Chapter Text
It was late at night when Katara entered the small office space that the two of them shared in their Imperial City home. It was small on purpose—too cramped for either of them to justify staying there for hours, too warm in the summers so that they would force themselves outside.
It was easy to get lost in the work. Katara was better at pulling away than Aang was; eager to go to a teahouse with her friends or exhausted from a long day at healing centres, at universities, just exhausted in general.
(They were worried about it a month prior: her exhaustion. Worried enough that they’d gone to another healer, checked for any extra heartbeats, realized that they were maybe a little too disappointed when the healer said that there was just the one heart inside of Katara. But they never dwelled on it—there was still so much to get done.)
But Aang would lose himself in the work. All the papers, documents, blueprints… rebuilding a nation, really, after it was wiped out entirely. It drove him insane some nights, drove him to tears on other ones. Katara took care of him through it all, because she was perfect and wonderful and all Aang ever cared about on nights like these, where all he wanted was to crawl into bed, pull his wife into him and hold her until he stopped thinking.
“It’s late,” Katara said, and she’s just a silhouette in the dim hallway light when Aang looked up from the blueprint he was analyzing.
“I’ll be with you soon,” he promised, looking back down, and suddenly Katara was in front of him, fingers on his chin and lifting his head up to meet her gaze.
“You’ll be with me now,” she said, and Aang took her in for a second—her sheer nightdress, her long silk robe, her hair, unbound and falling in pretty waves around her face. He reached up a hand to pull at a soft tendril where it curled right at her ribcage; twisted it around his finger and tugged gently, and then looked back up at Katara’s eyes.
They’re big and blue and pleading, asking him to come back with her. He’d skipped dinner, had been locked up in his office all day, Katara fluttering in and out and brushing kisses on the top of his head as she did so. This time, however, it was obvious that she wasn’t leaving without him. Her lips shaped themselves into a small pout, and Aang wanted deliriously to kiss it away, to keep her lips pressed to his as long as he could feasibly manage.
Who was he to say no to her? Just her husband, loyal and obedient.
Just how I like ‘em, she had joked once over dinner a week after their wedding, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the back booth of a noodle shop and disguised in Fire Nation clothing. Doing exactly what I ask.
So he listened to her; rolled up the blueprints and stacked them all neatly, put his quills into their holders and placed the lid on his ink. Katara watched him quietly from across his desk as he stood up, pushed his chair in, and walked to the doorway, holding open the door so that she could go through first.
She floated by him in a cloud of jasmine shampoo, and Aang breathed in deeply, a long, slow breath. Closed his eyes until he heard Katara’s laugh, a sparkling sound that made him grin.
“Coming?” she asked quietly, careful not to disrupt the quiet of the night. Aang just nodded, shut the door behind him and clasped Katara’s outstretched hand. He tugged her in for one quick, chaste kiss, and Katara giggled into it, hands coming up to Aang’s chest and nails scratching down lightly.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” Aang murmured against her lips. Katara pulled away.
“I have to try?” she replied, and then she was walking towards their bedroom, taking the warmth of her body with her and leaving Aang in the hallway, quickening his steps to catch up.
She doesn’t say another word to him until they’re on the other side of the closed bedroom door, Katara’s robe already stripped off and hung on a hook while Aang locked the room dutifully behind himself.
“You don’t have to try,” he whispered, struck by the sight of Katara’s long legs and short nightdress and her, standing in the room in front of him. “I’m well past seduced.”
They’d been insatiable for… months, now. Since that fateful night with the manifested spirit, Aang’s lookalike, on top of Katara while Aang was underneath her, fucking into her, together, making her come, eliciting the prettiest little sounds until–
Well. It had been memorable, to say the least. And Aang wasn’t very good at sharing, but… Katara enjoyed herself. Immensely, apparently, if her near-constant requests for more were anything to go by. She always wanted more, wanted Aang’s hands and his cock, wanted to ride him until she couldn’t think anymore. She was worried that she was being selfish, but Aang never had any complaints, was perfectly content with Katara having her way with him.
(And she had been having her way with him, especially since their pregnancy scare, had begun whispering things about how she wanted a baby, how they were already married and please, Aang, won’t you give me one? Keep me pregnant and barefoot and at home, all yours?)
Now, in the dim light of their bedroom, in cool Autumn air, Katara stepped closer to him. Aang looked down and noticed the silk tie of her robe in her hand, the end of it brushing against the floor as Katara padded across the room.
