Archive of Our Own

The music was too loud. The people were too sweaty—packed like sardines in this weird, out-of-place warehouse that smelled like cigarette smoke and someone’s disgustingly artificial fruity vape. The drinks were overpriced and way too sweet, leaving a syrupy aftertaste Korra couldn’t wash away no matter how many times she swirled her glass. 

“I thought we were just getting dinner,” Korra muttered into her drink, scowling as someone bumped her elbow for the third time since she’d ordered it. 

“And we did,” Bolin replied, his voice somehow cutting through the chaos like he was narrating a nature documentary. “But you know how it is with Opal. She heard about this pop-up spot literally an hour ago. So naturally, she had to check it out.” 

And check it out she did. 

Opal was already deep in the crowd, spinning effortlessly to the beat. Her dress flared out as she twirled, arms lifted, eyes closed like she was floating above the chaos instead of dancing right in the middle of it. She looked completely at peace—like the music was speaking a language only she understood. 

“You could’ve at least taken me home first,” Korra sighed, brushing a few stubborn strands of hair from her face as she flagged down the bartender for something stronger—anything that didn’t taste like melted candy. She needed a drink that burned, something sharp enough to cut through the buzz of bodies pressed too close and the overwhelming stench of synthetic fruit and sweat. Something that might help her forget how out of place she felt among these gyrating, glitter-drenched strangers she couldn’t care less about. 

“You’ll be fine. This is way better than those camping trips you always drag us on,” Bolin said with a grin, clapping a heavy hand on Korra’s shoulder before drifting away from the bar. His gaze was already locked on Opal, his whole face softening as he watched her spin through the crowd like gravity had shifted and she was the center of it all. “Give it an hour. Take a couple shots, loosen up, and come find us on the dance floor.” 

“Fine,” Korra muttered, just as the bartender slid the shot her way. She tossed it back in one smooth motion, wincing as the cheap liquor burned its way down her throat. It was going to take several more of those before she let herself get dragged into one of Bolin’s infamous conga lines again. 

A few shots in, and Korra found herself swallowed up by the dance floor. It was hot, crowded, and thumping with bass she could feel deep in her chest. 

She spotted Opal and Bolin dancing near the far corner of the warehouse. They’d started off together, when Korra finally made her way over, Opal had grabbed her hand and pulled her in, insisting she dance with her first. 

“At least you don’t step on my feet every ten seconds,” she’d said with a pointed glance at Bolin. 

Korra laughed, spinning the smaller woman with ease, the alcohol taking the edge off just enough to let her forget about the crowd pressing in around them. 

Once the couple slipped deeper into the crowd, clearly lost in their own world, Korra found herself accepting the attention of some fleeting stranger looking for a quick grind. 

She gave in—because apparently, this was just how clubs worked. You got drunk, someone rubbed up on you like they were doing you a favor and then vanished back into the crowd like a ghost. 

Rinse and repeat. 

She didn’t mind. Not really. It was easy. Thoughtless. Distracting. 

Like her current dance partner—well, maybe not her current one. The blonde from before had disappeared sometime during the last chorus of whatever remix was blaring. Now, pressed flush against her, was someone new. 

And this one was different. 

Wavy jet-black hair cascaded down her back, and she moved like she knew exactly what she was doing. Her hips rolled in perfect rhythm against Korra’s crotch like she wasn’t just dancing—she was performing. She smelled expensive. Like leather seats and imported perfume. Like she could walk into Korra’s apartment and buy the whole complex without blinking. 

The tiny black dress hugging her curves left little to the imagination, barely stopping above mid-thigh. It had to be made from the skimpiest material Korra had ever felt—soft, thin, almost criminal. 

And she still hadn’t even seen her face. 

Didn’t matter. Her body alone was doing more for Korra than anyone else had all night. Hell, this woman could look like a foot, a 3rd eyeball in the middle of her forehead—with a body like that, she might as well be a goddess. 

The woman arched her back against Korra’s chest, pressing even closer as her arm lifted, long pale fingers tangling themselves in Korra’s messy hair. Her touch was slow, teasing, as if she had all the time in the world to explore the strands at the nape of her neck. 

