!” he snaps, his voice booming in the tiny room. “Just sit there while everything stays exactly the same? While nothing gets better?!”
He waves his left hand wildly toward the apartment past the open bathroom door, at the thin walls, the pipes that knock whenever someone upstairs turns on the water, the front door lock he obsessively checks every night without even realizing he’s doing it anymore, and everything he’s spent years trying to claw his way out of.
“You think I like this place? You think I like leaving you here every day and hoping nothing goes wrong while I'm gone?”
Your jaw sets in frustration. “Stop acting like this is supposed to help me.”
His eyes are like hot coals, hearing these words.
“Don’t fucking stand there pretending this is some sacrifice for my sake,” you continue, the anger finally reaching its peak now that the shock is wearing off. “I watched you barely able to breathe in that cage tonight. You started fighting dirty because your body was failing halfway through, Sukuna. So don’t you dare put your life on the line and call it love—don’t you fucking dare say you’re doing it for me.”
“Of course I’m doing it for you!” he bellows so fast it almost overlaps your last sentence. “What the fuck else would I be doing it for?!”
He winces, his hand flying to his ribs as the shout tears at the injury, but he barely seems to care enough to stop.
“This,” he says, harsher now, pointing at the money on the floor, some of the tape in the sink that you took off him to clean him up, and every bruise darkening his body. “This is the only way I know how to make sure you’re safe.”
“Just fucking stop!” you snap immediately because you're one sentence away from shaking this stubborn idiot by his shoulders. “I work too!”
Something flickers across his face so quickly it almost disappears before you fully catch it.
“This isn’t all on you!” you say, your voice still angry but turning uneven underneath it now because suddenly this argument feels different than it did ten minutes ago. You have the awful feeling that it's destroying both of you. “You don’t have to keep walking into fights already half broken just because you decided it’s somehow your job to drag both of us out of here alone.”
“I know you work,” he says right away, but it sounds way too defensive and automatic.
It makes you furious. The words themselves aren’t wrong, of course, but his reaction leaves you cold all over. He says it as if your job exists beside the problem and isn’t part of the solution. Like your income matters, but the responsibility itself still belongs entirely to him somehow. He genuinely can’t imagine a version of your future that doesn’t depend on him bleeding for it first.
“Don’t. Stop acting like I can’t build a life with you unless you’re killing yourself for it or unless you’re dragging home blood money every time something breaks around here,” you fire back immediately. “I’m not some helpless thing you need to save all by yourself, Sukuna.”
“Then what the fuck am I supposed to give you?!” he explodes, his frustration finally cracking wide open. He feels like everything he's done, everything he's built, and everything he works for has just been thrown back in his face. His hand cuts violently through the air toward the apartment, the money, and himself, not even knowing where the anger is supposed to go anymore. “If not this, then how do I take care of you? If I’m not fixing shit, if I’m not making sure you’re safe, if I’m not dragging us out of this fucking place, then what the fuck am I good for?!”
His chest rises and falls as his left hand curls into a fist so tight it shakes. He looks trapped by the words almost as soon as they leave his mouth, already regretting them, but he’s too angry, too exhausted, and too far into the argument to pull them back now.
“I don’t know how else to be enough for you!” he yells. “You think a guy like me keeps a girl like you by just being a coach?!”
He hates every second of this conversation and hates himself even more for not being able to stop it. He hates what he’s saying, hates admitting it, and hates that you can see right through him to the fear he’s trying to hide.
Nothing he’s ever said has hit you this hard. Suddenly, the argument isn’t about the apartment, the injury, or the money. It isn’t even about his need for safer neighborhoods, locks, or deposits. You watch him sitting on the toilet lid, looking at you like the answer truly terrifies him, and you finally understand something you never did before.
Oh my god. This is really how he sees his own worth.
Not through affection. Not through loyalty. Not through the countless small ways he loves you every single day, without realizing they matter. Sukuna actually thinks that love only counts if it protects something, and can’t see his own value unless he’s physically providing something for you. He only sees what he can build, fix, survive, and give you. That's how he measures his worth.
The anger doesn’t go away after you realize this. You’re still furious at him for ignoring his fractured ribs and deciding money mattered more. But the feeling changes, growing heavier when you finally see he was never trying to buy luxury in the first place. He was trying to buy certainty with the only currency he had—himself. He wanted to build enough safety around you so he could finally stop waiting for the world to take something from him again.
“I’m just some asshole with a gym and a knack for fighting,” he adds, his voice dropping into a low, defeated rasp. “So what the fuck am I offering besides that if I stop being useful?”
His jaw clenches until it looks painful as he looks away from you for a moment, angry and trapped by his own inability to explain himself without sounding crazy.
The bathroom goes quiet. Sukuna sits completely still on the closed toilet lid, his chest heaving unevenly, his face tense with a mix of fury, exhaustion, and the sudden, raw regret of lashing out at the only person he wanted to protect. His eyes are fixed on the floor, his left hand still tightly curled into a fist against his thigh. He looks like he’s waiting for you to give up and walk out. But you don’t.
Taking a slow, shaky breath that barely settles the churning in your own stomach, you push yourself up from the cold tile floor, move to the sink, and wring out the bloodied cloth until the water runs clear. Then, you step back into the narrow space between his splayed thighs, sinking down onto your own knees on the tile right in front of him, ignoring the money completely.
Sukuna tenses, still refusing to meet your gaze, his jaw tight. As you reach out, your fingers brush his swollen wrist and then catch it. For a moment, his fingers twitch as if to pull away and protect his injuries, but you don’t let go. You hold his bruised hand with one hand and gently dab the split skin on his knuckles with the cloth.
