#mod mooning

[kataang-dungeon]

Hello, I some fanarts I'd like to post anonymously 🤭

Hi, anon! Please go ahead and submit at our submissions tab at this link.

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Can't wait to see your fanarts!!!

-mod mooning

[kataang-dungeon]

Hello, I made a fic post yesterday but It seems that it is not showing on your page.

Hi thanks for notifying us! From what I can see I only see the fic we have already rbed for you from yesterday's one-bed prompt. Maybe you can DM the link to your post or post it again and make sure to @ kataang-dungeon .

-Mod Mooning

[kataang-dungeon]

I was never really a fan of smut but now I can’t stop reading Kataang smut like it’s so good.

Us too, anon. Us too.

Feed us.

[kataang-dungeon]

Please give us a few hot sexy one liners for Kataang PLEASE

Bless you anon for this opportunity. We of the Dungeon have compiled a list that we have come up with together. Please do with them as you see fit. Use them as prompts if you like! We hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoyed coming up with them!

"I've caught you now, Avatar."

"What kind of bending do you want to see tonight?"

"I'm going to fill you until even your bending can't keep it all in."

"It's proper to kneel before the daughter of the chief."

"Don't let a little political propriety stop you...I like it when you keep secrets."

"If you can't contain yourself, I'll just have to do it for you."

"Healer, I believe it's time for my examination."

"The pupil becomes the teacher when the pupil bests the teacher. I don't intend to let that happen, but you may try."

"Yip, yip."

"Oh my, you'd think a water bender could contain their own mess a bit, but it seems quite the opposite."

"I'm just stopping by, no need to stop your weeding, I'll work around it."

“My, my, can’t seem to catch your breath, airbender?”

"I wonder what would happen if an airbender stopped breathing?"

"Paint me."

[kataang-dungeon]

Turbulence

The rebels attack Katara and Bumi. Aang is furious.

Rated: M

Word count: 1520

Read here on ao3.

ooo

Aang is angry. The ripples of his fury sizzle through the earth and rock the ground Katara stands on. His hands are balled into fists so tight that his knuckles are bone white. His eyes are a dark typhoon that rage and turn from gunmetal gray to flashing silver. His thick robes fly with him on currents of sharp gashes of air, and Katara's parka is rendered useless with the chill he creates.

The two of them stand at the precipice of a cliff, of all places, and at the mouth of a gaping cave overlooking what used to be Yu Dao. It is now a bustling city with a new name and part of a new nation. It is a half day's flight away from Republic City by flying bison. A light dusting of hours-old snow coats the ground and the tiles of the roofs below. The sky is bleak and brewing with turbulence, and that is highlighted more by the leftover pillar of smoke rising from the now far-off city hall that looms toward the back wall.

"They attacked you while you were feeding Bumi," Aang growls. "They attacked my family and then called you...they called you—"

"A snow savage," Katara finishes with a tired sigh. Her shoulders slump. "And Bumi—"

"They called him that too!" snarls Aang. His eyes are fully on her now, seething. "It's a good thing Suki took Bumi to safety before we had to fight because I don't know if I could stand it if they got any closer."

Katara sees her husband, the way the anger rolls off of him in waves. There's a bruise on his cheek from where he had taken a punch for her. She had been protecting their baby boy with her body. She hadn't had time to waterbend.

It had happened all in a rush, and the next thing she knew Bumi was being taken by Suki away from the fight with the Fire Nation rebels and they were beating them into the ground. Aang had carried her away not long after that on his glider, leaving even Appa behind.

She is not sure what compelled him to leave it all behind after barely removing the threat. She thinks she sees the reason under his brows, in the crease between them.

She sees how tense he is, how tense he had been. His lips are caught in a sneer, and not one line of him is soft. He is rigid, a solid rock.

She tugs his arm. “Let me heal you,” she says with earnest. Her fingers brush against the purpling bruise and he grimaces.

He tries to fight it, but she insists. “Aang,” she says his name, and then they are going into the cave entrance where there is shallow light to guide them.

Katara sits him down. She takes the snow from the ground, and it becomes liquid at her touch. When she presses it to his cheek, she notices the way his gaze lights up, just for a second. A gentler gray with quieter blues. But the anger is still there, and so is the resentment.

She bends the water back to the ground and for a while they sit and stare at each other. His cheek is clean now with nothing to mar it. She sees the ghost of his fury just beneath his skin and she leans forward to kiss it away.

