It happened on a rainy Saturday.

You’d been gone most of the day—errands, groceries, trying to be productive. The apartment was oddly quiet when you came back, lights low, storm drumming gently on the windows.

Then you stepped into the living room… and paused.

Katara was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her hair a little messy, cheeks flushed. She looked up slowly—eyes heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted. That soft, motherly energy? Now wrapped in something deeper. Hungrier.

Toph sat cross-legged on the floor, one of your hoodies drooping off one shoulder. Her head tilted when she heard you, and she smirked—sharp, dangerous. “Finally,” she muttered.

You blinked. “Did… I miss something?”

Katara stood up, the blanket sliding off her shoulders to reveal she was only wearing one of your button-ups—barely buttoned. “We’ve been waiting,” she said softly.

Toph got up too, stretching like a cat. “We’re bored. Touch-starved. Frustrated. Take your pick.”

They closed in, slowly, deliberately—two very different storms circling you. Katara reached for your hand, fingers lacing gently. Toph grabbed your shirt collar and tugged you forward.

That look in their eyes?

Yeah, you were definitely not making it to the kitchen tonight.