Chapter Text
Suki knows before she even looks down that the buzzing in her pocket can be attributed to Ty Lee, trying to talk her down. It's a futile attempt, but she appreciates it all the same as she ignores the call.
The palms of her hands still sting, crescent-shaped indents and red traces of blood serving as the only visible indicator that she's less than 100%. Suki has always been very good at hiding how she feels, and she refuses to let this be any different.
She's speed walking through downtown LA, trying to gather her bearings as she compartmentalizes the last two hours:
First, the obvious elephant in the room. She had stormed out of a PR meeting, trying to navigate the birth of a smear campaign in her name. Hana, the (now former) drummer for the Kyoshi Warriors, had gotten near black out drunk and dragged Suki's name through the mud—she claimed that most of Suki's success in this industry could only be earned through, in her words, 'dropping to her knees and with her mouth open for it', as opposed to her own merit and talent. When Suki obviously responded unkindly, Hana took to every news outlet who would listen, painting her as a volatile basket case.
Slutty and toxic. Everyone's favorite traits, of course.
The meeting was supposed to be both a discussion to clear the air and a strategy talk for how to navigate the rumors moving forward. Instead, Hana stood ten toes down on her statements, and Suki had, understandably, tried to beat that bleach-blonde bitch's ass.
It was not well received.
The vestiges of her outburst still simmer low in her gut, proof of just how angry she had gotten—how fucking angry she still is.
She knows that being in public at the moment is probably the dumbest option, with how many prying eyes are lurking around, ready to spin whatever facial expression she's wearing into an agent of their narrative. But every building feels suffocating, and she's not sure where she could possibly go at a time like this.
It's times like these that she yearns for her guitar, to pluck and strum and play until her finger tips are raw and pink. But the idea of playing music, her one comfort in this world when everything is caving in on itself, almost makes her sick. Setting foot in her studio would kill her.
It's where she pours her heart out, reckons with reality, and barters with her dreams. It's her safe haven for putting her feelings into perspective.
Suki doesn't want to feel anything right now. In fact, she's ready to do whatever it takes to numb the ache in her chest.
The flashing club lights are overstimulating as ever, and Suki has never been so glad to not be able to hear her own thoughts. The pounding bass replaces her heartbeat, and she knows that she's in good hands for the night.
These are the perfect conditions for getting fucked up.
Which could probably make this situation worse. She's not sure that she cares too much about that right now.
The Dragon's Breath is a trendy spot among celebrities and influencers alike, with a bouncer that will laugh right in your face if you don't have some kind of manager or entourage flanking you as you try to get on the other side of that door. Sometimes, you can't even pay your way in. It's that strict.
She used to hate it, but now that she's among the group of people who need no introduction wherever they go, it's an extreme relief.
The DJ is doing a shit job tonight, but anything is better than the sound of everyone trying to reach her with some new addition to Hana's story—she'll listen to this white ass 2010s EDM playlist with glee if that's the best alternative available.
Suki very rarely goes out alone, even to spots she's incredibly familiar with. Part of it is a safety thing, but there's also a lot of beauty in getting trashed with your favorite people and putting yourselves back together the next day. She hasn't gone clubbing alone in years.
Tonight that streak breaks, and she's immediately glad that she has no one to regulate her alcohol intake. Suki plans on getting drunk.
Making her way over to the bar, Suki flips her shades up into her hair, blinking mascara clad lashes at her favorite bartender.
"Well if it isn't my favorite customer."
"I bet you say that to everyone."
"Um, duh. That's my job."
Suki laughs, hopping on to a bar stool. "It's good to see you, Jin."
Jin, part-time writer and full time bartender at The Dragon's Breath, has known Suki for years, back when they were both sixteen and far too young to be anywhere near the scene. Jin had fumbled her way into hosting at some upscale restaurant that led her here, and Suki had landed her first of two record deals.
"Likewise," Jin says, turning her face to the side as she winks at another customer. The girl's face goes bright red, and they can both tell that that girl won't be moving to the dance floor any time soon. "I'm surprised to see you out here, all things considered."
"By all things considered, do you mean my own bandmate stabbing me in the fucking back and driving an entire hate train against me? Or a different, life altering occurrence?"
"That's the one," Jin nods, shaking someone else's drink together. Bartending is as easy as breathing for her, even with this many people clamoring for her attention. She still holds easy conversation with Suki as if no one else is there—this is probably why she performs so damn well to begin with. "You doing okay?"
Suki blinks hard, raising a brow. "Please don't ask me any stupid questions and make me something strong enough to cope with it."
"Aye aye."
Suki's never been big on cocktails and bar drinks—she's always been more of a 'drinking from a handle of Tito's till I black the fuck out' kind of girl—so she doesn't ask what Jin makes her, just tips her head back and downs it in one huge gulp. The burn is welcome, a satisfyingly painful price to pay in order to feel better than she does at the moment.
"Oh, it's one of those nights."
"Fuck yeah, it is," Suki laughs, pushing the glass forward. "Make me another?"
"I'm gonna have to watch you, aren't I?"
"Of course not," Suki grins. She knows Jin will cut her off eventually, but rides the high of her friend getting her as tipsy as possible before it becomes concerning.
The pain of the day starts to fall further and further away from the forefront of Suki's mind, the warmth in her gut drowning it out for now. Maybe this is all that she needed in the first place. She can worry about the rest tomorrow.
🎬
Sokka is on an emotional rollercoaster today. The kind with too many nauseating loops—an attraction that you ride just for the hell of it, and pray to never revisit again.
He'd peaked somewhere around three in the afternoon, and hit the steepest drop of all time since.
On the one hand, he's still riding the high of landing the leading role in his first ever horror movie. They'd only started production a month ago, and reality has still just barely set in. This is the most fun he's had on a project in years.
It's a promising script, a story about queerness conveyed through body horror. It's the kind of indie movie he's been dreaming of for years, and he's beyond excited to finally be in a position to take a role like it. Especially knowing that he was their top choice.
On the other hand, the public has now found out about said role, and the response is … less than enthusiastic.
