Archive of Our Own ^beta

Cute girl with a sick mind

I know just how to play my cards right

Wrist, wrist, spritz, spritz, make her come alive (ah)

Chanel No.5

If I want her, she's all mine

I know just how to fuck with her mind

Wrist, wrist, spritz, spritz, make her come alive (ah)

Chanel No.5

The morning rush had settled, leaving the café in a comfortable lull. Katara wiped down the counter, enjoying the hum of quiet conversation and the soft indie music playing over the speakers. It was peaceful. Predictable.

Then the door swung open.

A woman strode in like she owned the place—heels clicking against the tiled floor, sunglasses perched on her nose despite the very obvious lack of sun. She carried the kind of effortless arrogance that turned heads. And sure enough, people in the café were already whispering.

Katara recognized her immediately. Azula King.

Heiress. Model. Occasional tabloid headline.

Katara wasn’t easily starstruck. She’d served her fair share of minor celebrities. But something about the way Azula carried herself made it feel like everyone was beneath her.

Azula stopped at the counter, lowering her sunglasses just enough to meet Katara’s eyes. “You.”

Katara blinked. “Me?”

Azula made a vague gesture. “You. The one taking orders. I assume you’re competent?”

Katara inhaled slowly. She’s just another customer. Just another order.

She put on her best professional smile. “What can I get for you?”

Azula glanced at the menu, then wrinkled her nose. “Do you use real vanilla in your lattes, or that artificial nonsense?”

Katara resisted the urge to sigh. “Real vanilla.”

Azula looked unimpressed, but she nodded. “Fine. I’ll take an oat milk vanilla latte. Extra hot. No foam.”

Katara tapped the order into the register. “Name for the cup?”

Azula gave her a slow, deliberate smirk. “Are you pretending not to know who I am?”

Katara met her gaze, deadpan. “I just like to spell names right.”

Azula tilted her head, studying her. Most people—especially service workers—would be falling over themselves to impress her, if not out of admiration, then at least out of fear. Katara, however, looked like she couldn’t care less.

Interesting.

“Azula,” she finally said, watching for a reaction.

Katara just nodded. “Cool. That’ll be five-fifty.”

Azula arched a brow. “You’re charging me ?”

Katara stared at her, unimpressed. “Yeah. That’s how cafés work.”

Azula let out a soft, amused breath. Then, to Katara’s surprise, she reached into her handbag, pulled out a crisp twenty, and slid it across the counter. “Keep the change.”

Katara squinted at her, suspicious. What’s your game?

Still, she took the bill and turned to make the drink.

Behind her, she could still feel Azula’s gaze. She stole a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, Azula was leaning against the counter, watching her with unsettling focus.

“You’re very precise,” Azula noted, almost idly. “You must take your job seriously.”

Katara frowned, tamping the espresso. “I try.”

“Hm.” Azula sounded vaguely intrigued, as if she were studying an unfamiliar species.

Katara finished the latte, placed it on the counter, and slid it toward her. “One oat milk vanilla latte. Extra hot. No foam.”

Azula took the cup, inspecting it like it might personally offend her. Then, she took a slow sip.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Katara waited.

Then Azula licked her lips, set the cup down, and declared, “It’s adequate .”

Katara folded her arms. “Glad you approve.”

Azula smirked, grabbing her cup. “Don’t get used to it. I expect better next time.”

Katara blinked. “Next time?”

Azula was already turning toward the door, tossing a final remark over her shoulder—

“Oh, definitely next time.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Katara exhaled slowly.

There was something about her.

Something that, for the first time in her life, made Katara wonder if she might actually lose her temper.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bell above the café door jingled, and Katara glanced up from the espresso machine. It was her job to greet customers with a smile, but the moment she saw who had just walked in, she instinctively took a slow breath through her nose.

Azula King .

She was hard to miss—towering confidence, flawless posture, designer sunglasses perched on her head despite the overcast sky outside. She had that aura of someone who had never been told “no” in her entire life.

Katara had dealt with difficult customers before. She prided herself on never losing her temper. But Azula wasn’t just difficult—she was insufferable.

“Ah, my favorite establishment,” Azula said, approaching the counter like she was about to judge a five-star restaurant. She placed a perfectly manicured hand on the polished surface. “I’d like an oat milk latte. Extra hot. No foam. And please make sure it’s exactly 147 degrees. I can tell if it’s off.”

Katara didn’t react. “Sure. Name for the order?”

Azula smirked. “Oh, I think you know my name by now, darling.”

Katara pursed her lips. She did. Against her will.

She turned to the espresso machine, biting her tongue. It wasn’t just that Azula was demanding—it was the way she did it, always watching Katara with some unreadable amusement, like she was waiting for a reaction. Like she wanted to get under her skin.

Not happening.

Katara worked in silence, but she could feel Azula’s eyes on her.

After a beat, Azula spoke again. “Interesting song choice.”

Katara glanced at the speaker in the corner. Can Friends Kiss? was playing, low and sultry, filling the café with its dreamy rhythm.

Azula tilted her head, a lazy smirk playing on her lips. “Tell me, Katara—do you believe in that?”

Katara turned, brow raised. “Believe in what?”

Azula tapped a polished nail against the counter. “‘Can friends kiss?’” she echoed, her voice dripping with something unreadable. “Or do you think it complicates things?”

Katara stared at her, searching for the angle. Was Azula just messing with her? Was she testing her?

She scoffed, shaking her head. “I think friends can do whatever they want.”

Azula hummed, amused. “Interesting.”

Katara handed her the coffee, deliberately avoiding the way Azula’s fingers brushed against hers.

Azula took a sip, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Mm. A little too hot. But I suppose I’ll survive.”

Katara smiled, saccharine sweet. “Shame.”

Azula’s smirk widened. “Careful, darling. That almost sounded like flirting.”

Katara rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

Azula chuckled, turning on her heel. But before she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Katara.”

Katara exhaled through her nose. She was never flustered by customers. Never lost her cool.

So why did it feel like Azula had just won something?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bell above the café door jingled, and Katara didn’t even need to look up to know who had just walked in.

Azula always entered the same way—like she owned the place, like she owned the whole damn street. Today was no different. Designer sunglasses perched on her nose, an oversized blazer draped over her shoulders, phone in hand, typing something undoubtedly scathing.

Katara had never met someone so openly impossible.

She took a steadying breath.

"Good morning, Azula. The usual?"

Azula didn't even glance up from her phone. "No. I want something different. Surprise me. But make it good."

Katara pressed her lips together. A deep breath. She had never lost her temper at work before. Not even when Sokka knocked over an entire tray of matcha lattes. Not even when that one customer asked for a refund because their iced coffee was "too cold."

Azula, though—Azula was pushing it.

"Alright," Katara said, forcing her best customer-service smile. "One ‘Surprise Me’ coming right up."

She turned to the espresso machine, feeling Azula’s gaze flick up for just a second. As if she was checking for a reaction. Katara refused to give her one.

Minutes later, she slid the cup across the counter. "Try it."

Azula took a slow, deliberate sip. Paused. Then gave an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose it’s... acceptable."

Katara folded her arms. "Wow. High praise."

Azula’s lips twitched, like she wanted to smirk but caught herself. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the counter. "Tell me, do all your customers get this level of special treatment, or just me?"

Katara narrowed her eyes. "All my customers get decent service."

"Mm. But do they all get drinks tailored to their moods?" Azula swirled the cup in her hand, the foam inside shifting slightly. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were paying extra attention to me."

Katara scoffed. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you enjoyed making my life difficult."

Azula tilted her head, as if considering it. "I do love a good challenge."

She was about to say something else when the overhead speakers crackled slightly, and a new song filtered in through the café. Soft, dreamy, a little teasing in its melody.

"Can friends kiss on the weekend? Is that such a crime?"

Katara watched as Azula’s fingers curled just slightly around her cup. It was subtle, but there. That almost-slip-up, the crack in the mask.

Azula recovered fast. "Hm. Fitting choice of song. Do you take requests, or just let fate decide the soundtrack?"

Katara raised an eyebrow. "You don’t strike me as the type to believe in fate."

Azula took another sip, and this time, she did smirk. "Oh, I believe in making my own."

And with that, she turned on her heel, leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of expensive perfume and the lingering, unspoken weight of whatever the hell that was.

Katara exhaled slowly.

God. She needed a break.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The café was humming with the usual mid-morning bustle when Azula walked in again.

She didn’t even wait for the door to fully close behind her before her phone was pressed to her ear, the sound of her voice slicing through the air like a finely-tuned blade.

“I don’t care what the contract says. If you don’t have it by this afternoon, we’re pulling the deal. Simple as that,” Azula’s voice was low, cool, every word sharp and deliberate. She glided to the counter, ignoring the usual friendly greetings from the baristas.

