sky-kiss:

A/N: You need not fear, anon. We like Sokkla here. You need not hide behind anonymity. Or do if you want. Whatever’s comfortable. Either way, I hope you like.

_______

Sokka and Azula: Worry

_______

Azula takes a deep breath. The princess wills herself to calm, finds the ebb and flow of her chi. It’s…more distant now. Almost a year has passed since her ‘stay’ at the asylum but the damage is done. The drugs never completely erased her bending but they have…tempered it. The Avatar, ever optimistic, promises she will heal with time and practice.

So she practices. Azula purses her lips, allows instinct to lead her limbs through the katas. She hates the disconnect, that staggered second between the movement of her limbs and the flow of her chi. There is a brief second of hesitation before flames dance to life in front of her.

She snarls, dragging her nails through her hair. It won’t work.

At her core, Azula is a perfectionist and this…inability to correct such a glaring flaw gnaws away at her psyche. She resets, bringing herself to center. The sun beats down on her. For the first time in her life she finds the rays oppressively hot, longs to throw herself into the sea.

She’s not sure how long she spends perfecting the routine. Her body aches. Strands of her hair are plastered to her sweat slick skin. It itches. It encapsulates just how far she’s allowed herself to fall. The princess balls her hands into fists, tries to push down her anger. She is in control. She is her own master. Not the voices; not her rage; Azula…

“Hey,” she recognizes the voice now. The watertribe boy, Zuko’s friend. There’s a note of caution there but it’s softer now. Almost concerned. She opens her eyes to find him staring at her, one drink in either hand. He reaches out as if to touch her shoulder before remembering his hands are full. Sokka offers her a gentle smile, “You doin’ alright there, Sparky? Been at this whole…” he makes a vague gesture at the grooves her movements have made in the sand, “Training thing for a while now. Aang said not to overexert yourself.”

“I am aware of my own limits, peasant,” she hates that there’s a note of breathlessness coloring her voice. He hears it; he’s too observant for his own good. Concern flashes through his eyes.

“Guess you do. But still. It’s pretty hot out here. Maybe not for a firebender but,” he shrugs, extending his left hand towards her. She doesn’t recognize the drink. It’s obviously fruity, a variety of crushed ice, already in the process of melting. “Here. Cool off for second. Maybe…I dunno, try taking a day.”

“Taking a day?”

“Yeah. You know. Just…forget about all the bad stuff. Just for a day. And then when you’re all rejuvenated. Back to your…flamey-sparky self. You can try bending.”

“I am not in the habit of running from my problems.”

Sokka chuckles. He takes a step forward, fingers curling around her wrist. There’s a softness in the touch that strikes her as entirely alien. There’s no want behind it. No desire to coerce or dominate or take. She does not…understand the intent. He leads her hands to the drink, making a show of curling each of her fingers around the glass, “Just think it about, Sparky. And if you want some company,” he points down the beach, “We’re just over there.”

He does squeeze her shoulder before he walks away, whistling a little tune to himself. Azula stares after him, head cocked to the side. Her skin is still warm where he touched her, a striking contrast to the chill of the drink in her hand. She is confused but…it is not entirely unpleasant.

Azula takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm. She finds the path of her chi, following the ebb and the flow. It is still…distant. The princess sighs, running a hand through her hair. The peasant’s words hang on the air in front of her.

Take a day…

She sips her drink, balling her free hand into a fist, stalking down the beach after him.

sky-kiss:

A/n: @firelxrdsdaughter wanted Sokkla having lunch with her parents. The first part is mostly lead up. Will do the rest tomorrow.

_____

Lunch

_____

“You’re sure you don’t want us there?” Zuko is wringing his hands together in front of him. It’s an uncharacteristically nervous tic. Azula watches him in the mirror. He’s pacing. Zuko prefers not to pace. He stops to her left, meeting her eyes in the glass, “It’s not a problem. I can call Mai.”

Azula sighs, setting her brush aside. She half turns to look at him, “It’s just lunch, Zuzu. There’s no need for all this fuss.”

Her words don’t placate him. She’s understands. There isn’t quite enough conviction in her voice. She can’t…quite bring herself to believe it. Zuko purses his lips, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “It’s your first lunch. With Sokka. And mom and dad. That’s big.”

“It’s just lunch.”

He sighs, “Have you told Sokka anything about…you know…?”

“Our family? No. Not yet,” she winds a stray bit of hair around her finger, “It’s never come up.” The subject is always awkward. Azula prefers not to talk about herself. Her family was private and her life was private. She guarded both zealously. And…more selfishly, people changed once she divulged the details of her family life. People wanted money and power. Her family had both in excess.