For several long seconds, neither of you says anything. Then you ask quietly, “Do you really think that’s all you are to me?”
His expression snaps tighter instantly, a deep, angry line forming between his heavy brows. He finally shifts his focus from the floor, his eyes darting to you for a sharp instant.
“That’s not what I fucking said.” He spits the words out roughly.
“It’s exactly what you said.”
Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, ripping his gaze away from you again. A quick flash of irritation crosses his face, like a reflex he can’t control, now that the yelling has finally stopped. He shifts restlessly on the toilet lid, an angry, uneasy movement that betrays just how cornered he feels right now.
“You’re twisting shit.”
His denial comes too quickly and sounds too defensive, and that makes your stomach twist even more because now you can hear the panic under his irritation. He’s trying to hide behind his usual rough attitude, but it doesn’t work this time.
You set the damp cloth down beside the sink slowly before turning fully toward him.
“Sukuna,” you repeat, waiting until the muscle in his jaw jumps before you force the question out, “do you actually think the reason I’m here is because one day you might buy us a nicer apartment?”
He doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, heavy and deliberate, and the lack of a retort hurts more than any word he could scream. His jaw flexes once. His gaze stays fixed stubbornly on the floor tiles instead of your face, like eye contact suddenly feels too dangerous after everything that spilled out between both of you tonight. The complete lack of his usual deflection says everything, confirming the exact shape of the dark, devastating logic he’s been harboring this entire time.
“Oh my god,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. “I was right.”
His head lifts immediately after that, irritation flashing hot in his eyes again.
“Don’t fucking do that,” he barks, a sharp edge cutting through his hoarseness, clenching his fists tighter. “Don’t look at me like I’m stupid.”
Right after he says it, you can see he regrets it too. The anger disappears from his face just as fast as it showed up, leaving him looking tired and exposed in the harsh bathroom light. You stare at him for a long moment, then slowly shake your head, feeling confused and sad.
“I’m looking at you like I’m trying to understand how any of this ended up inside your head in the first place.”
His shoulders tense up right away, pulling in like he’s trying to shield his broken ribs from the conversation itself.
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I already fucking did.” He snaps the words out, glancing away.
“No,” you say, cutting through his deflection. “You explained money and all the practical shit surrounding this, but you still haven’t explained why you’re sitting here acting like the only thing you bring into my life is whatever amount of cash somebody hands you after a fight.”
That finally makes him look directly at you again, tense and guarded, feeling like he’s lost control. He braces himself for the conversation now, like he’s waiting for another blow he already knows is coming and can’t dodge.
You take a slow breath before you continue, because suddenly your words feel fragile, like shouting never does.
“Just answer me. Do you think I stay because of the apartment?” you ask quietly. “Because of the gym?”
“No,” he says immediately, but the answer sounds automatic instead of certain, like a practiced line he knows he’s supposed to say.
“Then why?”
His jaw tightens again and his eyes narrow a little as he tries to find his footing in an argument where his fists and anger are useless. “Don’t play dumb. You know why.”
“I don’t think I do,” you say, softer this time, forcing the anger to drain completely from your tone so he can hear the absolute sincerity beneath it.
The silence lasts long enough that you can hear the faucet dripping into the sink, a slow, steady click against the porcelain. He looks down at his hand in your lap, his chest rising and falling in shallow, guarded breaths.
At last, sounding rough and irritated, and clearly hating every word, Sukuna mutters, "Because I'm trying to build something better than this."
"That's not what I asked."
His jaw tightens right after, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes stay fixed somewhere on the floor between you, and his fingers flex once against his knee before going still.
“You’re such an idiot,” you say quietly, your voice stripped of the harsh anger from before, leaving only deep, tired sadness.
He lets out a short laugh under his breath, but there’s nothing remotely amused about it. It’s just a harsh, tired grunt of frustration. He leans back instinctively against the cold tile wall, then winces right away when the movement drags painfully against his ribs again. “Already established.”
“You already built it, Sukuna,” you say finally.
His brow furrows deeply, as if your answer genuinely confuses him and doesn’t fit with how he sees the world.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“You.”
The word comes out simply and naturally, like it should have always been obvious. But Sukuna just stares at you, like the sentence makes no sense in any language he knows how to speak, let alone survive in.
“That doesn’t even fucking mean anything.”
“Yes, it does,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening gently around his palm. “It means you genuinely have no idea what I actually love about you.”
That finally makes him go still, his defensive posture freezing completely, stunned by a blow he didn’t see coming.
“The apart—” you try to start again.
“It’s a piece of shit place,” he mutters roughly, cutting you off and shaking his head. He keeps his eyes on the tile by your feet, as if the state of the room could somehow support his argument. “You deserve a better one.”
“I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you shift your grip to carefully examine the torn skin on his palm. “I care about the person inside it. Tell me—you think if you stop being useful, I’m just going to walk away, am I right?”
His fingers twitch against your palm in a sudden, involuntary spasm that you feel clearly, confirming his fear.
“You think I’m sitting here, secretly dreaming about a nicer view from the living room while we snuggle on the couch, watch the worst reality TV we can find, and eat chips straight out of the bag because we’re both too damn tired to cook anything?”
Something unreadable flickers across his face, a brief, vulnerable softening he quickly hides by hardening his stare in a panicked self-correction.
“Or that I care more about a bigger place than the fact you wait outside my office after work whenever your classes end early because you hate the idea of me taking the train home alone after dark?”
