#quick break from chels because this is warming my heart

[thiagodasilva]

Oscar meu amor 🥺

[chelsfic]

Guillermo the Heartless - Guillermo x Nandor (part two to the so-called oneshot)

WWDITS Masterlist <-- click for part one

Summary: Nandor is nervous about his ex-master, Simon the Devious, coming to the house.

A/N: Really? Really, Chels?

Warnings: Non-con, Dub-con, Stockholm Syndrome, Past abuse, Hand-feeding kink, Praise kink, Sex slave, Vampire Guillermo/Human Nandor, Dom/Sub, Dead dove--please.

---

“How do I look?”

Nandor secures the final button on his master’s cardigan and steps back. Guillermo is dressed in dark wash denim jeans, gleaming patent leather shoes, a black dress shirt and one of his signature sweaters--the black and gold striped cardigan. Nandor’s eyes roam up and down the vampire’s body, lingering on his favorite parts: his full, round belly, his thick thighs, the deceptively soft-looking hands, the stubbled edge of his jaw...his pouty lips. Nandor swallows, a blush visible above the line of his full beard.

“You look beautiful, master,” He answers truthfully, meeting Guillermo’s eyes for a second before quickly lowering his gaze. Guillermo has never punished him for admitting to his impertinent attraction and...feelings. But Nandor still feels the raw edge of panic whenever he feels as though he’s let too much slip out. 

The vampire steps closer, reaching out and wrapping impossibly strong hands around Nandor’s biceps, squeezing gently. Guillermo could easily break his arms, liquefying his bones with the flick of a wrist. Nandor thinks about the scars on his legs, his arms, his chest, his back. No, no, no. Guillermo will never hurt him...not like that. Guillermo is good. Guillermo gives him food and clothes and he buys him books and movies. He doesn’t force him to live in a cage no bigger than a dog crate. He doesn’t glamour him into paralysis and torture him. He doesn’t...He isn’t…

“Baby...” Guillermo’s soft tone cuts through the invasive thought spiral consuming Nandor’s mind, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Nandor clears his throat, looking up and holding his master’s gaze as he responds, “I’m just...a little nervous…”

Guillermo lifts his hands to cup Nandor’s cheeks and Nandor flinches dramatically before settling into the soft touch. His ass still stings from the spanking he’d received the previous night for questioning his master’s plan. He doesn’t want to be bad again, but he’s so scared…

“Because Simon is coming,” Guillermo states, not really needing a confirmation but Nandor nods anyway. 

“Mmhmm,” Nandor squeaks and then remembers himself, “Yes, master.”

Guillermo smiles at him, finding something about all this amusing, and Nandor’s heart skips a beat. His master has a megawatt smile and it feeds his soul to see it, even if he’s unsure whether or not Guillermo is laughing at him or trying to comfort him.

“Have you eaten yet?” Guillermo asks and Nandor’s brain takes a second to adjust to the rapid change of topic.

He shakes his head slowly, big brown eyes looking down into his master’s with a childish look of guilt.

Guillermo huffs a laugh, “Were you waiting for me?”

Nandor nods, letting his lips curl upward in a cautious smile. Guillermo rolls his eyes. 

“Alright. Come on, baby.”

Guillermo leads the way into the back of the house to the little kitchen. They don’t always do this anymore, but Nandor is feeling especially shaky and vulnerable tonight. Being fed from his master’s hand was once a degradation that filled him with burning embarrassment. Now it’s the ultimate comfort to Nandor. It makes him feel small, cared for and--most importantly--safe. His master cares about him enough to cook for him and feed him with his own hands. 

“What do you feel like having?” Guillermo asks, opening up the cupboards over the stove to peer at the contents. Nandor looms at his side. He’s far taller than his master but, somehow, he feels smaller in his presence. He reaches up to the top shelf and pulls down a can of beef stew, handing it to Guillermo wordlessly. 

The vampire grabs a pot from the rack beneath the cabinets and opens a drawer to get the can opener. He looks up at his human with an arched brow, “Do you want to sit down or do you want to cling?”

Nandor is practically glued to his master’s side, his fingers delicately clutching the knit fabric of his sleeve as he watches him dump the contents of the can into the pot. 

“Is it okay…? If I...cling?” Nandor’s voice is barely there. But it is there. And even if his words come out as a pathetic, hopeful question, at least he has words. He still remembers the months on end that Simon kept his brain locked down, denying him the ability to speak, to cry, to scream. It took weeks after he came to be Guillermo’s familiar before he felt safe uttering a single word.

