☾⋆⁺₊ Mako (Avatar) x reader
The Fire Ferrets and Falconfoxes are always at each other's throats. As your team's firebender, you're always vigilant of Mako, who you try to take out during an exhibition match. Unfortunately, it ends pretty badly, leaving you soaked and irritated. After the match you stumble upon him in the gym, where you decide to settle to unfinished one-on-one.
(Fren-)enemies dynamic ⁺₊ firebender reader ⁺₊ pre-season 01 Mako ⁺₊ fem reader ⁺₊ 4k
Warnings: smut, description of fighting (both bending and contact)
A/N: Let me state this: Mako is not the sharpest tool in the shed. But his street rat, poor, handsome, kinda dense character begs for a fic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s match is friendly only by name!” A salve of applause follows the commentator’s build-up. “Even though the championships are far away, the stands are packed! And all that for the one and only Fire Ferrets and Falconfoxes from Golden Treetops! Can I get a round of applause!?”
Whistles and cheers echo under the glass dome of the arena. You wave at the stands, taking in the mass of people. All of which came to see your game. You adjust your helmet and align with your teammates in the innermost sector of the ring.
As always, you register only the first few sentences of the commentary before losing track of your hearing. Instead, you zero in on your opponents. The Ferret’s waterbender, Hasook, shoots a long, quick, watery whip straight at your chest. Turning on your foot, you escape, letting the water lick thin air. Using the momentum of your pirouette, you punch in front of you, a gush of fire rushing to bite back at the water bender.
“Hasook got hit, and it must have hurt!” The audience claps and cheers. “Will it be the end of Ferret’s waterbending in this round?”
That’s what you hope for. You turn again, this time shooting a beam of fire from your foot. Hasook tries to make it in time and cover himself with a water shield, but he’s too slow. Fire reflects in the see-through part of his helmet, and he’s nearly out of the ring–
Another beam overpowers your shot, exploding before it can reach Hasook. You groan and instantly turn to derange another attack. This guy!
Right in front of you stands your very own sworn enemy – Mako from the Fire Ferrets.
You don’t see him much apart from the ring and sometimes the gym, but it’s enough to make him get under your skin. They say he’s exceptionally cold and calculating for a firebender. He’s also, somehow, always right where you want to be, parrying your attacks and saving his teammates.
Usually, you try not to fight fire with fire. This is no Agni Kai. It’s tiring to try to match the relentless speed and force of firebending. Instead, you try to focus on overpowering the other benders, especially water ones. But this time you agreed on a different strategy. This time, you will get Mako down.
“Bolin has to duck away from his own brother, ladies and gentlemen, look at that fire!” The commenter quickly catches up with your plan. “They’re shooting left and right, up and down! Looks like firebenders from both teams made it their mission to take each other out! Is something going on between them?”
You shoot again, again and again. With fists and kicks and spins. You feel your breath growing hotter and hotter, trying to swallow the heat rising in your throat. It’s not a smart move to breathe fire into your own helmet. Luckily for you, Mako has the same problem. His cold facade is gone, replaced with hot huffs and grunts. He strains his muscles trying to hit the bullseye — you.
“This is insane!” The crowd roars. “Who will tire the other quicker? Is the Ferret fiery enough to take down the Falcon? How much fuel do these two have? Seriously, how long can they go!?”
The ringing in your ears cuts off the nosy commenter. Your vision becomes tunnelled, and all you wish for is to tear off the helmet and cool down. Instead, your tense muscles move forward and forward, closer to the centre of the ring. All you can see is Mako and his fists shooting a cannonade your way.
He clasps his hands together, trying to create an even stronger blast. You shoot yourself into the air, evading his attack. He stumbles from the force of his own fire, and just then, you see the opening. You land on steady feet, swing your fist and shoot a powerful stream straight into his chest.
Just above your beam, another comes to life, and the next thing you see is the underside of the ring, as you fall into the water below.
“Ladies and gentlemen, everyone here and everyone listening over the radio, this is crazy!” The crowd roars even louder, clapping and whistling like madmen. “The fire benders pushed each other out of the ring at the same moment, using the same technique!”
You wade toward the elevator with a frown. When you climb on top, you look around and spot the lift on the other side already halfway up. Mako stands, arms crossed over his chest, just as irritated as you.