A lot of people are of the belief that Sokka, primarily known for romantic comedies and being Katara's older brother (which is fine, and true, but waters down his entire personhood and makes him feel like shit), does not have the range to star in a horror film that they don't even know the plot of. Which kind of dampens the hype for getting such a cool opportunity.
Sokka's been in the spotlight his entire life—he knows better than anyone that there will always be people passing judgment before they have any right to do so, and with little reason—and yet this wave of backlash hurts more than he would like it to. This profession requires thick skin, and he's feeling especially vulnerable at the moment, flayed raw for all his loved ones to see.
"Drink it off," Katara had said over the phone when he called to complain earlier, a little blurred by pixels on their video call. She was in the middle of shaving Aang's head while he played Tomodachi Life on his Switch. "Don't let them get you down!"
"Have you ever considered that you might be a functional alcoholic?"
"Of course not," Katara said. "When I black out, I do it responsibly. Once or twice a year, in the comfort of friends and family."
"Come on, Katara's not an alcoholic," Aang pouted. "Just a stoner!"
Katara stepped back, lips sliding into a frown as she leveled her boyfriend with a glare.
"Do you want me to fuck up your hair?"
"What hair?"
Sokka wrinkled his nose—he was still getting used to the 'best friend is dating my sister' thing, especially since Aang had hung around the pair of siblings like a puppy for ages. Even though their relationship was nothing new, it never failed to trip him up.
"You guys are so wonderfully disgusting together. I can't stand it."
"Aw, thanks Sokka," Aang smiled, turning his Switch towards the phone. "Look, your Mii just scared my Mii's face off!"
The camera refused to focus on the cute little animated character running around on the island, so he had to take his word for it. "That's nice, bud."
"My point is that you need to go out. You should be celebrating your achievement," Katara continued, smoothing her hands over Aang's head and tilting his buzzed scalp in the light. She quickly pressed a kiss to it, and the boy practically purred.
"People will say whatever the hell they want! They'll find out soon enough that they were all wrong."
"I guess," Sokka said.
Katara has always been extremely confident and secure in her acting abilities, eager to embarrass anyone who dared question her talent. It was one of the many things he admired about his little sister, and he wished that he could keep the same energy in his day to day life. "Do either of you want to go out, then?"
"Fuck no," Katara said. "I'm exhausted. My only plans today are to smoke a bowl and watch bad reality TV."
"And I have to pack the bowl and play Tomodachi Life while she watches bad reality TV," Aang nodded.
"I hate you both."
The declined invitations to hit the bar scene are what led Sokka here, all on his own. Sokka's a pretty social guy—being an actor kind of hinges on his ability to be personable and comfortable in his own skin. But getting drunk by himself doesn't sound all that appealing, especially when it was Katara's idea to begin with.
He's somewhat familiar with the place—it had been Zuko's go-to for whenever he booked a role a couple years ago, only recently replaced with a shot and a good book back at home. He's gotten kind of lame, but Sokka loves him all the same. He probably would have said yes to coming out were he in town, unlike Katara and Aang.
Sadly, Sokka can't just hit his line with hey man, I know you're killing it with the whole Broadway thing, but could you pop back over to get just shy of completely shit-faced with me? I'd love a friend, right now.
He opts for shooting Zuko a text about catching up over call later in the week instead, and braves the bar scene on his own.
It's buzzing when he gets inside, greeted by a pounding bass and overwhelming heat as he enters. It was a breeze getting past security, and he didn't even have to flash ID—his face alone has been plenty identification for years.
The usual song and dance commences: ordering a drink, chatting up everyone sat at the bar, letting the spicy back notes of his drink convince him that dancing in public is his forte. It's almost a routine, and Sokka finds comfort in it: he loves knowing how something is going to play out before it's over.
His blood feels freer in his veins, no longer rushing with the efforts of anxiety. Just let go, he says to himself, dancing around other people he vaguely knows. Maybe he's seen them at an awards show before. Maybe they're mutuals on Instagram. Either way, he can't seem to really pin anyone down, and he has no desire to.
Until he spots her.
Looking radiant and absolutely lethal, Sokka recognizes her without a shadow of a doubt.
Suki Murakami is here, licking her lips absentmindedly as she sways coolly, drinking leisurely. The wing of her eyeliner is so sharp that it could slice skin, and her toned abs are visible without her even intentionally clenching. She runs her hands through her hair, and Sokka nearly drools at her defined biceps, the strands of hair falling away from her now-exposed neck.
Heat pools in his stomach against his will. Oh my god.
Meeting other celebrities is nothing. He does it all the time: he literally has to.
Meeting his celebrity crush, one of his favorite artists, however, is another story.
🎸
Suki can always tell when she's being watched. She's got a sixth sense for it, developed and refined through the hardships of her childhood. While the skill feels mostly obsolete these days, it activates on its own and makes the hairs on the back of Suki's neck stand right up.
The second she looks up, she locks eyes with the perpetrator, eyes blue and blinding. Familiarity dawns on her, immediately recognizing him: Sokka Kusugak, pretty boy, older brother, movie star. She's sure that that's the exact order that everyone would list those descriptors too, vaguely wondering if his younger sister and company are somewhere in this lively crowd as well.
His eyes widen at being caught, but he doesn't flinch or look away, still holding eye contact even as Suki takes her attention elsewhere, talking to the strangers next to her. She feigns nonchalance as she watches him through her peripherals, wondering if he plans on just looking, or making an attempt to touch.
A long yet indeterminate amount of time passes before he breaks away from the group of people he's dancing with, and Suki can't help but track his figure's movements as he makes his way over, all the people she was pretending to care about shrinking back as he approaches.
He may not mean much to Suki or her inner circle, but he's got a reputation, nevertheless.
"Hey," he says, all low and gravelly. "I'm Sokka."
Suki narrows her eyes, cocking her head to the side. "I'm familiar."
The scent of his cologne is an enticing, smoky-sweet thing, simultaneously heady and bright. Suki thinks back to the orchards on Kyoshi after a wildfire and almost shivers with nostalgia. For some reason, this guy smells like home.