“How seduced are you, exactly?” she asked, and Aang felt suddenly dizzy. Her hand came up to caress him. The silk was cold against his cheek.
“Very,” he choked out, and Katara grinned. Her canines gleamed in the lamplight.
“Sit on the bed,” she commanded, tone still soft and gentle. Aang tried to kiss her, but she had already pulled away, was already tugging Aang towards the mattress and gesturing for him to sit with his back up straight. She knelt behind him and placed the tie over his eyes, tying it off behind his head gently, making sure the silk was taut around his head.
“Is that okay?” she whispered, breath ghosting over the shell of Aang’s ear, and he shivered. He couldn’t see a thing.
“More than okay,” he replied, and he could feel Katara’s smile against his bare shoulder, the soft press of her lips.
“Good.” There was a shift in the weight on the mattress, and Katara was no longer warm against his back, was somewhere beside him– in front of him– hands on his thighs as she groaned softly, sinking to her knees and crowding into the space between Aang’s thighs.
Fuck, okay. Aang knew he was already half-hard, already turned on by the cool feel of silk and the softness of Katara, Katara. Spirits, she was wonderful, fingers already tracing patterns over his pants and unbuttoning them at their closure, pushing aside the flaps and pulling down his underwear until he sprang free.
Her hand was wrapped around him then in a matter of seconds, and fuck it felt good, she felt good, all soft skin and so much knowledge as to what Aang liked, what made him tick. He groaned when she stroked him slowly, groaned louder when she sped up, when she put her lips to the head of him and kissed gently.
“I’m going to take you in my mouth now,” she said, and Aang just nodded wildly, wishing desperately that he could see her.
“Can I–”
“You can touch me,” she said gently, and her hand was on his wrist, helping him card his fingers into her hair, soft and lush and wonderful. He could live in her hair if she let him, set up camp in the crook of her shoulder for the rest of his life, live tiny and miniscule and against her skin for as long as he was alive. “It’s okay if you pull.”
And before Aang can say anything else, her lips are wrapped around his cock, tongue laving a stripe up his length, creating suction around him, and she's– she’s so wonderful at this. His wife, his Katara, his. She knows him so well, knows exactly what makes him tick, knows how to make him come.
“You’ve been so stressed out, baby,” she murmured, mouthing along his cock. “I just wanna make sure you feel okay.”
Aang’s senses were already heightened, every hair of his body standing on end as Katara took him in, eased him down her throat. He whined desperately, tugged at her hair when her nose brushed up against him, bucked up slightly when she closed her lips around him and sucked. She pulled off after that, placed little kisses and licks onto the head of Aang’s cock, driving him insane.
“I want to see you,” he gasped out, and Katara smacked his thigh lightly with her free hand.
“That’s not what we’re doing tonight,” she said, and then she was back on him, licking and sucking and generally driving him closer and closer to the edge, closer to orgasm already. Pressure coiled within him, all hunger and want.
He pictured her in his head, old memories of Katara like this—on her knees and under his desk after a particularly difficult meeting, fucking into her mouth at a gala after he gave a speech and she pulled him into a closet. Swollen lips and big blue eyes looking up at him. He always told her she didn’t have to do this for him, that he was happy with her taking, would always be happy if Katara was. She insisted that she wanted this, wanted him in her mouth, said that she liked how he fell apart under her.
He was definitely falling apart now, images flashing through his head, blending into dreams, turning into nothing but feeling, just Katara’s hair twisted around his fingers and her mouth on him, wet and warm and lovely, driving him crazy. He could feel her behind him, too, the heat of her body and her lips on the back of his neck, kissing softly, featherlight–
What?
“K– Katara, hold on, please–” he gasped, tugging at her hair so that she’d let up, take her mouth off of him. She pulled back quickly, hands resting on Aang’s thighs as she made a little choked, strangled sound.
“What the fuck?” he heard her say, and then she was on her feet, grabbing Aang’s arm and tugging him off the bed and to her side. Aang’s hand came up to his face and lifted the blindfold he had on as he awkwardly tucked his dick back into his pants, and then–
“Oh.”
Resting on the bed, on her knees and grinning wickedy was… Katara.
Except it wasn’t Katara, because Katara was at Aang’s side and not on the bed, and the Katara on the bed had red swirls across her arms and face, tattoos or markings. Her clothes may have been the same shape as Katara’s but they were a deep burgundy red instead of Katara’s preferred blue, but her face. She looked exactly like Katara, was built the same way from what Aang could see. Had the exact same hair; long curls and waves cascading down her shoulders.