He’s watching his master’s face like a hawk, gauging his reaction and trembling in anticipation. Is he annoyed? Angry? Disgusted? Finally, Guillermo smiles and Nandor is almost light-headed with relief.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he answers and Nandor thinks that the look he gives him is almost warm. Like maybe he’s feeling the same way that Nandor feels. Like Guillermo is the ocean and he’d willingly drown just to feel his embrace.

He watches Guillermo stir the soup, condensation fogging the thick-rimmed glasses that he only wears out of habit and because they look cool. He picks up a spoonful and holds it out to Nandor to test.

“Hot enough?” he asks and Nandor nods. “Alright. Go sit at the table.”

The chair squeaks as he pulls it out and Nandor folds his long body down into it, looking like a giant at the rickety old kitchenette table. Guillermo comes over and sets down a bowl heaping with steaming hot stew. He takes a seat beside Nandor and turns to face him, dipping the spoon into the bowl and holding it up before his familiar’s lips. Nandor locks eyes with him as he leans forward, opens his mouth and takes the food off the spoon. He feels a thrill in his chest to be so thoroughly taken care of and he thinks the gleam in Guillermo’s dark eyes means that he’s enjoying it, too. He hopes so. He scoots forward in his seat until their knees brush together, needing the added comfort of physical touch.

Guillermo gives him another spoonful and starts talking while Nandor chews, “I’m going to tell you how things will go tonight. I’m taking care of you right now and I’m gonna take care of you tonight when Simon and his crew arrive. We’re going to meet in the fancy room. You’re going to sit at my feet like you always do. You don’t have to speak, you don’t have to even look at him if you don’t want to. But you have to be there, alright? Do you think I liked having to hurt you last night?”

Guillermo sets down the spoon and his eyes are suddenly intense as he waits for an answer. Nandor shakes his head, swallowing before speaking, “No, master. I’m sorry--”

“I know you’re sorry,” Guillermo cuts him off. “I am too. But I had to teach you. I’m your master, Nandor. If I tell you to do something, you do it. And you trust that I won’t ask you to do anything that would cause...permanent damage.”

He holds up another spoonful of stew and Nandor stares at it for a minute, his throat rapidly convulsing as a single tear rolls down his cheek. Guillermo sighs.

“If you’re a weepy mess when Simon gets here, I swear...What is it? Speak,” he commands with a sharp edge of warning in his voice.

Nandor takes a shaky breath, wanting desperately to ask something but terribly afraid of what the answer might be. His mind flashes back to social gatherings, parties, where Guillermo had lent out the use of his familiar’s warm mouth to his vampire guests. 

Nandor finally forces himself to form the words, “Are you going to l-let them...use me?”

Please don’t make me say it.

Guillermo takes in a sharp breath and holds it for a long, silent moment, during which Nandor wonders if his master is picturing him gagging on his ex-master’s dick with tears running down his face. He knows Guillermo likes it when he cries. 

Finally, mercifully…

“No, Nandor,” Guillermo says, stirring the stew and once again lifting the spoon to his lips. “No one but me will touch you tonight.”

---

Nandor stands in the front hallway quietly coming apart. He’s still attached to his master’s side and he can’t seem to keep his hands from seeking out and subtly touching him. His long fingers flutter at the hem of Guillermo’s sweater, clinging to the fabric like a security blanket. Guillermo is largely ignoring him. He glances down at his watch with an annoyed frown. Nadja and Laszlo stand on the far side of the hallway.

Laszlo suddenly pipes up, “I say, Guillermo, any chance of a quick nip before Simon’s posse arrives?”

He makes a show of eyeing Nandor and mimes biting him. Nandor shrinks even further into Guillermo’s side. 

“Fuck off, Laszlo,” Guillermo grunts and Nandor almost weeps in gratitude. Instead he does something unthinkably bold. He leans down and drops his head onto Guillermo’s shoulder, nuzzling his face into the vampire’s smooth, cool neck. Throughout his time as Guillermo’s familiar, Nandor has become increasingly needy in terms of physical touch. Once he started to trust Guillermo and then, later, to love him, he began to seek out small touches from him whenever he was in need of comfort. Tonight, Nandor is especially needy.

The doorbell rings and Guillermo shrugs his shoulders, dislodging his familiar’s head. One of the thralls, lower than familiars but still above victims, answers the door and allows the vampires inside with an obsequious bow. Simon the Devious, flanked by Count Rapula and Mr. ‘50s, strides into the house like he owns it. Nandor shudders and keeps his gaze firmly fixed to a spot on the floor.

