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With an ethereal shine, the Spirit World shimmers in hues of silver and lavender.
At the edge of a tranquil pond, his bare feet press into moss that feels both solid and dreamlike. The air carries the scent of lotus blossoms and an incense so familiar that it makes his heart race. It is not often that he comes here, but recently, there has been a certain motivation for him to show up more often than he has.
For the last month, he has not been able to be around Katara.
The Spirit World was able to keep him connected to her, in a weird, unforeseen way. And today, he was here to show her where he had spent most of his time without her.
Beside him, he can feel Katara. Her hand rests on his shoulder as she looks down in front of them. She wears a thin dress in blue and white, but a smile shows on her lips.
“You know," she says, her voice soft as the rippling water before them, "When you first told me about her, I wasn't sure what to think. But now, I’m oddly intrigued.”
She trails off, her stare focused on the surface of the pond. The water begins to stir.
A current circles, spiraling inward, and from its depths rises a figure so achingly familiar that his breath catches in his throat. A woman emerges slowly, water cascading from her form like liquid silk. Adorned in the flowing robes of the Painted Lady—it’s Katara, but not her exactly.
Loose hair with dark strands that frame her face, and her attire consists of a deep crimson silk that drapes over her body. This leaves her shoulders bare and lines of red paint that purposefully cover her skin. A straw hat rests atop her head like a crown, but her face is fully visible, and those blue eyes lock onto him with an intensity that he has only seen once before.
The Painted Lady steps onto the shore, her feet barely disturbing the moss. She moves with an ethereal elegance, water still clinging to her skin, glistening in the spirit light. She looks at Katara first, and there's no malice in her stare—only curiosity and warmth.
"So you’ve brought her this time,” the Painted Lady speaks, her voice a perfect mirror of Katara's but layered with an otherworldly resonance, “It’s rather odd to look at yourself like this.”
Katara—his Katara, looks confused at first, but then takes a moment to look at him with raised eyebrows.
Katara chuckles, crossing her arms, "Aang, I didn't expect you to manifest your feelings quite so... literally,”
Stepping closer to the Painted Lady, she circles her slowly, studying her form, "She's me. Down to every detail." She reaches out, brushing her fingers along the Painted Lady's arm, feeling the solid warmth of her skin, "How did you do this?"
The spirit leans into the touch as a soft hum escapes her lips. Aang is fascinated, and his heartbeat quickens as the two identical figures near each other. The boundary between manifestation and reality blurs with each moment.
Aang rubs the back of his neck, his ears reddening as he tries to elaborate, “I... I do not know. When I meditate, sometimes I think about you so much that the Spirit World responds.”
And then he swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry, the weight of his confession pressing on his chest, “She's not a pure spirit—or at least, I don't think she is. She told me she is a manifestation of my love for you. She moves like you, talks like you, and even knows things that only you know.”
As he watches Katara’s expression shift from curiosity to wonder, he sees her lips part slightly as she processes his words.
The Painted Lady turns to face him fully, and the smile that spreads across her lips is pure mischievousness. A smile that he's seen on Katara's face a thousand times—the same crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the same playful tilt of her head. Moonlight filters through the spirit forest, and he can see the resemblance across her features.
"He's adorable when he's flustered, isn't he?" she says teasingly, her voice lilting in a way that makes Katara laugh softly.
“Absolutely.” Katara steps closer, and her arm brushes against his as she whispers into his ear, “I don’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.”
Her fingers intertwine with his as he relishes in the warmth of her touch, while the spirit’s gaze remains fixed on them both—patient, hungry, and utterly devoted.
But then, she steps up beside the Painted Lady, and her expression sharpens slightly as she looks at her, “Now, back to you—how do we know that we can trust you?”
The spirit lingers for a moment, and then she leans over to whisper into Katara’s ear. As the two of them stare at him, a few seconds pass as he shifts awkwardly under their shared stare.
Once the two of them are in a hushed conversation, he leans closer and hears a few words from Katara, "And he's been working so hard lately… I think he deserves a reward."
