Chapter Text
The Fire Nation Capital is a place of stark division, where lines between people are drawn without due cause.
It begins with the First Lord’s Harbor, where warships and merchant vessels share the docks, a show of solidarity that ends at the water’s edge. The sprawling expanse of a stone plaza unfurls beyond it, leading to the industrious Harbor City further upshore. A serpentine path winds up the slope of a dormant volcano with a tunnel burrowing into the rock wall at its tail end. Beyond its gates lies Hari Bulkan, the Royal Caldera City, where the Fire Nation’s elite—its royal family and their ilk—have roosted for millennia.
The citizens of this place lay separated by craft, by class, by family name, like pebbles set apart from gemstones. Insubstantial differences, really, as the nobleman is no different from the seamstress, no different from the dock worker, beyond the illusion of elevated status. A surname like Sato embodies that very sort of illusion: having come from nothing, Hiroshi Sato had picked that name for himself, crafting a legacy out of thin air and ambition.
Without the Sato legacy to back her, Asami wonders in which part of the Capital she would fit best. There are enough yuans in her vaults to purchase a fine home within the caldera, but that doesn’t shake the feeling that she doesn’t belong here, or anywhere.
Asami Sato sits settled on a bench alongside the smallest of the caldera’s three lakes, looking for all the world like she belongs, even so. Her burgundy dress falls in soft ruffles down to her shins, its elegance accentuated by strappy heels that highlight her poised form. The delicate jewelry at her neck and wrist are signifiers of her wealth and status, but it is the ring on her finger that speaks loudest. It is a declaration that she is spoken for, proof that she still belongs to someone, at least.
Even seated, her posture is a study in control: spine straight, shoulders relaxed, hands folded demurely in her lap. She is omega elegance sculpted into flesh, every inch curated, groomed picture-perfect much as she has been since childhood. To many, she is a living ornament, no different from the topiaries nearby. Her greatest virtue, they would say, is her unparalleled beauty—not her insight, not her depth, not her capacity to be anything more than a gilded trophy meant to glimmer in the light.
Every detail here within the caldera is deliberate, where even cobblestones have been smoothed flat. The sparse bit of grass lining the lake is trimmed to uniformity, and trees stand in soldier-straight rows, rooted in stone planters rather than the stone below that.
Asami hadn’t come here for this hint of green, though. She wanted to see blue. The largest lake here is called The Queen, with the smaller two being her Daughters, though Asami does not know which specific Daughter she sits beside now. All three reek of artifice, with waters dyed an uncanny ocean blue, some sort of pigment poured in to lessen the Capital’s gray monotony.
If she stares long enough at the water, she can pretend the sight is more authentic than it is. The evening sun soaks into her skin, lulling her into a drowsy stillness. If she focuses beyond the earthy tang of metal and rock, she might be able to smell the water, or a bit of dewy grass. She takes another deep breath, trying to appreciate the beauty of this place, as foreign as it is.
Another scent abruptly calls to her on the wind.
She can’t tell if she wants to revolt or revel in it. Her body reacts before her mind does: mouth pooling with saliva, her chest tightening, her pulse stuttering. It’s impossible, she thinks. Artifice, surely, like the blue of this water. She inhales again, deeper this time, and—
There. A familiar blend of dew-kissed grass and earthy musk, edged with the sharp bite of saltwater. It’s not the scent of this lake or the grass, but the distinct scent of an alpha. Her alpha.
Her mate.
It’s been something like two years since her lungs were properly filled with it. Two years of heats tamped down with bitter teas and pills, of burrowing her face into her mate’s old pillow and blanket and winter jacket until the fibers lost all trace of that scent. Two years of waking too-hot and flustered, tangled in sheets instead of anyone’s arms, alone, aching, empty.
The stronger the scent becomes, Asami realizes this is not just memory or trickery. Her head snaps up, searching. It isn’t hard to find the blue amongst the gray.
A mere dozen feet away to her side, Korra stands hesitating, as if unsure of her welcome.
The sight of her is enough to knock the breath from Asami’s chest. Korra has always been strong, but now that strength is carved into every inch of her body, her muscles thicker and sculpted by relentless training. A fresh scar cuts across her cheek, stark against the warm brown of her skin, but Asami’s eyes are drawn to another—the faint ragged crescent at her throat, the one Asami gave her the night they mated and bonded properly, swearing themselves to one another for eternity. Not covered by a betrothal necklace, it remains a mirror of Asami’s own scar, itching now as she remembers the dull, dual pinch of Korra’s teeth and knot.
Korra is clad in her usual Water Tribe blues, the fabric worn yet unfamiliar to Asami. Even more unfamiliar is how the confidence that once radiated from her like summer’s sunlight feels dimmed, muted in Asami’s presence. She looks like she’s bracing for rejection. As if their roles were reversed and Korra is an omega trying to placate her angered alpha.