“Guillermo! Nadja! Laszlo! I haven’t seen you since you stole my favorite little pet!” Simon’s voice is booming and obnoxious. Nandor’s grip on the back of his master’s sweater tightens but he remains otherwise perfectly still. 

“Good evening, Simon,” Guillermo greets, perfectly unaffected by Simon’s grandstanding. “You’re late, so why don’t we get straight down to business, then we’ll have more time to enjoy the virgins waiting in the cell.”

Everyone shuffles into the fancy room. Simon takes a seat on one couch with his crew members standing stoically behind. Guillermo takes the opposite couch, Nadja and Laszlo remain standing and Nandor sinks to his knees at Guillermo’s feet with an intense feeling of relief. On the floor he’s beneath notice. He can hide his face in the side of his master’s thigh and tune out the vampires’ territory negotiation happening over his head. He feels Guillermo’s fingers sink into his hair and begin stroking him as he makes his opening offer. Nandor sighs, wrapping his hand around Guillermo’s ankle and shutting his eyes, maybe he can fall asleep…

“You certainly have him well-trained, G-man…”

Time has passed. Nandor had floated away into his head for a while, lulled by the rhythmic motion of his master’s fingers in his hair. But now the business portion of the evening seems to be wrapping up and Simon’s voice cleaves through the air, penetrating the little protective bubble that Nandor has imagined around himself. His fingers tighten on Guillermo’s ankle.

“Maybe he just prefers my company over yours, Simon. I hear you find it rather challenging to keep human help. Alive, that is,” Guillermo’s voice is soft but full of lead. 

“You’re so hilarious, G! The dreadful Guillermo the Heartless, gone soft for a pathetic human pet,” Simon laughs and then his tone changes and Nandor knows, without looking, that the vampire is addressing him directly now, “You might think you’re living high now, human, but you’ll always be the same mewling insect who begged me to kill him--”

Nandor can’t help it. He feels the sob clawing up his throat and he presses his face desperately into his master’s thigh to try and muffle it. If he’s weepy, Guillermo will be angry, he’d said so in the kitchen…

“Nandor,” his master cups his jaw, angling his face up to look at him. Nandor’s heavy brows are drawn together and his eyes are glassy but he’s trying to keep it together. “Do you want to show Simon what a good familiar you are now that you have the right master?”

Guillermo leans down and presses his lips to Nandor’s ear speaking lowly, “Pretend it’s just you and me, baby.”

Guillermo’s hands go to his belt buckle and Nandor understands at once. His face flushes a brilliant red but he moves into position at once, kneeling between his master’s spread legs and waiting expectantly as Guillermo reaches into his pants and frees his half-hard dick. 

“Thank you, master,” Nandor says and he speaks louder than he likes so that Simon will hear him clearly. His master wants to show him off, wants to show Simon how much better a master he is than him. Nandor wants to help him. He bends forward and wraps his hand around the base of Guillermo’s cock, licking a long, wet stripe along its length before taking the head into his mouth and beginning to suck. He loses himself in the familiar task, forgetting his fear and anxiety and instead focusing on pleasing his master.

He hears Simon’s voice vaguely in the background, sounding a little defeated but attempting to rally, “I believe someone said something about a virgin feast?”

There’s some movement and commotion and suddenly he hears his master’s voice, slow and heavy with the influence of his hypnotic power, “You will sit down next to me and give me your neck.”

Guillermo’s hands never leave his familiar’s hair, stroking and petting gently as Nandor drools around his length and bobs down, attempting to take more of him down his throat. The victim, utterly mindless, jostles Nandor as they clamber onto the couch, baring their neck.

Guillermo shoves the human back and says, “You will be more careful of my familiar. Now put your neck in my mouth.”

Nandor knows the exact moment that Guillermo begins to feed. His master’s fingers tighten in his hair and he starts rolling his hips up, thrusting into Nandor’s mouth enthusiastically as he drinks his fill from the human. 

“Fucking show off…” Simon mutters darkly.