"Familiar in a good way?"
"Familiar in that you're on the billboard two blocks down from here. You're hard to miss."
"So are you," Sokka says, leaning just a little closer. His blue eyes are startling, but they suit his face. Every feature of his balances, like he was carefully constructed by a lab-hand. "You're the talk of the town."
"Oh, so Mr. Bigshot has heard of me," Suki smiles sarcastically as she taps the rim of her glass. "I'm flattered."
It's Sokka's turn to grin coyly, trying to parse her tone. Something sparks in his eyes, and Suki senses that he's the kind of guy that likes a challenge. Much to her dismay, there is nothing more that turns her on than watching someone wring themself dry for a chance.
Distantly, she thinks about how poor of a decision it is to flirt with a stranger on a solo club mission, especially one with a net worth that could put the entire defamation case against her to rest. It alarms her how little she cares.
"Something tells me that you don't like me very much."
"You should probably listen, then."
It's only half-bitten, sharp enough to make him jump if he were skittish, but not mean enough to leave a mark. Her words don't even seem to land with a sting, and Suki can tell that Sokka is drawn in by her not falling at his feet.
How cute.
"I'm not much of a quitter," Sokka murmurs, pressing in closer. He's practically caged her in, tall and occupying her bubble. There's enough space to slip past him if she really wants to, and he seems like the kind of guy that would relent if she really stood firm on her notion of disliking him.
But she's not doing that, and warmth is radiating between them like a bonfire. Suki grips the collar of his bomber jacket, fingers skimming the material and dipping past it to press cold weight against his skin. Sokka inhales sharply, fighting the urge for his eyes to flutter shut.
All she has to do is touch his neck and he's weak in the knees? God, this guy is something else.
"Is that supposed to be your big pitch? Let me guess—I'm the most beautiful girl here, and you've been watching me all night—"
"Yes," Sokka breathes. "You are. And I have."
"And you have a corny line prepared about how you're craving someone down to earth—"
"I mean, I wouldn't call it corny."
Suki's gentle grip on his neck tightens as she pulls him closer, looking up at him through her lashes and putting on a fake pout. "And I'm supposed to, what, let you take me home?"
Sokka grins like he isn't being condescended. "We could start with a kiss."
"You're unbelievable." She forces his face closer, scratching at the nape of his neck. If she didn't know any better, she might mistake the little noise in the back of his throat for a whine.
"That wasn't a no." His breath ghosts over her lips, and for a second Suki can't breathe, overcome with a foreign kind of want. It burns from her throat down to her toes, with a heavy emphasis beneath her camo print skirt.
"God, you're overconfident. No wonder you're an actor."
"Still not hearing a no, Suki. If I didn't know any better, I might think you want to kiss me, too."
He had mentioned knowing who she is, but the pleasant, zippy rush she gets from hearing her name in his mouth shoots so strongly up her spine that she's scared she might lose her balance. Suki can't remember ever being this affected by someone she barely knows.
Her better judgment is saying to pull away, to tease him until he's fed up with her, and leave with her head held high.
But instinct, attraction, and liquor take precedent, beating better judgment into the very ground where it stands. She doesn't even feel a little bad about making the evidently wrong choice.
"Well then, it's a good thing that you know better."
Her grip is unrelenting. Something else is piloting her body, and she's not sure which of her vices she can blame for the way she pulls him in, forcefully joining their lips together.
The kiss is searingly sweet, and Suki is immediately drunker off Sokka's lips than whatever Jin's been sliding her across the countertop of the bar all night.
And he's a good kisser. Based on his demeanor, she'd assumed (in the split second that she had to close the gap between them) that he would let her lead, turning to putty in her hands. But this version of Sokka, not the one she immediately tried to attach a persona to, is insistent and guiding and hungry.
The way he presses forward, gently but purposefully nudging her legs apart with his own knee, sighing into her mouth like there aren't people around to watch them—it sends her off kilter in the best way. It's surprising, and Suki loves being surprised.
There's a fog around them, humid and hanging low like a prophecy to be foretold, curling around Suki's demonias and tugging her as close as humanly possible towards him.
Usually she exercises even a modicum of tact, generally a big fan of public decency, but she can't help but tug at Sokka's ponytail, no longer concerned with decorum of any kind. He's trying not to pant into her mouth and she's fairly certain he's getting hard and—
Someone brushes hard past Sokka, shoulder checking him as they maneuver through the club. It sends them both stumbling, his hold on her waist keeping them steady. He's a little dazed, eyes glazed over with want, somehow possessive of something that isn't his.
"So," Sokka breathes, bending a little to better fit into her space, like he's worried she might retreat back into herself now that they've been interrupted.
It's a good assumption, because if she wasn't in such an abnormally agreeable mood tonight, she would have let the effects of his little spell wash right off her. Instead, she stays put, eyes hooded and dark.
"So," Suki echoes, scratching at the nape of his neck some more. He seems to really like it when she does that.
"I don't live too far from here."
"Mmm," she hums, waiting for him to get to the point. She knows where this is going—maybe even knew it before he gathered the courage to walk over, brief stint with inner turmoil not withstanding.
Horrifically, she's enthusiastically on board, and trying very hard not to show it visibly.
"I'd like to take you home, if you'd be down for that."
"You are such a cliche," Suki sighs, much fonder than she intends for it to come out. Her hard-ass routine is failing miserably, but he seems to indulge her regardless. "Your seduction tactics could use some work."
"Is this another yes disguised as you being mean to me? Your 'flirting by negging' method is a little tired, too." He's beaming, eyes roaming over her face like she's translucent and he can see a light of intrigue shining through her.
Unfortunately, he's got her there. It's kind of her only trick in the book. Her eyes search his as she tries to figure out what to say next, something witty and a little evil, but all she can do is desperately smother the little skittish thing her heart does in her chest as he looks down at her. His fingers are tracing patterns on her exposed skin, crop top riding up a little.