Katara wasn’t sure what set her off more—the fact that Azula was speaking so loudly on the phone in the middle of the café, or that she was still wearing those sunglasses indoors. She hadn’t taken them off once in the last week.

Azula’s gaze shifted to Katara, but it wasn’t the usual intense, almost-captivating stare. This time, her eyes were cold—focused entirely on the call.

“Mm-hmm. Right. I’ll take care of it. You handle the logistics. Got it?” Azula snapped, her tone more business-like than usual. Then, she dropped her phone onto her shoulder, still balancing it like it was the most natural thing in the world, and looked at Katara with a flicker of recognition.

“An oat milk latte. Extra hot. No foam. And don’t forget, I like it exactly 147 degrees.”

Katara clenched her jaw. She’d had it. This woman. She couldn’t just order her drink; she had to take up space in the room, controlling the whole damn atmosphere.

Azula’s eyes flicked back to her phone, muttering a few more words into it as if she didn’t even care that she was now interrupting the vibe of the entire café.

"Okay…" Katara said, taking a deep breath, “Name for the order?”

Azula’s gaze never wavered from her phone. “Azula King,” she said, the words slipping from her lips like they were a mere formality. She didn’t even bother to give Katara her full attention.

The audacity. The disrespect . Katara could feel her patience being tested, little by little.

She turned to the espresso machine, trying her best to ignore the bubbling irritation. She didn’t even want to look at Azula anymore. It was bad enough that she had to serve her, but now she was on the phone as if this was the most inconvenient thing to her.

And it wasn’t just the phone call—it was the casual arrogance, the way she carried herself like she owned the place.

Katara could almost hear the faintest hum of some pop song – Camila Cabello, that damn artist that was on every radio station at this moment – in the background, like an invitation to step into a world Katara didn’t belong in. A world of untouchable, cold perfection.

Azula’s voice cut through the air again, and Katara gritted her teeth. “Listen, I’m not going to explain myself to you, okay? If I wanted to do this my way, I wouldn’t have hired you.”

She was so focused on her phone call that when Katara slid the latte across the counter, she didn’t even acknowledge it.

Azula kept her eyes locked on the screen, speaking with the kind of confidence only someone who had always been catered to could manage. “I’ll call you back. Don’t screw this up.”

She hung up with a dismissive flick of her fingers and only then, finally, deigned to glance at her drink.

Katara stood there, arms crossed, waiting for Azula’s usual critique. The silence stretched.

Azula didn’t even bother taking a sip. Instead, she looked Katara up and down, studying her with that calculating gaze. “I’ve had better,” she said, her voice dripping with indifference. She reached for her phone again, but this time, her fingers hesitated, brushing over the screen like she was considering whether to say more.

Katara leaned forward, annoyed beyond measure. “You know, if you’re going to stand there acting like you’re doing me a favor, you could at least pay attention while I’m trying to do my job.”

Azula’s lips curved into a smirk. “Oh? Am I distracting you?” she asked, like it was some grand revelation. “I wasn’t aware your little café had such... fragile systems.”

Katara felt heat rise to her cheeks, a mix of irritation and something else—something she couldn’t quite place. “You’re a piece of work, King,” she muttered, trying to keep the sharpness from her voice.

Azula laughed softly, just loud enough to draw a few stares from the nearby customers. “You’re cute when you’re upset. Makes you... more interesting.”

The smile was too perfect. Too practiced. But the way she said it—like she was still in control of this interaction—was infuriating.

“Great,” Katara shot back. “I’ll be here when you need someone to make your coffee and remind you not to act like you own the world.”

Azula’s smirk didn’t falter. “I’m not the one who looks like she’s about to rip someone’s head off.” She tossed a glance at the cup, and then back at Katara, “You know, I’m almost impressed you’re still standing here. Most people would have cracked by now.”

Katara blinked, feeling her heart skip. The smallest slip-up in Azula’s mask.

Then, just as easily, Azula leaned back in her usual air of indifference, tapping a finger on the rim of her cup. "Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow. Let’s see if you can make it just right next time."

Katara watched her leave, the door swinging shut behind her, but the faint scent of expensive perfume and a lingering question stayed in the air.

She’s impossible, Katara thought. She’s completely impossible.

But as much as she hated it, something told her—maybe it wasn’t the coffee that Azula was coming back for.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The café was quieter than usual when Azula stepped in. No phone call this time. No sharp, demanding tone. Just a woman, tired and a little more human than Katara was used to seeing.

She walked in slowly, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Her sunglasses were nowhere to be seen, and her dark hair, usually immaculately styled, was slightly tousled. She didn’t have that familiar air of perfection around her; instead, she looked… fragile.

Katara stood behind the counter, wiping down the counter, glancing at Azula as she approached. She couldn’t help it—something about Azula’s usually perfect poise was off today. The air felt different.

Azula stepped up to the counter, her usual sharpness muted, replaced with a kind of quiet frustration.

“I’ll take my usual,” she said, but the usual command in her voice was gone. It wasn’t that icy cool detachment—there was something more subdued in the way she spoke.

Katara raised an eyebrow, noticing the change immediately. She started the order without saying a word, but couldn’t help herself from asking, “Everything alright?”

Azula glanced up, a small frown tugging at her lips. It wasn’t the confident smirk she was used to; this was something else entirely. She looked... human. Vulnerable, even. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and Katara felt that strange shift in the air again, the quiet discomfort of seeing someone so composed suddenly so… unguarded.

“It’s fine,” Azula replied, her tone almost a little too quick. Then, after a beat, she sighed, more quietly than usual. “They canceled the campaign. The Chanel photoshoot.”

Katara froze. Azula had been bragging about it for weeks—the photoshoot, the ad campaign. It had been a big deal.

“What?” Katara couldn’t help herself. “Why? I thought you were the face of it.”

“I was,” Azula said, her voice cold again, but there was an edge to it. “They can’t find another model who’s willing to work with me.”

Katara raised an eyebrow, a little surprised by the lack of the usual arrogance in Azula’s voice. “And that’s it? They just—”

“They just pulled the whole thing,” Azula cut in, her gaze dropping briefly to the counter as if she was searching for something to focus on. “Some models don’t want to work with me. Something about my ‘attitude.’” She made air quotes, her tone dripping with the kind of sarcasm Katara hadn’t expected to hear from her in a while.

Katara blinked, her irritation flickering for a moment, but she held back. This wasn’t the Azula she usually dealt with. This Azula seemed different, fragile in a way that didn’t quite fit the persona she usually projected.

“You didn’t deserve that,” Katara said before she could stop herself.

Azula looked up sharply, and for a second, Katara thought she’d misstepped. But then, Azula’s gaze softened, and the tiniest ghost of a smile touched her lips.

“I know,” Azula muttered, quieter than usual, almost as if she was admitting something she didn’t want to. “But that doesn’t change it.”

Katara was stunned. She hadn’t expected this from Azula, not in a million years. The woman who had always been so self-assured, so commanding, was suddenly… vulnerable. She wasn’t used to seeing this side of her, but something about it felt… honest. It made Katara’s chest tighten, her usual irritation softening in the face of this quieter, more raw version of Azula.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Katara asked before she could second-guess herself. She wasn’t sure why she even offered. It wasn’t like Azula would want to share anything personal with her.

Azula hesitated, the space between them heavy with unspoken words. She took a deep breath, her expression softening just a fraction. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “But… thanks. It’s just—today’s been shit. And I hate it when things don’t go according to plan.”

“I get that,” Katara said, leaning against the counter. “Sometimes you need things to go perfectly to feel like you're in control, right?”

Azula didn’t respond right away. She stared at her cup, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge. “Yeah,” she finally said, a hint of bitterness creeping back into her voice. “I don’t do well with things falling apart. It’s… it’s not who I am.”

Katara could feel her heart rate picking up, this unexpected honesty throwing her off. She was used to Azula’s games, her mind games, the cold, calculated manipulation. But now, in this moment, Azula was just… a person.

And the fact that Azula wasn’t shutting down made Katara feel like something between them had shifted.

“Well, you can’t control everything, right?” Katara said, offering a small smile. “You can’t always have the world in the palm of your hand.”

Azula didn’t answer right away. Instead, she took a deep breath, then nodded. “I guess not,” she muttered, glancing up at Katara. “You’re... surprisingly calm about this.”

Katara shrugged, trying to keep her voice light. “Well, someone has to be, right?”

There was a beat of silence before Azula let out a small, unexpected laugh. It was quiet, almost to herself, but it was a laugh—real and unforced.

Katara’s heart skipped at the sound. It wasn’t the Azula she was used to, but something about it felt... nice.

Azula looked up at her then, her usual arrogance returning just a little, but there was something warmer there now, a softer edge that Katara hadn’t seen before.