But Nandor doesn’t hear. He’s completely unaware of everything else in the room, in the world, except for his master’s hands and cock and the sounds he’s making low in his throat as he drinks the virgin dry and fucks Nandor’s mouth. The victim falls to the floor at Nandor’s side and Guillermo presses his hands down on the back of Nandor’s head, holding him down as he ruts against his face, finally finishing with a smug sigh. He lets go of Nandor’s head, trusting that his familiar knows to wait until he’s finished spilling his plentiful, vampiric seed down in his mouth. Nandor’s throat convulses as he swallows and swallows, breathing hard through his nose and straining to look up and meet his master’s gaze. His eyes are pleading and vulnerable. Begging his master for what he needs. 

Guillermo’s blood stained lips quirk into a smile and he obliges, “You are such a good boy for me, Nandor. So, so good.”

“Alright, alright. We get the picture,” Simon grumbles in the background as Nandor finally pulls away from Guillermo’s softening dick. His lips are swollen and his jaw aches but when he turns to see that Simon’s crew is getting ready to leave, having finished their business and sated their unholy hunger, he feels nothing but overwhelming relief and happiness. 

“If you ever tire of my leftovers...I’ll be happy to take him off your hands,” Simon remarks casually as he strolls toward the door.

Guillermo’s voice is as cold as granite as he replies, “That’s not going to happen.”

---

Nandor lies in the cramped twin bed wedged into one corner of Guillermo’s crypt. His master told him to go to bed, relieving him of his valet duties for the evening as a reward for his good behavior. Nandor watches Guillermo moving about the room, blowing out candles, slowly getting undressed and ready for his slumber. He hopes he’ll come and kiss him goodnight before getting into his coffin, but he doesn’t want to push his luck by asking. 

Nandor’s eyelids feel heavy. The stress and fear of the evening have taken their toll and he’s barely clinging to consciousness when he feels a weight on the mattress beside him. 

“Move over,” his master’s voice sounds tired, too, and Nandor wonders if maybe Guillermo had been just as worried about the meeting tonight.

Nandor shifts closer to the wall and swallows his shock when Guillermo climbs all the way in with him, drawing the blankets up over both their bodies and wrapping and arm around Nandor’s large frame. 

“Master?” he asks breathlessly. They’ve never...just slept together before. 

“Shhh, Nandor,” Guillermo murmurs, placing a kiss to the back of Nandor’s neck. “Go to sleep.”

[hailqiqi]

Kataang Week 2017 - Smile

This year I’m working with the fantastic @chel-burr​ to do an art-fic collaboration!

We’re doing a chaptered story using the prompts, so this is the first chapter. It’s a modern AU set in Australia because we figured nobody had ever done that before so why not?

Shout-out to @mindatworkk​ for proofing this!

Smile

Word Count: 2,437

The ruckus of a hundred students finding and settling into seats reverberates throughout the hall and hits Katara like a shockwave, making her stop just inside the door.

This whole college thing is a little overwhelming.

Four days ago, she was back home in Churchill, Manitoba. Then she’d left everything she’d known to take five aeroplanes and a long bus ride to South Australia, where she’d spent her first full day battling the worst jetlag she’d ever known. The second day she mostly spent panicking as she double and triple checked that she had everything ready before classes started.

From what little of it she’s seen, Goolwa was a teeny little port town with a slow pace of life that wasn’t much different to back home. But life on campus was teeming with what seemed like hordes of people from every walk of life, eager to study at one of the most prestigious geopolitics schools in the world. It was just so, so different from everything Katara had ever known before that she felt like she wanted to hide in a corner and cry.

Strangers brush past her abruptly on their way to find seats as hundreds of footsteps thunder up and down the stairs. Voices laugh and shout and gasp and murmur; wood clacks against metal as armrests are lifted and desks taken out. Bags thud onto empty seats and then floors as more and more people keep filing into the hall.

Usually Katara is anything but timid but… she’s feeling a bit vulnerable today. It’s probably the jetlag.

She closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as the sounds of the room wash over her. She’s here to learn. She’s here to work hard, learn all she can, meet everyone she can, and then go on to the UN and do great things for her people. And she can do this.

She opens her eyes and looks out over the hall again.

She can do this.

She joins the throng of students - how are there still more people coming in? - and slips into a seat at the very front of the hall, close to the side door she came in from. She sets her writing desk up - complete with notepads and pencil case - and tucks her bag away behind her feet, then looks around the hall again.

Most students seem to have found seats already. A familiar flash of red near the doors on the other side of the hall catches her attention and she waves automatically, a smile on her lips. Zuko grins back and returns to answering the questions of a nervous-looking new student beside him.