When he turns his face quickly towards her so that her lips are pressed on his rather than his cheek, the way he moves against her burns hot. There is desperation that comes with him, a scorching poker plucked fresh from a furnace. She feels him suck on her lower lip, itching for her tongue and her taste. He wants to bruise her too, to mark her, and somehow, she wants it too.

It isn’t easy to pull away, but she needs to know. So, she does, and his hands are still at her hips while hers are still firm at his chest.

“You took me away because you were scared,” she remarks. Her lips are swollen. She licks them and watches as his pupils dilate as they linger on the wetness left behind.

“I took you away because I was angry,” he snaps back. His fingernails dig into her sides. She can feel it through the piles of fabric.

But she remembers how the men taunted her, called her and their son names. ‘Snow savage’ was not all. They called her a perversion, an exotic bitch. “Your tits would be better in my mouth rather than that wind wanker’s spawn. How about I take you on instead?” one had spat at her. She had shuddered in righteous fury. That had been right before Aang had found her with Bumi, their child who had still been suckling on her breast.

She is sure he had heard everything.

“You took me because you didn’t want them to have me,” Katara adds. She knows she is right. The way he sags tells her enough. She grips his chin and lifts his head, so he faces her fully. “You know I wouldn’t have let them.”

He gulps. She is entranced by how his Adam’s apple bobs. “I know,” he replies. His voice is husky. They come closer together.

“You didn’t let them either,” she says. Her lips part over his, just a whisper away, an infinitesimal distance apart.

Something shifts in the air between them. It is stark, it is messy. He is crashing upon her and his teeth graze along her bottom lip again, but this time she moans when he bites into them. She breathes, heavy and with surprise. He separates from her enough that she finds herself pressed up against the cave wall.

“Take what’s yours,” she whispers hoarsely.

That is all the permission he needs.

The grainy, rough surface is a mere distraction. She lets him yank the parka off her torso in quick succession. She is cold and shivers, but he is fierce enough that she is ablaze.

He cups her breasts, lets his thumbs smooth over the fabric where the dampness of her milk still seeps through her tunic. She knows that Aang finds what he is searching for when his thumbs circle around her hardening nipples. She grips at his collar, urging him along.

“Your leggings,” he practically growls now, and goosebumps rise across her skin. She likes the commanding tone of it. How precise, how different.

She slips them off without preamble, including her underwear, only leaving her tunic on. He does not complain, merely tilts forward to play with her breasts, moves his tongue over where their son had done the same.

She trembles at the way he grips her in his arms, holding her fast against the shaking wall. And she notices with delight that the wall shakes because he is making it so.

Her hands are on his pants, and she tugs, insistent. He pulls her up now, drags her really. It is slow and languid and sensual in a way she does not think is possible. His face is still at her neck, kissing her from chest to earlobe, and then they are standing.

He steps back for a moment only to finish the job she started. His pants pool on the floor. He kicks them away, eyes never leaving hers, and dips into her again.

She feels his stiffening bulge against her leg as she waits for him to realize what she wants.

And he knows when she embraces him tighter. Her knees dig in between his legs, and she bucks forward.

She gasps when he has his mouth next to her ear again. “Flip over,” he commands. He sounds like a general in an army. It’s possible he was in a past life, and she wants to ask him if he has any more demands of her. She will comply without question.

She thinks that she likes this Aang, this Aang that orders instead of asks. She likes that he thrusts into her from behind, how his fury and frustration are a force to be reckoned with when all he wants is to keep her his.

He makes the earth move with them, and the thrusts are that more powerful. Pebbles fall from the ceiling, tickling her spine as they come trickling down with sand.

She shouts and shouts and begs.

But of course, in a fashion that is only Aang, he breathes down her neck and demands something of her that only he could. “Tell me they didn’t hurt you.”

It is hard to breathe when he is going so deep into her, hard to move when he is pleasuring her with reckless abandon.

Her eyes screw shut, her arms flat against the wall. “They didn’t,” she grunts. She starts to buckle when he hits just the right spot. “Aang I just want you.”

She bites her own lip and blood starts to pool, and she breaks apart when he forces himself inside her another time and another.

The earth stirs and Aang is all she knows.

[kataang-dungeon]

Beautiful No Matter What

When a new beauty trend starts to increase in popularity, Katara struggles with her image of herself.

