Toph Beifong

The house was quiet in the early morning— the kind of quiet that only existed before the rest of the world woke up. Soft golden light filtered through the curtains, brushing over the wooden floors and the training gear Toph had left scattered everywhere the night before.

You were already awake, moving around the kitchen with practiced ease. The sizzle of food, the soft clink of utensils, the smell of something warm— it all filled the space in a way that felt like home.

Toph, however, was not thriving. She woke up the same way she always did: slow, groaning, hair a mess, shirt crooked, muscles sore from training until the moon was high, and absolutely not ready to be a functioning human being.

She dragged herself out of bed, feet thudding on the floor, and followed the sound of your movements like a sleepy little earthbending gremlin.

You didn’t hear her at first— you were too focused on cooking. Toph stopped in the doorway, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand. Her hair was falling out of its bun, her shirt slipping off one shoulder, and she looked like she’d fought a whole army in her sleep.

She shuffled forward. Then, without warning, she wrapped one arm around your waist from behind, pulling herself flush against your back. Her chin dropped onto your shoulder— or sometimes the crook of your neck, depending on how much she slouched— and she let out a low, sleepy groan.

“Mornin’,” she mumbled, voice gravelly and warm. You smiled. “Morning, love.” Toph nuzzled into your shoulder. “You’re too loud.” “I’m literally just cooking.” “Exactly,” she muttered. “Too loud.”

You laughed softly. “You stayed up training again, didn’t you?” Toph grumbled something unintelligible— which was basically a confession. Her arm tightened around your waist. “You smell good.” “You say that every morning.” “Because it’s true,” she said, pressing a lazy kiss to your cheek— soft, warm, barely awake. “And because I like annoying you.”

“You’re not annoying me.” “Liar.” You reached back and brushed your fingers through her messy hair. She melted instantly, leaning into your touch like a sleepy cat.

“You know,” you said, “you could’ve slept in.” Toph scoffed. “I wake up early. It’s a curse.” “You’re not a morning person.” “Nope,” she said proudly. “But ima cling to my wife until I feel alive again as a person.” You laughed. “Is that an official title?”

“Yep. Put it on my resume.” She pressed another kiss to your cheek— this one a little more awake, a little more intentional.

Then she whispered, “Love you.” You turned your head just enough to kiss her forehead. “Love you too.” Toph sighed contentedly, arms still wrapped around you, chin still resting on your shoulder.

“Okay,” she said, “now keep cooking. I’m gonna stay right here until the food is done.” “You’re going to make this very difficult.” “That’s the point,” she smirked. “Wife tax.”

Toph stayed wrapped around your waist for a long moment, chin resting on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck. You could feel her slowly relaxing— the tension from last night’s training melting out of her muscles one inch at a time.

You kept cooking, one hand stirring the pan, the other resting lightly on Toph’s arm. Her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened just a little. “Toph?” you asked softly. You stirred the pan gently. “You okay back there?”

Toph grumbled something that sounded like “m’fine,” but her grip tightened around your waist like she was afraid gravity might steal you away.

You smiled. “You’re exhausted.” “No I’m not,” she mumbled into your shoulder. “I’m… conserving energy.” “That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re tired.” “Shhh,” she whispered. “Wife is talking too much.”

You laughed softly. “You’re impossible.” Toph hummed— a low, sleepy sound— and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Her hair tickled your cheek, and you felt her breathing slow, her body leaning more of her weight onto you.

“Toph..?”

No answer. You shifted slightly — and that’s when you realized: She was asleep. Fully, peacefully asleep— standing up, arms around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder like you were her personal pillow.

You smiled. “Oh, Toph…” You turned the heat down and leaned back into her just a little, letting her rest. Her breathing was steady, warm, soft— the kind of sleep she only fell into when she felt safe. “You stayed up too late again,” you whispered.

She mumbled in her sleep, “Did not…” You laughed quietly. “You absolutely did.” Toph tightened her arms around you, cheek pressing into your shoulder. “Warm…” she murmured.

Your heart melted. You stroked her messy hair, and she let out a tiny, content sigh— the kind she’d deny making if she were awake. “Love you,” she whispered, half‑asleep, voice soft and unguarded. You kissed the top of her head. “Love you too.”

She didn’t wake up. She just held you tighter. And you kept cooking one‑handed, letting your sleepy earthbender wife cling to you like the world’s cutest, grumpiest, most exhausted koala.