Aang instinctively steps back, only to falter when his movement is stopped, and he feels slender fingers sliding across his skin.
"Definitely," the Painted Lady echoes, moving to his other side, "A very thorough reward."
Aang shivers as both women press against him, their bodies warm and soft, and their scents associate with one another, “Uh, what is happening?”
The Spirit World around them seems to dim, as if the very realm allows them privacy; the shine around them focuses into a soft, intimate circle around the three of them.
Slowly, the two of them lead him down onto the moss that becomes a bed of silk beneath him. The Painted Lady follows as she kneels beside him. Katara positions herself on his left, the Painted Lady on his right, and they both lean in simultaneously, their lips finding his cheeks, his forehead, the corner of his mouth.
The Painted Lady's fingers find the collar of his robes, and she works the ties with talented ease. The cloth slides off his shoulders, and the cool air raises goosebumps on his skin. Aang senses two pairs of eyes that travel up his chest, and then settle on his face.
"Lie down," the spirit commands, her voice low but absolute.
Aang obeys without another thought, his body moving before his mind catches up. The moss is damp and cool beneath his back. The two women loom over him, their faces haloed by moonlight, their eyes gleaming with hunger.
Suddenly, Katara straddles his hips, her weight pressing him into the ground. She leans down and kisses him. At first, the kiss is soft, but when he parts his lips, she deepens it, her tongue sliding against his, and she tastes of a sweetness he has not felt before.
The Painted Lady's hands find his arm, her fingers tracing the tattoos, following the lines with her mouth. She kisses down his neck, and he gasps against Katara's lips, his hips bucking involuntarily.
Aang feels his cock stir within seconds, and he is not sure how someone can handle this,
Katara breaks the kiss, leaving him breathless. She looks down at him, her eyes burning with desire, "He's already so responsive. So ready."
The spirit chuckles, her breath hot against his stomach, "He must’ve been holding back for so long.”
She tugs at his pants, and Katara helps, pulling them down his legs. Already hard, his cock springs free, and the tip glistens in the moonlight.
The Painted Lady's breath catches, "Oh, Aang," she purrs, her fingers wrapping around his shaft, "You've been hiding this from us?"
He whimpers, his hands flying to his face. When he is like this, he cannot look at them, cannot bear the intensity of their gaze. But Katara grabs his wrists, pinning them above his head.
"No," she says, her voice a certainty, "Look at us. Let us see you."
The spirit leans down, her tongue flicking out to taste the head of his cock. A strangled cry escapes his throat as she takes him into her mouth, her lips sliding down his shaft with an unbearable slowness.
Aang panics for a moment, not sure if he will be able to last, and his hips buck up into the warmth of her mouth. Katara notices this, and her grip on his wrists tenses as she reaches down to steady his thighs, “You need to stay still.”
That is all he needs to hear before he calms down, and his patience is quickly rewarded. The Painted Lady moans around his cock as Katara pushes her head down further, lodging him deeper into her throat.
The spirit's mouth works him with a talent that feels ancient and instinctual, yet so familiar.
All of her actions are so precise, like she understands his body, even though she has never been with him before now. Aang can see it in the way her lips seal around his shaft, or the way her throat relaxes to take him deeper.
A low, strained groan escapes his lips as he feels her swallow around him, the heat of her mouth contrasts with the cool, shimmering air that surrounds them.
"That’s right, my love,” Katara whispers, her voice a soft, commanding breath beside his ear, "Let her taste you."
The spirit’s nails dig lightly into his thighs, and he rocks his hips forward slightly, feeling her throat convulse around him.
Aang tries to understand that this is the spiritual embodiment of his love for her, but the love of his life is still next to him.
The Painted Lady’s eyes flick up to meet him—the same blue as Katara’s, the same tenderness, the same stare. Aang can feel it when her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder, and he can hear the noises—a symphony of slurps, gasps, and the occasional faint moan from the spirit herself.