“You’re not half-bad, Katara Rivera,” Azula said, her voice almost... appreciative, even if it was veiled behind her usual tone.

Katara blinked, surprised by the compliment and the use of her name. “Thanks, I think?”

Azula’s lips curled into a subtle smirk, the one Katara had come to know so well. “Don’t get used to it.”

But this time, the smirk felt different. It wasn’t quite as sharp as before. Maybe Azula wasn’t as unbreakable as she seemed.

Katara handed her the latte, a little unsure what to say next. But as Azula took it, their fingers brushed, just for a second, and that moment lingered between them. It was brief, barely noticeable, but it was enough.

“See you tomorrow?” Azula asked, her voice softer than usual.

“Yeah,” Katara said, watching her leave, the door closing behind her with the softest of thuds.

As she watched Azula disappear into the world outside, Katara realized something strange: she kind of liked this new version of Azula. The one who was less perfect, less untouchable, and more... real.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next day at the café felt like nothing had changed. Azula strutted in at her usual time, her air of arrogance and perfection fully intact. Her hair was flawless, her outfit carefully chosen—nothing out of place. She looked like she was back to her usual self, the mask of confidence firmly in place.

Katara tried not to notice how much it bothered her. She didn’t know why, but something about Azula acting like the previous day never happened made her stomach twist. The woman who had cracked—just for a moment—was now back to her unapproachable, unyielding self.

Katara wiped the counter harder than necessary, her frustration growing. She hadn’t expected Azula to act like it was some big emotional moment, but still… it stung. Yesterday, there had been something… real between them. And now, it was like she was invisible again.

“Everything okay?” Sokka asked, glancing over from where he was restocking some napkins. He must have noticed the frown on Katara’s face.

“Fine,” Katara muttered, trying to keep her cool. “Just... frustrated.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

Katara sighed, leaning against the counter. “It’s just… Azula. I thought maybe things were shifting a little, you know? Like she was actually… being normal for once. And then today? It’s like yesterday never happened. She’s acting like I’m just some invisible barista again.”

Sokka grinned. “It’s Azula, Katara. She’s got a reputation to maintain, right? Not gonna be all soft on you one day and then act like nothing happened the next.”

“I guess,” Katara muttered, glancing at the door just as Azula walked in. Her usual swagger was on full display, and she walked up to the counter with that unmistakable air of entitlement. Katara felt a slight pang in her chest, but tried to brush it off.

“Hey,” Azula greeted coolly, not even sparing Katara a second glance, like the previous day hadn’t even happened.

Katara felt her frustration rise, but she bit her tongue, trying to keep the tone professional. “Your usual?”

Azula nodded curtly. “Yeah. And make it fast.”

Katara set to work on Azula’s order, keeping her eyes focused on the espresso machine.

Sokka, who was still hanging around the counter, didn’t seem to notice the tension between the two women. Or maybe he did, but he was too busy trying to be the playful, flirty guy he usually was.

As Azula took her place at the counter, she gave Sokka a look—a playful, almost teasing one. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself today, Sokka,” she said, her tone light and flirtatious.

Sokka grinned, clearly not missing a beat. “Well, I could say the same for you, Azula. Looks like you’ve got your usual fire back.”

Azula chuckled, leaning slightly closer, giving him a look that made Katara’s chest tighten. She hadn’t thought much about how Azula’s flirtations affected her before, but today… today it was different. The light teasing, the chemistry between Azula and Sokka—it made Katara feel like she was on edge.

“You know me, Sokka,” Azula purred, giving him a mischievous smile. “I never lose it. Always stay on top.”

Sokka’s grin widened, and Katara had to look away before she ended up doing something ridiculous—like storming out of the café or yelling at both of them. Her hands were shaking slightly as she handed Azula the finished drink, trying her best to keep the professional façade.

Azula took the drink from Katara’s hand, her fingers brushing just slightly over hers. A touch that felt almost too intimate, even though it wasn’t.

“Thanks,” Azula said, her eyes flickering to Katara for just a brief moment. There was a flash of something—something that wasn’t quite the usual arrogance, but it was gone before Katara could even pinpoint it.

But Azula didn’t linger. She straightened up, gave Sokka one last teasing smile, and turned to leave. “See you tomorrow, Sokka,” she said lightly over her shoulder.

Sokka shot her a wink. “You bet, Azula. Enjoy your day.”

As the door closed behind her, Katara felt herself exhale in frustration, though she wasn’t sure what she was even frustrated about. Maybe it was the way Azula had flirted with Sokka so easily. Or maybe it was the way Azula had completely ignored what had happened between them the day before. Either way, something in Katara’s chest was tight, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was more to this whole thing than she was letting herself admit.

“Everything alright?” Sokka asked, noticing the tension in Katara’s expression.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I just… I don’t get it. One day, she’s different, and the next she’s back to being this... this impossible person who doesn’t even acknowledge what happened.”

Sokka gave her a sympathetic look, leaning against the counter with a grin. “She’s Azula, Katara. You can’t change her overnight.”

“I know,” Katara muttered, her voice tinged with frustration. “But it’s not fair. She can’t just act like nothing happened. It’s... it’s like she’s playing with me.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, amused. “Playing with you? I think she’s just playing the game she always plays. And hey, if you’re frustrated about it, maybe you should just let her know.”

Katara glanced at him, surprised by his suggestion. “What? Just… tell her how I feel?”

Sokka shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. But also—don’t let her get to you. If she wants to play her little games, let her. You’re not some pawn in her game.”

Katara looked down at the counter, her thoughts swirling. She didn’t want to be a pawn, but Azula had this way of getting under her skin that she couldn’t shake. And now, seeing the way Azula had flirted with Sokka—effortlessly, like it was nothing—only made her feel more restless.

“Maybe you’re right,” Katara said, though she didn’t feel entirely convinced. “I’ll just… deal with it. And maybe I’ll let her know what I think next time.”

Sokka grinned. “There you go. Just don’t let her get the upper hand too easily.”

Katara glanced out the window, watching the city bustle outside. Azula’s presence was like a storm in her life, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it to die down or just keep getting stronger. Either way, she knew she’d have to face it. But there was no way she would ever ever talk to Azula about her conflicted feelings.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A week had passed since that flirty exchange between Azula and Sokka. But things hadn’t slowed down—not even close. Azula continued to visit the café regularly, always in a pristine outfit that looked like it came straight from a high-fashion runway. The woman was effortlessly beautiful, and every time she spoke, there was this undercurrent of something—something Katara couldn’t quite place. But it was there, and it was making her restless.

This particular morning, Katara was feeling extra on edge. She had woken up late, her sleep disturbed by strange, vivid dreams of a certain heiress. To make matters worse, just before her shift, she’d been scrolling through Instagram to distract herself. That was when she saw it—the photos from Azula’s last photoshoot for a high-end fashion brand. She looked like a goddess. She was draped in a stunning gold gown, her dark hair flowing around her face like a halo. The way the dress hugged her body, the way she posed so confidently—it was all so perfect, so captivating.

Katara swallowed hard. Azula was unreal.

She could barely concentrate on the espresso machine that morning. Her thoughts kept returning to the images of Azula, her confidence radiating through each shot. It felt like a slap to the face, how beautiful the woman was. And it didn’t help that Azula had been making the most confusing, borderline sexual comments whenever they interacted.

The door to the café chimed as it opened, and Katara’s heart skipped a beat. There she was, in all her glory. Azula entered the café like she owned the entire block, her heels clicking confidently against the floor. She was wearing a form-fitting black leather jacket over a fitted white blouse, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, a few loose strands framing her sharp features. The ensemble was chic, bold, and effortlessly put together.

Katara tried to stay focused, but her stomach churned. She felt off today—irritable and caught in this strange vortex of emotions that didn’t seem to make sense. But there was Azula, looking like she had just stepped out of one of the photoshoots that had been burning through Katara’s mind all morning.

Azula made her way to the counter with that signature smirk on her lips, her gaze sweeping over Katara with that air of superiority.

“Morning, Katara,” she said in a tone that was way too smooth for the time of day. “I hope you’re ready for me today.”

Katara blinked, startled, and almost dropped the cup she was holding. “What?” she asked, her voice coming out more flustered than she meant. “I—I mean, I’m ready for your usual, obviously.”

Azula’s lips curled into a smile, her eyes flashing mischievously. “I wasn’t talking about your coffee skills, Katara,” she purred. “But sure, I’ll take the usual. I’ll let you work your magic on me.”

Katara froze. Was that—was that an innuendo? She couldn’t tell if she was just hearing things, if Azula was toying with her again, or if her mind was playing tricks because of the strange mix of emotions that had settled in her chest.

But she was done being confused. Katara shook her head. “Right. Magic,” she muttered under her breath, trying to focus on making Azula’s order. But her hands were shaking slightly, her mind clouded with that strange comment.