Zuko must notice the line of her thoughts. He interrupts her, softer, “Sokka isn’t like that. He won’t care about the money. Or anything else.”

She knows that. In her heart, she truly does. Azula nods, picking up her brush again, “Maybe.”

____

They’ve been dating six months now. He’s been patient with her, careful not to push or bring up anything to make her uncomfortable. Azula is…grateful. For as many similarities as they share, he is far more open, emotionally…stable, open. She can never decide on the correct word. When she suggests, tentatively, almost guarded, that he meet her parents, the Brave just grins.

That’s it. He smiles. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Just nods and presses a quick kiss to the back of her knuckle before he goes back to his dinner.

She likes to think she’s learned how to read him over the course of their time together. Sokka is silent, drumming his fingers against his knee. He keeps glancing out the passenger window, scanning the city. He doesn’t talk. Not even to babble. He’s nervous.

Azula clears her throat, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel, “You’re quiet today.”

“It’s called introspection,” he flashes her a lopsided smile. It never quite manages to reach his eyes. Sokka purses his lips, tapping one finger against the glass, “So uh…I don’t wanna pry. But. Kind of flying blind here. Is there anything I need to know? About…”

“My parents?” He nods. His typically expressive face is blank. She doesn’t like the change. Azula takes a breath, tongue flicking out to smooth along the seam of her lips. “They are a typical couple, I suppose. Father met mother when he was away from the family at college. They’ve been together since.”

“Naw, I meant more. What are they like? Are there any landmines I should be avoiding?” She winces, just slightly. He catches it. “Oh. Oh, no. That’s…not a good look. I’m the landmine, aren’t I?”

“My father can be…exacting…”

His tries for a smile, “I’m very charming?”

She shakes her head, focusing on the road. Sokka shifts beside her, muttering to himself, his long legs looking too cramped in her car. She reaches over and takes his hand without thinking.

____

Mother picked the restaurant. It shows. The decor is light and airy, rich without looking pretentious. Dad would have wanted something more…striking. Sokka clears his throat, glancing down at his blazer and jeans. He’s not…criminally under-dressed. The look the hostess shoots them suggests he’s towing the line. Azula squeezes his hand.

“Miss Huo,” the young woman behind the counter smiles at them, radiantly bright. She makes a fluid gesture with her arm, indicating the room to their left, “The rest of your party has already been seated. If you will follow me.”

Sokka nudges her shoulder with his own, “I thought we were early?”

She grits her teeth, “We’re Water Tribe early, Sokka. My father…”

“Can be more exacting, yeah, I got it.” He tugs at his undershirt, “I should have bought a suit.”

They follow the hostess to the back of the restaurant and through another side door. It leads to a secondary parlor, more private, sequestered away from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant proper. Azula counts three tables in total. Only one is set for lunch.

It’s been…longer than she cares to admit since she saw her parents. The months haven’t changed them in the slightest. Her father stands, hands linked at the small of his back. In his dark suit, he cuts an austere image, expression stern. His dress shirt is a deep red, an exact match to the shade of his wife’s summer dress. Ozai nods to her.

Her mother is more forthcoming. She holds out her right hand, taking a few steps towards them, “Darling, you’re more beautiful than ever.” Azula sets her hand in the other woman’s, biting back a smile as she’s pulled into a gentle embrace. Ursa is taller woman, more delicately built. She presses her lips to Azula’s temple, voice barely more than a whisper, “I’ve slipped your father a few drinks already to smooth the process.”

Her mother steps back. Her gaze sweeps over Sokka betraying a momentary shock before she schools her expression. She’s placid, no emotion, a consummate businesswoman, “And you must be Sokka.”

“That’s uh…that’s me,” he holds his hand out to her.

Ursa smiles. The gentility of the expressions sets Azula on edge. In some ways, it’s more dangerous than her father’s outward severity. Her mother takes his hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek, “Azula didn’t share any details about her family, did she?”

“I…knew she had parents.”

She laughs, “Well, I suppose that’s a good start. You may call me Ursa. And that brooding oaf is my husband, Ozai.” She loops her arm through the young man’s, walking him towards their table. “Azula, you never mentioned he was Water Tribe.”

Her father’s attention is fixed on her, expression hard. She feels…very young again, very foolish. Azula squares her shoulders, refusing to shift under his attention. Something flickers in his eyes, there one moment and gone the next. Ozai’s voice is droll. He turns to help Ursa into her seat, “I expect there are a great many things our daughter has been hiding from us.”

“Hush, dear. There’s no need to get prickly.” Ursa motions to the seats opposite of them, “Please sit.”