Aang trembles, and he throws his head back because he is not sure that he can watch the scene in front of him. This is all so much at once, and the wet, obscene sounds that fill the air do not alleviate the current situation. His hands find Katara’s hip beside him, and he holds onto her while the spirit’s tongue traces a vein along his length. Sweat beads on his brow, and his breath comes in ragged bursts.
The sensation of Katara’s touch and the spirit’s mouth threatening to undo him completely.
Katara releases his wrist as she moves to kneel beside his head. She strokes his cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear he did not notice had fallen, "Look at you," she mumbles, "So cute like this."
Aang shakes his head, embarrassed, overwhelmed, "I… I can't—"
"You can," the Painted Lady states, pulling off his cock with a wet pop. She looks up at him, her lips glistening with saliva, "You can give us everything. We want it all."
She takes him again, deeper this time, her nose brushing against his pelvis. The head of his cock hits the back of her throat, and she moans even louder around him. The vibration sends sparks through his nerves. As he whimpers, Katara leans down, kissing him, swallowing the sounds that fall from his throat.
“Is this how it looks?” Katara whispers into his ear, and she tilts his head down to where the other version of her sits with his cock in her mouth, “No wonder you want to see me on my knees so much, even though you always say you don't.”
Without notice, he comes with a sudden, shattering release that rips a sob from his chest. The Painted Lady drinks him down, and her throat works down his length as she swallows every drop.
The air is thick with the scent of lotus and an obscure aroma that is not unwelcome.
“That’s it,” he hears Katara whisper as she strokes his cheek, “Let her take it all in.”
The vibration of her words is felt through her palm. As the spirit’s mouth releases him, his breath hitches, her lips are slick and her eyes are satisfied. There is evidence of his own arousal as it coats her chin, and she licks a stray drop from the corner of her mouth as she watches him.
Aang whines as he notices that his cock still has not softened, rigid against his stomach, slick with saliva and his come.
A faint, more perverted part of his mind likes this. Aang has received more than enough pleasure, which means he can focus on them. Aang wants them to use him and the thought sends a fresh pulse of heat through him.
“Let me take care of you,” he mumbles out as his vision still blurs, “Both of you.”
The words come out thick and slurred, his tongue heavy with lingering pleasure. There is no verbal response, but he does receive one physically.
Slowly, Katara moves down his body, her fingers replacing the spirit's mouth. Her fingertips trace the sensitive rim of his head before wrapping around his shaft. She strokes him, and his oversensitive flesh twitches at her touch. A shiver runs from the base of his spine to his scalp as she squeezes gently, her palm sliding through the slick left behind by the spirit.
Aang cries out, but the Painted Lady holds his hips down.
"Shh," the spirit coos, "We're not done with you yet."
After she removes her dress, sliding out of it with ease. Katara clambers on top of him, her folds slick and ready. She lowers herself onto his cock, but does not sit down fully. The subtle warmth of her and the arousal that leaks onto him cause him to ache even more.
And then, she takes him inside her inch by inch. The sensitivity is almost unbearable, but the heat of her body, the tightness of her walls, somehow drags another sob from his throat.
"Please," he begs, tears streaming down his cheeks, "Please, I need—"
"You have us," Katara expresses, her voice breaking with her own desire. She begins to move, slow at first, her hips grinding against his, "You have me, and you will always have me."
The Painted Lady kisses his tears away, her tongue tracing the path down his cheek, “Now, show me how deep you reach inside us.”
She reaches a hand down to Katara’s abdomen and then lower below her navel, where his cock slides inside of her.
“You—you cannot do that,” he breathes out, and his vision blurs once more as he feels Katara's pace quicken.
Unhurriedly, she demands more. She rides him with abandon, and her moans fill the quiet oasis. Aang's hands snatch the moss, his knuckles white, and he is not sure he will make it out of this.
Aang is oddly embarrassed because he can last so much longer than this. His stamina had never been an issue before now, but interestingly, none of them seem to mind.
“All you want is to please us, don’t you?” the spirit chuckles, and he turns to look directly at her.