Rated: M

Word count: 1891

Read here on ao3.

ooo

It starts out as a new trend, mostly in the larger cities where more people reside, and in the areas where news comes quickly. Katara hears it first in Ba Sing Se, because of course she does. Of all the places she has been, this city is by far the most baffling. She guesses that she should not be surprised when she hears the first giggles and whispers on the streets.

"Oh Liling, your breasts are so big! They look so much better than mine," exclaims a rather prissy-looking woman. "I bet Diu will love them, especially in that dress you're wearing tonight."

At first, Katara thinks it is ridiculous. She thinks nothing of it. Then, she passes the winding districts in the Lower Ring on her way to help heal at a clinic with neglected funding. She sees drawings and pinups for sale in back corners, lewd imagined pictures of women with breasts popping out of their blouses, cleavage bigger than she has ever seen in person. Men salivate over them, turning in coin for a picture or two, and some of the wealthier ones even commissioning paintings of women in provocative poses through their servants.

She hates it, thinks it is demeaning to women. She scoffs at the idea. Still, she cannot help but notice that as the months pass by, more and more women walk with their chests puffed out, backs straighter, shoulders high. Everywhere she and Aang travel, she sees padding in local markets and shops for enlarging breast size and giving the illusion of a heftier bosom. Dresses with extra pieces of fabric sewn into the front become heavily advertised.

By the time half a year passes and summer arrives, the trend has even reached Kyoshi Island, a feat that Katara thinks could have never happened. Girls in their battle armor compare sizes and snicker when something looks particularly flattering on one of them. Katara is shocked when she hears one of Suki's girls say, "I only like women with breasts big enough for me to squeeze, of course!" when she is asked for her preferences. "If they're too small, it's not fun at all!"

She is not bothered by it except for at that moment, ever so briefly. She thinks that this could not be the new standard of beauty now, not when no one has cared about this before. But she supposes seven years after the war should be enough for people to find other things to worry about.

Aang latches onto her hand as the two of them walk through the streets of the capital city in the Fire Nation. The caldera rises around the buildings and pavement, casting a perpetual shadow upon them that serves as permanent shade in such a hot country.

She is content, her arm swinging with Aang next to her. They pick a place to eat that serves Aang’s favorite spicy potato curry.

She hears it then, the whispers that she dreads, the judging ones. They have followed her for years since she and Aang began dating. Sometimes, it is Aang they criticize. An Air Nomad taking a Water Tribe woman as a significant other, and he is bald at that. Other times, it is her they make snide remarks at. “That Water Tribe wench is only with him because he’s the Avatar. She’s taking advantage of his status,” is something she has heard.

Usually, they do not bother her. They bother neither of them. She and Aang love each other too much for things so trivial as what other people think to cause them to wedge apart.

But Katara listens anyway when a gaggle of people at a nearby table make their presence known.

“How crude of the Avatar to take such a hideous woman to bed,” laughs someone. The voices sound like they belong to young adults or teenagers, and perhaps of noble birth.

“Yeah, imagine Shi bringing that home!” laughs another. “Her boobs are the size of my pinky finger!”

“A piglet couldn’t even suck on one,” adds someone else.

She sees how Aang reacts first. His fingers start to curl, and she can tell he is trying to hold his anger in. The other table is not exactly subtle. But before he can say or do anything, Katara stands, her chair toppling over behind her.

A fire burns in her chest, her cheeks are hot with embarrassment, and she storms out of the restaurant without another word.

She makes it back to the palace, unaware that she has thrown open the doors to their chamber until she has already gone to the bathroom to furiously untangle her hair from its braid. She hears footsteps run behind her, and then Aang stands behind her. She can see the worried expression on his face in the mirror.

“Katara,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“I’m going to bed,” she states, finally throwing her hair tie on top of the countertop. She pivots into their room and grabs her sleep clothes.

“It’s still sunset,” Aang speaks again. The door to their bathroom shuts. “Please, Katara. You know they were out of line. You’re—”

She swivels around to face him, mouth in a scowling line. “You heard them. I’m ugly and my breasts are too small and—”

Aang tries to grab for her flailing hands. Her sleep clothes fall to the floor. “You never cared about looks before,” he says. His eyebrows are scrunched together. “And you know that no matter what you say, you’re still the most beautiful person in the world to me.”