Katara glances at the clock - two minutes till show time - and then turns her attention back to Zuko. He still brushes his bangs back when he feels frustrated - which seems to be every two minutes - and the familiarity of the gesture fills her heart with warmth. She’d forgotten he was TA-ing this class - if she’d realised she would have made him wait for her so she could sit somewhere nearby on her first day, but she’ll have to settle for just being in the same room. It does make her feel a little better to have someone she knows there, though.

The nervous girl leaves to find a seat, and with one minute left on the clock both Katara and Zuko turn their attention to the next student in line. This one’s a boy - about Zuko’s height - wearing a yellow hoodie and an orange beanie. He’s facing away from Katara but Zuko obviously seems to know him, judging by the happy grin on his face and the way he claps the newbie on the shoulder.

Katara wonders idly if she’s met the boy somewhere before, too, since Zuko and most of his friends run in the same diplomatic circles as her brother. She’s trying to place him when he turns to look for a seat and their eyes meet.

His eyes are grey, his complexion is a pale tan colour, and his features somehow manage to be both boyishly smooth and ruggedly handsome at the same time. He jumps in surprise at finding her eyes on him, but then his face breaks into a warm, friendly smile that lights up the room and makes heat rush to Katara’s cheeks.

The hall falls silent and Katara forgets how to breathe.

Before she can smile back, the speakers crackle and she snaps back to reality with a jolt.

Is that the lecturer?! Does she have her books ready? Oh spirits, does her pen have ink? Is her phone on silent? She does a panicked accounting of everything on her desk before turning her attention to the podium, her breathing slowing again as the lecturer begins to introduce himself and the course.

She sneaks a glance at where the boy was standing, but he’s gone.

 --

 It’s now three weeks into her first semester at university and Katara is settling in. She’s made a few friends, found her way around town, and is starting to feel at home amidst the hustle and bustle of campus. Her classes are going well and this one, International Politics and Relations, is one of her favourites.

But as much as she enjoys the topic, she keeps finding herself having trouble paying attention in lectures. It’s stupid really. The content is interesting and she knows that it’s important for her to master this if she wants to make a difference.

Still… She can’t. No matter how much she kicks herself for it, the letters on the screen don’t make sense and the lecturer’s words just go in one ear and out the other.

He’s there again.

Other side of the lecture hall, front row, four seats away from the door. Where he always sits. And she’s trying so, so hard not to look over and see if he’s still somehow gracefully slouched over the little armrest-desk as he takes notes, but it feels like it’s a losing battle.

Maybe just one look. She’d probably be able to pay attention to the lecturer if she gave in and got it out of her system.

She looks.

He’s trying to stretch in his seat without moving too much, surreptitiously working out kinks that developed from sitting in one spot too long, flexing and - oh my god, are those muscles? Why does he have so many muscles? Katara’s gaze follows the lines of his chest, just visible through his tank top, up past his collarbone to his throat as he shifts up and backwards in his chair. turning his head this way and that as he massages his neck one-handed, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted. What would they feel like against her own?

He shifts again before turning his stupid, perfect face in her direction and then suddenly opening his eyes, catching her gaze and offering her a slightly surprised, sheepish smile, as if she caught him doing something naughty and not the other way round.

She flushes bright red, dazzled for a split-second before looking down so quickly she almost gives herself whiplash.

He always catches her staring. And he always smiles at her when he does. She should be used to this by now.

She isn’t.

 --

 This lecture is boring.

They’re all a little boring, if Aang’s being honest. Being raised in diplomatic circles means that International Politics and Relations was almost second-nature to him by the time he finished high school, and he’s really only taking the class because it’s mandatory for his major.

He spins his pen a few times, then stops at a sharp look from Zuko. Stick in the mud.

Figuring taking notes might be less boring than trying to pretend the material is new, Aang bends over his small writing desk and starts writing. He gets about two sentences into a description of the nation-state and its priorities before the quasi-dictation turns into doodling, which turns into drawing ever-more complicated mandalas all over the paper.

He becomes absorbed in his sketching, tuning out the lecturer’s monotone and the low murmurs of his fellow students until he slowly becomes aware of the familiar feeling of being watched.

Aang freezes.

He quickly assesses the situation. Has the lecture ended, and he’s the weirdo staying back? No, the lecturer’s still talking about nation-states, which means that he hasn’t been caught not paying attention, either. A quick glance towards Zuko finds him busy helping run the slideshow.

That means the pretty girl must be looking at him again.

He looks around, a grin already forming on his lips, expecting her to jump and duck her head like she always does. But this time bright blue eyes meet his gaze head-on and he feels the breath leave his lungs in a sudden woosh. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders and a deep red blush spreads over her dark complexion. How did he ever look away from her before?