What he sees is Katara, what he feels on his cock is Katara, and he is not sure what he could have done to earn this situation, but he will not complain.
Aang nods ecstatically, and he feels the Painted Lady lean down towards his lips as she kisses him.
"Come inside me." Katara gasps, and her tempo falters, "Let me feel you."
With a whine that sounds almost inaudible, he spills into her, his release hot and endless. Katara cries out as her own climax crashes over her, and her walls clench around him.
A few moments later, she collapses onto his chest, her breath uneven. The Painted Lady curls beside them, and her hand rests on his stomach as her fingers trace marks on his skin.
Aang lies on the mossy bed, still catching his breath. The air around them shimmers with silver and lavender light, the pond's surface reflects the two women like mirrors of desire. Thighs slick with their mingled fluids, Katara turns to face the spirit, her eyes half-lidded and hungry.
The Painted Lady rises from Aang's side, her hair over her shoulders. She crawls on hands and knees, the movement fluid. The straw hat has long since fallen away, and the red paint on her arms seems to pulse with a soft luminescence.
"I've never seen myself like this," Katara murmurs, reaching out. Her fingers brush the spirit's collarbone, trailing down to where her heartbeat should thrums beneath the skin, "You're so... real."
The Painted Lady catches Katara's hand and brings it to her lips. She kisses each fingertip, as her tongue flicks out, "I am what he sees when he thinks of you. Every moment of longing, every fantasy, every prayer he's whispered into the Spirit World's currents."
And then, her voice drops to a husky whisper, "Let me show you what I see."
She leans in, and their lips meet.
It's not tentative. A soft gasp from Katara as the spirit's mouth molds against hers—it’s a collision. The Painted Lady's lips are swollen, but her lips part first. As the spirit's tongue slides in, slick and warm, she moans into the kiss.
Slowly, her hands fly up to cup the spirit's face, pulling her closer.
The kiss deepens, becomes a slow, wet exploration. The entire time, she traces the spirit's lower lip, then dips back inside, tangling with hers in a slothful dance. The Painted Lady's hand slides down Katara's back, pressing their bodies flush. The spirit's breasts press against her own, and she slots in perfectly because it is her.
Aang watches, his cock hardening again despite his recent release. The sight of the two women wrapped in each other is almost too much. One of them is more than enough for him, but two is so much to handle.
Katara's breath hitches as the spirit nibbles her lower lip, then soothes it with a swipe of her tongue.
"More," Katara breathes, her voice ragged.
The Painted Lady obliges, kissing her harder, deeper. Her hand slides into Katara's hair, tangling in the loose waves, and she tilts her head back to expose her throat. She breaks the kiss to trail her lips down Katara’s neck, sucking gently at the pulse point. Katara's hips grinds against his thigh, seeking friction.
"I want to taste every part of you," the spirit whispers against Katara's skin. Her hand cups Katara's breast, thumb circling the nipple until it pebbles. Katara arches into the touch, her head falling back.
Then the spirit returns to her lips, kissing her again, and this time it's frantic—teeth clashing, tongues thrusting, breath mingling. Katara's fingers dig into the spirit's shoulders, leaving marks. A thin string of saliva connects them when they finally break apart, panting.
Katara's cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen as she looks down at him, "I see why you fell in love with me.”
The Painted Lady smiles, her eyes gleaming, “We work well, don’t we?”
After a few seconds, the spirit stirs. She moves to kneel between his legs, her fingers wrapping around his cock.
"Hold on—" he breathes out, "I want to take care of you both, I can’t do it like this.”
A shuddering breath. A whine when she continues to stroke him.
"You want to take care of us?” the Painted Lady asks him, her voice honey and steel, “Okay, Aang.”
Katara watches and observes her counterpart while she lies on his stomach.
The Painted Lady stands and moves to kneel near his head. And she looks down at him, and he knows that he must look utterly ruined when he looks up at her.
Within a moment, she lowers herself and sits on his mouth. A subtle whine falls from her mouth as she rubs her clit over his nose and then on his lips.