Aang glanced at the real Katara—he was pretty sure that she’s the real one—and saw her glaring at the Not-Katara, eyes narrowed.
“Painted Lady,” she said, and suddenly a lot of things clicked in Aang’s brain.
He had read up some scrolls on manifested spirits after Kuzon’s visit to them. He had never come again, despite Katara’s mentions of how she wouldn’t mind, exactly, if he did, but Aang wanted to be informed regardless. It was standard stuff: if someone wills hard enough for a spirit to appear or be created, then the spirit comes into being, brings themselves to the person that had requested their presence. Aang’s connection to the Avatar state exacerbated that desire, had rubbed off on Katara and her desires too, making Kuzon strong and realized instead of a vague, translucent spirit.
Aang didn’t realize that he was doing it himself.
It wasn’t like he had fantasized about this, about more than one version of Katara on him, but… the whole Kuzon thing had given him ideas.
It wasn’t his fault that the spirit world had a sick sense of humor and enough free time to apparently send minor spirits to fuck people into mattresses, and whatnot.
“Katara,” replied the Painted Lady.
“You’re here. In my bedroom.”
The Painted Lady looked around the room from where she knelt on the bed, then back at Katara in mock surprise.
“It appears I am!” she shrugged, and Katara’s brows lowered.
Aang didn’t really have anything to say here. He was still painfully hard, but the last tendrils of his impending orgasm were drawing away despite how senselessly turned-on he was by two Kataras, both in his room, both staring each other down.
Katara—his Katara—looked murderous, the blue of her eyes hardened into something dangerous, something that Aang would only see in her on battlefields and training rings. She sparred like she was fighting for her life; she looked like she was going to spar now, fingers twitching in the direction of the water cup on her nightstand.
“You’re a real spirit,” Katara said warily, “not a manifestation. What are you doing here?” Her eyes glanced towards Aang in… betrayal, almost, as she reasoned through what the Painted Lady was, what she was doing here. Aang felt suddenly guilty under her gaze, didn’t want Katara to think that he was imagining anyone other than her. He wasn’t, not really.
“The whole spirit thing’s a little… wonky,” the Painted Lady said, tilting her hand back and forth. “I’m you, Katara.”
“What?”
“Want me to prove it?” she challenged, and then her hands was reaching towards the hem of her dress, inching it up, up, and Aang felt suddenly very dizzy, delirious, and–
“Get down,” Katara commanded, pushing Aang by his shoulder onto his knees and sourcing every bit of water from the room before flinging it straight towards the Painted Lady, halting her movements and drenching her entirely before gathering it back up again, holding it in a bubble over her head.
“What the fuck?” she exclaimed, sounding less and less like a spirit and more like Katara as she swiped a hand over her now-soaked face, looking between Aang on his knees and Katara, poised to attack again, bewildered.
Aang stared up at her, at her now-translucent nightdress and her wet hair, then up at Katara, angry and confused and… jealous?
Aang reached a tentative hand out towards her hip, brushing his fingertips against it gently, drawing Katara’s attention towards him. Her eyes softened imperceptibly, waiting for Aang to say… something.
“Katara, I–”
“I don’t like her, Aang,” she said simply.
“She’s you.”
“She’s–” Katara paused and looked back at the Painted Lady, then frowned. The bubble in her hand fell to the side, water filling up the nightstand glass and the rest of it streaming out the window. The Painted Lady sighed in relief. “Fuck. She’s me.”
She looked back down at Aang, still on his knees, still clutching onto her hip, and brought a hand down to caress his face gently. Her thumb ghosted over his cheekbone and Aang shivered, still senselessly turned on. He turned wide, pleading eyes onto Katara, desperate for her to understand what he’s asking for.
He’s a little too scared to say the words.
“You want this, don’t you?” she asked him quietly, privately, just the two of them in a bubble ignoring the spirit on the bed.
Aang just nodded. His fingers dug further into her hip as Katara took a deep breath in, out. In again.