Korra swallowed thickly. She wasn’t hard—not yet, at least—but the way this woman rolled her hips against her bulge, unhurried, made it feel inevitable. Like she already knew it was there, felt the outline of it and decided to push a little harder, just to see what kind of reaction she could pull from her. 

Korra’s hands hovered, uncertain, fingers twitching just above the woman’s slim waist like they were waiting for permission. It was hard to think straight with that body pressed so tightly against hers—the soft swell of her ass grinding into the rough denim of Korra’s jeans. For a moment, she wondered if the woman could feel the coarse fabric through that barely-there dress. If she liked the contrast. 

The music shifted, one song bleeding seamlessly into the next, but the woman didn’t move with it. She kept grinding against Korra in the same enchanting rhythm—no longer matching the beat, but chasing something else entirely. 

So Korra gave in. 

Her hands slid down, settling at her waist, her thumbs brushing along the curve of her hips like a quiet surrender. She leaned in, lips barely grazing the shell of the woman’s ear, her voice low and rough—husked from liquor, lust, and the thudding bass vibrating through her chest. 

“Do you dance with everyone like this?” she whispered, her words nearly lost to the music. 

The woman didn’t answer right away—just tilted her head slightly, nails dragging lightly along Korra’s scalp before curling in her hair again. The movement of her body didn’t stop, slow and purposeful as she pressed back against Korra like they had all the time in the world. 

“You have great rhythm,” came the most seductive voice Korra had ever heard—silky, confident, like smoke curling around her ears. 

The woman tilted her head back just enough to meet Korra’s gaze, and Korra nearly forgot how to breathe. Intense green eyes locked onto hers—hypnotic, calculating, and absolutely devastating. Her red lips were parted, tiny puffs of breath escaping between them, but it wasn’t from exertion. It was control. Teasing. Like this isn’t the first time she’s hunted in the club. 

“I’ve been waiting for those other girls to finally leave,” she murmured, her voice like honey. “Just to see if my eyes were deceiving me.” 

“And… were they?” Korra asked, drawn in like a tide. Her body kept moving with the woman’s, perfectly in sync now, like they’d done this a thousand times. The woman’s hand remained tangled in her hair, the other sliding down to grip the waistband of her jeans—possessive and unashamed. 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she whispered, arching her back just enough to grind harder against Korra’s cock, the pressure perfectly placed. 

Korra’s breath hitched as the woman’s hips rolled against her again, slow and smooth. The crowd around them faded into a blur of flashing lights and pulsing bass, but Korra only saw her. Only felt her. 

The hand in her hair gave a gentle tug, tilting Korra’s head just enough to expose her throat. The woman leaned in close, lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below her jaw—hovering, not touching. 

“I like the way you move,” the woman murmured, her voice barely audible over the music—but it hummed through Korra like bass, low and electric. “Not many know how to follow.” 

Korra’s grip on her waist tightened slightly, her voice rough with confidence. “Sounds like you haven’t met the right one.” 

That earned a low, amused hum. 

“And you think that’s you?” the woman asked, just as her lips finally brushed against Korra’s skin—a feather-light kiss to the curve of her neck that sent heat pulsing straight to her core. Her hand slipped from Korra’s waistband, trailing across her stomach, her nails grazing the hem of her shirt like she was testing boundaries—and finding none. 

Korra smirked, matching her energy with ease. “Weird of you to assume that I did.” 

The woman grinned at that—slow, wicked, intrigued. Her tongue slid across her upper teeth as she pulled back just enough to look Korra in the eye, eyes glinting like she’d found something far more interesting than she expected. 

“Is anyone waiting for you at home?” she asked, the question sliding between them like a challenge—smooth, bold, intimate. 

Korra’s jaw tensed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “No,” she said, voice low and rough. Heat coiled in her gut. “Just my dog.” 

The woman chuckled, low and wicked. “Lucky dog,” she murmured, before trailing her fingers up under the edge of Korra’s shirt, nails lightly raking across her stomach. “Because if someone was waiting, I’d feel just a little guilty for what I’m about to do.” 