“Fret not, for Bolin dives right in with a series of stone discs–”
You hear a series of steady explosions, light flickering through the open door of the gym. You’re on your way home, all washed and changed after the evening game. The muscles in your arms and legs are tense, promising to take you to hell tomorrow. You feel a bit stupid, getting all worked up over an exhibition match. On the other hand, the crowd went crazy tonight with the show you gave. Getting more popular wouldn’t hurt, no?
As you walk by the gym, your steps slow down. One of the double door wings is open. Involuntarily, you peek inside. Mako.
He’s punching air, shooting fire from his fists, albeit the force of his attacks is smaller than what you saw an hour ago. It’s like he’s letting go of pent-up steam rather than actually training.
You chuckle. Who wouldn’t be a bit upset after getting their ass beaten and handed back? You shouldn’t stir up the hornet’s nest, but this guy has been targeting you during games long enough. You’re allowed to be the smaller person from time to time. Besides, it was just a friendly match.
“Training to beat me, or are you inflicting self-punishment? Can’t tell the difference.” You lean against the doorframe, watching him jolt lightly at your voice.
Mako turns around, wide-eyed for a second. He deflates upon seeing your smirk.
“You won, get off me.” He shakes his hand in resignation.
“What?” You’re surprised at your own disappointment. Where is the fire? Or is he only good at punching it into the air? “Okay, mister Delicate Feelings.”
The man gives you a deadpan expression and turns around again, reaching for his towel. An awkward silence rests over the gym. You should go, you know that, but somehow you feel glued to the doorframe. If you turn on your foot now, it will make you look like a real asshole. Poking fun at a fellow pro-bender like some hotshot. You groan internally and take a step inside the gym.
“All right, all right. Sorry, shouldn’t make fun of you.” You shrug off your bag. “Good game today.”
Mako looks you up and down.
You puff and glance around. There’s nobody here except for him and you. The equipment is tidied, the floor is swept, and the only dirty towel is the one slung around Mako’s neck. The janitor must have already cleaned. Shoot, he’s probably fast asleep at home, considering the hour.
“Rather tough being a pro-bender, no?” You chat him up. “At least considering the shifts. We’re up all night nearly every weekend.”
“So,” you bounce on the balls of your feet, “what are you doing here, at this hour, training?”
“Just killing some time before I go to sleep.” He runs the towel through the short hair at the nape of his neck.
“Don’t you have a tram to catch or something?” Truth be told, you never thought where Mako lives. Somehow, your question makes him laugh.
“If you count the elevator to the last floor as a tram, then sure, I need to catch one.” He laughs a bit more at your puzzled look before continuing. “I live upstairs with Bolin.”
“Here?” You point towards the floor ostentatiously.
“Here.” He parrots, crossing arms over his chest. “Oh, sorry, not distinguished enough for you, my lady?”
“I’m no lady.” You snap back at him.
“Oh, really?” He crooks a brow. “Cuz you frown like a little spoiled girl every time I win a fight against you.”
“And you punch air in an empty gym when I win because you’re angry.”
Mako knots his brows together, unhappy at not having said the last word.
“Oh, please, it’s not about you, it’s about the match in general. Hasook wasn’t trying as hard as he could, and Bolin did a few stupid steps. I’m upset at them, not at you.”
“Sure, blame your teammates. Very friendly of you,” you huff, “brother of the year.”
“Hey, get off the Bolin topic.”
“Because I’m his older brother.”
“Poor Bolin, if you talk him down every time you lose against me, he must be having shitty weekends every weekend!”
“I don’t lose every time, you’re crazy!”
“Oh, let’s see next week then.”
You turn around and rush towards your bag.
“No.” Mako’s firm voice makes you freeze midair. “Let’s settle it now. No ring, no distractions, no stupid commenter coming up with stories.”
Is something going on between them? The remark bites back at you with double force.
“Sure.” You strip from your coat and the upper layer of clothing. It’s gonna get hot in here.