“Spirits, you’re so pathetic like this, baby” she said, mean and loving. Aang let out a small, guttural sound at her words, and the Painted Lady laughed from where she was perched on the bed, wringing out her hair. It sounded exactly like Katara’s. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Hours later—Katara said it’s been maybe a few minutes, but he disagreed—Aang’s sprawled out on the bed, the Painted Lady between his legs and laving at him with her lips and tongue while his head rested in Katara’s lap. She was gazing down at him softly, one hand tweaking his nipple while the other rested against his jaw, fingers dipping into his open mouth. Aang closed his lips on them, sucked them quietly, making her grin. The Painted Lady did something particularly vicious with her tongue to the head of his cock, and he groaned around Katara’s digits, fist clenching into the sheets beneath him.
Aang was… dying, probably. Overcome with pleasure, couldn’t do anything but feel, the two women on him relentless in their pursuit of his pleasure.
You’ve been so stressed out that just one of me wasn’t enough, huh? Katara had teased him, hand wrapped around his cock and pumping gently. Need two of me to make you come?
Aang had tried to shake his head, the motion blocked by the Painted Lady’s grip on his chin, forcing him to nod before she kissed him thoroughly, all sharp teeth, enough to make him dizzy.
And now she was between his legs, his cock in her mouth, Katara’s constant barrage of dialogue making him whine.
“Are you close, baby?” she asked, bending down and gently kissing his forehead as though she’s not saying things to drive him insane, as though there isn’t a spirit in their bed bringing Aang to the edge over and over again.
“Y-yeah, I’m– I’m so close–” he panted, Katara’s wet fingers gripping at his jaw, digging little half moons into his skin. He thought distantly about how it’ll look when he arrives at the meeting planned for tomorrow, small bruises littered across his cheeks and neck.
He’s so close, right on the edge of orgasm, just a little more, just—
The Painted Lady hummed around his cock and then pulled off of Aang, grinning, and he whined, lamenting the loss of touch, of wet heat and the pressure of her tongue. He looked down and there was a line of spit connecting the head of him to her bloodred lips, and Aang groaned at the sight, tilted his head back and saw Katara’s expression mirroring her lookalike.
“Poor baby,” she cooed, running a hand over his scalp, nails scratching softly. “You can’t come?”
“I– I can,” he insisted, confused. “You’re just not– won’t let me–”
“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Painted Lady said lightly, and Aang felt her fingers wrap around his cock again, stroking him gently. Aang’s back arched, the bag of his head digging into the plush of Katara’s thighs.
“What more do you need, baby?” she asked, nails raking across Aang’s chest. Her tone was light, gently, but there was something heavier behind her words; a request. Tell me what you want. The ends of her hair grazed his scalp, the strap of her dress falling off her shoulder, exposing the tops of her breasts. Aang’s hand reached up, pulled the bodice down further.
“Need– need you,” Aang gasped out, and Katara grinned, shifted out from underneath him, and pulled her nightdress off in one swift motion; a rush of light blue fabric that left Aang’s mouth dry.
He’s been with Katara a long, long time. He’s pretty sure he’ll never get sick of seeing her like this, bare in front of him, confident and grinning and aware that she’s driving Aang insane.
He was definitely going insane, pressure gathering in his spine again as the Painted Lady continued her ministrations with nothing but her hand, all deft fingers and soft palms. She spit onto his cock when she noticed him staring at her, kissed the tip before slicking her saliva down the length of him, easing her passage further. Aang let out a pathetic, embarrassing sound and covered his hand with his eyes.
“F– fuck, Katara,” he said, and she was moving his hand, putting his head back in her lap. He reached up, closed a mouth around one of her nipples, and she gasped in surprise. Aang loved the taste of her skin, all sweat and salt, something floral from the soap that she used. She was lovely, sweet, and—fuck, spirits— he was so close, humming around Katara’s tit as the Painted Lady played with the head of his cock.
“Ready to come now, baby?” Katara asked him, and Aang nodded. Katara reached a hand towards his cock, joined the Painted Lady in stroking him, and Aang let go of her tit, hips bucking under the feeling of both their hands, exactly the same, just like each other, so—
He came with a cry, Katara’s name on his lips, babbling senselessly as the two of them stroked him through his orgasm, one of them—he wasn’t sure who, he was surrounded by deep brown skin and soft hands and Katara, Katara—held his hips down through it all. The Painted Lady bit his thigh as she gazed up at Aang, and he wanted to die, felt like he was halfway there already.
When he glanced down, he saw both their hands covered in his cum, glistening and wet, slow but relentless on him despite how sensitive he was, how it was all too much. Katara released him, used her free hand to make him look at her as she brought his cum to her mouth, stuck her tongue out and licked it off her skin from where it was dripping down her wrist. The sight made Aang’s heart race. He could feel his pulse through his veins.