Sukuna’s head shifts slightly, his eyes glancing at you from under a heavy, furrowed brow. His expression is guarded but intensely focused on your words, as if searching for a trick or hidden barb.
“See? You already give me so much, you moron,” you whisper, finally raising your gaze to look straight into his eyes. You force him to see there are no hidden motives or conditional expectations on your face. “All the time.”
He looks almost irritated hearing that, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably like your words make him feel completely exposed.
“You remember my order from that shitty Korean place without even having to check your phone because you know exactly what I get when I’m exhausted.”
“Because you order the same thing every damn time,” he mutters, his jaw tightening as he tries to downplay the effort.
“You pace the floor for an hour,” you continue, ignoring his deflection, “ranting about your coaching plans and running your class schedules by me just to make sure you didn’t forget anything.”
"That's my job."
You shake your head and let out a soft sigh.
“You check the door lock three times before be—”
“That lock’s absolute shit, you know that.”
”…and you pull the blanket back over me when I fall asleep on the couch. Sure, you grumble the whole time, acting like it’s a chore, but you still do it.”
“It’s a drafty room,” he snaps back, though the edge is losing its sharpness. “If you get sick, you’re useless at work. It’s common sense.”
“No. It means you care,” you say patiently. “You still think all I see when I look at you is the gym, the fights, or the money. It’s so far from the truth that it honestly makes me feel sick to hear you talk like this.”
Sukuna looks away from you again, his jaw tightening as he tries to distance himself from the picture you’re painting of his own quiet acts of affection. Even with all his toughness, a quick flash of embarrassment crosses his face before he can hide it again.
“You know what I actually think about?” you start again, your hand moving from his wrist to rest flat against his damp chest, right over his pounding heart. “I think about how you always save me the last of whatever snack we’re sharing, even when I know you wanted it. I think about how much you care about your students getting better, how it drives you crazy when they slack off, and how you mutter under your breath about them finally improving, like a proud, grumpy idiot.”
“They’re finally learning how to use their feet,” he mutters, his throat shifting as he stares at the wall past your head. “Someone had to teach them properly.”
“And most often, I think about how, whenever you get excited about something, anything at all,” you add softly, ignoring him again, your voice dropping lower, “you always look at me first.”
That finally breaks something in his expression. His hard, defensive mask cracks just enough for you to see the raw confusion underneath.
"You keep acting like none of that matters, but you don't get to decide for me, Sukuna. For me, all of it matters. Every single bit of it."
Sukuna tilts his head back a bit, lets out a sharp breath through his nose, and drags his left hand down his face. His frustration is still clear, fighting against the fact that he’s listening now, whether he wants to or not. His knuckles are white where he grips his face.
“You make me happy,” you tell him. “Not the apartment. Not the money. You.”
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his features twisting a little as if your words hurt to hear, cutting through a lifetime of believing his only worth was what he could physically secure or provide.
“And I’m not asking you to stop being who you are,” you continue quickly, rushing the words out before he can twist it into a rejection of his passion, too. “I know you love fighting. I know the cage matters to you. I know it always will.” Your voice sharpens slightly after that, bringing back a touch of the firm reality he needs to face. “But there’s a difference between fighting because you love it and walking into a cage already injured because you decided it’s your responsibility.”
His breathing catches unevenly again, and his ribs give a small, sharp protest he can’t entirely conceal this time, making him wince in pain.
“I’m still fucking furious at you,” you say, the harshness back in your voice. “Agreeing to a fight while hurting like that was reckless and stupid, and I’m not magically okay with it now just because I understand why you did it.”
After that, his posture hardens again. His shoulders square as he gets ready to retreat into his usual angry defense, but you stop him before he can fully pull away. You reach out and place your hand firmly on his tense shoulder.
“But I need you to understand something, too, Sukuna.”
Your touch and serious tone make him freeze. You glance down at the spreading, angry bruises on his ribs before looking back up at him again.
“I’m not scared of losing a paycheck. I’m scared of losing you.”
You actually see your words affect him. His jaw softens slightly before he looks away again, grinding his teeth hard while something uncertain flickers beneath all the frustration and stubbornness on his face.
“You’re fucking dramatic,” he mutters hoarsely, his voice dropping an octave in a defensive habit, though there’s no real heat left in the insult anymore. It’s just a reflex.
“And you’re worse. But you don’t have to earn your place beside me every fucking day, Sukuna.”
That hits him harder than anything else somehow. You see it right away in the way his shoulders tense, and his eyes drop to the floor instead of staying on you, like the very concept of unconditional love makes him deeply uncomfortable. Because he genuinely doesn’t know how to show love without trying to earn it somehow and without feeling like he has to prove it, and watching him struggle to process that hurts you almost as much as the fight did.
"Don't know how."
“You do. You do it every single day. Just—okay, listen to me—I’m not with you because of what you can buy me,” you say, leaning into his space. “I’m with you because you’re you.”
"Woman... enough," he mutters, dropping his eyes back to the floor, absolutely embarrassed. After a few seconds, he adds, "I love you."
"I love you too, Sukuna,” you murmur back.
Leaning down, you gently press your lips to his forehead and carefully rest your fingers on the uninjured side of his face. Sukuna pauses, his jaw tense, then lets his head rest heavily in your hand. He closes his eyes, finally letting his guard down completely.
“Your standards are fucking questionable," he rasps, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
You almost smile despite yourself, the tension easing slightly from your own shoulders as your thumb traces the sharp line of his jaw.
“Maybe a little.”