Mako assumes his stance in the middle. You take him in, noticing all the small things usually hidden under his costume. I live upstairs with Bolin. His words ring in your ears when you look at his clothes. They’re kinda ragged. The tank top must have been washed a thousand times. Small patched spots litter the fabric. But even the unfortunate wardrobe doesn’t make Mako look anything less than dangerously handsome. If anything, it adds a bit of spice. You start to wonder where this guy comes from? Wait a second, what are you even thinking–
A beam of fire tickles the tip of your nose. Mako’s fist is midair, uncomfortably close to your face. You jump back to avoid the attack. You feel a surge of ideas, now that you’re alone, no crowd watching. You could drop the pro-bender style and really beat him up with your proper firebending— no! He would surely spot the difference in style. Not safe, not wise.
Your separation isn’t long, as you dive his way, low on your legs to dodge his high shots. You aim at his legs, trying to throw him off balance. Unfortunately, his talent of being one step ahead sparks. Mako meets your level with another gust. You duck even lower, practically crawling on the floor. He uses his steady stance to jump and kick the air below with fire, exactly where you are.
You roll to the side and bite back with your own beam. The two meet halfway and explode. Mako stumbles, but you’re on all fours, ready to jump upwards. You intend to do a half-spin and wreak fire left and right. Unfortunately, this is not the ring, and Mako is closer than usual. Before you can start bending, you crash into him, knocking him off his feet entirely.
Mako lands on his back with a painful groan. You’re not better off yourself, as you have to break the fall with your arm. It’s surely gonna bruise. You sit upright, head snapping forward, hand steadying on the first thing you can find. Your grip is treacherous because your support turns out to be Mako’s chest, and he doesn’t look all giddy about it. He tries to grab your hand, but you’re already leaning backwards, squeezing him with your tights for balance. He buckles his hips upwards, trying to throw you off, but you push his pelvis back onto the floor. Mako balls his fists and shoots them your way, creating a crossfire. You shriek and move your hands in front, letting the fire stop on your palms, running between your fingers like a splash of water.
Mako’s bending is weak because he’s out of breath after the fall. Remember, fire is born from breathing. You hear your master speak. With a grunt, you clasp your hands around his fists, stopping his bending altogether. His eyes go wide, surprised at your direct counter. Quickly, they sharpen when he realises he’s got the upper hand. The man grabs your wrists and pushes with all his might. You stumble backwards, his strength taking you by surprise.
This time it’s you with your back to the floor, hands pushed above your head in a compromising position. Before he can pin you for good, you wrap your spread legs around his waist and squeeze as hard as you can. Mako coughs and lets go of your wrists, falling forward and landing with his elbows on either side of your head. His forehead crashes into yours, and you both groan in pain.
Once again, you end up taking each other out at the same time.
Your palms shoot to his chest, pushing him upwards. He takes the opportunity to steady himself on one arm, and his other hand rubs circles on his forehead. His eyes squeezed shut, brows knit together, a frown on his lips.
The stumble plays in your head on repeat, the moment when your foreheads crash, looping over and over. Paired with Mako’s irritated expression, it pushes you overboard. A laugh erupts from your throat, shaking your whole body. Your trembling legs wobble Mako back and forth, jolting him back to reality. Your tired muscles scream, so you loosen up, letting your thighs slide down his legs and fall to the sides, releasing him from the vice grip.
“Thank the spirits there’s a division line on the ring,” your chest slowly stops shivering, “or else we would wrestle instead of bend every time.”
Mako chuckles but says nothing.
You let out a long puff, finally relaxing entirely. You slowly get down from the high of the fight and back to your senses. The floor underneath is hard and cold. One of your arms pulsates annoyingly. You just showered, and you’re sweaty once again. Mako’s hot chest, abdomen, and pelvis push into your body, adding to the stickiness. You feel his unusually hot breath on your cheeks. You look upwards and meet his gaze. Who would have thought his eyes were such a warm colour? And of such a light shade. Usually, you don’t see eyes like these, exceptionally bright. Mako blinks, and you lose track of the hue.
“You surprised me with the close contact,” he babbles, “especially since you don’t look like somebody who’s good at fist fights.”
“I didn’t mean to fall onto you. You’re usually further away from me. Habit. Sorry.” Your sentences become faster-paced the longer you stay like… that.
You feel frozen. No matter how you move, you’ll push into him further one way or another. Grind, touch, squeeze. He has to get off first! But he isn’t moving. He’s glued to the floor and you, propping himself on one arm that is clearly starting to tremble from the strain. His eyes wander somewhere around your face, his expression a mixture of shock, embarrassment and excitement, a deep red blush creeping over his cheeks.