A tiny part of her wants to burst with affection for him because she knows he is right, and she knows he means it. Yet, all those months of being shown that she is not desirable enough, that she isn’t pretty enough—sinks into her head and suddenly all she knows is that all those things are true. And if they are true, she is not enough for him.

She wants more than anything to be enough for Aang.

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes before she can stop them. She hastily begins to wipe them away, but Aang is there again. His hands on her face, thumbing her cheeks.

“You’re beautiful, Katara,” he murmurs. So soft. “I promise.”

Her breath heaves. “But what if I’m not?” she asks no one in particular. “I am small-chested, and people are more attracted to larger chests and—”

“And nothing,” Aang insists. His eyes are upon her. They sparkle with adoration. “It doesn’t matter to me. You’re perfect just the way you are.” He pauses to press a kiss to her forehead. Then, lowly, he says, “I can show you exactly how perfect.”

Their gazes meet, and she remembers just who she is with.

He guides her in a slow circle, a gentle dance. The sun sets through the window, and they move to their own tune. His hands are on her shoulders, asking for permission. She shudders when he makes his promise to her again, that she is beautiful no matter what.

He slides the fabric of her tunic down one of her arms and kisses her shoulder. He slides the other sleeve down to her elbow and his lips are on the crook of her neck. Her tunic pools on the floor and she is left with her trousers and undergarments on.

He looks at her, the fading sunlight lining his face, his strong jaw, and there is desire there. She feels it.

Still, she crosses her arms over her chest, covering the bindings that hide her breasts from him. She should not be afraid to bare herself to him. They have done this and more before. The lingering notions of shame grasp at her thoughts. She looks away.

“Katara,” Aang says. He brings her face closer to his until they are but a breadth from each other.

And that is all it takes.

He moves her so that she sits on the edge of the bed. His fingers find the fasteners of her bindings and unlatch them. In his hands he cups the sides of her, trails butterfly kisses in between her breasts, hovers over her stomach.

His touch is magic, melts something inside of her that she did not know was festering. He makes her feel like a panda lily that blossoms in its rarity on the cone of a volcano. A pinprick of loveliness even in the depths of destruction.

He lavishes her with his fingers, moves up her torso so that he kisses every part of her. He gently sucks on her nipples, one at a time, until they are swollen and wet and turgid with want.

His teeth graze her chest, and she feels him smile into her. He enjoys this, and it fills her with glee.

“Do you see how perfect you are?” he mutters, “How lovely you are?” The tip of his tongue then subsequently peeks out to the side of her breast.

She bites her bottom lip, trying not to moan her delight.

He has always made love to her well, but something about this time is different. He focuses solely on her, emphasizing the parts of her that she had started to hate. When he touches her, it is both with ease and affection. He does not move to remove her trousers, and somehow, that makes her want him more.

“Aang I—” she begins, quivering, “Please.”

His hands are on her back, and he finally moves so that she is laying down on the mattress. His body is so close to hers that she can feel his hardness against her leg.

His nibbles her breasts again and she groans.

“Tell me how beautiful you are,” he gently commands. He kisses her wrist, the inside of her elbow, her thigh. He moves up again, so they are looking each other in the eye. “Tell me,” he practically begs.

She shivers and shakes her head. “I can’t.”

Aang sucks a nipple again, teasing at the drawstrings of her trousers. He glances upward, waiting for her reply.

Katara feels the warmth building in her core, the wetness between her legs. She sees the pleading in his expression, the ripe and raw emotion in the way he looks at her. He holds himself back from her, and it is all she can take. She wants more.

She rises in a rapid motion until she crashes against him. Her arms are around his neck, her lips locked against his. She pulls away only for a second to say, “I’m beautiful,” before she is on him again.

She says it because she needs him. She says it because if anyone can see the magnificence in anyone it is Aang.

They fall to the floor, and he laughs because he has won. She believes him wholeheartedly now as her underwear and trousers disappear below her knees, and he adores her again. The way he loves her at this moment makes her remember that this is one of the many reasons she too loves him.

Aang makes her love herself.

When her back arches and she is thrumming with pleasure on the floor that evening, she forgets for a moment that anyone could make her feel inadequate when she has a man that can make her feel everything but that.

[kataang-dungeon]

Downpour

Aang and Katara get caught in a typhoon on the way to Ba Sing Se.