That finally draws out the faintest, most tired laugh from him. It disappears almost right away when his ribs hurt again and he winces, but the sound leaves something softer behind.
He stays like that for a long time, breathing in your scent and the antiseptic as he tries to process everything you've just said. You don't push him to say more, knowing he’s reached his limit.
The heavy silence after is different. The argument hasn’t vanished, and neither has your anger about what happened tonight. But now, it doesn’t seem like your relationship is falling apart. Instead, it feels exposed, with both of you trying not to make things worse.
Focusing on the last of his wounds, you reach into the sink and pick up the cloth with your free hand. You return to cleaning his ribs, moving slowly and gently, and this time, he doesn’t resist the touch at all.
“I’m still mad, Sukuna,” you remind him, your voice almost lost under the quiet drip of the faucet.
“I know.”
“I’m going to be mad at you for a week for what you did tonight. Probably longer.”
“Wouldn’t blame you,” he rasps, his voice rough and strained. ”It was stupid.”
When you finish cleaning him and help him stand, he leans into you and lets you walk him to bed.
notes:
beanie: haha look at my funny tags
sukuna: "what the fuck am i good for?!"
imagining about that night out date that happened for the first time after many months apart. even when he just wanted to stay at home, mma fighter! fushiguro toji couldn't help but indulge you, his tennis player! wife, and go on a date night after such busy schedules in your respective sports.
if truth be told, toji was the one who liked the night life. he enjoyed the glimmer and the dazzle, especially then when he was much younger. and even now, when he had given up that flamboyant existence, he found himself back here, with you, his strident, brilliant and hard-working wife.
the club was loud enough to make the floor vibrate beneath their feet. loud bass thundered through the walls, rattling glasses and shaking the neon lights that painted the room in flashes of blue, purple, and red. people were packed together shoulder-to-shoulder, moving with the music, laughing over one another, disappearing into the haze of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume.
but of course, as much as there is nostalgia, being the age he was, it was not his kind of place anymore. he was far more content just being at home and enjoying the company of your children and of course, you. nowadays, he preferred quieter things.
he preferred the custom mahogany set and bar he curated at home than these horrible cheap bars. a fine scotch drink in his hand over the piss poor quality of their diluted alcohol. to be in your arms, enjoying some jazz instead of being somewhere he would have to deal with idiots.
but you had asked, and quite very nicely too....last night. after weeks of training camps, press events, sponsorship obligations, and preparing for upcoming fights, the two of you had barely spent any real time together. every date had been interrupted by interviews, gym calls, or someone wanting a picture with him. or even just being around the kids at home and all the family events.
you really loved your jobs, your sports, your fans. you loves your kids and your family. you really did. but toji is your person. and you were his soul. so the thought of not being able to be there for each other, to have time with each other....its been a lot.
so tonight was supposed to be different. it was just the two of you. and it would be about you two and your passion and your love for each other. which was why he was currently sprawled lazily across the booth beside you, one muscular arm resting along the back of the seat while the other held a glass of whiskey.
and despite everything happening around him, his entire attention never strayed very far from you. and especially not when you were wearing that beautiful black velvet dress, made in sheer silk, silk that wraps around you so beautifully, so wholly.
it was his most favorite dress of yours....the one you had picked out with his black card after you got mad at him for something he doesn't even remember anymore.
he had seen you wear hundreds of outfits over the years. yet each and every time, it looked amazing on you. it looked dazzling, vibrant. one of a kind. but somehow, none of them affected him quite like this one. he doesn't know why exactly that is. yet that somehow didn't matter.
the gorgeous sheer black silk hugged every curve of your body perfectly, catching the club lights whenever you moved. you smiled big as the gold accents and jewelry made you shine on the dance floor, almost like a sun goddess come to life. it just made everything even more intense when you grooved to the musicn with the silk following, flowing so eagerly, so teasingly.
it wasn't overly revealing. if anything, it was elegant and chic, it would be something that you would wear at a sports award event or a brand deal show or something way more sophisticated than a cheap bar like this.
but he thinks that somehow made it worse. the beautiful dress skimmed your thighs when you crossed your legs. the neckline revealed just enough skin to make his eyes linger. every small movement seemed calculated specifically to drive him insane. you caught him staring for what had to be the fifth time that night.
"quit looking at me like that." a grin tugged at your lips as you lifted your drink. "making me think and feel things."
toji didn't even bother pretending. "like what?"
"you know exactly like what."
his gaze dropped over you again, where your voluptious breasts is scoped through by the black velvet silk. it was teasing him well, as they always do. slowly and most of all, unapologetically, he looks and he looks intently. happily, like a man who lives a great life.
his blue-green gaze then lifts back up. "can't help it."
you rolled your eyes. "you're ridiculous."
"you wore the dress, knowing how dangerous it is, baby."
"it's just a dress."
"not to me it isn't." his answer came immediately. "its all i want in a dress on you." he looks completely serious as he got a refill on his drink. "definifely the best fifty thousand dollars ive spent, honestly."
you laughed, shaking your head before taking another sip of your drink. "you're crazy."
he grinned back. "only for you."
that was when someone bumped into the table. it was not a hard hit. but it was just enough to jostle a few glasses and spill a splash of alcohol across the surface. you could feel your brows furrowed.
"shit, sorry." it was a man's slightly panicked voice. "i didn't mean to do that."
you looked up. he was tall. well-dressed. probably around your age. but not enough to be as good as your husband. to you, this man seems to be the kind of guy who spent a little too much time fixing his hair before leaving the house.