Korra breaks the silence with a meek, “I heard you sold Future Industries.”
It’s not what Asami expects to hear, right out of the gate. The last few times Korra had spoken to her, so long ago, it had been all pleas and apologies. Then anger, excuses. And more pleas.
“Divested,” Asami corrects. “The board handles it now. Same engines, different engineer.”
“Why?”
Asami smooths a nonexistent wrinkle in her dress, a small, deliberate motion that buys her a moment of time, though she knows it won’t make conversing with Korra any easier.
“I’m tired, Korra,” she says, not bothering to mask it now. The weariness bleeds into her voice, having long since settled into her bones. “They weren’t joking about work being like a hamster wheel. No matter how much you push forward, nothing ever changes.”
Not for omega women, at least. Her mother was supposed to teach her how to navigate this world, to be soft but not weak, elegant but not breakable, submissive to the few who deserved such deference and yet never small. To stand on one’s values, to stand on one’s own, without needing a mate, even if such a thing were an inevitability. But her mother had died far too soon, leaving Hiroshi Sato to mold their only daughter to his liking. He did not know how to be an omega, and instead taught her to balance alpha steel with omega silk: to command boardrooms, outmaneuver the competition, and to kneel for no one but an alpha mate of his eventual choosing.
Hiroshi had been arrested before he could fulfill his vision and Asami had been left to forge her own path. A female omega stepping into her alpha father’s position at the helm of a corporation, stepping into a space where everyone except people like her ruled… It had been a battle from the start. No matter how much she sought to prove herself, there were always eyes on her, waiting for her to stumble and prove their prejudice right. She had fought and clawed her way upward. Maybe she had won some battles, but after years and years it became clear this was a war that would never end.
When Korra speaks, it sounds soft, as though Asami were a skittish animal bracing to flee. “The Asami I knew wouldn’t have given up.”
A humorless smile creeps over Asami’s mouth. This Asami isn’t that eighteen year old stepping into her father’s too-big shoes, ready to take on the world. She isn’t the heartsick girl longing for her best friend to return, pouring her love into letters for three years straight.
She isn’t the overjoyed woman proud to bear her mate’s mark and scent, finally together, forever, after so long spent apart, but maybe she is the Asami who walked away from it all. The one who keeps doing just that.
“And the Asami you married?” she probes. “What would she have done?”
When their eyes meet, Korra isn’t smiling back at her.
The scar at Asami’s neck itches as though the memory of their vows stirs beneath her skin. Even now, even after all this time, her body betrays her, awakening in Korra’s presence like a fire rapidly rekindled from embers. The thudding in her chest feels like the first time she realized Korra had written back to her, after the Red Lotus and two and a half years spent apart.
It’s pathetic, she thinks, how easily her traitorous heart remembers what her mind has tried so hard to forget.
“I don’t blame you for any of that,” Korra says earnestly. “I was the only one who messed up. You tried to talk to me, tried to stop me, and I didn’t listen.”
There it is, as predicted. The apologies.
Korra takes a cautious step forward, then another, until she’s reached Asami’s side at long last. Asami takes smaller breaths now, but Korra’s alpha scent is so strong to her, if just because their mating bond remains unbroken. With the time and distance, it feels both familiar and foreign, like a long-forgotten blanket unearthed from a closet.
When Korra sits beside Asami on the bench, she leaves a respectful distance between them. It’s still too close. When Asami inhales through her mouth, it’s as though she can taste Korra on her tongue. That only serves to remind her of all of Korra’s flavors. The sweet of her. The salt of her.
Asami shifts to widen the gap and Korra notices.
“I guess I’m still not listening well,” Korra murmurs self-reproachfully. “Thinking I know better than everyone else. What made you divest from Future Industries, if you don’t mind me asking? Anything specific?”
Asami weighs how much to reveal. She knows how Korra reacts to the prejudice she faces as an omega, her outrage always so fierce and fiery. But condescension from her peers was not the only reason Asami didn’t thrive in that particular role.
Exhaling deeply, Asami stares out at the water again. The blue is nearly the same shade as Korra’s pants, the same shade as Asami’s satomobile.
“Some people from the office decided it would be a good idea to celebrate my ten-year anniversary as CEO,” she explains. “All I could think about were the things that landed me there. My dad, mostly. I knew I was a piss-poor CEO in the beginning… Trusting the wrong people. Focusing on government contracts to rehabilitate the city instead of rebranding and keeping ahead of the competition. Future Industries floundered in my care for a long time. We’re not really ahead of the competition anymore, thanks to me.”
