hi water bender reader riding zuko in a whirlpool. mdni. nsfw.
the water acts like a salve on his skin. lapping at wounds, small scratches thin enough to sting, as though they’re serene sea waves kissing the very edge of a sand shoreline. where the substrate is fine, gritty like white sugar that sifts between the palm of your hands — absorbing caressing offerings from the ocean like they’re scared tears shed against soft skin.
if you’re bending the water to heal zuko, he feels it. the pain in his cuts and bruises insignificant — worth less than a penny. because in the moment, all he can focus on is the rich tingle of pleasure you strike in his lower belly. the kind that strikes heat from deep within as though someone’s stoking a fire — prodding at it until it roars with uncontrolled heat and hunger for more fuel.
water in the whirlpool sloshes over its rocky edge with the reverent rise and fall of your hips above his. syrupy and slow like sugar melted down to a thick, viscous treacle. your hands are damp, slippery from the water that moves at your will, as they trace the sharp lines of zuko’s face. they say water holds memories, the shape of his youth and how he looked before he grew into the man you grew to love — framed by silken locks that swirl with the clear surrounding you. the water that lulls with the rhythm of your bodies as you sink down on his cock. rock hard like igneous. pulsing with threads of heat, deep inside your mound.
“zuko,” you hum, tip of your nose wet against his. a water droplet from yours merging with lodged into the divot at his cheek.
he gasps, bucking up on instinct to chase the temperate ripples of your insides, and you clench down to keep him there. water bubbling now. steam rising from its surface and curling with the cold air in tendrils of soft grey. “yeah… yes, love?” the world looses a set of burning amber eyes as zuko’s lashes flutter, closing briefly.
your lips pull into a smile, amused and mirthy at first — pearls of water clinging to your lashes as you peer up at him and loop your arms around zuko’s thick neck. when your nails rake at his scalp, not biting, still soothing, a wistful affection sinks into the intricacies of your expression. like you’ve discovered something secret, something precious to hold in this moment shared between the two of you.
“you’re boiling the water.” you coo, not an ounce of vindictiveness sewn into your tone. all hushed and whispered, curled into a lethargic moan as his dripping digits rise from the pool to grip your hips. not to guide you. just to hold you, follow the motions you bring as you ride him like a ship following the route of the sea.
it doesn’t hurt you, he knows that. you would have said by now, but it’s welcomed on your skin. a testament to how he can’t control himself with you, tensions and worries from the day sinking into the depths, lost to the dark.
his whole body vibrates torridness, coiled up within the fibre of his being — blending with the water you command at will, that you know better than the backs of your hand. it’s your home, one that you welcome zuko into, drag him under the surface of. your arms tighten around his neck as evidence — whimpers of bliss lost in jet black tendrils that glow with the blue light of the whirlpool and he leans into you.
a wreck, a lost ship, willing to become one with the sea.
zuko pulls you down onto his girth, plugging your sweltering sex full with everything he has to offer — breath shaky and feverish against the bracket of your ear. a careful whisper lost under the broiling sound the water makes as your bodies grind and bump and smack against one another under the surface.
“can’t help it,” he breathes, warm in the face, cheeks tinged a flame red, boiling in the chest where wet your hand drips dow to find his heartbeat among the ripples. “that’s just what you do to me, my love.”
