Toriel asked me what my favorite thing about her was tonight. The question, so simple and pure, gave me pause. Not because I couldn't think of an answer, but because there were too many. I didn't tell her about the way her cunt feels like a vice around my cock, or how her soft tits feel in my hands, or the filthy, beautiful things she whispers when she's begging for it. Instead, I told her it was the way she holds a teacup. The way her hands, strong enough to withstand hellfire, cradle something fragile with such profound, intentional gentleness. She cried. And then I fucked her, slow and deep, whispering every single explicit, carnal, depraved thought I'd held back into her ear, until her tears were from pleasure. I love her strength. I love her softness. I will love every contradiction in between until the stars burn out.