She stops there. There’s more she could say about the sleepless nights, the weight of expectations, the constant battle to prove herself in a world that would never view her as equal. But there’s no point to that. She has already lived it, fought through it. Bore the weight of it alone.
Korra leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, listening intently. With her head tilted, she watches Asami with the same intense focus she always has, as if trying to see past her words, past the carefully measured expression she wears. Her blue eyes are sharp and searching. It makes Asami feel exposed, as though Korra is trying to wedge herself into every crack in the armor she’s spent years building back up.
“It floundered when Kuvira destroyed your factories?” Korra asks. “When spirit vines destroyed so much of Republic City, and all of downtown? People might’ve blamed me for those things, but not you. You kept Future Industries alive in spite of all that.”
Asami’s jaw tightens, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. “Alive and not thriving. I gave everything to that company, and for what? To prove I could? I’m tired of proving myself, Korra. I shouldn’t have to fight so hard to prove myself.”
Korra’s expression softens, but Asami cuts her off before she can respond.
“Don’t,” she says firmly. “Don’t tell me I’m being too hard on myself. Don’t tell me I did my best. I know what I’ve accomplished, I know what I’ve survived. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m done with it all.”
Korra sits back, as if looking at her mate from another angle could help her understand better.
“What do you want, Korra?” Asami asks quietly. “Why did you find me?”
Korra’s fingers twitch. It draws Asami’s attention to Korra’s left wrist, to the strip of light blue cloth tied there. It’s the betrothal necklace she once made for Korra, wrapped twice around a wrist, the pendant hidden beneath the cloth. This placement covers another scar that Asami had given her impulsively in a moment of passion and desperation, when Korra’s scent had been overwhelming and her knot had settled snugly inside her. That patch of skin had been so close to Asami’s mouth, calling to her, and so Asami had bitten down and claimed her once again.
Asami feels her stomach twist, not from desire but from grief. All of their past feels so far away now, but her body remembers, betraying her with a visceral ache.
Korra’s gaze drifts to the ground. “I was actually already visiting the Capital, believe it or not. There’s a volcano further east burbling a bit too much for everyone’s comfort, and Fire Lord Izumi called me here to discuss it. One of the people at court asked if I was here with you, since you were seen in the area. That’s the only reason I went sniffing…” She trails off, looking sheepish at the admittance that she’d put effort into the search. “Do you live here now?”
Asami shakes her head. “Just taking an extended vacation. But I don’t think I like the Capital much. The rich and poor are divided into two separate cities, which reminds me a lot of Ba Sing Se. They just put a shiny veneer on it here.”
Harbor City is more interesting than this. The caldera is all calculated beauty, devoid of the wild, untamed life she craves. It reminds her too much of the Sato estate, polished and cold, a reflection of her father’s tastes rather than her own. Hiroshi had spent his youth in Harbor City not far from here, so maybe his admiration for such bland pretension stems from this very place.
Maybe that’s something Asami can fix in her life, now that everyone has gone from it. Maybe if she strips away more of what her father built, the mansion will start to feel like it belongs to her.
Or she could just sell it off next.
“Republic City is my home,” she clarifies, knowing Korra may be wondering about plans for the future. “I just needed… time to get my head straight, I guess. Away.”
Korra nods. Her fingers absently trace the edge of the betrothal necklace around her wrist, only pausing on the pendant below the cloth. “I understand that sort of restlessness,” Korra agrees. “Traveling so much isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I thought traveling the world would be more enjoyable, since I always felt so… trapped, in the compound. But I think I just want a home rather than a cage.”
“That was the feeling I had with Future Industries. Like it was my father’s cage, built for me, and I kept polishing the bars instead of breaking them.”
Korra exhales a soft, almost imperceptibly amused sound. “That’s a nice way to put it.”
A heavy sensation lingers in Asami’s gut like a deep cramp, not quite pain, not able to be ignored. Maybe it’s the effect of being this close to her bonded alpha again even after years spent apart. Four heats were spent apart, the last three suppressed with medication and sheer willpower. It wasn’t healthy to suppress so many back-to-back, but it also wasn’t healthy to go without one’s mate.
It was what broke the psyche of widows.
What had broken her father.
But Korra hadn’t died. They had… divorced, in all ways but legal. Separated, at least, after a series of arguments where Asami always came out the winner. The bond between them had frayed but not snapped, and now, sitting here, Asami can feel the threads of it pulling taut again.
“I’ve missed you,” Korra says quietly, and it sends a different kind of shiver down Asami’s spine. “It’s been a while.”
Asami inhales deeper than she means to, and Korra’s scent hits her stronger this time. She wonders if Korra has actively pushed it toward her, an unconscious instinct to calm her mate.
Or maybe it was consciously done. She used to be so adept at reading Asami’s nerves. At soothing them.