"it's okay, don't worry about it." you said politely. "nothing spilled."
he smiled, his panic disappearing almost immediately at the sight of you. "then that's good...if a fine lady like you got wet, it would be a travesty."
"oh, that's...uh, i suppose it would be." you say, instantly uncomfortable as you eye your husband. "um, if you excuse me—"
"wait a bit. i want a little more of your time if you please, sweet babe."
"i really should not...."
"it will be quick, dont worry."
fushiguro toji immediately disliked him. not because he apologized, but because he's trying to hard to get your attention, smiling like that, talking like that. as if he was the shit. as if he deserved any of your time. and most of all, he kept looking at you and oogling you, trying to catch you off guard. a little too long. his sharp eyes never left you.
"let me make it up to you." toji took another sip of whiskey. the man continued. "can i buy you another drink?"
you blinked. "uh—"
toji slowly lowered his glass onto the table. the soft clink echoed louder in his head than the music. "no. most definitely not."
the stranger finally noticed him, for the first time tonight. his smile faltered slightly. "oh." his eyes flickered between the two of you. "you her boyfriend?"
toji leaned back against the booth, now completely relaxed. which somehow made him look even more intimidating. he crossed his arms, flexing his muscles. he then leaned in, pressing a kiss on your cheek. you couldn't help but smile.
"wife."
one word was all he uttered. it was almost far too simple, the word. anyone could say it. but no one can say it as firm and as and as confidence possessive the way your husband could.
the stranger laughed nervously. "seriously?"
toji didn't answer, didn't even bother to dignify this fool with a response. the man looked back at you, who was still smiling and still lingering, like he should be there, like he had the right ro be there.
he was so stupid, he was still not getting the hint. not getting any sense of what he did wrong. even as toji felt his body tower against the man, he seemed strident in standing there, asserting rights he never had. it makes toji's blood boil.
"that's crazy." that was strike two, the first being alive. "you don't even look old enough to be married." that was strike three.
you opened your mouth to respond politely, hoping to end the conversation before it became a problem. unfortunately, the man decided to make another mistake. he reached toward your arm. maybe to get your attention. maybe to touch your shoulder. the reason didn't matter. that was strike four for toji. beyond what he should have had in chances.
everything happened fast after that. one second toji was sitting. the next he was standing. his chair scraped violently across the floor.
before the stranger could even react, toji's muscular hand closed around his tiny wrist. hard. the man's expression immediately changed as he saw the way the veins on toji's arms pop. you couldn't help but stare, finding something awaken inside you. you bit your lip. even now, him being possessive and territorial, it turned you on.
professional mma fighters had always been built differently. their strength didn't feel normal. nothing about it felt human. but that's what made your husband so good at what he does. he wasn't normal. he was berserk, a hot and measured man who can go crazy. especially when it comes to you.
and right now, the man was realizing that, with the pressure around his wrist made panic flash across his face. "dude, what the fuck—"
toji's expression remained completely blank. "i told you, didn't i?" his voice was quiet. dangerously quiet. "she's my wife and ill be damned if i let anything pass when it comes to her."
the stranger tried pulling away, but nothing happened. it was like trying to yank free from a steel cable. people nearby had already started paying attention. all the languid onversations slowed and their heads turned. you immediately recognized the look settling into your husband's eyes. the same one he wore before entering a cage.
"toji, babe. that's enough. hes going to start crying out loud."
it was a warning, he knew that. his eyes flickered toward you, albeit just briefly. his blue-green eyes then back to the man. the stranger finally managed to wrench his arm free. his pride was wounded now. and wounded pride usually made people stupid.
"i was just talking to her, you freak! let me go, agh—"
toji gave a short laugh, one with absolutely no amusement behind it. only anger. "were you? don't think my wife gave you permission to be a creep."
the stranger shoved him. it wasn't even a particularly hard shove. but it didn't matter. the moment his hands made contact, the situation changed. the atmosphere shifted in that sort of way. at least the way it always did before violence.
you saw it happen. the tiny adjustment of toji's stance. the slight roll of his shoulders. years of professional fighting instinct taking over. the stranger swung first. a wide punch, all too sloppy and pathetic, crying already.
toji slipped it effortlessly. the movement was almost lazy. it was then where he countered. all it took was one punch. just one. like it usually does. his fist connected with the man's jaw.
the sound was sickening. you let out a gasp as the stranger collapsed immediately. people screamed. chairs scraped across the floor. it was then when the security started forcing their way through the crowd.
the man groaned and somehow managed to stagger back up. it was full of bad decisions, when he did what he did as he got up. he all but pathetically, lousily charged again. toji sidestepped him. then drove a brutal hook into his ribs.
all the air that could have ever been in there exploded from the man's lungs and into the empty space. he folded instantly. crashing onto the floor and this time he stayed there, unwilling to try again as he groans and croaks.
the entire club had practically stopped moving. everyone staring, everyone was avidly watching. toji stood over him calmly, unmoving. he was not breathing hard, not sweating. he was not even remotely affected. this was nothing to him.
for him, that wasn't a fight. that was barely a warm-up. security finally reached them. several guards recognized him immediately. their expressions turned exhausted, as though they had experienced this so many times to even care about anything.
"fushiguro-senshu."
toji glanced over. "what?"
the guard pointed toward the unconscious man. "seriously? man, not even marriage changed you."
toji shrugged. "to be fair, he started it. he was trying that bullshit that made my wife uncomfortable."
"you knocked him out." the guard pointed at the guy who was unconscious, being crowded by the other guards, who was checking if he was alright. "this is crazy."