Fuck, she wants him bad, and this is such a bad idea.
"How far is your place?"
"Ten minute walk. Nothing crazy."
Suki tilts her head, then pushes off the wall and spins herself lightly out of his hold. Sokka blinks, slow and a little confused. Her eyes dart down for a second, and wow, he's definitely having just as good of a time as she is, if the bulge in his pants is any indication. The swooping feeling in her gut at the sight does not go ignored.
She forces herself to look back up at Sokka's face, where he's trying to figure out what her next move is going to be. He must be the kind of guy that thinks way too much.
"Are you going to take me back to yours, or are you just planning on standing there looking confused all night?"
Sokka's brain finally catches up with his dick, and he matches pace with her, grinning like he's just won a prize. His hand finds the small of her back, and she doesn't wave him off.
She wants to kiss that grin all the way off his face, until his lips are puffy and melted right against hers, tired and red. But she steels herself and resists for just a bit longer. It's only a ten minute walk, after all.
🎬
Suki may be cold to the touch and gnawing on his ego, but she's also a fiery, blazing thing as she knocks his back against the nearest wall right after he locks his apartment door. She's on him in an instant, and Sokka nearly burns to death over it, even as her cold palm wraps around his bicep, and the other cups him through his jeans.
It takes a second to get up to speed with her, but once he does, they're all over each other, tongue and teeth and hands, hands, hands.
It's such a blur that Sokka's not even sure how or when they end up in his bedroom, but he refuses to waste the time he has and rolls with it. Soon enough, they lose their clothes, and his head is between her thighs, and the rest of the world floats away for awhile.
Shrouded in ecstasy, Sokka thinks he's found a new addiction as Suki moans his name, hands wound tight in his sheets. He catches her gaze, removing one of his hands from her thighs to untangle her fingers from the bedding, only to place it in his own hair, elastic lost somewhere on the floor. Not that he can bring himself to care about that right now.
She gives his hair an experimental tug, as if to question if that's what he's asking for. Sokka moans so hard that he feels it reverberate against her skin. A sexy grin splits across her face, and he's sure of it now: this is the closest he will ever get to being in heaven, her hands in his hair as he eats her out, rutting against the bed for friction, worked up over bringing Suki pleasure.
He would do this forever, if he could—his own orgasm against his sheets is tinged with a hue of desperation to prolong this as Suki spasms around his tongue.
She has to physically yank him up and away from her, the entire lower half of his face slick and wet, rewarded for his hard work. He's sure his pupils are blown, leaning close to her face as he awaits further instructions. Suki just purrs, tugging him into a messy kiss.
"Good boy," she says, biting on his lip. He shudders against her, growing alarmingly hard for someone with undried come just inches from his tip. Is this girl a fucking witch? "I hope you're this enthusiastic when I ride you."
Sokka is definitely in heaven, because Suki brutally murdered him long ago. Maybe in his doorway, maybe at the bar, maybe even before that. It's the only explanation for the divine acts of grace bestowed upon him as Suki uses her legs to flip him onto his back, straddling him.
He pulls her down, flush against him so that he can nip at her neck, allowing his hands to roam over the curve of her ass, up the arch of her back. Suki keens, clearly sensitive, grinding down against him. Sokka sees stars as he fumbles blindly for lube and condoms in his bedside drawer, and she laughs at his eagerness to please.
Clearly, she doesn't want this to end either.
🎸
The first thing Suki thinks as she rouses from her slumber is a question: what the fuck is that?
It's electronic and loud, some kind of alarm if Suki had to guess.
The sun is streaming through the blinds at an uncomfortably bright angle, right into her face. She squeezes her eyes shut and prays to whatever god there is for it to stop, only to finally register the weight pressing down on top of her.
A roaring snore tears through the air, rumbling into her neck.
Oh, fuck.
The incessant buzzing that had woken her up hasn't waned in frequency, and it's really starting to get on her nerves.
"Sokka," Suki says, insistently slapping his back as her curls against her, leg thrown over her hip and trapping her in place. He's lean, but tall and muscular nonetheless. "Sokka, get up."
Sokka nuzzles his face into her neck, and she hates the way warmth blooms from that spot and up onto her cheeks, begrudgingly endeared. Is she still drunk? Why is he still so cute?
"Sokka," she says again, ignoring that train of thought, trying to wriggle out from under him, soft sheets slipping to the side. "Get off."
"Why," Sokka replies in a drawn out and whiny tone, clearly still half asleep and not noticing the buzzing. "You're so soft."
"And you're heavy. Get up."
She shoves so hard at his shoulder that he rolls off of her, granting the freedom to reach over for her phone on the charging cord.
Huh. Sokka must have put it on the charger without her knowing.
The buzzing has stopped once she gets her hands on her phone, but that doesn't stop Suki's eyes from blowing wide as she notes the notifications she's woken up to.
[26] Missed Call - Kina (Manager)
[12] Missed Call - Song
[3] Missed Call - Ty Lee
[4] Missed Call - Mira
[19] iMessage - Kina (Manager)
"Well, that can't be good."
Sokka rubs at his eyes, moving to invade her space again. Good lord, he's a clingy guy. "Wha?"
"Nothing, it's my manager—"
Before she can even get her sentence out, her phone is ringing again, and this time Suki's lucid enough to actually answer.
"Hello?"
"Oh, so she lives," Kina, her manager, breathes. Suki doesn't even need to see her face to know that he lips are pulled into a thin line, eyebrows drawn together in barely contained anger. It's a look Suki has seen many times, but rarely directed at her alone. "Why weren't you answering your phone?"
"I just woke up," Suki yawns. Sokka's staring at her quizzically, but keeps his mouth shut as he kneads the meat of her thigh. Suki shifts her leg away from his hand completely.
"Then I take it you haven't seen the news."
"What news?"
Suki can have a bit of a temper herself, so she really does empathize with others when she can tell that she's the source of their irritation. She seeks to be in that position as little as possible, if she can help it.
Unfortunately, she's definitely failed at that objective today, based on Kina's energy. It feels like being scolded as a child.