Azula leaned in a little closer to the counter, her voice dropping a bit lower, like she was letting Katara in on some secret. “You know, I think you’re starting to enjoy all this attention, Katara,” she said with a teasing glint in her eyes. “I can tell by the way you react to me. It’s cute.”

Katara’s heart stuttered in her chest. She looked up at Azula, trying to make sense of her words. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, though it came out weaker than she intended.

Azula’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, a playful, almost predatory glint in her gaze. “Sure you don’t,” she said, her lips curling in amusement. “You’re always so... easy to read.”

Katara was starting to feel like she was losing control of the situation. Why was Azula being so forward? And why was she so... confused? She had convinced herself the whole week that she was just imagining things. That Azula was just being her usual, slightly condescending self, and she was just... being overly sensitive.

But this? This was different. She couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Before she could gather herself, Azula spoke again. “Maybe we should hang out sometime. You know, outside of this little café of yours. You might find it... interesting,” she said, her voice soft but laced with something else—something Katara couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Katara’s heart skipped, her palms sweating. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she replied quickly, too quickly, her voice coming out a little sharper than she meant.

Azula raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Katara almost choked on her words. She wasn’t sure if she was more confused or frustrated, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. This was too much. She was completely thrown off balance.

“I—” Katara started, but then her eyes flicked to the back of the café where Sokka had just entered.

She immediately seized the opportunity to distract herself. “Look, your drink’s ready,” she said, thrusting the cup towards Azula and trying to act like everything was fine. “There you go.”

Azula didn’t seem fazed by Katara’s sudden shift. She took the drink from Katara’s hand, her fingers brushing against hers, sending a jolt of electricity up Katara’s arm.

“Thanks,” Azula said, her voice softer now, though the playful smirk never left her lips. “See you around, Katara.”

With that, Azula turned and walked out of the café, but not without sending Katara one last lingering glance, a look that made Katara feel like she was about to burst into flames.

Katara exhaled shakily, her mind racing. She didn’t know what was going on anymore. Was Azula really flirting with her? Was she imagining it? And why the hell was she so affected by it?

Sokka appeared beside her, a grin on his face as he watched Azula walk away. “Damn, Katara, I think she likes you,” he teased, leaning in a little closer. “She sure knows how to make an impression.”

Katara didn’t even know how to respond. She shook her head, trying to shake off the weird tension that had built up in her chest. “I don’t know what’s going on with her,” she muttered, still trying to process the way Azula had acted. “But I’m convinced I’m just... delusional or something.”

Sokka laughed, but there was a note of concern in his voice. “You sure? Because, trust me, that girl’s not the type to act that way without a reason.”

Katara felt her heart skip again, but she wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or dread.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Another morning, and Katara had barely gotten through the first rush of customers before she heard that familiar click of heels. The door chimed as it opened, and there she was: Azula, looking every bit the untouchable goddess she always seemed to be. This time, though, there was something different about her.

She wasn’t dressed in her usual high-end fashion; instead, she was wearing a tailored black coat over a simple turtleneck, her hair pulled into a messy bun. She still looked stunning, of course, but there was an air of... vulnerability? No, that wasn’t the word. It was just—different. Something about her, perhaps the quiet exhaustion in her eyes, made her seem less like the sharp, polished woman who always walked in here with that confident smirk.

Katara was just finishing a latte when Azula approached the counter. As usual, Azula’s presence filled the space, but today, there was no playful teasing or subtle innuendo. Instead, Azula simply met her gaze with something softer, less guarded.

"Morning, Katara," Azula said, her voice unusually neutral.

"Morning," Katara responded, trying to keep her tone even. She had no idea what was going on with Azula lately—one day she was a playful tease, the next she was cold and distant. "Usual?" she asked, already reaching for the espresso machine.

Azula shook her head, catching Katara off guard. "No, today I’ll try something different."

Katara blinked, surprised. She could already feel her pulse quicken. "Uh, okay. What’ll it be?"

Azula leaned in a little closer, her tone more serious now. "Surprise me."

Katara hesitated for a moment, glancing at Azula, then back at the counter. There was a strange undercurrent to Azula’s words, but she couldn't quite figure it out. Maybe she was just imagining it. "Alright," she muttered, trying to regain some semblance of composure as she quickly prepared a coffee, adding a touch of caramel syrup for sweetness—something a little different from Azula’s usual black coffee.

As she set the drink on the counter, Azula picked it up with a thoughtful look in her eyes. "You know, this isn’t bad. I might just keep it," she said, her lips curling into a subtle but genuine smile. It was a rare moment, and Katara couldn’t help but feel a little lighter seeing Azula like this.

Azula took a small sip, then glanced around the café before turning her gaze back to Katara. "I’m... sorry, by the way," she added, her voice quieter than usual. "For the other day. I was being a bit too much. I didn’t mean to make things weird."

Katara blinked, caught off guard. This wasn’t the Azula she was used to. This felt more like an apology—sincere and almost... human. It threw her off, and she could feel the heat rising to her face again. "Oh, um... no problem," Katara stammered, unsure how to respond to this version of Azula. "Really. It's fine."

Azula’s expression softened just slightly before she straightened up, as if clearing her throat to regain her usual composure. "I’ll leave you to it," she said, though there was a slight pause, as if she wasn’t sure how to follow up. “See you around, Katara.” And with that, she turned to leave.

Katara watched her go, her head spinning. What had just happened? Azula had been... nice? She shook her head, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that had settled in her chest. This wasn’t like Azula at all. Was she just being kind because she was having a bad day, or was there something more to it?

Later that afternoon, when Katara’s shift was done, she decided to take a walk to clear her mind. Her thoughts were still tangled up in everything—Azula, her weird mood shifts, the confusion that seemed to be building with every interaction. She wasn’t even sure why she was letting it bother her so much.

As she walked down the street, she couldn’t help but notice how the sunlight hit the buildings just right, and how the people around her moved in that familiar, everyday dance. And then, suddenly, she saw her. Azula.

She was standing across the street, her phone pressed to her ear. There was a frustrated look on her face, but it didn’t seem as cold as usual. She was still dressed impeccably, even if it was more casual than her usual outfits. She was wearing a black turtleneck under a long wool coat, her boots clicking as she paced slightly on the sidewalk, probably waiting for whoever was on the other end of her call to respond.

Azula was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn’t notice Katara standing there, staring across the street. Katara hesitated for a moment, wondering whether she should just walk by, keep her distance. But something about the way Azula looked—there was a vulnerability in the way she stood, like she was on the verge of losing her cool—made Katara hesitate.

She was still watching when Azula suddenly turned, catching her eye. There was a flicker of something in Azula’s gaze, something Katara couldn’t read.

Before she could stop herself, she found her legs moving towards the street, stepping closer to Azula.

Azula finished her call and pocketed her phone, still not fully aware of Katara’s presence. "Katara," she said, her voice coming out a little sharper than usual, though not as cold as before. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

Katara stopped a couple of feet away, unsure of how to react. "Uh, yeah," she replied, a little breathless. "Just getting some fresh air after work." She tried to keep it casual, but her mind was still racing, as it always did when Azula was around.

Azula seemed to sense Katara’s discomfort, and for a moment, there was a strange stillness between them. Then, Azula’s lips curled slightly, her tone almost teasing. "Well, looks like we're both taking a break then." She tilted her head slightly. "Care to walk with me for a bit?"

Katara blinked, caught off guard by the question. She didn’t expect Azula to suggest anything so... normal. "Sure," she said, feeling a little surprised by how natural it felt to agree.

As they began walking, the silence between them was easy—too easy, in fact, considering how awkward their usual interactions were. Azula didn’t speak much, and Katara wasn’t sure what to say either. Her mind was still buzzing with the mixed signals Azula had been sending her.

She glanced at Azula out of the corner of her eye, and for the first time, she saw her in a different light. Maybe there was more to her than the cold, calculating woman who strolled into the café every day. Or maybe Azula was just messing with her again.

But as they continued down the street together, the tension between them felt different this time—softer, less charged, but just as confusing.

The air was cool as they walked together, the city noises blending into a quiet hum around them. Katara found herself glancing at Azula more often than she should have. Every time she caught the heiress’s eyes, she felt something stir inside her—something that she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Azula, for her part, seemed unusually calm. She kept her hands tucked in the pockets of her coat, her gaze scanning the street, but there was something about her that seemed... almost like she was allowing herself to be present. Not distant, not guarded.

Katara stole another glance. Azula looked tired, her eyes a little heavy, and her posture a touch less perfect than usual. She wasn’t the sharp, untouchable Azula Katara was used to. It made Katara feel like she was seeing her for the first time—vulnerable, just a little broken, maybe even human.