Katara swallowed hard. Aang mimicked it., and she grinned.
“Want some?” she asked, and he nodded dumbly, gasped when her hand came to his chin, prying his jaw open.
She spit neatly into Aang’s open mouth, grinned at the choked sound that came out of him, laughed when he bucked his hips up into the Painted Lady’s hand.
“Want more?” asked the Painted Lady from where she was between Aang’s legs, and he didn’t know what to say, how to answer, felt his brain leak out of his ears as the Painted Lady pulled her own dress off, leaving herself bare.
She and Katara were exactly the same. The same breasts, the same dips in their waists, the same mole on their hips. Aang mused vaguely about how deep his desire for Katara went that he couldn’t really imagine anyone else, could only picture her in all his wildest fantasies, and then realized that the Painted Lady was crawling up his body, that Katara was opening his jaw up again for her to spit into, too. All cum and saliva, the taste of himself in Aang’s mouth. He swallowed it, of course he did, and both the women around him grinned.
The Painted Lady had sharper canines than Katara. Aang wanted to feel them under his tongue, wanted to compare and contrast if their bites would hurt differently.
He closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
“What else do you want?” one of them asked, and he wasn’t sure who, because they both were talking, both whispering into either ear, all do you want me? and do you want her? and maybe both of us, who’s gonna ride you, baby, who do you want to fuck, who—
“Katara,” he moaned desperately, eyes flying open. She leaned down, kissed Aang sweetly. She tasted wonderful, all her. He wanted more.
“Yeah?”
“Need you,” he said, and tried nosing his way between her legs, turning his head to kiss the top of her thigh. Katara got the hint.
“Want me on your face, Aang? Want me to ride your mouth?”
Aang nodded.
“Wanna taste you,” he said, and his voice came out hoarse, raspy, needy. He could die between Katara’s legs; feels like he’s dying right now and is pretty sure that this is how he wanted to go. Katara began shifting immediately, positioning herself over Aang’s head. The Painted Lady looked at him with her head tilted, then reached between the two of them and wrapped her hand around his still-sensitive cock. Aang bucked up involuntarily.
“You want us both, Aang?” she asked, her voice low and sultry. Aang looked up at Katara, seeking… permission? A reaction? He wasn’t sure; just wanted to know that Katara was there, that she was okay with him saying yes.
She frowned almost imperceptibly, but nodded.
“Yes,” Aang breathed.
“Yes, what?” they commanded in unison, and Katara rolled her eyes, annoyed by the echo of her voice.
“Yes, please,” Aang said. “Please, I– I want both of you.” His breathing was erratic and he was hard again, hard already, and it hurt, and he was so sensitive, but… they were taking such wonderful care of him, making him feel so good.
Katara traced a finger down his cheek, gentle with him despite the fact that she was straddling right over his face, that he could smell her inches away from him.
“You sure?” she asked, and Aang nodded.
“Yes, very–”
Katara didn’t let him finish, just sat herself down onto Aang’s mouth, braced herself against the mattress. Aang groaned into her cunt, overjoyed, satisfied.
He had gotten off before with nothing but the taste of Katara in his mouth, and he was so keyed-up right now, so desperate that he was pretty sure he could do it again. He didn’t have to, though. The Painted Lady was straddling Aang’s hips, rubbing her cunt up against him, coating his already-slick cock in herself before taking Aang in hand and positioning her entrance over him. She scratched her nails down his abdomen, making Aang whine into Katara, and then sank down slowly, slowly, her heat enveloping Aang until all he could do was feel.
He felt so much. Her cunt felt the exact same around Aang as Katara’s always did, tight and warm, and when she squeezed, he groaned, felt dizzy, delirious, lightheaded.
“He’s big,” she mused, voice breaking as she slid down further, settled herself around him. “Goes so deep.”
Aang smiled weakly at the praise, moaned when Katara ground down on him roughly.
“Yeah, I know,” she muttered, rolling her hips enough that Aang had to reach up, hold her still for a second so that he could gain his bearings.
And then he lost them entirely, buried deep in the Painted Lady moving relentlessly on top of him, Katara chasing her own pleasure against his mouth, the scent of her heady and intoxicating.
Aang was close, so close already it was embarrassing, he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold himself back, couldn’t—
His brain buzzed as he came, loud and early, head going blank as all he could do was take it, take it as both the women on him kept using him for their own pleasure. He tapped Katara’s thigh lightly and she let up for a second, looking down at Aang in concern.