"Type your name into literally any search engine for me. Any of them."
Suki blinks and pulls her phone away from her face to follow instructions, but doesn't even have to get that far before her mouth drops open—it's the first recommended article that pops the second she opens Google.
BREAKING: GOOD BOY GONE BAD — MOVIE STAR SOKKA KUSUGAK SPOTTED WITH SUKI MURAKAMI
Oh, fuck.
Attached are several close-range photos of her and Sokka from last night, in an undeniably intimate position. His face is partially obscured from view, but that is so evidently her, and his signature ponytail doesn't seem to be doing any favors for dispelling rumors, either.
This is only one of many, though. Dozens of news outlets and celebrity press sites have released articles with similar headlines and shots from different angles, all of which feature Sokka and Suki shoving their tongues down each other's throats and leaving the bar together.
They've been caught red-handed.
"Oh my fucking god."
Sokka leans over to look at her phone and flinches, eyes blowing wide as he reads alongside her. The tone of the headline bleeds over into the work itself, framing Suki as a stain on Sokka's squeaky clean public image—only bad things to say about her, maybe neutral at best—with disappointed or concerned sentiments for him.
The golden boy besotted with an imperfect woman. Of course.
"What do the words lay low mean back to you, Suki? Clearly we have different definitions. Because I distinctly remember telling you—before you stormed off—that you need to stay out of the public eye while we sort through everything."
She tries not to wince. Kina almost never takes this tone with her. She can't even recall the last time she was this mad, and the band is always involved in something.
In all fairness, Suki made zero effort to communicate with anyone after her outburst. She was certain that if she picked up her phone, she would completely destroy her relationship with whoever was on the receiving end of the line.
So in Kina's eyes, Suki threw a fit, went MIA, and deliberately ended up in the bed of one of the most beloved male actors in Hollywood at the moment.
A bit of a bad look, admittedly.
"Kina, I am so sorry."
"I don't need an apology, Suki," Kina sighs, voice softening ever so slightly. Maybe it's understanding, or maybe it's pity. "I need you to get your butt down here so we can plan our next steps. I've already got Mr. Kusugak's team trying to get a hold of him right now—"
Comedically, Sokka's phone starts blaring on Suki's left, loud enough to be heard through the speaker. All this commotion is giving her hangover hell, and she tries not to audibly grown at the vibrations.
"Suki."
"Yes?"
"Tell me that isn't his phone. Tell me you aren't still with him right now."
"Okay, I'm not with him."
Suki can almost see her manager face palming if she closes her eyes.
"You're lying, aren't you?"
"Through my teeth, yeah."
Sokka tosses a sheepish look her way as Suki hands him his phone, completely still and silent like whoever was calling hung up.
"Am I on speaker?"
"Yeah."
"Hello, Mr. Kusugak," Kina says, voice professional and stern. If Suki weren't familiar with her, she'd be shitting her pants.
"Um, hi," Sokka says, raspy and nervous. Suki tries to ignore the heat between her legs at the sound of his voice. "Just 'Sokka' is fine."
"Mr. Kusugak," Kina repeats. "It's good to finally hear from you. Your management team and I are currently setting up a mandatory meeting for the two of you at your earliest convenience. And by that, I mean 'get the hell up and call an Uber if you feel too hungover to drive here on your own.' Am I clear?"
"Yes, very."
Suki's never seen this expression on his face before. Of course, they just met yesterday, but between a billion commercials and movies and interviews, she can't say that she recalls such nervousness playing out on his face. She almost feels bad, poking his knee as a small reassurance.
"We look forward to speaking with you. Both of you."
Oh, Kina is pissed.
The call dies before Suki even gets to say goodbye, and she rubs at her face to soothe the fraying nerves beneath her skin. "This is a nightmare."
"How did they even get a shot from that close up without either of us noticing? These look like they were taken with a phone, not a camera."
"Does it even matter? The bottom line is that everyone thinks we're fucking."
Sokka runs his hand through his hair, looking up from his own screen. He smirks. "I mean, they're not wrong."
Suki gives him a flat look and punches him in the arm.
"Ow!"
"You deserved that," she replies, turning her face to his window, where the deceptively positive lighting and scenery fill her vision. Sokka's apartment is on the fourth floor of his building, and from here she can see cars and people littered on the streets below, going about their days without a care in the world.
People who can roam and kiss and kick ass without anyone nosing around in their business. Without letting jealousy tear their friendships apart, sending the media off to rip them limb from limb without a care in the world.
She wonders to herself, distantly, if the cost of her peace of mind is an adequate price for fame. If that's even a fair trade, and if she would make the same deal were it offered to her again. Usually, Suki would say yes, absolutely, without a second thought.
Today, wrapped up in a stranger's bed sheets, phone burning up in her hand, she's not so sure.
"Hey," Sokka says, snapping her out of her thoughts, voice low like he's talking to an easily startled animal. "It's all gonna be okay. We pay these guys to figure stuff like this out."
She says nothing, picking at her nails. Sokka bumps his shoulder against hers, and the solid weight of him up against her actually feels like a relief for a brief moment.
"Let's get breakfast."
Suki looks up at him as he moves to stand, stretching his arms above his head. She makes a point to focus on his face, and not the fact that he's naked. No need to give last night's performance an encore (because she's sure they won't make it to that meeting if they do).
"Do we even have time for that?"
Sokka shrugs. "Doesn't matter. If I'm about to walk into a PR nightmare, I need some coffee in me. There's a pretty good place around the corner."
Were it not for the fact that they're headed to the same place anyway, Suki would decline the offer. She hadn't even really meant to stay over—she's incredible at evasive maneuvers, slipping out before her one-night-stands wake up and minimizing the shame aspect of a walk of shame—but Sokka's doused in gold from the sun, and smiling way too bright for this hour, and already pulling his boxers on.
Does she even really have a choice?
"Alright. But we probably shouldn't make matters worse by being in public."
"Oh, don't worry baby, I've got it handled."
Baby?