They walked in silence for a while, and Katara couldn’t help but wonder if Azula had always been like this. Did she always hide her true self behind that mask of perfection? Or was it something she’d built to protect herself?

“So,” Katara said, breaking the silence before it could grow too thick. “Why the sudden change today? You’ve been… different.”

Azula turned her head toward her, eyes narrowing just slightly, as if she hadn’t expected Katara to speak up. But then she softened, just a fraction. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. About things, people. Life. You know, the usual.” Her voice wasn’t as sharp as usual, but it still carried a hint of authority.

Katara raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond. “You’ve been thinking about life? Really?”

Azula’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not as invincible as I seem, you know. I have my moments. I just... don’t show them.” She paused, as if considering something. “But it’s easier to keep the mask on. To stay in control.”

There was a rawness to her words that made Katara pause. She wanted to say something, anything, but she wasn’t sure how to approach this side of Azula. Was she just having an off day, or was this some new phase of Azula that she hadn’t seen before? Was it a crack in the armor?

“So, this mask of yours,” Katara started carefully, “it’s just... who you are? Or is it something you’ve been forced to wear?”

Azula’s gaze hardened again, but not in the way it usually did when she was put on the defensive. This time, it was a little more resigned, almost like she was bracing herself for something.

“I don’t need people to see me for who I really am,” she said, her tone colder than before. “I need them to see me as I want them to. It’s safer that way.”

Katara felt her chest tighten at the quiet admission. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to reach out, to ask more, but she knew better than to press Azula too hard. She also couldn’t ignore the way Azula’s words lingered in her mind. Safer? Was that why Azula was always so guarded? Was she afraid of being seen?

The silence between them stretched again, but this time, it felt different. Katara could feel the weight of Azula’s words, and something inside her shifted. She wasn’t sure what exactly, but there was a vulnerability in Azula that she hadn’t expected—and it made her uneasy.

“So,” Azula suddenly said, breaking the silence with a playful edge, “enough about me. How’s your day been, Katara? You looked a little... distracted back at the café.”

Katara froze, suddenly remembering how she’d been caught staring at Azula earlier, lost in her thoughts. She forced herself to shake it off. “I’m fine,” she replied, too quickly. “Just the usual. You know, serving coffee and all that.”

Azula raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Coffee, huh? You make it sound like it’s just a job. Don’t tell me you’re not passionate about it?”

Katara rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at her lips. Azula was slipping back into her usual confident, teasing demeanor, but this time it felt... off. It didn’t seem as sharp, as if she was deliberately lightening the mood. “Well, I guess I’m not saving the world with coffee, if that’s what you mean.”

Azula let out a soft laugh—unexpected, but genuine. It made Katara’s heart flutter just a little, though she wasn’t sure if it was from surprise or something else entirely. “You never know. Maybe your coffee could save someone’s day. Or, better yet, my mood.”

Katara glanced at her, feeling the sudden heat rise to her cheeks. She was definitely not prepared for this—this Azula who seemed almost... human.

But as they continued walking, the moment passed, and the walls started creeping back up. Azula’s playful teasing returned, and Katara couldn’t help but feel a little conflicted. She wasn’t sure whether she liked this new side of Azula or if it made her more confused.

By the time they reached the end of the street, Azula stopped walking and turned to face her. “Well, this was fun. We should do it again sometime,” she said, her voice light, but there was a hint of something underneath.

Katara nodded, not sure what to say. “Sure, I—uh, I’ll see you around.”

Azula smirked, her usual confidence back in place. “That’s the plan. Don’t miss me too much.”

And with that, she turned and walked off, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement as if nothing had changed.

Katara stood there for a moment, still processing everything. The Azula who had walked with her was different from the one who usually came into the café. She was more guarded, more distant. But there were those moments—those tiny cracks in her armor—that left Katara wondering just who Azula really was.

And maybe, just maybe, Katara was starting to understand that the Azula she was seeing now was the one she might have always wanted to know.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The coffee shop was unusually quiet that afternoon. The hum of the espresso machine and the occasional clink of ceramic cups against the counter were the only sounds that filled the empty space. Katara leaned against the counter, absently scrolling through her phone, her mind still on the strange encounter with Azula earlier that week. It had left her feeling unsettled—more than she cared to admit.

Her thumb moved over the screen, gliding past pictures of Azula from recent photoshoots. Every photo was flawless. The way she posed, the effortless elegance in her stance—she looked like a goddess. Katara couldn’t help but stare, her thoughts a jumble. Azula was so stunning, so out of reach. How could someone so perfect be real? She found herself lost in the images, one after another, her eyes tracing the details in Azula’s expressions, her outfits, the way her eyes seemed to stare right through the camera.

Katara tried to shake herself out of her trance and look around. It was almost closing time, and Azula hadn’t shown up. Not that it surprised her—she wasn’t even sure why she expected the heiress to show. Maybe she was just hoping for a repeat of that strange, vulnerable moment they’d shared. A side of Azula that was... human.

She was about to scroll past another image of Azula in a stunning red dress, her hair perfectly styled, when the bell over the door chimed. Katara didn’t even look up at first. She was still half-focused on the screen, barely noticing the person who walked in. Then she heard it—Azula’s voice, sharp and cold, cutting through the air like ice.

“Black coffee. No milk. No sugar. Just coffee,” Azula ordered, her tone clipped, almost robotic.

Katara blinked, suddenly aware that she’d been staring at her phone for far too long. She looked up, and there stood Azula, her eyes narrowed, lips set in a tight, thin line. Her usual sharp confidence was nowhere to be found. Instead, she looked like a storm had just passed through her—frustrated, tired, and entirely distant.

Katara’s breath caught in her throat. It had only been a week, but in that time, she had convinced herself that she was just imagining things—that she’d been delusional about whatever it was she had been feeling toward Azula. But now, seeing her like this, standing in front of her with that cold, unreadable expression, all those emotions came rushing back.

She straightened up, quickly moving to prepare Azula’s order. “Coming right up,” she said, her voice a little shakier than she meant it to be. She hated how rattled she was by Azula’s presence, how it made her feel so... vulnerable. And yet, Azula wasn’t giving her anything to work with. No smile, no words. Just coldness.

Azula leaned against the counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze focused on the floor. There was a tension in her posture—like she was trying to hold herself together, trying not to fall apart. Katara caught a glimpse of it, something raw beneath the surface. But it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

Katara worked in silence, her hands moving automatically, the steam from the milk frother mixing with the chill in the air. She tried to keep her focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept drifting back to that photo of Azula, her face glowing in the spotlight, surrounded by a sea of flashing cameras. How could someone who seemed so... untouchable... be like this? So cold and distant?

After a few minutes, Katara handed Azula her black coffee, the hot cup carefully placed on the counter between them. “Here you go,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice neutral. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Azula hadn’t said much to her lately, and this mood—this icy aura—was new.

Azula didn’t immediately reach for the cup. Instead, she looked at Katara with an unreadable expression. “Thanks,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but still sharp in its usual way.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence hung between them like an invisible thread, pulling them further apart. Katara felt an itch in the back of her mind, like there was something she needed to say, but the words wouldn’t come. The way Azula stood there, so closed off, made it hard to know what to do.

“I... I didn’t think you’d come today,” Katara said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She immediately regretted it, her heart thudding in her chest. What was she doing? Why was she trying to push through Azula’s walls?

Azula finally took the cup from the counter, her fingers brushing against Katara’s briefly. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make Katara’s pulse quicken. Azula didn’t seem to notice. Her expression remained as blank as ever.

“Things didn’t go as planned,” Azula muttered, staring into her coffee. “Another photoshoot got canceled.” Her words were clipped, the edges of her sentences jagged, like she was trying to push down a wave of frustration that was threatening to crash.

Katara nodded, not knowing what to say to that. “I’m sorry to hear that. I... guess it’s been a tough week for you.”

Azula let out a short, almost bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Tough? It’s been a disaster,” she said, her voice suddenly rising. “I’m just... tired of people treating me like I’m some kind of trophy. Like I’m only worth something when they can sell my image.”

Katara didn’t know what to say to that either. Azula seemed... raw, and it made Katara feel strange. She had never heard her speak so candidly before. She had never seen this side of her—the person behind the mask. It left her wondering if Azula was ever truly happy.

Without another word, Azula took a long sip of her coffee, her eyes briefly closing as the warmth of the cup seemed to bring her a bit of comfort.

Katara watched her, feeling the familiar knot of uncertainty twist in her stomach. She couldn’t help but notice how different Azula was now—how much more human she felt. And it was so confusing. Was this the same person who had flirted with her, who had made her heart race with a single look?