Azula takes a steadying breath. Sokka pulls her chair out for her before taking his own seat. It’s just lunch. She makes a show of inspecting her menu, the fingers of her free hand curling in the fabric of her skirt. Sokka shifts closer. He sets his hand over hers, squeezing.

sky-kiss:

___________

“Were you always like this?” her voice carries to him, droll, unimpressed. Azula nudges the toe of her boot against the mercenary’s ribs. There’s a bruise blossoming across her forehead, already mottled. One of the sellswords managed to get in a lucky shot before getting…crispified. Sokka rocks back on his heels, forward onto the balls of his feet. She’s still speaking, one immaculately manicured brow arched, “Or did you have to work at it?”

“You’re gonna have to be more clear, princess.” He scrubs at the back of his neck (ignoring the sharp, radiating, pain in his bicep), painting on his trademark ‘Sokka smile.’ It’s pure electricity, liquid charm. He hopes it’s enough to get him out of the situation. “You mean my effortless charm? Maybe my unparalleled tactics? My…swordy flair…”

Azula rolls her eyes. The exaggerated kind where she’s very clearly struggling not to either a) hit him or b) lose her ice queen persona entirely. The left corner of her lips quirks up before her guards snap back into place, “Don’t flatter yourself, peasant. I was alluding to your propensity for putting yourself in mortal peril.”

“Oh. Oh, that. No, that took…dedicated effort,” Sokka tapped his chin, “Honestly, it’s art. A very careful balancing act. Too much peril and you die. Too little and you aren’t much of a hero, you know?”

Azula steps over one of the mercenaries. The whole situation is a little absurd. Someone wanted to knock off the firelord. Again. The Brave has lost count of the attempts over the past four years. But. The assassins hadn’t been cutting it. Apparently, mercenaries were the next best step…

Somehow?

The princess hums. It’s a good sound, really, all low, half slinky, half sexy. Like a knife dripping with honey. She stops in front of him, hands resting on her hips. Confidence personified. When she speaks, there’s a singsong, teasing note to her voice. He likes it; means they’re about to spar. “Well, it’s a good thing dear Zuzu didn’t believe in you, hmm? You might have died without my intervention.”

This is a practiced game for them now. Officially, they are nothing to one another. Unofficially, it’s more complicated than all that. They taunt; they tease; they snark. It’s all fair game. There’s only one rule. The first person to make a move loses.

And he’s pretty good at working the system by now.

“Eh. You’d be surprised. I’m pretty wily,” she somehow smells like sweat, smoke, and jasmine. It’s not the worst combination in the world. Sokka doesn’t reach out to her. Half the fun of this game is seeing how long they can wait, “Besides. I’m sort of used to being rescued by beautiful women at this point in my life.”

“Oh?”

“There’s been a lot of them,” he waggles his eyebrows, “You wanna know where you rank?”

Azula scoffs, shifting closer. Still not touching. She squares her jaw, “As if I need your validation…”

“You don’t. And, I mean, it’d be hard for you to get it too. It’s a pretty cut throat club,” he makes a show of inspecting his nails, “I mean. The moon spirit? How do you compete with…”

Azula growls, fisting one hand in the front of his tunic. She drags him forward, swallowing the rest of his sentence in a particularly brusque kiss. Her teeth click against his. It’s bruising and not particularly nice. The princess bites at his chin, “I will never be second best.”

He smirks against her lips, “Maybe not. But…you did just lose the game, princess.” He steps away from her, makes a show of dusting off her shoulders, “Again. Impulse control, honestly.” Fire flares to life around her palms and he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “Don’t kill me! You just saved me.”

“Funny, I’m already regretting it.”

“Naw. No, you can protest all you want, princess. I think you love me.”

She doesn’t answer him. She never does.

sky-kiss:

A/N: I have a different Urzai prompt so I will do Sokkla.

_____

Azula was shifting beside him, uncharacteristically nervous. It was difficult to pick up on, provided you weren’t fluid in her moods. She’d cross her legs, straighten. Glance towards the back of the restaurant. Back towards the door. She was trying to plot an escape route.

He just hoped he’d matter enough for her to take him along.

She leaned in nearer, one arm coming around his shoulders, lips against the shell of his ear. The restaurant was cool, just this side of chilly, and the warmth of her breath was enough to make him shiver. She punctuated each of her words with the tap of one nail against his deltoid, “I wouldn’t be in this situation for anyone else. I hope you know that.”

Sokka nodded, reaching out, tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. He wished he’d have eaten something before they left the apartment. It might have settled his stomach. He kept his attention on the  front door, “I know. And I’m very grateful.”

“If they don’t arrive soon…”

“Then we run. We run fast and we run far.”