She turned then—finally, fully—pressing her chest against Korra’s, their bodies now face-to-face for the first time. Her green eyes were even more dangerous up close, like they could strip Korra down right there in the middle of the floor. Her lips ghosted over Korra’s once. Twice. Not in any form of a kiss though. 

“But since no one is… come with me.” 

The woman didn’t wait for confirmation. She turned with purpose, her hand slipping into Korra’s and tugging her through the crowd. 

Korra followed without question, weaving through the blur of bodies and flashing lights, barely aware of anything except the heat of that hand in hers—and the way the woman’s dress hugged her hips with every step. 

She could’ve been walking straight to her death, and honestly? If this was her last memory, she wouldn’t complain. 

They slipped through a heavy door marked Employees Only, and suddenly the music dulled behind them, replaced by the echo of tile and the low hum of flickering fluorescent lights. 

Thank God the bathroom was empty. 

Before Korra could get a word out, she was shoved into an empty stall, the metal lock sliding into place just as her back hit the wall. She nearly stumbled over the toilet, barely catching her balance before red lips crashed against hers. 

The kiss was immediate—deep and hungry—like this woman had been starving for her all night and finally snapped. 

She tasted like lipstick and something exotic and expensive—something Korra couldn’t quite place but knew she’d crave long after this was over. The kind of taste that would drive her insane trying to find again. 

The woman’s hands were everywhere. One slipped beneath Korra’s shirt, fingers spreading wide across her bare stomach, while the other gripped her jaw just firmly enough to draw a moan from deep in her throat. 

“You taste so fucking good,” the woman breathed against her lips before trailing kisses along her jaw. “I knew the moment I saw you—you’d feel even better than you look.” 

Korra’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her hands finally found purchase, grabbing the woman’s hips, pulling her closer, locking them together like gravity. 

The woman didn’t give Korra time to process that answer. Her lips returned with even more hunger, claiming Korra’s mouth like she had every right to it. Tongue sliding against hers, teeth grazing her bottom lip. She tasted like trouble. Like sin. 

Korra groaned into her, her hands dragging up the woman’s sides until they found the zipper hidden at the back of her dress. She fumbled with it for half a second before the woman pulled away just enough to whisper. “Up.” 

Korra obeyed without hesitation, lifting the woman effortlessly and pinning her against the stall door. Her dress rode up to her hips with the motion, bunching around her waist. Korra held her steady, arms strong and sure, as the woman wrapped her legs around her like it was instinct. 

Her fingers moved fast, practiced and hungry, working Korra’s belt open with ease—lips never straying far from the curve of her neck, breathing heat into her skin with every ragged exhale. 

Korra’s pants were undone and shoved down just enough to free herself, her cock already hard and aching. The woman’s underwear was soaked—Korra could feel it, the slick heat radiating between her thighs as she pressed against her. 

“Condom?” she managed. 

“No,” the woman hissed, biting down on Korra’s earlobe, her breath coming hot and fast. “I want to feel you. Just pull out.” 

“Jesus—fuck, okay,” Korra breathed, and that was all she needed. 

She yanked the soaked fabric of the woman’s underwear to the side, shifted her hips, lined up—and in one smooth, urgent thrust, sank into her. 

A guttural groan tore from Korra’s chest as the woman gasped, her head hitting the wall with a soft thud. Her nails dug beneath Korra’s shirt, raking into her shoulders as her body clamped down around her—hot, wet, perfect. 

“Fuck,” Korra breathed. “You feel…” 

“Incredible?” the woman finished with a smug smile, rocking her hips against Korra’s in slow pulses.  

Korra didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She was too focused on the way the woman’s body gripped her like a vice, the obscene sounds filling the bathroom as she started to move—hard and deep, her rhythm relentless. 

The woman moaned into Korra’s mouth, kissing her through each thrust, each grind, each breathless curse she hissed in her ear. Her heels dug into Korra’s back, demanding more, deeper, harder. 