"Baby?" Suki repeats, so shaken by the pet name that the brain to mouth filter inside of her turns off completely. "Don't call me that. This is not a thing."
"Didn't mean it like that, but okay," Sokka grins, tugging a sweatshirt off of a hanger in his walk-in closet. He pivots and opens one of his dresser drawers. "You're blushing, by the way."
"What? No, I'm not."
Her cheeks warm a considerable amount. Oh god, she really is blushing.
"Getting redder by the second," he adds, laying out a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, and a big jacket. He's not even looking at her, but he's right. The bait makes her furious.
"Shut up."
Sokka may be able to predict what she's going to say next, but he can't predict her movements, and has worse reflexes than Suki does. He's not prepared for her lobbing a pillow at him, smacking him square in the face.
"Ow!" Sokka rubs his face, brows furrowed as he pouts at her. "Why would you do that?"
Suki rolls her eyes. This guy is annoying. "It was a pillow. Stop being dramatic."
"My face is my entire job, Suki."
"God forbid you get a scratch on your pretty little face," she says, voice pitched up sarcastically and dripping with faux sympathy. Besides, he's an actor. His face is only half his job, the other 50% is entirely out of her control.
Sokka pauses to look at her, his search for the second half of his sock pair halted. His stupid pout morphs into a wry grin. "You think I'm pretty?"
He can't be serious. "You are impossible."
"Impossible, yet I'm feeding and clothing you. Funny how that works."
Suki raises a brow, realizing that the clothes he's laying out are for her. Everything is a size or two too big, and so much lighter than her self-assigned color palette. She watches as he adds sunglasses and a cap to the outfit.
"Thanks for the hospitality, but I can wear my own clothes."
"And give yourself away by walking around in the same outfit as last night?"
A great point, unfortunately. She hadn't even given it that much thought. Sokka's clearly a Type A kind of guy, planner through and through. Given the carefree, lighthearted vibe that everyone seems to eat up, she never would have guessed.
"Touche."
"Mhm," Sokka nods. "You can shower first, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink. Please don't use my shampoo."
She wasn't planning on washing her hair in the first place, but now that she's been expressly told not to, the urge to do the exact opposite hangs over her like a cloud.
"Alright, princess," Suki teases, gathering the clothes on the bed and her bra from the floor. "I won't touch it."
Sokka's cheeks turn a little pink at the nickname, so Suki considers it a win.
🎬
It's an abnormally breezy day for March, so Sokka made a good call giving Suki some warmer clothes. They're both dressed up in celebrity-disguise attire, aiming to be inconspicuous.
That being said, the Venn diagram between "hangover" and "celebrity off duty" outfits is a circle. He's thankful that they need to keep it lowkey today. His head is killing him.
Suki's at his side, not saying much, but clearly running a bit cold as she buries her face into the collar of his jacket that hangs big on her. She looks so cute that he has to physically turn his face forward to calm his heart from beating out of his chest.
Dude, you have got to chill out.
There is an almost uncontrollable urge to fill the silence with something other than the sounds of their footsteps, but the atmosphere between the two of them seems ill-suited for small talk.
They're taking an altered route to this cafe, ducking through alleyways to avoid paparazzi, and to navigate past the street closures turned into movie sets. This part of town always has something going on, and he can't wait until his and Aang's lease is up so that he can move somewhere just a bit quieter, and a hell of a lot pricier.
Their order should be ready for pickup by the time they arrive, and Sokka hasn't had much problem avoiding fans around here, so he's not all that worried.
Suki, however, looks perpetually on edge, even if her eyes are covered by sunglasses. Every time her face emerges from his jacket, she's frowning. He wants to ask about it and make sure she's okay, but figures that she'll volunteer any information that she wants him to be privy to.
Besides, it's probably the same thing that they've both been worried about since they woke up. No need to rehash it.
He feels really bad for Suki. He'd seen the rumors swirling around about her bandmate, the shots at her character. He hadn't given them much thought, figuring they'd blow over like everything always does in this business. But the nasty comments have multiplied and lingered for over a week now, and Sokka's not sure how.
For the record, he doesn't think there's any truth to what he's heard: he's been listening to Suki and her band for years, and knows that her popularity is a direct product of artistic merit. She's good at her job, and fans always seem to have something good to say about her, so the credibility of it all feels shaky at best. Were it not coming from the mouth of a band member (ex confidante? Someone she used to call a friend?), nobody would even bat an eye.
But then again, maybe they would. People are entirely too expectant and controlling when it comes to women in this industry, let alone women of color. Katara's oscillated from hell spawn to the people's princess several times over the years, and managed to hold her head high through it all. It's torturous watching how bad faith reads of character can impact someone's career.
Whatever impossible standards Suki is being held up to will eventually come crashing down and knock her upside the head.
He's seen the way she lights up on stage, heard her belt melodies that he could only dream of replicating himself. Suki is a generational musician, and he can't fathom how anyone could try to take that from her, when everything she has was earned by her own hand. When he can hardly think of another up and coming artist that deserves it as much as she does.
"Here," Sokka says, pointing at the cafe's doors. "I'll walk in a grab our food real quick. Uber should be on the way."
He half expects her to object at being left alone outside, but Suki's clearly trying to avoid anything beyond the bare minimum of human interaction today, and Sokka can't say that he blames her.
Sokka goes through the motions of picking up their order, nodding as the cashier asks if the name on it is Lee (the alias that he and Zuko swap interchangeably whenever they're trying to keep a low profile) and saying his thanks as the bag is handed over. The breakfast burritos (two for him, one for Suki) smell heavenly even through their wrapping, and he balances them in one hand as he grabs their drink tray off the counter.
One of them has got a faulty lid, so he carefully positions his hand to prevent any spillage, desperate to make sure his overly-sweet coffee survives their car ride.
He's nearly out the door when he's caught off guard by two girls chattering at a table nearby, huddled together with their backs to him as they talk about something on their phones. He normally wouldn't slow down to eavesdrop, but—
"Wait, you're kidding," a brunette says, stirring her iced coffee. "She was at a club with Sokka?"