“Better fall on then for.” Mako blurts.
Your eyes widen, his also. Without thinking, you start to buckle your hips and dig your feet into the ground, trying to escape the embarrassment of his words and the compromising weight of his body. Why did he, of all people, have to say something like that!?
“Hey, stop!” He shouts in warning.
Your abrupt movements further weaken Mako’s already tired hand. It gives up, and the man starts to fall forward. You catch, or rather push, him back in time, doing your best to sit up. He grabs onto the first and only thing within arm's reach for balance – your shoulders. Once again, you fall over, like some faulty swing that cannot stop. Why is untangling your limbs such a difficult job?
“Can you stop thrashing!? You're gonna crush me, ouch!” His shout finally makes you stop kicking and throwing hands.
“What,” you start, but the words simmer down in your throat.
Having found his balance, Mako sits upwards, legs sprawled out on the cold gym floor, hands–
Now you see why it was so difficult to stand up. He's holding you by your waist, digging his fingertips into your soft sides. Suddenly, you're painfully aware of your own hands, hanging midair between the two of you.
“Don't say stuff like that,” you blurt, “why did you say that?” You don't want to know.
“What do you mean, no idea? You say stuff before thinking?” His palms are hot against your middle; you feel them even through your own undershirt.
“No.” Another frown erupts on his face.
You put your palms on Mako's chest, intending to push him away. Instead, you lay them flat against the hem of his sleeveless shirt, your fingertips grazing his bare skin. The touch is electric, and your hands freeze momentarily upon feeling him.
‘Why do you say weird stuff?” You push, at least mentally.
“I don't know,” his head tilts slightly, “I’m bad with words.”
“Are you any good?” You're talking nonsense.
“Probably not.” He's not much better.
“You're bad.” You shift involuntarily and feel his lap under you.
You are falling further into him because he keeps leaning back, succumbing to your delicate push. With the tips of your fingers, you can feel his collarbone, his warm, damp skin. He's balancing with the core muscles of his body, arms straining around you from the grip he has on your waist. You can see his biceps and the muscles in his neck. And the look on his face, the way in which he glances upwards to meet your gaze. The deep red never left his cheeks, spilling over his sharp nose into a puddle of embarrassment.
Your heart rate picks up, drumming against your ribs in excitement. You have never seen Mako so flustered, never imagined he could look like that. The surge of power goes to your head, and you feel way too brave all of a sudden. You want to see how much further you can push him.
Mako looks at your lips, “mhm,” he hums and leans in.
You’re vigilant, testing his barely parted lips like dangerous waters. You can feel his shallow breath between tickling butterfly kisses. He presses into you firmly, and you tilt your head to take him more. Your hands slide up his neck and clasp his reddened cheeks. You feel his jaw moving under your fingertips, the tip of his tongue wetting your lips.
Mako’s abdomen gives up, and he falls backwards, pulling you along. This time, his fall is soft, cushioned by your palms shielding the back of his head. Your fingers comb through the short dark hair, and you let yourself be trapped for a second like that. He runs his palms up and down your sides firmly, hooking his index finger in the hem of your shirt to pull it up. You let go of his head and push into his chest to sit up. A firm hardness pokes at the underside of your thigh.
“The door.” You gasp, looking to the side.
The open wing offers a perfect view of the show unwrapping on the gym floor. If anyone walked past, you would surely make the newspaper first thing in the morning. Ferrets and Falcons… associating. No, no, no! You would never get rid of the gossip magazines. You would never play a single match again without some snarky commentary.
Mako seems to understand you because he stands up. Somehow, it’s quite easy to untangle yourself all of a sudden when you work together towards a mutual goal. The goal being–
“Come here.” He takes your hand and pulls you into a corner of the gym. Hidden behind a rack of stone discs, you find a narrow door. A small supply cubbyhole.
The insides are dimly lit and become even more ominous when Mako closes the door behind you. You manage to turn around before feeling him push into you and up against the wall. He slides his hands up your sides once again, reaching all the way along your arms and forearms, until he hooks your wrists over his neck. He nuzzles his nose over your cheek and dives down into your neck to leave scorching kisses.