Korra gave it her all. 

The bathroom stall rattled behind them, a door somewhere down the hall creaked open, but neither of them cared. They were too far gone—lost in the rush, in the heat, in each other. 

Korra drove her hips into the woman like this stranger held her life in her hands—like the only thing anchoring her to this world was the way their bodies fit together, the way this woman whimpered every time Korra bottomed out. 

Each thrust was rougher than the last, desperation mounting in every roll of her hips, every groan that tore from her throat. Her hands gripped the woman’s ass, pulling her down harder, tighter, needing more—needing all of her. 

The woman clawed at her back, her head thrown back, lips parted in a breathless moan. “God—you feel so fucking good,” she gasped, nails dragging down Korra’s shoulder blades as her legs squeezed tighter around her. 

Korra was losing herself. In the scent of her, in the heat, in the overwhelming wetness coating her cock with every stroke. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the bathroom walls, the most loud, shameless, vulgar sounds. 

“Korra,” Korra panted, her voice trembling now, less composed, her mask starting to slip. 

“What?” The woman looked at her confused, her perfect fucking manicured eyebrows furrowing to the middle of her forehead as pleasure wrecked through her body. 

“My name’s Korra,” she growled, thrusting deep and fast, dragging every inch of herself out before slamming back in. “I want to hear you say it.” 

The woman’s head fell back against the wall with a thud, her fingers trembling where they clung against Korra’s ribs. Her lips were swollen, her mascara just barely smudged, her voice ragged and breathless when she finally moaned it— 

“Korra…” 

It came out like a prayer, like surrender, and fuck, that did something to her. Korra bit down on the woman’s shoulder to muffle the growl rising in her throat, hips snapping deeper, harder, driving into her like she was trying to brand her name into her body. 

“Again,” Korra begged, voice frayed, hands shaking as the pressure built inside her. 

“Korra,” the woman gasped, louder this time, nails sinking into her skin. “Korra, fuck—don’t stop—” 

The sharp slam of the bathroom door jolted through the space, followed by a burst of high-pitched giggles and heels clicking across tile. A group of women spilled in, their voices loud and careless, echoing off the walls like they owned the place. 

Korra froze, her hips stilling mid-thrust, every instinct screaming at her to stop—to pull out, to hide, to do something. 

But the woman she was buried inside of turned and met her hesitation with a look that could burn straight through steel. 

“I said, don’t stop,” she hissed, her voice low, commanding, and absolutely soaked in need. 

Her nails dug into Korra’s ribs, and she rocked her hips down, forcing Korra deeper again, a sharp gasp slipping through her lips before she bit it back. 

Korra swallowed hard, her cock twitching inside her as the thrill of being caught tangled with the raw, desperate need rolling off this stranger in waves. She held her breath for a beat, then started to move again—slow at first, just enough to make the woman whimper quietly into her shoulder.

The sound of laughter and makeup touch-ups filled the air, but it was background noise now—nothing compared to the feel of this woman clinging to her, riding the edge of release with reckless abandon. 

“You’re insane,” Korra muttered against her neck. 

The woman smiled, teeth grazing Korra’s ear. 

“Then fuck me like it.” 

Korra gritted her teeth, the pressure mounting with every muted thrust. Each time she rocked into the woman, her hands braced underneath this woman’s thighs, her lips brushing the flushed skin of her neck, she could hear it—that tight little gasp the woman tried to bury, that hitched breath she choked back when the angle was just right. 

And all around them, the world went on. 

Makeup bags unzipped. Laughter. Lip glosses clicked shut. A phone rang with some obnoxious ringtone. Someone complained about her ex. The stall next to them flushed. 

Korra drove back into her, each thrust deeper than the last—slower now, quieter, but no less punishing because of its pace. Savage. Cruel. 

The woman’s legs trembled around her waist, nails dragging down Korra’s back as she fought to stay quiet, her breath stuttering with every thrust. Then, without a word, she yanked Korra’s shirt up and shoved the hem between her teeth after a particularly loud grunt escaped her—muffling the sound, exposing the taut lines of her abdomen as her hips rocked in frantic rhythm. 