"he'll be fine." your husband waves off. "if i wanted for it to be lethal, he wouldn't be breathing. you know that much, right?"
the guard looked unconvinced. he just shook his head and pulled out his phone, contacting the emergency services, more than likely and turned away. toji all but snickered and turned around to finish the remainder of his drink, with a satisfied breath of air.
you grabbed toji's arm before the conversation could continue. "come on, we should get out of here. this is too much."
he looked down at you. instantly, the tension disappeared from his face. the anger. the irritation. all of it was now gone, just like that. because it was you. it always worked differently when it was you.
with one final glance toward the man on the floor, toji allowed you to pull him toward the exit as everyone started dapping him and clapping and cheering for him. you shook your head, hiding your amusement as your husband laughed and thanked everyone all the way through the exit.
the cool night air felt refreshing after the suffocating heat of the club. music still thumped faintly behind the walls as the two of you stepped outside. for a few moments neither of you spoke. it was then your husband toji removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
his blue green eyes scanned you carefully, trying to make sure you were comfortable, then started checking for any sign of discomfort. trying to look for any indication that the situation had upset you. you shook your head at him, wrapping his coat closer to your body.
"toji, babe, im fine—"
"are you okay?"
"i just told you im alright..." you stared at him. "'sides, that question should be for you. you got into a fight."
"i'm not alright...he touched you."
"he barely touched me."
"you and i both know he was trying to." his answer came immediately. "thats why he was being gross about it. and pathetically too...i can't believe idiots like him still exist."
as though that settled the entire argument. and in his mind, it absolutely did. you shook your head once again, laughing despite yourself, wrapping the coat closer to you as the wind came and blew against you, making you feel cold.
"you're unbelievable, aren't you?"
"hmm, i know i am." his arm slid around your waist, all but pulling you against his side. the movement effortless, natural as breathing. but just as possessively as a hunter to its prey. "but only for you."
his ocean eyes gaze dropped to the dress again. that damn dress, it was still distracting him. it was still making it difficult to think about anything else. it just looked too good on you. and you were so goddamn beautiful and sexy, he just couldn't deal with it. at some point, he really should think of a way to gatekeep you from the world, just to keep you close to him.
"next time you wear this....you have to do it at home." he muttered back at you. "im so serious."
you raised an eyebrow. "what does that mean?"
"what that means is that we're skipping the club next time." he says, pressing a kiss on the side of your lips and then on your lips. "we're gonna have fun all on our own. bring the kids to your parents."
you laughed. "why? i thought this was fun."
his eyes met yours, a little bit dark but all too unwavering. "because i spent half the night stopping other people from staring at you, my precious wife. i can't keep up....'want you all to myself, baby."
"that's not my fault."
"doesn't matter." his hand settled against your hip, his strong strident fingers holding you a little closer. "i'm taking you somewhere private. gonna make up for what happened tonight. i promise, it will be good for both of us."
a smile tugged at your lips. "jealous much?"
toji scoffed. "not jealous. never in my life—"
"right, right. so what was that inside then?"
"they can look all they want." his arm tightened around your waist, just slightly. he lifts his free hand where his wedding ring rests. "they can think what they think. i can get these feelings of jealousy, sure. but they dont last."
you raised a teasing brow. "and why is that, husband of mine?"
"'cause it doesn't change the fact that you're married to me. that you're only coming home with me. you're my wife, baby....ain't no one making you feel good like i do."
the confidence in his voice made heat rise to your cheeks. and judging by the smug look on his face, he knew exactly what effect he had even after all this time.
behind them, security was probably still explaining to a very unfortunate man who was still delirous, as to why trying to hit on the wife of one of the most dangerous mma fighters in the world had been an exceptionally bad idea.
warnings: 18+ nsfw, pure filthy smut, no seriously it’s just smut, meandom!toph, sadist vampire!toph, sub!reader, mirror sex, fingering, g!p toph, p in v sex, hair pulling, degradation, face slapping, blood sucking, manhandling, condescending praise, toph is kinda evil
summary: prev. part here. hmm a summary.. honestly?? just lesbian vampire porn. enjoy!
author’s note: vampires don’t have reflections, and they can also shapeshift.. used these to my advantage. 🙈
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the second the word “yes” left your mouth, you flinched in advance, arms over your face. you’d expected her to lunge at you the moment permission was granted, but you only heard her slow footsteps as she stepped further into your room.
you lowered your arms, watching her as she calmly dragged a lazy hand over your walls, like she was tracing the perimeter of your room. when she started getting closer to you, you nervously staggered back until the back of your thighs bumped against the edge of your bed.
she continued her odd pacing, continuously feeling your walls and what they held, until her finger met glass. she stopped, swiping it across to leave a smudged fingerprint behind.
she hummed, not looking up at you, “does this mirror face your bed, princess?”
you blinked, confused at this turn of conversation. seriously? one second ago she looked like she was about to end your life, and now she was asking about your furniture placement?
“uh,” you stared at her, a little lost, “um, yes? it’s a wall mirror, i can pretty much see most of my room in it. it’s useful.”
“is that so?” she tapped her index against it, a chill-inducing smile setting on her lips, “that’s good.”
