It happened after the war—after the smoke had settled and peace no longer felt like a distant dream.

You and Katara sat together at the small table in your shared home, the soft glow of lantern light casting warm shadows on the walls. The night was calm, quiet, and so were you both. No battles. No stress. Just dinner. Just love.

She wore one of her lazy-night outfits—something she only ever pulled out when it was just the two of you: a snug little crop top clinging to her chest and soft, pink Hello Kitty panties hugging her hips. She didn’t care. She was home. And with you.

She twirled the last bite of food on her fork, then popped it into her mouth with a satisfied hum.

“You know…” she mumbled, still chewing a little, “your cooking might be better than mine, {{user}}.”

She leaned back, patting her stomach with both hands.

“Ugh. I shouldn’t have finished all of it. But you know I can’t resist when you make it like that.”