Azula huffed, hiding her chuckle in curve of his throat. Somewhere along the line she’d grown more comfortable with the tactile half of their relationship. It never failed to make him smile, “That should have been our initial course.”  

“It’s just our parents.”

“It’s just our parents,” she repeated, droll, “Together. Here. With us.”

“Why does it sound so much worse when you say it?”

She shrugged, “There’s an exit near the kitchen. I saw it when we were first seated.”

Realization dawned, “So…we could excuse ourselves to the bathrooms…?”

Azula nodded, “I’ll go first. You’ll tell them you’ve gone to check on me.”

“And we both slip out.” It felt like a plan. A very good plan. He squeezed her shoulder, glancing towards the exit. Dinner. This was just…dinner. And if it went horribly wrong…

Well, they had their out.

sky-kiss:

____

Surprise

____

He’s…vaguely aware that this is a mistake.

Sokka can’t help himself.  Sometimes the romantic spirit calls; usually, he answers. She’s been laid up with a cold for most of the week. She’s bad at texting (so bad, so, so bad) and it means they haven’t seen much of each other. He misses her.

Even if she insists she doesn’t need anyone taking care of her, he stops by the store and picks up some soup. Zuko isn’t sure what she likes (pureed evil, it turns out, is not a flavor). Sokka grabs some chicken noodle and some crackers to go along with it. Cliche, maybe, but helpful. He’s careful not to make a sound when he sneaks in through the back door.

Azula is curled up on the far side of the couch, a book in her lap, an oversized blanket covering most of her. Her nose is still red, rubbed raw from too many tissues, and she coughs every once in a while. She’s just…small. And a little pathetic looking.

So, yeah, back to the mistake.

He can be quiet when he sets his mind to it. Sokka pads across the carpet, careful to keep his steps light, even. The water tribe boy cups his hands over her eyes.

He’s halfway through asking her to “guess who” when her elbow impacts his jaw with enough force to double him over. Sokka lets out a sharp yelp of pain, falling to the ground. Azula is on her feet in one fluid move, glaring at him.

“Sokka!”

“Ow, ow, yes, yes, Sokka,” he tastes blood and frowns, “You hit me.”

“That’s what one does to intruders!”

“Intru…I’m your boyfriend.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, scowling at him, “You broke into my home. I defended myself. Really, Sokka, this was your fault.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Why. Why try and explain. There wasn’t a point. You couldn’t get through to Fire Nation weirdos once they set their mind on something. He jabs one thumb towards the kitchen, grumbling, “I brought soup.”

“Soup? I am quite capable of acquiring my own sustenance if the need…”

He manages to get to his feet. Azula eyes him as he approaches. Sokka takes her face in his hands and kisses her. Anything to stop her from spouting more crazy. He pushes her towards the kitchen, “Yeah, yeah, you’re a strong independent woman. Eat the damn soup, sickie.”

sky-kiss:

@firelxrdsdaughter prompted: “That was barely even a kiss! Do it again-please?” Sokkla

____

New Years

____

It’s nearly midnight and she’s loitering by herself in the corner of the room. It’s a very “Azula” thing to do. She insists Zuko invite her to the party (she lives here now, after all, Zuzu, don’t be rude) and then makes a show of expressing her displeasure. She crosses her arms over her chest, surveys the assembled crowd with a haughty air of difference. This is all foolishness, her face says. She will not participate in their frivolity.

Sokka is kind of a sucker for these things. He likes pretty girls. He like strong girls. He likes the fact that, for all her supposed disinterest, Azula gets all awkward whenever someone takes even a passing personal interest in her.

“Hey. You have a partner?

She jerks as if he’s jabbed her in the ribs with a pin, sputtering, “A partner. How da…”

“Easy, easy, sparky. For midnight. Do you have someone to kiss at midnight? Pretty much everyone else is already paired off.”

Realization flashes across her face, innocent and brief. Then she shakes her head, making a show of inspecting her nails, “No. I was…I do not.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky. Turns out, I don’t have anyone either.”

Her brows furrow as if she’s not entirely certain how to interpret this sudden interest. She settles for a flat, “Yes. Quite lucky.” It’s the only token show of protest she offers. For as much as Azula will protest these youthful frivolities, she stills wants to experience them. Every kid wanted to feel normal once in a while. So Sokka lingers by her side for the next few minutes, makes small talk. Azula’s bad at it. She’s an excellent conversationalist, usually, but there’s a difference between talking business, politics, and talking about yourself.

Sokka sets his drink aside, joins in with the others to countdown the new year. It takes Azula a second longer, the young woman’s eyes going comically wide when he sets a hand on the curve of her waist. She smooths her tongue over her lower lip, offering him an uncharacteristically soft smile.