She opened her mouth to speak, to try and say something—anything—but before she could, Azula stood up, her usual sharp composure slipping back into place. The mask was back on.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Azula said, her tone colder now, distant again. “I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she was gone. The door chimed again as she walked out, leaving Katara standing there, her mind a mess of thoughts she couldn’t untangle.

As the last few minutes of her shift ticked away, Katara couldn’t stop thinking about Azula—about the vulnerability she had glimpsed, about the way Azula’s coldness seemed to shield a deeper hurt. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to her than the image she projected. And that thought alone kept Katara awake for the rest of the night, wondering if she would ever truly understand the heiress behind the perfection.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bell above the door chimed as it swung open. Katara’s gaze flickered up from the espresso machine, almost automatically. She didn’t even realize she had been waiting for Azula until she saw her.

This time, though, something was different.

Azula stood at the entrance, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over her face, trying to blend into the background. Gone were the designer outfits, the perfectly styled hair, the immaculate air of wealth and power. She looked... normal. Casual. A black hoodie with the logo of some sports brand, loose-fitting jeans, and sneakers. Her nails were painted a deep bloody red—the same shade Katara had seen her wear during their earlier encounters. But what really caught her attention were the gold rings. More than usual. Multiple stacked on her fingers, glinting in the soft light of the coffee shop.

It was like the world had slowed down for a moment, and Katara couldn’t look away. She saw how the rings caught the light as Azula adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers flexing. The blood-red nails against the gold... it made her heart race. The way Azula moved, so effortlessly, so deliberately. Katara felt something stir in her chest, something unfamiliar but unmistakable.

"Katara?" Azula’s voice pulled her back to reality, sharp and slightly impatient.

Katara blinked, her mind scrambling to get her thoughts back in order. "Oh, hey, Azula," she stammered, trying her best to mask the sudden flush creeping up her neck. She couldn't even remember the last time she’d felt this way—this flustered. This... nervous.

Azula pushed the baseball cap up slightly, revealing her eyes. “Can I just get a plain black coffee today?” she asked, her tone neutral but with that edge of power that seemed to follow her wherever she went. “Not feeling anything sweet.”

“Right, sure. Black coffee coming right up,” Katara managed to say, her voice sounding a little too shaky even to her own ears.

As she prepared the coffee, her eyes couldn't help but drift back to Azula’s hands, those rings catching the light, glinting like little flashes of gold. The way she fiddled with her fingers, casually adjusting the strap of her bag, the fluidity in her movements—everything about it screamed “power.” But this time, it felt different. Less polished. More... human. Like Azula was trying, in her own way, to hide behind the ordinary, to escape the fame and pressure.

Katara was hyper-aware of the way her heartbeat seemed to quicken the more she looked at Azula. It was like her brain wasn’t catching up with her body. What was this? Why was she suddenly so aware of every little detail about her? Why couldn’t she stop looking at her?

Her hands shook slightly as she poured the coffee, the steam from the machine rising into the air. Katara cursed under her breath, trying to focus, trying to pretend like this was just another regular day at work.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t normal at all.

Azula stood quietly at the counter, scrolling through her phone, seemingly lost in whatever she was reading. Katara finished up the coffee and placed it in front of her. As Azula reached for it, her fingers brushed against Katara’s just for a second.

And that second—it felt like an eternity.

Katara froze, her chest tight. She had to get a grip on herself. She had to stop being so... flustered. She was in control, right?

Azula took the cup with a small nod, her eyes still on her phone. But as she started to turn, she shot Katara a look, almost as if sensing the tension between them. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes, like she knew something Katara didn’t.

"You alright, Katara?" Azula asked, her voice laced with an edge of teasing. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Katara shook her head quickly, trying to dismiss the feeling that had surged through her chest. “I’m fine. Just... fine,” she said with a tight smile.

But then it hit her, all at once. The truth that she had been trying to avoid for so long, the feeling that she had been pushing down, refusing to acknowledge.

Damn it. Fuck me, I have a crush on Azula King.

It hit her like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense. The way her heart raced every time Azula walked in. The way her palms would sweat, the way her breath would hitch when Azula even brushed against her. It was more than just the tension. More than just the games they played.

She really liked her.

No, scratch that. She liked her. Like, liked liked her.

Her brain shut down for a moment, the realization sending her spiraling. She tried to hide it, to brush it off, but Azula’s presence was like a magnet now, drawing her in more and more.

Katara quickly averted her gaze, staring at the counter. “Um, yeah, totally fine,” she muttered, her voice a little higher than usual.

Azula gave a slight smile, though it was barely there. “See you later, Katara,” she said, her tone softening slightly. But there was something in her eyes, something almost too familiar. Something that made Katara’s stomach flip.

As Azula walked out the door, the weight of the realization settled on her chest. What the hell just happened? She had to be imagining this.

Katara spent the next minute staring blankly at the door, her hands still gripping the counter like she needed to steady herself.

There was no way. No way.

She refused to believe it.

But the thudding of her heartbeat, the lingering warmth where Azula’s fingers had brushed hers, the way her stomach had twisted in the most embarrassing way possible—none of that was lying.

Katara groaned, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not,” she muttered under her breath. She wasn’t doing this. She wasn’t going to have some ridiculous, cliché crush on Azula King , of all people.

But then, like a curse, her mind conjured the image of Azula’s hands again. The effortless flex of her fingers, the way those gold rings caught the light, the contrast between blood-red nails and smooth, sun-kissed skin—

“Fucking hell .” Katara dropped her head onto the counter with a loud thud .

A small cough made her snap upright.

Her manager, Haru, stood behind her with an eyebrow raised. “You good?”

“ Fine .” Her voice was a little too high-pitched. She cleared her throat. “Totally fine. Just, um. Just thinking.”

“Thinking about how you’re in love with Azula King?”

Katara choked . “Excuse me?!”

Haru shrugged, leaning on the counter like this was a normal conversation. “I mean, you were staring at her like she personally invented sunlight.”

Katara opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, scrambling for something to say. “I— I was not — I was not staring .”

Haru gave her the most unimpressed look imaginable. “Katara, you didn’t blink for like, a full minute.”

“That’s— that’s just coffee shop hospitality !”

“Oh, sure,” Haru deadpanned. “And I suppose the way you turned bright red and nearly dropped her coffee was also hospitality?”

Katara groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“It’s really not.”

“It is.”

“Okay, sure.” He patted her shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Katara took a deep breath, trying to reassemble her dignity. “Even if— if —I was looking a little too long, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Haru didn’t even bother arguing. He just gave her a knowing look and walked off, whistling.

Katara exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back. It was fine. She was fine. This was a fluke . A temporary lapse in judgment. She would simply not think about Azula’s hands or her stupidly effortless power or her golden eyes—

Fuck.

This was going to be a problem.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It had been two days since The Realization™, and Katara had spent every moment since trying to pretend it had never happened.

She had not developed a crush on Azula King. She had not spent an embarrassing amount of time scrolling through the model’s Instagram the night before, looking at old photoshoots with a completely normal and professional level of appreciation.

She was fine .

The bell above the door chimed.

Katara looked up instinctively—and there she was.

Azula walked in like she owned the place, as usual, though today she seemed in a slightly better mood. The baseball cap was gone, her hair was styled again, but she was still in something more casual—a fitted black turtleneck, gold earrings catching the light, and tailored pants that made her legs look unfairly long. Katara swallowed.

“Morning,” Azula greeted smoothly as she stepped up to the counter. “You’re looking particularly cute today.”

Katara short-circuited.

It was like her brain had been replaced with static. She just stood there, gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

Azula raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “No snark today? That’s disappointing.”

Katara’s mind scrambled to do something, say something, anything —but all she managed was a very articulate:

“Uh.”

Azula’s lips curled into a smirk. “Really? That’s all I get?”

Katara cleared her throat aggressively, forcing herself to snap out of whatever this was. “It’s too early for your games, Azula.”

“Oh, come on.” Azula leaned forward slightly, voice lower, almost teasing. “You like my games.”

Katara’s brain made the executive decision to shut down again.

Abort mission. Full system failure.

She turned sharply, pretending to focus on the espresso machine even though she knew Azula had ordered black coffee last time.

“Do you want your usual?” she asked, desperate to keep this interaction normal.

“Hm. Surprise me.”

That made Katara pause. “You want me to pick your drink?” As if she hadn’t done this a few times already.

Azula shrugged, slipping one hand into her pocket. “I trust your judgment.”

Katara was still buffering when Azula’s phone rang. The heiress sighed and pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, before glancing back at Katara. “I have to take this.”

Katara nodded too quickly. “Oh, yeah! Totally! Go ahead.”

Azula gave her one last amused look before stepping aside, answering the call in a voice that was all business.

Katara turned back to the counter and exhaled slowly.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She was acting like a teenager. A useless, flustered teenager. She wasn’t like this!