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“ah! mmph! t-toph please—” you sobbed, words slurred, tears streaming down your face. she was sat on the edge of your bed, having pulled you into her lap, your back flush against her clothed chest. you were stripped bare, your expensive gown ripped to shreds by her claws, as you shamefully bounced on her fingers.
her free hand grabbed your left tit, pushing you closer to her as she slotted her chin on your shoulder. she cooed in your ear, “aw, poor baby, can’t even get off without me? what are you, a teenager?”
you sniffled, flush with embarrassment, “i-i’m not— ah!” your protests were cut short when her thumb joined in to press on your swollen clit, dragging loud moans out of your quivering lips.
“so cute,” she licked a strike up your neck, fondling your soft breast, the speed of her fingers not letting up. “eyes on the mirror, princess.”
the sight only made you want to cry harder, utterly humiliated.
from your position, you were forced to watch yourself get fucked by seemingly nothing, her reflection invisible on the huge mirror, your legs spread wide, watching your sopping wet cunt in full view as it stretched in and out with each thrust of her pale digits, your slick dripping off you in filthy strings.
“wish i could see you,” she nipped at your nape, “i’m sure you look so pretty right now.”
her hand let go of your chest, sliding up to your throat, feeling the skin there.
then all her movements came to a halt.
you whimpered, hips rolling in frustration, confused, “t-toph? please— agh!”
you gasped, crying out in pain as her calloused fingers gave you a sharp squeeze, crushing your windpipe for a second. “is that makeup?” she asked, swiping at the melted foundation you applied earlier, now mixed with the sweat that collected on your collarbones.
you stammered pathetically, “i-i had to! if my father saw those marks, i would be dead.”
“and?” she replied coolly, like that was only some minor inconvenience. “who said you could cover them up?”
you were baffled by her audacity; was she even listening to you? she wasn’t even supposed to leave them there in the first place! you’d made that boundary clear time and time again, and it was quite literally the reason why you didn’t come to her tonight. you took a second to arrange your thoughts, deciding to take this moment to give her a piece of your mind.
not even one syllable managed to make it out of your mouth before she abruptly resumed her pace, even more brutal than earlier. you screamed, crying, writhing on her lap, “toph! it hurts, it—”
she instantly grabbed your jaw, roughly setting your face back in front. “i said, eyes on the mirror.”
you could only sob, eyes barely kept open, your vision clouding as you watched the reflection of your thighs spasm, your drooling pussy clenching around her invisible fingers.
“g-gonna cum,” you whined, overstimulated. her hand rested on the side of your head so she could feel the taut muscles of your eyelids; if she felt your eyes fluttering shut, she’d extend her claws again, digging into the skin of your temple to snap them wide open.
she crooned mockingly, nipping at your earlobe, “cum? already? do you have no self control, doll?”
“p-please— ah!” you gasped when her fingers deliciously curled inside you, prodding at that spongy spot, and with a sharp cry, your thighs shook uncontrollably as you came all over her hand, ears ringing with pleasure.
she growled, “fucking slut.” she immediately pulled her fingers out, angrily shaking them dry off your wetness, the droplets flying everywhere, some landing on your face, “who the fuck told you you could cum?”
you mumbled tiredly, eyes half shut as you looked at your limp body in the mirror, already spent from this orgasm, her words fading into a distant buzz in the background. you started relaxing in her grasp, when the same hand she just fingered you with suddenly fisted your hair, sharply rolling you off her and into the bed.
you cried out, clutching your scalp, and the stickiness of her fingers only made the strands cling more stubbornly to her grip, so you couldn’t help but let out an agonizing scream as she roughly yanked her hand off.
she didn’t seem to care the slightest bit about your crying. you sobbed, sitting back on your heels, trying to soothe the burning pain at your roots.
toph gave you no second to breathe, her hand slamming against your mouth as she pushed you to lay down on the bed, pinning you under her, muffling your pained wails.
you sniffled, staring into her white eyes with raw, unadulterated fear; her pupils had thinned into slits, and even though she was blind, terror seized your limbs under her heavy gaze.
she licked her fangs, and all the prayers you knew started tumbling out of your mouth.
“l-lord and heavenly father— augh!” you cried as she grabbed your jaw, twisting your head to the side so harshly that you swore your neck muscles tore. she smoothed down the now taut skin, your veins throbbing as all the blood rushed to your brain.
she hissed as she felt the full, bulging vessels under her fingertips, and even though your head was held down in that angle where you couldn’t see her, you felt her saliva dripping on the exposed patch of skin.
you were going to die. you absolutely were.
you squeezed your eyes shut, awaiting the fatal bite, but it didn’t come.
you waited more. still nothing.
her hand was still holding your head in that uncomfortable arch, so you couldn’t tell what expression she had on her face or what she was thinking.
her grip suddenly went slack.
you swallowed nervously, slowly turning your head her way. she was still staring you down so intensely you wanted to die, but she looked a bit more pensive now, her features slightly softened. you tried analyzing her facial changes, a little hopeful.
she scoffed, feeling your gaze on her, and gave you a rough slap on the cheek, whipping your head to the other side, “i’m just thinking of what i should do with you, you whore. don’t take my silence for mercy.”
you whimpered, redness blossoming on the tingly spot, too scared and still dazed from your earlier climax to really process anything else, “i-i’m sorry..”
she gave you another slap, lazier than the first, but just as firm. “you will be.”
this whole time, while you were completely naked, she had stayed clothed through it all. so when her hands finally hooked around the waistband of her pants, your entire body jolted with excitement and need, snapping you out of your post-orgasm haze. you watched her eagerly, eyes zoomed in on her crotch.
that is, until you noticed something weird.
you squinted, puzzled at what you were seeing. was that a bulge? it was a bulge. but she didn’t have a—
“you’re quiet,” she huffed out a small laugh, “see something you like?”
your doubts were confirmed when she slid her bottoms down, a girthy cock straining against her underwear, clear as day. you were totally baffled, too many questions flooding your mind. since when did she have one? she had scissored you just yesterday! you were sure she had a pussy. how the hell—
“interesting,” she hummed, tugging her briefs down and letting her cock spring up, “did your legends not tell you vampires can shapeshift?”
you frowned, even more lost, “they did, but i thought you could only transform into bats or something. not… this.”