But Korra could feel her unraveling even in the woman’s need to control. 

Her body trembled with every stroke, breath hitching in short, ragged bursts. Korra dropped her forehead to the woman’s collarbone, her own whimpers trapped in her throat, jaw clenched tight around the fabric of her shirt as she fought to stay quiet—drowning in the unbearable heat coiling tighter with every thrust. 

A voice outside the stall laughed. 

“God, it smells like sex in here.” 

Another giggle followed. “That’s just your desperation, babe.” 

The door creaked open, then slammed shut again—just one or two women left now. Maybe none. It didn’t matter. They didn’t care. They’d never see these people again. Hell, they might never see each other again. 

So, Korra picked up the pace again, the shirt falling from her mouth as her lips parted in a silent gasp. 

The brutal rhythm filled the stall—the sharp thud of the woman’s back hitting the door, her body jolting with each thrust, breath catching in ragged, broken gasps. 

“I’m gonna come,” she choked out, breathless and furious, like the pleasure was something she resented losing control to. “Don’t stop. Fuck, fuck , fuck— ” 

She bit down on Korra’s shoulder, muffling her scream as it tore through her. 

Her body seized, muscles locking around Korra’s cock, walls clenching so tight it nearly drove the breath from Korra’s lungs. 

She came hard—so hard—legs shaking, mouth pressed to Korra’s shoulder to stifle the cry tearing out of her throat. Her nails raked down Korra’s back, desperate to hold onto something, anything, as wave after wave crashed through her. Her orgasm wracked her body, her pussy spasming around Korra’s cock in pulsing rhythm, slick pouring down her thighs. 

Korra groaned through gritted teeth, still thrusting, slow but relentless, fucking her through it with trembling control. Her own release was coiled tight in her spine, threatening to snap. She held on by a thread, hips stuttering as the woman trembled in her arms. 

“Fuck,” Korra gasped, pulling out at the last possible second, her cock throbbing with need, soaked in the woman’s release, flushed and twitching against her stomach. 

“Put me down,” the woman ordered, breathless but firm, her tone making it impossible to argue. 

Korra obeyed, carefully lowering her, and the moment her heels touched tile, she dropped to her knees. 

No hesitation. 

She took Korra’s cock in one hand, eyes blazing as she looked up—green, wild, blown with lust—and then wrapped her lips around her, taking her in deep. 

Korra’s head hit the wall behind her with a dull thud, a strangled moan ripped from her chest as heat and wet and pressure swallowed her whole. The woman’s mouth was sin, her tongue curling around the head as she bobbed her head with filthy purpose. One hand gripped Korra’s thigh for balance, the other stroking what she couldn’t take—all slick, steady rhythm. 

“You’re gonna make me—fuck—” Korra choked out, her hands tangled in thick black waves, hips twitching. 

But the woman just hummed around her, sucking harder. 

Korra was right there—so close it hurt, her body tight, hips twitching, her release barreling down fast and hot like a freight train she couldn’t stop. 

And then the woman pulled off. 

Korra’s eyes snapped open, a growl caught in her throat—ready to curse, to beg—but it died instantly when she saw her. 

The woman tilted her head back, mouth wide open, tongue out. Her lips were flushed and wet, her eyes—those hypnotic, piercing green eyes—locked onto Korra with wicked, knowing intensity. Korra’s cock throbbed in the cool air, the head resting right on the flat of her tongue, shining with spit and her pre-cum. 

She gripped Korra’s shaft in her hand and began stroking her—fast and rough. Not to tease. 

To finish her. 

Korra’s breath caught in her throat. Her knees damn near buckled. 

“Fuck—shit—what the fuck,” she choked out, voice guttural and raw, hips jerking forward helplessly. 

It was pure sin—this stunning stranger on her knees, face upturned like an offering, her mouth open wide as if she’d been waiting all night just for this moment. 

Korra’s orgasm hit like a punch to the chest. 