“You okay? Can you keep going?”
Aang wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway, wanting to stay buried between her legs, tugging Katara back down to his lips. She acquiesced quickly, breaking apart a few seconds later, grinding her hips relentlessly against Aang’s face until she couldn't take it anymore, until she had to get off of him.
“Did so well, baby,” she whispered, looking down at where the Painted Lady was wrapped around him and noticing flashes of white along his cock, the relentless slickness. “Did– did you–”
Aang nodded before she could finish, groaning desperately through overstimulation, hot tears forming in his eyes.
“I– I can’t–” he began, and the Painted Lady paused; placed a hand on his chest and eased herself off of him, head tilted in concern.
“Is he okay?” she asked, and Katara didn’t look at her, just kept gazing at Aang, caressing his face gently, wiping a hot tear from where it fell down his cheek. Spirits, he loved her. Was so grateful to have her.
“You think you can give us one more, Aang?” Katara whispered quietly, and he shook his head desperately. Katara’s brows knitted together. “You want us to stop?”
Aang shook his head again.
“Need more stress relief, huh?” she grinned, then helped him sit up to where the Painted Lady was waiting for him. She captured his lips with hers, kissed him deeply; tasted Katara on his tongue. It struck him again how similar they were, how they kissed the exact same, how they both tasted of berries and sugar and salt.
Katara was pressed up behind him then, breasts pushed against his back, all friction as she slid her hand around him, down his stomach, wrapped her fingers around his cock. Whispered something pretty in his ear, something like you’ve got this, baby, and so handsome, so good for us. He was still hard, because of course he was, he felt like he’d never stop, wondered if he’d just be like this for the rest of his life. It’d make all his meetings awfully awkward.
“Focus on us, Aang,” the Painted Lady whispered against his lips, and then her han was on him too, stroking in tandem. Katara’s mouth was pressed against his neck, sucking in bruises as she worked at him, both their hands slippery and soft through the mess of spit and cum layered on Aang’s cock. He wanted more, didn’t think he could take anymore, wasn’t sure what was going on.
“You’ve got this, Aang,” Katara encouraged him. “Just one more for me, baby.”
And he was close again, would always be if Katara kept speaking to him like that, voice low and husky, working at his cock relentlessly.
“Just one more,” the Painted Lady echoed, and Aang… he couldn’t take it anymore, hot tears streaming down his face as his hips bucked.
“I– I can’t– Katara, I– please, I can’t–” he stuttered, and they both laughed low in each ear, surrounding him.
“Yeah you can,” Katara said, and she bit his earlobe, tugged gently. The Painted Lady nipped that spot in his jaw that made him whine and then–
And then he shattered, vision going white as he came, hard. His cum erupted in weak, worn-out spurts, but Aang felt entirely lightheaded, on the verge of collapse. Lights flashed in his periphery, a soft glow emanating from his tattoos as he panted his way through his orgasm, all soft whines and loud sobs and please please please as they both laughed into his skin, the vibrations echoing through his body.
(He’d never glowed before, not during sex. He hoped Katara wouldn’t bring it up.)
As Aang jerked his way through the aftershocks, reeling, feeling pretty sure like he was going to faint right there and then, both women eased their hands off of him, caressed him gently, laid him down on the bed with each one on either side.
“You did wonderfully, baby,” Katara said, finger tracing circles over his chest. “So good for me. Took us so well.” Aang smiled weakly, breathing erratic, and Katara kissed his cheek. “Get some rest, baby,” she whispered in his ear. Aang turned to the Painted Lady, who was already slowly fading out of existence, returning to the Spirit world.
“Thank you,” Aang said quietly, and ignored Katara’s small sound as she rolled her eyes.
“She has issues,” the Painted Lady said instead of acknowledging Aang’s gratitude
“She’s just worried about me,” he shrugged, and grinned when Katara squeezed his shoulder.
“She should be more worried about the glowing,” the Painted Lady murmured, already translucent. “Haven’t seen something like that before.”
And then she was gone, dissipated entirely, no one but Aang and Katara left in the room, both of them heaving.
“I still don’t like her,” Katara frowned, glaring at the empty space left behind.
“You’re the same,” Aang insisted, and Katara kissed him, long and slow. All her.
“Hmm. Maybe,” she hummed. “She was right about the glowing, though. What was up with that?”