And he notices that she tastes exactly like Katara, she moans like her, acts like her, but the real one is on his chest, currently running her hand along the tattoos on his arm.
Aang slides his tongue inside of her, exploring her as if he had never been inside of her before. He is desperate, and he slips his tongue even deeper inside her, licking at the slick that collects at her entrance.
A few seconds of this is all it takes for him to feel his cock stir once again, and he feels a hand reach for his thigh. Katara rolls off of him, and the weight of her shifts onto his thighs, as he feels her warmth slide over his cock once more.
“Aang—fuck!” she moans as she sinks onto him, and the combination of her arousal and his come inside of her makes the movement even slicker.
Aang is practically suffocating under the thighs above his head, but his oversensitive cock twitches inside of her once, then twice. As he feels the Painted Lady slide across his face, he feels Katara stir back and forth on him.
This time, she does not rush it. She keeps herself flush to the base as she chases after her own pleasure.
Katara laughs, breathless and dripping with delight, “He feels good, doesn’t he?”
Purely rhetorical, but the spirit answers with a deep moan, her hips grinding harder against Aang’s face.
Aang’s tongue finds her clit, seals his lips around it, and sucks. The taste of her is familiar and addictive, but amplified, sharper, as if the spirit distills every essence of her into pure flavor.
Aang hears the sound of kissing above him, and while he cannot see—he can assume the obvious. And then he drowns in sensations—her tight warmth, the spirit's moans, the taste of her on his tongue. The wet sounds of his mouth are louder than he anticipated, the slick slap of skin on his thighs as he feels her ride him, and the mingled scents of sex and lotus blossoms—it all blurs into a single overwhelming wave.
All he can feel is Katara. All he can see is Katara. All he wants is Katara.
Exhaustion and pleasure merge into a state of floating, where time loses meaning. He is barely conscious, his mind floating on a sea of sensation. On instinct, his tongue moves clumsy but relentless, as he licks the spirit’s folds from bottom to top, gathering her moisture.
Aang licks and sucks as best he can, his tongue eager. His jaw aches, but he does not stop—can't stop, not when her moans are so sweet and her thighs are trembling against his ears.
"That's it," the spirit breathes, her voice husky and strained, "Deeper. Right there."
Aang obeys, dragging his tongue lower, pressing it into her entrance before swiping back up to circle her clit. She is close; he can tell when her thighs tighten even more around his head.
The pressure is immense, her muscles flexing, holding him in place. His own cock, still buried inside Katara, throbs with a distant, hollow echo. A hollow echo of arousal rises in his cock, but he does not thrust his hips. He lets Katara set the pace, his role now solely to bring the spirit over the edge.
The spirit comes with a cry, her release flooding his mouth. He swallows it all; the liquid is warm and abundant, and he gulps it down greedily. Katara continues to ride his cock, her lips trailing up his stomach, his chest, until she reaches his mouth and kisses him. The kiss is deep, languid, and filled with unspoken love.
This continues for an unknown amount of time. The two of them trade places, taking turns. Sometimes they both have him at once. One rides his face, one on his cock, and then both switch, or take him in their mouths, or press their breasts together over his chest while he trembles beneath them. The Spirit World’s light shifts from silver to a deep violet as dawn approaches. And by the time the first rays filter through, Aang is a wreck. Crying, shaking, babbling praises, his come streaked across both their thighs and bellies.
The Painted Lady presses cool fingers to his swollen lips as she curls around his back. Katara rests her hand over his racing heart as she wipes away the sweat on his brow.
As the sun rises, the spirit begins to fade, her form growing translucent. She presses one final kiss to his lips and then kisses Katara as she dissolves into shimmering light that scatters across the water.
She holds him close, her hand cradling his cheek, "I love you," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion, "All of you. Every part."
Aang does not respond—his voice is inactive, his body spent. But he nuzzles into her neck, his tears soaking her skin, and feels her arms tighten around him.
The water ripples softly, carrying the echo of a spirit's promise.