Her cock twitched violently in the woman’s fist before it erupted, thick, hot ropes of cum spilling across her tongue—painting those perfect red lips, streaking her chin in messy, gleaming white. The woman didn’t flinch. She held steady, mouth open, swallowing what she could while letting the rest spill freely down her skin like she was made for it. 

Korra could barely breathe. Her chest heaved as she stared down at the sight below her, burning it into memory—searing it so deep she’d have no choice but to revisit it on her many sleepless nights. 

And still, the woman held her gaze—those piercing green eyes lit with something wicked and triumphant. 

Like she’d just conquered a god. 

Then, with devastating control, she took the head of Korra’s cock back between her lips, sucking gently—moaning around it—as she swallowed the final drops of her release. Her tongue curled against the head with practiced ease, milking every last bit of cum. 

Korra’s whole body jolted. 

“Fuck—fuck, fuck,” she gasped, bracing one hand against the stall wall as her legs threatened to give out. Her other hand was still tangled in the woman’s hair, fingers trembling. 

The woman finally pulled off with a soft pop, licking her lips slowly, purposefully, like she was trying to make sure Korra never forgot the image of her on her knees. 

“Holy shit,” Korra breathed, her voice hoarse, chest still rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon. 

Korra didn’t wait. 

She grabbed the woman by her biceps and yanked her off the floor like she weighed nothing. Their bodies collided with force, and before the woman could say a word, Korra’s hand was at the back of her neck, pulling her into a kiss that was more claim than affection. 

It was bruising. Desperate. Possessive. 

Her mouth crashed against the woman’s, tongue sliding past parted lips to lick deep—tasting herself still lingering there, warm, salty, and filthy. She had never tasted so good as she did off this woman’s tongue. 

The woman moaned into the kiss, fingers fisting in Korra’s shirt like she wanted to fuse them together—right here, right now, with no space left between them. 

Korra swallowed the sound greedily, her hand tightening at the nape of the woman’s neck, thumb brushing the damp strands of hair clinging to her jaw. 

The woman bit her bottom lip before pulling back just enough to breathe, their lips still brushing. 

“You kiss like you fuck,” she whispered, breathless, voice raw. 

Korra smirked, her thumb swiping at a smear of cum at the corner of the woman’s chin. “You’re welcome.” 

They cleaned up in silence, the tension still electric between them, every brush of their fingers sparking like they might start all over again right there on the bathroom counter. But eventually, the woman smoothed her dress back down, reapplied her lipstick with practiced ease, and slipped back into the same untouchable composure she wore on the dance floor. 

Korra couldn’t stop watching her. Even as the music outside bled back into her ears, the bass thumping like a heartbeat—hers, still ragged and loud. 

The woman turned toward the door, ready to disappear back into the chaos. 

“Wait,” Korra said, taking a step forward, her hand catching the edge of the stall door before it swung all the way open. “You’re seriously not gonna tell me your name?” 

The woman paused, glanced over her shoulder. 

That wicked smile curled across her lips again—sharp, secretive, dangerous. 

“I think you’ll figure that out,” she said, voice dripping with promise. “Soon enough.” 

And then she was gone. 

Swallowed by the lights, the music, and the sea of bodies—as if she’d never been there at all. 

Korra stood frozen just outside the bathroom, eyes still locked in the direction the mysterious woman had vanished, like if she stared long enough, she’d reappear—lips red, eyes burning, hips swaying through the crowd like a dream with unfinished business. 

A sudden tap on her shoulder nearly made her jump out of her skin. 

“Yo, where’ve you been?” Bolin’s voice broke through the haze, concern furrowing his brow. Opal stood beside him, her cheeks flushed from dancing, her brows raised as she looked Korra over. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Ready to head out?” 

Korra blinked, slow to come back to earth. She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling the heat still lingering under her skin. 

“Uh… yeah,” she said, clearing her throat and avoiding their eyes. “I was just, um… taking a piss.” 

Bolin blinked. “For like twenty minutes?” 

Opal squinted at her. “Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost.” 

Korra forced a laugh, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Must’ve been the tequila.” 