Katara grabbed the milk carton with more force than necessary, determined to pull herself together.

Azula liked to play games. That’s all this was. A game. It didn’t mean anything.

But even as she poured the drink, she caught a glimpse of Azula out of the corner of her eye—sharp jawline, gold jewelry, that effortless confidence that made her impossible to ignore.

Katara swallowed hard.

Yeah.

She was so, so screwed.

Azula was still on the phone when Katara placed the drink on the counter, trying her best to focus on literally anything else besides how unfairly attractive the heiress was.

She hadn’t even tried today. No designer outfit, no calculated effort to stand out, and yet she still managed to look like she belonged on the cover of a magazine.

Katara needed to get a grip.

Azula’s voice was low and clipped as she spoke into her phone. “No, that’s not my problem. If they didn’t want to work with me, they shouldn’t have booked me in the first place.”

Katara busied herself by pretending to rearrange the napkin holder, but she still caught the sharp edge in Azula’s tone, the tension in her shoulders. Whoever she was talking to was not making her happy.

Azula ran a hand through her hair in frustration, rings glinting, her nails still that deep red. Katara had to look away before she started staring again .

“Yes, well, if they want to reschedule, tell them they can find me when they grow a spine.” Azula exhaled sharply. “I have to go.”

She hung up without another word, slipping her phone into her pocket before stepping back to the counter. “Is that my drink?”

Katara nodded and slid it toward her, pretending she hadn’t just spent the last five minutes being a complete and utter disaster. “Latte with oat milk. I figured you might need something smoother today.”

Azula quirked an eyebrow, reaching for the cup. “Thoughtful.”

Katara crossed her arms, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “Yeah, well. It’s what I do.”

Azula lifted the cup to her lips, and took her time tasting the drink, expression unreadable. Katara found herself holding her breath, for no good reason at all.

Then, finally, Azula nodded. “Not bad.”

Katara rolled her eyes, arms still crossed. “You say that like I haven’t been making your coffee for weeks.”

Azula smirked. “And yet, I like to keep you on your toes.”

Katara hated that her stomach did something at that. A flip? A swoop? She wasn’t sure, but she was sure that she needed to exorcise whatever was possessing her body and making her act like this.

Azula tapped her perfectly manicured fingers against the cup, watching Katara with an expression that could only be described as interested amusement.

“You seem tense today.”

Katara snorted. “Gee, I wonder why.”

Azula tilted her head, like she was considering something. Then, with no warning at all, she leaned in just slightly, voice dropping into something softer, more deliberate.

“You know…” Azula traced the rim of her cup with one finger. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous around me.”

Katara instantly felt every cell in her body set itself on fire.

“I—what— no ,” she spluttered, because what the hell.

Azula hummed, not looking entirely convinced. “No?”

Katara clenched her jaw. “No.”

Azula’s smirk deepened, and oh, she was enjoying this. “Pity.”

Katara refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, she turned on her heel and grabbed the nearest dish towel, busying herself with wiping down the counter for the fifth time that morning.

Behind her, she heard Azula chuckle softly before shifting away, and when Katara finally turned back, the heiress was checking her phone again, expression sharpening.

“Looks like I have to go,” Azula murmured, mostly to herself.

Katara had no idea why that disappointed her. Probably because it meant Azula wouldn’t be here to torment her for the rest of her shift. That was a good thing.

Definitely.

Totally.

Azula slid her phone back into her pocket and met Katara’s gaze, the corners of her mouth tugging upward like she knew exactly what was going on in her head.

“I’ll see you around, Katara.”

And then, just as effortlessly as she had walked in, she was gone.

Katara, once again, found herself staring after her like an idiot .

It was only when the bell above the door stopped chiming that she finally let herself groan, dropping her head against the counter with a thunk .

This was becoming a problem .

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Katara was convinced she was being haunted.

Not by ghosts. No, that would have been easy. She could have called a priest, burned some sage— something .

But this? There was no exorcism for Azula King repeatedly showing up at her workplace just to mess with her.

It had been five days since The Realization™. Five days of pretending she was completely fine while Azula made it her personal mission to ruin her life, one flirtatious comment at a time.

Today was no different.

The bell above the door chimed, and Katara didn’t even have to look up. She felt it. The shift in the air, the low hum of approaching chaos.

Azula strolled in like she belonged there—again—dressed in another effortless outfit that was somehow both casual and devastatingly attractive. A deep red blouse, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off her wrists (which Katara should not have been looking at), paired with high-waisted trousers that only made her legs look longer.

Katara busied herself wiping down the counter—something that absolutely did not need wiping—but the moment she looked up, Azula was already there, watching her with that infuriating smirk.

“Morning, darling,” Azula greeted, voice smooth as ever.

Katara choked. Actually choked.

Azula tilted her head in mock concern. “Are you okay? You seem a little… flustered.”

Katara’s grip on the rag tightened . She was not flustered. She was simply processing the sheer audacity of this woman.

She exhaled slowly. “What do you want, Azula?”

Azula tapped a manicured finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Mm. I was in the mood for something different today.”

Katara eyed her suspiciously. “Like…?”

Azula’s smirk widened. “venti, iced, half-caff, ristretto, quad-shot, 3.5-pump vanilla, 2-pump caramel, oat milk, extra foam, light ice, caramel drizzle macchiato.”
Katara blinked.

Azula looked way too pleased with herself.

Katara squinted. “You just made that up.”

Azula feigned offense. “I did not.”

“That’s not a real drink.”

Azula tilted her head, all mock innocence. “Oh, but I was really looking forward to it.”

Katara inhaled deeply. She was not going to lose her temper over this.

She grabbed a marker and started writing the ridiculous order on the cup, pausing when she got to ‘3.5 pumps vanilla.’

“…How am I even supposed to measure half a pump?”

Azula rested her chin on her hand, eyes glinting with amusement. “I believe in you.”

Katara exhaled sharply, turning to the espresso machine. She was going to make this drink. And it was going to be perfect.

Except—

Azula, that menace, didn’t stop there.

“You’re really good with your hands, you know,” she mused.

Katara fumbled the milk carton .

It slipped from her grip, landing with a very undignified splat against the counter.

Azula grinned like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh dear. Butterfingers?”

Katara hated her.

She snatched a towel, cheeks burning as she mopped up the mess. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“I could,” Azula mused. “But then how would I know when I’ve made you blush?”

Katara stared at her.

Azula just smirked.

Katara turned back to the espresso machine, already regretting every life choice that had led her to this moment. She grabbed a cup, determined to stay calm, collected— professional . This was just a customer. A very obnoxious, smug, intimidatingly gorgeous customer.

She could handle this.

She started making the drink, because if Azula wanted to play games, then fine .

Everything was going great —until Azula leaned forward on the counter, lowering her voice just enough to make Katara’s brain short-circuit.

“You look cute when you concentrate.”

Katara’s hand slipped again. And the caramel drizzle went everywhere .

For a moment, neither of them moved. The golden syrup dripped down the side of the cup, pooling onto the counter in slow motion, as if the universe itself was mocking her.

Katara squeezed her eyes shut. Do not react. Do not react.

Then Azula laughed.

Low, soft, smug.

Katara wanted to throw the entire espresso machine at her.

Instead, she grabbed a napkin, furiously wiping up the mess while Azula watched her suffer.

“So,” Azula mused, resting her chin on her hand. “Do you always make a mess when a pretty girl flirts with you, or am I just special?”

Katara froze .

Her entire soul left her body.

She turned, very, very slowly, gripping the ruined drink like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. “Do you want your coffee or not?”

Azula grinned. “I’d love it. But you might want to try again. That one looks a little…” She gestured vaguely. “Sticky.”

Katara took the deepest breath of her life.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she dumped the entire drink into the sink.

Azula laughed harder.

Katara was never going to survive this.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Another day at the coffee shop, and Katara was already regretting her life choices.

The moment the door chimed, she froze. She’d known Azula would be coming in—she always did around this time. But today? Today, Azula was dangerous . The rich blue dress, the way it clung to her figure, paired with a sharp collar that screamed “I own this city,” was enough to make Katara’s heart skip a beat. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing Katara had ever seen. Especially since blue was Katara’s color.

Her brain short-circuited for a second. “What is this? Am I… okay?”

Azula, of course, noticed her reaction immediately. The smirk that crept onto her face made Katara want to crawl under the counter and hide.

“Caught you staring,” Azula teased, stepping forward with that all-knowing, smug confidence that made Katara’s insides twist into knots.

“I wasn’t staring!” Katara snapped too quickly, her voice slightly higher than usual. She coughed and tried to regain her composure. “What can I get for you today?” She glanced at the counter, doing everything she could to avoid meeting Azula’s gaze.