Sokka's pretty used to hearing his name get thrown around in passing by people he will never meet, but his stomach drops a little this time.
"Yeah, the pictures are everywhere," a bleach blonde girl replies, eyes wide. It's a shame that color is so popular in SoCal—it really washes her out. "Do you live under a rock?"
"This is insane! I guess that means the rumors are true, then. She'll sleep with anyone to bring attention to herself."
"It's kind of sad."
Sokka grinds his teeth together in anger, trying to calm himself down. He knows that no good will come of a confrontation. It would not only defeat the entire purpose of keeping his identity under wraps, but further blow up in his and Suki's faces. These two are definitely the type to run right to social media and blow an interaction like this out of proportion.
Were it not for any backlash Suki may face, Sokka would do it anyway. Hearing people talk shit about his friends (assuming that that's what he and Suki are to each other now) makes his blood boil.
Instead, he decides to be mature and take the high road.
Which obviously means pretending to trip and spilling his coffee all over the two of them, just barely salvaging Suki's drink. They're sopping.
"What the actual fuck?"
"Oh shit, my bad," Sokka says, not even pretending to be apologetic.
"What is wrong with you?"
Sokka simply shrugs, walking right out of the cafe without offering either of them a thing, knowing that they're probably causing a commotion.
He should feel worse than he does. He doesn't really care.
The Uber is waiting out front, and Sokka slides right in next to Suki with a smile, handing her drink over. The car smells faintly of weed and a dying car freshener. Typical.
Suki lifts her sunglasses into her hair, and Sokka nearly melts at seeing her face in its entirety again. Her brown eyes glint like molten chocolate against the sunlight. She's gorgeous.
"You good?"
"I'm great," Sokka nods, tugging on his seatbelt.
She examines the empty tray as she sips on her mango-orange lemonade, humming happily at the taste.
"I thought you got a coffee."
"I did," Sokka shrugs, not elaborating.
Suki squints at him in confusion, but their driver starts a conversation before she can inquire any further. Not that Sokka would have told her if she did ask. She'd probably get mad at him for trying to defend her, seeing as she can fight her own battles.
Sokka doesn't know her that well at all, but he does know that from here on out, he'll do whatever he can to fight them alongside her, even if it's from where she can't see.
🎸
As soon as the pair set foot in the Full Moon Records building, Suki feels her blood run cold. She was at the company building just yesterday, seconds away from blowing a fuse. Today, she's trying her best to hold it together as Sokka shuffles next to her in the elevator.
"So, how scared should I be of your manager," Sokka asks as he presses the button for the sixth floor, per her instruction. "She sounded … less than enthusiastic about this whole thing."
"Consider this my fall from grace," Suki answers, sipping at her near-empty drink. "Two devastating scandals in a week after five years rebuilding my band's reputation."
Sokka turns to her and she has to take a step back to maintain her own personal space bubble. What is his deal with being so close all the time?
"Rebuilding? What was wrong with the Kyoshi Warriors before you switched labels?"
Suki's lips pull downwards into a shallow grimace, trying to smother negative emotions threatening to burst to the surface. She doesn't have the capacity to get into her whole life's story right now.
"It's not important," she says, refusing to look him in the eye, picking at her nails again. Flecks of black and green polish flutter to their final resting place on the sticky elevator floor. "The point is that my career might be dead in the water right now. My manager is going to kill me, and maybe you by proxy."
"Killer way to go out," Sokka whistles. "This'll make front page for sure. Then no one will even remember we slept together."
Suki has to bite down on her bottom lip to contain her chuckle, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her laugh at such a simple joke. He smiles down at her anyway, unreasonably tall and handsome, like he knows her little secret. He bumps his shoulder against hers again, like it's his way of saying nice try, i know you think i'm funny, i'm onto you.
"What about your management team? How do you think they're gonna handle it?"
Sokka shrugs. "I can't imagine I'll be in any more trouble than I usually am. It's not like he can ground me anymore."
"Wait, what does that—"
The elevator dings open and her mouth snaps shut, hyper aware of what's to come. Distantly, she wonders why she's been so conveniently cut off in the middle of her questions and thoughts in the past 24 hours. Maybe this is a product of being involved with a movie star: random and abrupt segues bleeding into real life.
"Moment of truth," Suki says, stepping off the elevator. She leads Sokka to the conference room without thinking, knowing her way around this floor like the back of her hand.
It's a tall building housing plenty of label executives and artists, with recording studios just a floor above, dance studios on the ground floor, and hundreds of other rooms she doesn't know the use for. She spends most of her time here recording and in meetings, so this place is like a second home.
Though in all honesty, it's felt a bit more like a cage with no key recently.
The closer they get to the end of the hall, the more eager to break the silence Sokka becomes.
"Should I be constructing a will?"
"Aren't you a billionaire? I would think that they have you trust-fund kids writing those out at like, age ten, minimum."
"I am not a trust-fund kid," Sokka pouts. "Or a billionaire! How rich do you think I am?"
"Extremely. And please don't try to say that you and your sister grew up comfortable or something like that. It will make me regret sleeping with you so much more."
Sokka chooses to be quiet (for maybe the first time since they have met) and Suki takes that as her answer as she pushes open the door to the room. It's far brighter than the dimly lit hallway and both of them shrink back, still hungover.
Kina stares at them, unimpressed. Sat around the conference table are members of both celebrity management teams, and one from Sokka's stands up immediately to cross the room.
"What were you thinking?" The man has an inch or two on Sokka, and places his hand on his shoulders like he's concerned.
"Ow, Bato! I don't know, but what I'm thinking right now is that you need to bring the volume down a couple notches."
"Your dad is not happy."
"The one back in Toronto, or the one standing in front of me, trying to pop my shoulders out of place? Let me go!"
The man—Bato—finally eases up, expression still serious and a tad concerned.
His dad is his manager?
"As heartwarming as this is, we have a dating rumor to address," Kina says, rounding the table to get to the front of the room. She pulls out two chairs, wordlessly, and Suki drops into the first without even thinking about it. Sokka follows suit, seated on her right.