You tug at the hem of his tank top, making him pull away to throw it over his head and onto the floor. You can only see his shoulders and neck because your head is pinned to the wall, and he’s hunched over you, kissing the exposed parts of your collarbone. Costumes surely hide a lot.
Craving more of his touch, you pull your own shirt and anything left on your upper part off. Mako explores the newfound freedom with rough hands and wet kisses. You’re done with those; enough of the pecking!
“Come on.” You scrape at his shoulders, wrapping one of your legs around his hip.
He seems a bit off track with the tempo you’re forcing, but nods either way.
“Wait a second.” He whispers and dashes outside, leaving you dumbfounded.
The sound of the gym door shutting reaches your ear. Then, some shuffling and Mako is back with his bag. He drops it on the floor and proceeds to pull things out, throwing them all over the floor. Finally, he grabs onto something that you quickly recognise as condoms.
“You always have these on you?” You know Mako’s handsome and quite popular, but you always thought he was the reserved one.
The man looks up at you and smirks, letting the question fall on deaf ears. That motherfuck–
You’re pulled to the floor by the hem of your pants. You tilt backwards and rest on your elbows, sprawled in the middle of the cubbyhole. Mako crawls over you, pushing you further until you’re flat against the dusty wood. Holding the condom between his teeth, he starts to undo the buttons in his pants, so you follow suit with your own clothes. You only manage to free one leg from the pants and your underwear when your thighs are pushed aside to accommodate the width of his hips. He finds the wetness of your core with his fingers and guides himself in. You gasp, and he mutters an apology because he’s too eager, pushing all the way in one go. You hum in acceptance, you’re warmed up enough to mould into his shape with a few thrusts. Pleasure overpowers the stretch, and you throw your head back in the first moan of delight, many more to come.
Mako snakes his arms under your back, wrapping you in a tight grip. You put your palms over his shoulders and slide them down to feel his biceps. Your body is dragged back and forth with the force of his thrusts, and you feel rhythmic explosions of pleasure every time he bottoms out. He has to keep you in place, pinning you to the floor with his weight, locking you with his arms.
It’s pathetic, but you’re close. The heat, the excitement, the shock, and force all this, it’s searingly intoxicating, gratifying. It feels like the first time you’re doing it right. Is sex supposed to taste like this every time? Or is it Mako?
You push your forehead into the crook of his neck, muffling the moan by biting into his skin. It makes him hiss, muscles tense, moving under your teeth. You come hard, groping whatever flesh or fabric stumbles under your grasp. Then you limp in his hold, allowing him to chase after his own release with snappy, unrhythmic thrusts. He kisses you messily before coming, making you drink up all the grunts and moans that accompany. His head falls onto your chest, arms loosen up, and only now do you feel how little breathing space you had.
For a moment, there’s nothing but your breath in the cubbyhole. They slowly grow deep and even. You blink a few times and rub a hand over your face. Finally, you look up at Mako.
His expression is dazzled and blissful. Then it turns a bit more stern and finally melts into shock.
“I’m, we’re–” he tries to mutter something, but is unable to come up with words.
You’re no better, juggling between running away while shouting or in silence.
“I think I should go.” You wiggle out from beneath him, trying to find the other part of your pants in panic. You throw your shirt over, left side out, and push through the door, leaving Mako to button up half of his own trousers before running after you.
“Wait!” You’re already clutching the rest of your clothes and coat when his voice makes you freeze. You turn to see him standing in the middle of the gym, exactly where you first found him, but shirtless this time, and panting. “I– thanks.”
A snort escapes you. Backwards, step by step, you near the closed gym door.
“Really? That’s what you have to say? Thanks?” Your brow crooks, the short, snappy laugh still spilling out of you.
Mako groans, throwing his hands into the air and sliding them down his face in annoyance.
“I told you, I’m bad with words.”
“I see.” Involuntarily, you grin. “I won’t thank you, though. Weirdo.”
You push the doorknob and open one of the wings, letting fresh night air sweep over the gym. It feels like a cold shower after a steam bath. You’re halfway through the door when his voice reaches you once again. This time it’s firm, like he’s sure of what he’s saying.
“Let’s spar some time again.”