Azula leaned against the counter, her lips curling into a smile that had Katara's heart racing. “Surprise me. I’m feeling adventurous today.”

Katara swallowed. “Uh, okay…” She scrambled for something new, something she was pretty sure Azula hadn’t tried before. With a deep breath, she quickly started assembling the drink—something a little daring, a bit more bold. She worked quickly, hoping the task would distract her.

When she finished, she slid the cup across the counter, her hands steady despite her nerves. “Here you go—something new. A double shot, iced caramel oat milk latte with a touch of cinnamon.”

Azula raised an eyebrow as she took the cup. She took a sip, and the subtle shift in her expression told Katara everything she needed to know.

“...No,” Azula said with an almost disappointed look, setting the cup back on the counter.

Katara blinked, her stomach dropping. “What?”

Azula’s smile didn’t fade. “This isn’t it. Not my style.”

A knot tightened in Katara’s chest. “Well… what’s wrong with it?”

Azula shrugged, still smiling as if she was enjoying every second of making Katara squirm. “It’s… too sweet. I prefer something with a little more bite to it.”

Katara sighed, feeling the flush creep up her neck. “Alright, fine, I’ll make you something else.” She picked up the cup with determination.

But before she could turn back to the espresso machine, Azula did what she did best—kept her on her toes.

“By the way,” Azula said, voice low and smooth, “I’m getting ready for a new campaign. I need someone to model the look. You’d be perfect, you know.”

Katara blinked, her mind momentarily derailing. “Wait, what?”

Azula’s gaze locked with hers, that sly, playful glint still present in her eyes. “You’ve got the look. Definitely the kind of effortless beauty I need for the shoot. You should come by, I can see you pulling it off.” She leaned closer, her lips curling just a little more. “You’d be a natural in front of the camera.”

Katara's brain couldn't catch up. “Uh… model? Me?”

“Why not? You’ve got the charm and the attitude.” Azula’s voice dropped a bit, her smile widening as she took in Katara’s flustered state. “Besides, who could resist that face?”

Katara’s heart raced. “I—uh—I’m not a model, Azula.”

Azula’s smirk was as dangerous as it was confident. “You are now.”

Katara blinked, completely thrown off. 

Azula straightened up, her eyes never leaving Katara’s flustered face. The silence that followed was thick with something between teasing and expectation, like a trap that Katara didn’t know how to escape.

“Really,” Azula said, her voice silky smooth, “you should think about it. You’d be perfect for it. Think of the exposure.”

Katara’s mind was still reeling from the unexpected offer. She wasn’t even sure if Azula was serious. It was Azula, after all—nothing she said was ever straightforward. It was all layered in a web of intention, her words both an invitation and a challenge. Was she trying to play with her? Or was there a deeper layer to all this?

“I—uh—I don’t think I’m cut out for that kind of thing,” Katara managed to stutter out, still fumbling with the cup in her hands. She desperately needed something to distract her from how quickly her heart was beating. “I’m just… a barista, Azula.”

Azula’s smirk only widened. “A barista with a stunning face and natural charm. Don’t sell yourself short, Katara.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just enough to send a chill down Katara’s spine. “You could be so much more than this.”

It was as if Azula was peering straight through her, seeing something Katara didn’t even know existed. The way Azula spoke, it was almost as if the idea had been festering in her mind for a while, like she was just waiting for the right moment to throw it out there.

But before Katara could respond, Azula pushed herself off the counter, looking at her watch with a quiet impatience that was a sharp contrast to her earlier playfulness.

“I have to run, but think about what I said,” Azula added as she grabbed her bag, her voice suddenly more serious. “I’ll text you the details.”

Katara barely registered the words before Azula was already walking toward the door. She felt a mix of confusion and excitement, her thoughts whirling.

She hadn’t even had a chance to think about how to handle Azula's offer—or the strange heat that had settled in her chest. Was she really considering it? Modeling wasn’t something she ever thought of before, but Azula’s words, the way she looked at her with such intense scrutiny, made it impossible to ignore. She did make her feel… something. But what?

“Azula, wait!” Katara called out, suddenly realizing she might have just let something important slip by.

Azula paused by the door, turning back with that infuriatingly perfect smirk plastered on her face. “Hmm?”

Katara opened her mouth, then closed it again. She hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the words came out anyway. “You know, you’re really hard to ignore, you know that?”

Azula’s eyes flickered with a knowing gleam, as though she’d just won some small victory. “It’s a gift,” she replied smoothly, her tone almost too casual. “See you soon, Katara.”

And with that, she left, the door closing softly behind her, leaving Katara standing there with a racing heart, wondering what in the world had just happened.

Then, she realized something – Azula King did not have her number.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Another day, another cup of coffee—and another opportunity for Katara to lose all sense of control.

She was bracing herself for the inevitable when the door chimed again, signaling Azula’s entrance. But this time, Katara wasn’t going to let herself get distracted. She had something she needed to say. It had been gnawing at her for the last few days, and if she didn’t get it off her chest now, she might explode.

Azula strolled in, looking just as effortlessly stunning as the last time—her tailored blazer cutting through the air with the same air of "I’m the boss" that Katara could never seem to shake off.

"Morning, Katara," Azula said, her voice low and laced with something teasing. The moment their eyes met, Katara could feel the familiar warmth rushing to her face.

But today, there was something different in the way Azula was looking at her, as if she were watching her closely, waiting for something.

Katara cleared her throat, forcing herself to be brave. “Azula,” she started, voice trembling just a little, “about the other day…”

Azula’s smirk was instantaneous. "What, you’ve been thinking about me?" She leaned casually against the counter, her gaze steady and unreadable, though Katara could swear she saw a flicker of amusement behind those sharp eyes.

“I’m serious,” Katara pushed, trying to keep her cool. “You know, you gave me that whole spiel about being perfect for the modeling gig, and then… you just walked out. No number, no follow-up, nothing.”

Azula’s eyebrow quirked, amusement evident in her expression. “Ah, so you were wondering why I didn’t text you?”

"Exactly." Katara crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. "I mean, you threw that offer out there like it was nothing, but you didn’t even give me your number."

Azula let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost dangerous in its smoothness. “So you were waiting for me to text you?” Her voice was like silk, teasing with just the right amount of playfulness. "You really are as cute as I thought."

Katara blinked, heart racing. “I—yeah, I mean… I wasn’t expecting a text, but I didn’t think you’d just leave me hanging like that.”

Azula pushed herself off the counter, taking a step closer, her eyes never leaving Katara’s. “Well, I wasn’t exactly sure you could handle it. You seem a little…” She paused, her lips curling into a smile. “Reserved. You’ve been avoiding the obvious, Katara.”

Katara felt her pulse quicken. She knew exactly what Azula was implying—and it wasn’t lost on her that Azula was enjoying every second of her discomfort.

“I’m not reserved, I’m just… confused,” Katara admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re confusing.”

Azula’s smile turned predatory, and before Katara could gather her thoughts, Azula’s gaze softened—just a touch. “You still don’t get it, do you?” She stepped closer, the proximity sending Katara’s heart racing in overdrive. “I’m not here to play games anymore.”

Katara opened her mouth to say something, but Azula raised a finger to her lips. “Shh,” she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “I’m done waiting for you to take a hint.”

And just like that, Azula leaned in, eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and something deeper, something she wasn’t saying. “Give me your number, Katara. We’re going on a date. No more messing around.”

Katara froze. The words hit her like a wave, but somehow, they didn’t feel like a punch to the gut. They felt... undeniable.

“A date?” Katara’s voice came out hoarse, unsure of whether she’d heard that right. “You’re serious?”

Azula’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “Dead serious. You’re not the only one who can be stubborn. But I’ve had enough of this back-and-forth.” She paused, a small grin playing at the corners of her lips. “Besides, you’ve been making me work for this long enough. I think it’s time we both get what we want.”

Katara stared at her, her thoughts a jumble. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the Azula she knew, the one who could make everything feel like a game. But standing there, with Azula’s gaze locked on hers and the suggestion of something deeper beneath it all, Katara felt something stir inside her—something she hadn’t expected.

Azula wasn’t playing around anymore.

She looked up, meeting Azula’s eyes, and then finally, after what felt like an eternity of hesitation, she sighed. “Fine. You win.”

Azula’s eyes sparkled, her smile widening with a mix of triumph and something softer. “I knew you’d come around.”

“Alright, here,” Katara said, scribbling her number down on a napkin and sliding it across the counter. “But if this is some kind of joke—”

“I don’t joke about things like this,” Azula interrupted, taking the napkin with a smirk. “Now, we can finally get started.”

She leaned forward slightly, dropping her voice to a low murmur. “Expect my call, Katara. And next time... don’t make me wait so long.”

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving Katara standing there, heart hammering in her chest, wondering how the hell she got here.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