Kina's computer is hooked up to a projector, and Suki vaguely feels like she's back in high school instead of a professional meeting, scared of being reprimanded out of nowhere by her superior.
She's quick, regurgitating what they already know, pulling up quotes from various articles, as well as every released angle of the kiss. Suki's cheeks go pink with embarrassment, still unused to how intense the kiss reads on camera. It's not necessarily untrue, but she didn't think she would ever have an interaction this intimate aired out to thousands of people.
There's a lot to keep up with, and between the fluorescent lights and the entire room of people chiming in to Kina's presentation, Suki finds herself losing the thread. Panic and nausea are overloading her senses, and it takes everything in her to not just go face down on the table and start crying from how horribly she feels.
Sokka brushes his knee against her, leaning over to whisper in her ear. "Are you okay?"
Suki shakes her head, keeping her eyes trained on the floor to make sure the room doesn't spin.
Sokka turns away from her and coughs loudly. "Sorry to interrupt, but is there a way to get a shortened version of this? When do we get to the part where we pay the press to get off our backs?"
Pay the press, Suki thinks. The scale of this is too wide for something like that, at least on her end. Whatever generational wealth he's accrued definitely outweighs what the scope of her own team can do financially. It's really more her fight than his, if anything.
Suki almost misses the way Kina's sharp glare falters as she shoots a look towards Bato and a few other suited men representing Sokka.
Something's not right.
"Well, normally we would be looking into getting these articles taken down, or at least following up with a denial statement," she says slowly, carefully. A mode of speech she only uses when she's about to deliver bad news. "But the timing of this little … union … presents us with a very different situation."
"Union?" Suki says. "It's not—we aren't—"
"It was a one-time thing," Sokka supplies, filling in her gaps. A weird coldness settles in her chest about it, though. "Totally spontaneous."
"Right, but with the public eye trained on you both in particular…"
"It might be better if it isn't a one time thing," Bato says.
"I'm sorry?"
"It might be best," Kina says, scarily calm. "If the public thinks that the two of you are actually together."
Suki's jaw drops open, and she can see Sokka's expression mirroring hers in her peripherals.
"What?"
"Suki, believe it or not, this could be our saving grace. Hana isn't going to let up on her claims, and we already have distributors and sponsors getting nervous about endorsing your solo album release thanks to her sob story. It may not look like it right now, but kissing Mr. Kusugak is good press for you."
"It didn't really look like that in the articles you pulled up," she replies. Good boy gone bad. "Isn't this damaging to Sokka?"
It's not like they're close, but Suki does care about the guy's well being. It's his career, his life. She doesn't want to drag him down just to pull herself out of the gutter she's fallen into. It would feel just as bad as tanking on her own.
"Not really," Bato says, smile bright on his face. He's a lot cheerier than anyone else in the room, and it's kind of throwing her off. "Sokka's in a bit of hot water himself. A lot of people think he's too soft for the horror role he's just taken on. If he's seen hanging around with you…"
"Oh," Sokka blinks. "It makes me look edgier for publicly dating the rock star that everyone hates."
"Hey."
"Just trying to be objective," Sokka says. "Don't shoot."
"Suki's supposed to be working on her first solo album, but everything's been thrown off schedule due to the rumors—which we assume are due to Suki's success. We are focused on doing what's best for her image. Right now, that's you, Mr. Kusugak."
"Please, please just call me Sokka. I'm begging."
Suki's head is underwater, conversation all muffled and far away. How the hell has she gotten herself into this mess?
"So what are you asking us to do, exactly?"
"Well, as soon as legal gets down here, you two will be starting your journey in a fake dating stunt. Public appearances, social media posts, strategically placed sentences in interviews. Beyond the people in this room, no one can know that you two aren't dating."
Sokka winces. "Yeah, that's not gonna work. I kind of already texted my sister about it, and I know for a fact that she's taken it to the group chat."
Suki thinks that if Kina were allowed, she would throttle Sokka on the spot. But she isn't, and she's a saint, so she takes a deep breath.
"Who is in your group chat?"
"Not a ton of people! Me, my sister Katara, her boyfriend Aang, and our friends Zuko and Toph."
"As in Zuko Sui and Toph Beifong?"
"Correct."
"Well, at least they're all celebrities themselves," Bato says, rubbing his chin. "It could be worse. I've known these kids for years, they'll keep it tight-lipped. We'll just need more NDAs to sign."
Kina turns her attention back to Suki. "Did you tell anyone about this?"
"No, but it'd be nice to let at least a few of my friends know, since Sokka couldn't keep a lid on it."
"Hey!"
"Just being objective," Suki teases, kicking his foot lightly. Sokka kicks her right back, smiling.
"Yeah, this whole thing shouldn't be all that hard for the two of you," Kina deadpans. "But we can get a few more contracts going. Once the initial copies are printed off, we'll walk you two through the guidelines. Can someone get Sui Independent on the phone?"
The next hour is a flurry of movement and information. Multi-page documents with in depth descriptions of how to conduct themselves and interact, followed by a timeline for their relationship. If Suki's head weren't already spinning, this might put her out completely.
"So this all ends after my movie premiere?"
"Bingo," Bato says. "Which is only a week before Suki's estimated album release."
"Seven months," Suki says in disbelief. "We're going to be fake dating for seven months."
"Because both of the projects you're promoting are so far out, so we have to sustain this until October."
It's a huge undertaking. Sokka may be an actor for a living, but it's completely new to Suki. She's used to being the detached frontman of a pop-rock band, not a pawn in a web of intricate lies.
"I know that this is a lot," Bato reassured them. "But it gives us time to iron everything out and redirect the narrative about the both of you. You'll have us for every step of the way."
Suki takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. She knows that this is what's best: Kina wouldn't pitch it if it wasn't, and she has Suki's best interest at heart despite everything.
This is the price of fame. Her peace of mind.
"Alright," Suki says, taking her final pull from her straw. "Where do we sign?"