He feels light-headed. The pretty girl isn’t pretty. She’s beautiful.

She lifts a hand and waves, a small smile spreading shyly across her lips. He smiles back, warmth filling his chest, and then the lecturer calls for everyone to pay attention and the moment is gone.

Check out the Art For This Scene Here!!

 --

 Things changed after The Wave.

 The Beautiful Girl (she’s been upgraded) is bolder now. At the start of each lecture she catches his eye and smiles at him - a big, welcoming smile that says how she’s happy to see him. She shoots him another one every time he contributes something to the lecture, and offers him a sweet, almost sad smile in parting as they get up and head for their separate doors at the end.

International Politics and Relations has quickly become Aang’s favourite class of the week, and he finds himself looking forward to each lecture.  The shy gazes and awkward blushes were a wonderful ego boost, but the warm feeling that blossoms in his chest each time she smiles at him is miles, miles better.

But it’s also a problem.

Aang really doesn’t need to deal with a crush right now. He has exams and rehearsals and performances to think about, and anyway, she’s monumentally out of his league - whatever had attracted her to him won’t last past their first conversation, he’s sure of that. She’s beautiful and organised and articulate and he’s pretty sure that she actually takes notes when she writes during lectures.

Still, the smiles are nice. The way her expression flushes with pleasure when he smiles back (or first) is nice.

Would it be weird to go and say hi? Their thing is shared glances and smiles across a crowded lecture hall… Actually talking to her seems almost wrong somehow. Like it would ruin the magic of whatever’s going on.

Then again... maybe it would turn it into something better?

He glances at her just as the lecture lets out and the noise of a hundred students fills the air. Somehow she’s already out of her seat and ready to leave.

They exchange a goodbye smile and he starts to pack his things up.

Maybe next week.

 --

 “Okay, so we’ll head over to the library now to work on an outline, then run it past Lina and Takeshi when they show up?”

Katara nods her agreement as she swings her bag over her shoulder, packing up the writing desk into the armrest. “Sounds like a plan. And then we’ll meet up again in two days to go over the first drafts, right?”

Suki smiles. “Right! Let’s head off, then. I’ve just got to stop and pick up some stuff from a friend, and then we can go, okay?”

“Okay.” Katara smiles back and follows Suki as they weave their way through the crowd of students departing the lecture hall. She’d been worried about her first group assignment, but everyone in her group seems pretty diligent.

Then again, they are at the United Nations University, so maybe that’s to be expected. Or maybe she just got lucky. Sokka had some real horror stories about his group assignments last year.

“Okay, Katara, this is Aang. Aang, this is Katara. Say hi.”

Katara looks up with a smile to greet Suki’s friend only to find herself knocked breathless as the air rushes out of her lungs all at once..

It’s him.

Her secret smile buddy is standing right in front of her - Aang, his name is Aang, he has a name now - looking at her with wide eyes and all she can hear is a high pitched screaming in her head as she thinks that she was so not prepared for this.

He looks just as shocked as she feels - probably because she’s standing there gaping at him like a dying fish - and then he flushes pink and smiles politely and says “nice to meet you” like a normal person, like she hasn’t been obviously pining over him for the last month and a half.

She manages to stutter out a “Hi” and then Suki grabs his attention, chattering about rehearsals and spaces and other things Katara doesn’t understand or really care about. She tunes it out and slides her gaze to the wall behind Aang, taking a deep breath to regain her composure and wondering why their first official introduction couldn’t have gone anything like one of the thousands of ways she’d imagined it going, where she was confident and alluring and definitely not an awkward mess.

Suki nudges her arm and she plasters on a smile. She turns to Aang with an easy confidence that she definitely doesn’t feel and says “Nice to meet you. See you later!”

He nods back with a muttered “See you” and the two girls begin to walk towards the exit of the now almost-empty lecture hall, Katara mentally kicking herself with every step.

They weren’t more than a couple of metres away when his voice stops them.

“Uh... Katara?”

She turns around in surprise. Aang’s got one hand on the back of his neck, a shy smile on his lips as he nervously meets her eyes.

“I’ll be seeing you around, right?”

His grey eyes are warm and friendly and his smile is hopeful and... something about it makes the nerves melt away like they were never even there to begin with.

His voice is nice. Talking to him is nice. It feels right.

 Katara smiles.

“Yeah. Definitely.”