“that’s cute.” she smiled down at you, languidly stroking herself, “get on all fours.”
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she didn’t even wait for you to properly assume the position.
as soon as she heard the rustling of the sheets under you as you flipped over, she instantly grabbed your hips, lifting them up to her liking, and struck into you without delay, making you choke on your screams.
“mgh! toph!” you cried out, her thrusts hard and fast from the get-go, your elbows giving out only a few seconds in, as your face plopped into the mattress, sobbing into the sheets.
“so good,” she exhaled through her nose, pounding you with punishing precision, “you’re so fucking wet, you’re sucking me right in.”
her chest met with your back, as she angled herself to fuck into you even deeper, her hand brushing your hair off your neck to lick at the sweaty flesh.
you uselessly moaned into the mattress, desperately clutching the sheets, tears freely streaming down your face.
“so sweet,” she pressed a hot kiss to your neck, before sinking her fangs into the soft skin.
your voice was too hoarse to scream anymore, so you just quietly sobbed, eyes fluttering shut, the sting of her teeth pairing with the abuse of your cervix, the pain so unbearable it sent sparks of pleasure up your spine.
the flared tip of her cock stretching your velvety walls, the lewd sounds of her sucking your blood off, her needy moans as she fed on you, the sustenance in turn making her fuck you even harder..
your eyes rolled so far back you thought you’d gone blind.
“mmph.. toph..” you whimpered weakly, feeling lightheaded. she was taking too much blood.
“mhm..” she grumbled, savoring every last drop, “just a bit more..”
“p-please.. i..”
she reluctantly latched off your neck with a wet pop, soothing the bite with a few kitten licks.
she sighed, delighted, all traces of her earlier anger gone. “wow, there really is nothing like royal blood.”
you only helplessly mewled, the blood loss left you too tired to even speak.
“such a good girl,” she cooed, kissing your ear, “your blood’s so delicious, it’s got me all invigorated now. since i’m feeling merciful tonight, i guess i could pay you back for the feast.”
before you had a chance to even register her words in your mind— let alone understand or question them — her firm hands hooked under your hips, hiking them up higher and spreading your cheeks wider.
on your mother’s grave, you could feel her in your fucking womb — not even your cervix anymore.
“there we go,” loud broken moans were somehow coaxed out of your fried voicebox. she slid her hand down to draw circles on your clit, adding to the roaring fire in your abdomen, “come for me, princess.”
your vision flashed white.
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* oh vampire toph i will miss writing you.. she’s so sexy i wish she’d kill me
listened to cigarettes after sex while writing this // art creds: @aisatsaa
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“mm..” you stir as gentle wisps of sunlight seep through the linen curtains, spilling over your face. at your movement, toph tugs you even closer, limbs tangled under the sheets, nose tips almost touching. you let out a small sleepy chuckle, gazing at your girlfriend’s beautiful features, relaxed in her slumber.
so pretty.
you lightly brush some mussy strands of hair off her face, and press a tiny peck to her forehead, your lips a bit chapped from the night’s rest.
you watch a smirk tug at her lips, her eyes still shut. “can’t help yourself, hmm?” she groggily whispers, her beefy arms wrapping around you even tighter. she buries her face in the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your scent.
you sigh contently as she peppers soft kisses on your slightly sweaty skin, travelling up your jaw, to then give you two quick pecks on the lips.
her eyes finally crack open, and you smile, utterly smitten.
you give her a peck back, and she parts her lips, claiming your mouth into a longer, slower kiss. it’s tender, wet and warm. her tongue gently intertwines with yours, your sleepy moans filling the room.
she pulls away a little, strings of saliva connecting you both, a childish grin adorning her lips, “your morning breath stinks.”
“so does yours,” you quip, then you both snicker quietly, before melting back into your sweet, sloppy kiss without a word.
“mhm.. tophie..” you mumble between kisses, catching a glimpse of the clock behind her, “i need to get ready for work..”
she lets out a soft whine, refusing to latch off your kiss-swollen lips, “just a bit more.” her tongue prods at the small gap again, thrusting back into your warm mouth to interlace with yours again.
after a few more minutes, you chuckle, reluctantly pulling away and dodging her attempts, “toph, that’s enough.”
she groans at the loss, her grip on your hips tightening, then decides to nestle her face between your tits.
you tut, “seriously toph, i have— ah..” you gasp softly as her lips trail up the swell of your breast, one of her hands sliding up to cup it, leaving small nips in her wake.
she peers up at you, lips jutted into a pout, chin resting on your cleavage, “stay with me.”
your forming protests die on your tongue when her thumb teasingly brushes over your hardening nipple, the sensation going straight to your core. she was too good at this.
you sigh, a pink blush rising up your cheeks, defeated, “you’re so needy.. i guess i can call in sick today.”
she grins, giving your ass an affectionate squeeze, “that’s my girl. c’mere.” and with that, you laugh, and she eagerly swallows it, her lips back on yours again.
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* @bae-fong queen your reblog inspired this actually so thank you 👅
ugh guys i need a sloppy morning make out sesh with toph URGENTLY
