kataang fluff ੈ✩‧₊˚

sunrise (aangs pov)

       For me, the most beautiful time of day has always been dawn. There's something about the humid smell of a sunrise that starts my day quite nicely. This particular morning, I wake up to a beam of orange light shining in my eyes. Immediately, my thoughts wander to the sleeping lump that is nuzzled into my arm. Her closed eyes, tan nose, and part of her cheek are the only things that are visible under the swathes of chestnut colored hair, which are spread all across her pillow. A light pink blush dances a couple inches below her eyes, and her hair rises and falls with her breaths. If happiness was a moment, I'm sure it would be this. Katara, me, and the orange light that floods the room.  It doesn't take long for me to decide that I don't want to wake her. Watching her sleep is just too enjoyable. After what feels like forever, the lump that I call my bride begins to stir. In one slow movement, she props herself up on her elbows, moves the hair away from her face, and turns her head to face me.
I smile. "Good morning."
She raises one eyebrow before responding in a sassy tone.
"Were you watching me sleep?"
"What? Me? Watching my gorgeous wife sleep? Never," I state as if she had accused me of some sort of heinous crime.
A smile begins to appear on her lips and she looks down. I love watching her when she becomes flustered, and especially when I am the reason.
"So," I begin, "how did you sleep?"
"Meh, I guess okay. What about you?"
I shrug my shoulders. "Same here. You hungry?" Her facial expressions instantly shifts.
"Ah, how could I forget," she begins sarcastically, "What're you making this fine morning chef Aang?"
One of my favorite traditions that Katara and I have is Saturday morning breakfast. At the beginning it was Katara's idea, but when she tried to make pancakes we quickly learned that breakfast food is not her specialty. After all, she was used to making the savory seafood dishes of the Southern Water Tribe with the occasional influence of the North. However, the cuisine of the Southern Air Temple included more pastry-like items, which Katara once stated in a heated debate with Sokka are "more breakfast food-y than seal jerky!" I'm pretty sure she shouted a couple things about him being a meathead after that...
"Uhm, hello?"
"Oh, sorry," I mumble, "What did you ask again?"
She rolls her eyes. "What's for breakfast?"
"Hmmm," I place my hand on my chin in mock contemplation. "How about some fruit tarts? Those are pretty easy and I'm craving something sugary."
"Alright, need any help sweetie?"
I let a grin spread across my face.
"I can manage."
I draw my face to hers for a light kiss, but she closes the distance between us faster than I had anticipated. Her lips are like velvet, soft and smooth. The kiss clouds all of my senses, and suddenly I can't remember what we were talking about. All too soon, she pulls away and plants one last kiss on my cheek.
"Wow," I sigh.
"What," she begins nonchalantly, "all I did was kiss you dunderhead."
I narrow my eyes and shake my head.
"You do that way too well."
She pinches her lips together in typical Katara fashion as her cheeks grow warmer with blush. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and says,
"Well, you better get started on breakfast mister."
"Alrighty," I say as I start getting out of bed, "but promise me that you'll kiss the chef as payment."
"Ha! If you're lucky," she snickers.
And she's right. I would be lucky.