“You know you can’t mess with the clear stuff,” Opal said, nudging her. “You’re a brown liquor girl—anything else and you start doing crazy shit.” 

“Yeah…” Korra muttered, her voice trailing off as her gaze swept the crowd one last time—searching. 

But she was gone. 

A few days had passed since that night, and Korra had finally managed to push the maddening woman from the club to the back of her mind. Mostly. 

Opal and Bolin were over, like they always were, determined to drag Korra into their endless couple activities—movie nights, recipe testing, weird wine pairings. Korra didn’t really mind. It kept her distracted and gave her something else to do besides work. 

The TV droned in the background, playing some press conference Korra hadn’t been paying attention to. Something about a new tech initiative—boring, CEO stuff. Bolin reached for the remote, already mid-click when Korra’s eyes snapped to the screen. 

“Wait! I know her!” Korra pointed, her voice sharp enough to stop Bolin’s finger. 

There—standing at a podium in a razor-sharp, tailored suit—was her. 

That woman. 

Her hair was pulled back this time, her makeup clean and elegant, not a smudge in sight. She looked powerful. Composed. Absolutely nothing like the sin-soaked stranger who had dropped to her knees in a dingy bathroom stall. 

Except the eyes. 

Those hypnotic green eyes stared out from the screen with the same fire that had haunted Korra’s dreams. 

Opal squinted. “You know Asami Sato?” she asked, eyebrow arching high. 

"Not in so many words.” She rose from the couch, taking slow steps toward the TV like she needed to see her up close to confirm it wasn’t just some fever dream. 

“Asami Sato,” she repeated, the name unfamiliar on her tongue but right all the same. 

She stepped back to read the words scrolling at the bottom of the screen. 

CEO of Future Industries. 

Billionaire. 

Pushing new clean energy initiatives across major global markets. 

“Fuck,” Korra breathed, the weight of it hitting her all at once. 

“What?” Bolin blinked. 

Opal sat forward. “Korra?” 

Korra turned to face them slowly, eyes wide, hands half-lifted like she couldn’t believe what she was about to say out loud. 

“You guys are never going to believe this… but I had sex with Asami Sato the other night. At the club. In the bathroom.” 

The room went silent. 

Until Bolin choked on his drink. 

“There’s no way someone of Asami’s caliber was in some random, rundown pop-up club and not a single soul recognized her,” Opal said, arms crossed, one brow high with skepticism. 

Bolin nodded, still coughing into his drink. “She’s the richest woman in the industry right now. Like, the pinnacle of modern capitalism. You’re telling us you banged Asami in a bathroom stall next to a broken hand dryer and some Sharpie graffiti?” 

Korra threw her hands up. “Come on, guys—take this seriously! She was in a black dress, had this expensive smell, and those eyes—I swear, I would recognize them anywhere.” 

Opal stared at her, completely deadpan. “You sure this isn’t just some celebrity obsession?” 

Korra let out a long, dramatic sigh and flopped back onto the couch. “I swear I can’t make this shit up. It was the best sex of my life. But she wouldn’t tell me her name—just said I’d find out eventually. All cryptic and dramatic.” 

She glanced at the screen again as Asami—Asami fucking Sato—gracefully answered questions with the poise of a world leader. 

“She meant that,” Korra muttered. “She knew I’d find out eventually.” 

Bolin blinked slowly. “You really had sex, didn’t you?” 

“I really fucking did,” Korra murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen as it cut away from the podium, panning to some reporter summarizing the key points of Asami’s interview. 

But Korra wasn’t listening. 

Asami Sato. 

The name crackled through Korra’s chest like static. 

The CEO. The billionaire. The woman who had taken her apart in a club bathroom with nothing but her hands, her mouth, and eyes that could kill. And now? Korra needed to know everything—every article, every interview, every clipped soundbite this woman had ever put into the world. 

She sank back into the couch, dragging a hand down her face as her heart kicked up all over again. 

“Holy shit,” she muttered. 

And somewhere deep inside, a thrill unfurled in her chest. 

This wasn’t over.