End of the day, it’s just a New Year’s kiss and she’s his best friend’s sister. Sokka leans in, brushing his lips against hers. It’s chaste, barely a ghost of contact. He smiles down at her, “Happy New Year, Azula.”

She clears her throat, glancing down before looking back up at him. Her hands haven’t moved from his shoulders and she’s technically standing too close. Azula grumbles, “That was barely even a kiss. I can’t see what all the fuss was about.”

He snickers, “Oooooh, somebody’s blushing.”

“How dare you, peasant,” her voice is too sharp and she shoves him once. He falls back a step, indulging her. Azula reaches out just as quickly, fisting a hand in his shirt and tugging him back, “Do it again-please?”

sky-kiss:

(Hopefully it’s alright that I’ve modified the prompt a bit. The boys are best bros. I don’t think revenge would factor into the equation even if Zuko and Suki became an item. Sokka loves them both and would be happy for them.) 

____

Azula is…basically the epitome of his taste in woman. She’s smart. She’s independent. She could (and has) hand him his ass in a fight. She’s short and aggressive and…really beautiful. Like… “take your breath away if you weren’t afraid for your life” beautiful. 

It takes a few years for him to see it. All the…attempted murder is still a bit fresh after the war.  And she has her own baggage to work through. Ozai’s parenting did a number on her. The Asylum hadn’t helped matters any. Zuko had pulled her out of the place after a year. 

Sokka will not let himself forget that moment. Azula was a shell of her former glory, her amber eyes ringed with purple bags, her face sallow. She’d been too thin, almost waifish. And badly shaken. It’d been the first time the reality of her situation sunk in. 

She was young. She was so young, just a fifteen year old girl, curled against her brother’s chest. 

So…time passes. A couple years. Azula comes back to herself, gets some of the fire back in her eyes. She’s eighteen when he starts to…notice her. Which is…not the best. But isn’t exactly bad either.

Truth is she’s the first girl he’s noticed since Suki. It hadn’t been a bad breakup but it’s still fresh in his mind. They were too young, really. People changed. Duty called. He still smiles when he thinks of her. He greets her with a tight embrace when he finally straggles back to the Fire Nation. He’s happy for her. He’s happy for Zuko. They make…a good pair. 

He must’ve been staring. Azula jabs him in the ribs with her elbow, “Still hung up over Zuzu’s peasant?” 

“Suki? Naw. That’s…it’s all in the past.” 

“She was too common for you anyway.” 

Which is as close as Azula comes to a compliment. Sokka chuckles, draping one arm over her shoulder. She stiffens immediately, scowling. She doesn’t pull away though. Just crosses her arms over her chest and pretends to sulk. If he’s not mistaken there’s a hint of color in her cheeks.

“My, my, look at you, Sparky. Trying to make me feel better.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Please. If anything I was disparaging my brother’s, and your, poor choice in partners.” 

“Don’t be modest now.”

“You’re insufferable. How Zuzu managed to go without killing you will forever prove a mystery to me.” 

But she’s still leaning against him. And it’s a hell of a thing but he likes the way she fits against his side. He likes the latent heat that’s always radiating off of her. He likes the way she fidgets in these quiet, intimate, moments, as if confused by basic human interactions. 

Hell, he just likes her.

sky-kiss:

He wishes he could say it was a slow process. Slow indicates a build. Slow indicates he should have caught on to exactly what has been happening. Slow is logical as far as relationships go. You know. Build up. Romance. All that.

But it’s not anything like that with Azula. One minute they’re fighting (and the best thing about Azula is her wit, how absolutely savage she can get when he pushes the right buttons), and the next he’s just staring at her like a moron. Azula arches one well manicured brow, tapping overlong nails against her wrist. Her voice is honey smooth, dripping with barely veiled derision, “Oh dear. Don’t tell me your brain’s overheated now that we’re away from the poles.”

She’s so MEAN and he doesn’t understand what’s happening or why it’s charming or why he wants to “d’awww” whenever she gets her dander up.

“Shh,” he massages his temple, “I need a minute.”

He doesn’t know. What’s happened. And it’s. Awful. It’s not logical. It’s nothing he could have planned for. He just doesn’t want to argue anymore. He just wants to shut her up and the only way he wants to do that is to kiss her. He wants to know what it’s like to kiss her.

Azula.

He wants to kiss Azula.

Sokka feels a migraine coming on. Azula makes some idle motion with her hand, flouncing off without another comment. He stares after her.

He stares after Azula.

Oh. Oh it’s bad. Oh it’s so, so, so, so bad.