Rated: M

Word count: 958

Read here on ao3.

ooo

The rain pours down on them like a curtain of beads cascading endlessly from above. Each drop gets thicker and thicker, each strike on his skin sharper with every passing moment. Aang can't see through any of it as he hastily lands Appa on the outskirts of a forest somewhere in the Earth Kingdom. He coughs his way through it, sputtering out water and rubbing it from his eyes. Not even waterbending can do much when a typhoon disrupts nature.

He latches onto Katara's hand as she slips off Appa, damp fur clinging to their clothes. The bison roars his disapproval, but all they can do his hide under the canopy. There is no shelter nearby as far as Aang can see, but Appa tries to find it anyway.

They end up in a copse of trees with thick branches and leaves, just barely enough to keep the three of them moderately dry. Aang supposes it's better than nothing, but he knows that he needs to make an earth tent. He steps on the ground with a huff, and one springs into existence for Appa, and another for he and Katara. They enter it hand-in-hand.

"So much for a quick trip to Ba Sing Se," Katara laughs, wringing out her hair. It is loose across her shoulders in waves. "Sokka is going to be so mad when he realizes we won't be coming until the day after tomorrow. He didn't want to be alone with the Earth King."

Aang nods, agreeing. "Poor Sokka," he says with a sarcastic grin. "He has the entire palace and its buffet to himself. Whatever will he do?"

They chuckle together, moving to the back of the makeshift tent and furthest away from the entrance to keep warm. They both shiver.

Though Aang and Katara try to waterbend as much water from their clothes as possible, they are still soaked to the bone. The harsh rains and the howling wind outside does not do much for them, and Aang finds himself taking off his upper robes. His rubs his arms, trying to flatten the goosebumps that appear there.

Then, he feels lips on his shoulder. He tilts his head downward to find Katara pressing the warmth of herself against him, her eyes closed. The top of her robe has already been undone. He can see her bindings peeking from underneath. He lets his fingers graze the edges of them and her lips move to his neck. He sucks in a breath.

“I just…want to thank you for today,” she whispers against him. “For supporting me when I wanted to help that village.”

He feels the tip of her tongue at the back of his ear and bites his bottom lip. “You saw that they needed a women’s clinic when no one else did,” he remarks. “You always see what other people can’t.”

She presses the palms of her hands to his chest, and he is slowly being brought to the ground. He sees the way her azure eyes look at him, and the sparkle of want. A bright feeling explodes in his chest that settles between his legs and spreads.

“…and you’re wonderful,” Katara says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re kind,” she adds as she lets his hand cup the side of her breast. She leans into it. “You’re selfless,” she says another time as she slides her way down him, rubbing against his growing hardness.

He moans into her jaw, her hair, her skin. She touches his face and caresses it, butterfly kisses littering his body as she moves hers along his.

The fabrics of their clothes cause friction between them, a barrier that somehow is but isn’t. They tell each other of beauty without words, without hesitation.

Katara’s hands are on his chest, his back, wiping the rain from his bare skin. She seeks him, she tastes him.

The first rumble of thunder shudders through them as she pulls down his pants. It’s as if lighting shoots through him when he feels her lips close around his erection. Her free hand moves with her, and he is suddenly so overwhelmed at how good she feels that he does not realize that he is practically shouting it.

When he finishes, he is met with the captivating view of her thumbing what is left of him from her lower lip.

He rises to meet her, grasping to her back and putting his whole self into her. His mouth is on her temple when she lets out a contented sigh.

“You’re all those things you think I am and more,” he murmurs, and she holds onto him, ever closer. Nearer and nearer. Two halves of the same whole.

Seven years together and he is still amazed by her.

“I know you’re all those things,” she quakes. She tugs at the sleeve of her robe until it’s completely off her.

He smirks on her jawline. He pulls as the drawstring that holds her breasts together in their bindings. “We can agree to disagree,” he says reverently. The bindings fall into their laps. “You are so much more.”

He brings her to the ground this time. Her hair pools around her head like a halo and he thinks she is the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

Katara shakes her head, and there is a soft smile on her face as he descends upon her. “You’re my equal,” she responds, panting. She’s shuddering with ecstasy as finally, Aang repays her.

His fingers are inside, and then his tongue and his everything. Aang takes joy in giving the love of his life the happiness he knows she deserves, and even the roaring of the typhoon that churns outside cannot deter him from that.

[kataang-dungeon]

Why does Air Temple Island have a jail cell? One reason: repopulation~