Until she wasn’t.
“It has been a while,” Asami agrees.
The words feel suggestive. Her thighs press together instinctively, her eyes squeezing shut as if that might ease the ache in her chest and belly, the one that knows it has been far too long without her alpha. Time was supposed to heal. Time had allowed Korra’s scent to fade from their bed, from the mansion, from Asami’s skin and even her blood. Maybe the scars on their necks would never disappear completely, but they were supposed to fade, weren’t they?
Instead the scar feels raw again, exposed, as though the wound has been reopened by Korra’s mere presence.
They need to get away from here. There are too many people, too many eyes, and both of them are too easily recognized. Another omega’s scent drifts through the air, catching Asami’s nose, and something deep and possessive inside her bristles.
She risks a glance at Korra and the sight of her sends a fresh ache through her chest. After everything, Korra still has that easy way about her, shoulders relaxed despite the tension. Asami swallows hard and looks away.
“Want to come to my place?” Asami asks. “I’ve got an apartment here in the caldera, right up the street. A temporary residence, of course.”
Korra blinks, surprised.
“Yeah,” Korra says after a beat. “I’d like that.”
Asami stands, smoothing her dress down. She doesn’t look back as she steps away, trusting Korra will follow. The familiar weight of her presence settled at her back stirs up memories she’d rather leave behind.
The apartment is modest but refined, elegant in a way that doesn’t reflect Asami’s personal taste. Asami unlocks the door and steps inside, holding it open. Korra follows but stops just inside the threshold.
Even with the windows cracked, the space is thick with days of quiet isolation steeped into the air. Korra always said her omega scent was floral and sweet, caramelized, like some honeyed blossom she couldn’t quite name. Back then, the description had made Asami feel warm inside. Now she regrets not cracking the windows open wider.
The silence stretches. Rather than holding her breath, Korra inhales deliberately, grounding herself in it before drifting toward the small breakfast nook. She plops onto the bench without ceremony or grace, very out of place in a city of such carefully crafted poise. But it’s her. The same Korra who never learned how to be still, who fills quiet moments with half-formed thoughts, who could make Asami smile at the worst times simply by existing.
Asami grips the edge of the door, steadying herself. She shouldn’t be letting Korra into her space again, shouldn’t be feeling as much as she does. Shouldn’t be embracing the pull of this old, familiar gravity. Shouldn’t be smiling at the mere sight of her endearing authenticity.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Asami insists, shaking her head at herself more than anything. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Korra’s fingers flex against the rim of the table, tension visible in the tautness of her knuckles. Asami sees the way her throat bobs, the way she forces her face into a neutral mask despite the instinctual effect Asami’s scent must have on her.
The scent would be even stronger elsewhere in the apartment, particularly in the living area, upstairs near the balcony where she often curls up with a book, or even her bedroom. The thought of Korra seeing where she sleeps is both thrilling and embarrassing. On the mattress would be evidence of her loneliness, her habit of nesting for no one but herself. The blankets piled around the bed, the way she cocoons herself every night, as if the pressure of fabric could make up for the absence of physical touch. The warmth of summer in the Fire Nation could never warm her in the ways she has craved.
“My family had a villa on Ember Island,” Asami says, trying to fill the silence with anything, even inanities. “But I sold it about a year into my father’s prison sentence. I think I told you that in a letter.”
“It’s pretty there,” Korra says idly, her gaze wandering the room instead of meeting Asami’s now. Eventually she settles on the window, though the view offers nothing but stone streets and neighboring residences. “More of a resort town than this place.”
Asami hums in agreement. “That volcano you came for. Is there any danger?”
“In the coming years? Unlikely. In my lifetime?” Korra’s lips quirk slightly. “Maybe. But I don’t plan to go out like Roku did.”
That flicker of dry humor is so her that it twists something deep inside Asami.
“There aren’t any villages nearby, so the biggest concern is whether enough earth shifting could trigger a tsunami,” Korra continues. “But… I didn’t find you to talk about volcanoes and tsunamis.”
Asami studies her carefully. “You found me through the spirit vines?”
Korra shakes her head. “Your scent. I’m not trying to stalk you. I’m sorry if I’ve… overstepped. Again.”
Asami swallows. She should feel overwhelmed, should tell Korra this is too much. It’s been too long for them to be friendly again.
Instead, she hears herself say, “No. It’s… nice, seeing you again.”
She can't help but stare at Korra’s face where that fresh scar stretches along her cheek. It’s really quite noticeable. A mark Asami hadn’t traced with her fingertips, whenever and however it happened, hadn’t soothed or kissed after battle. “You look well,” she adds softly. “But you have another scar.”
Korra lifts a hand to her face, trailing her fingers along the mark in her stead.
“Running headfirst into danger,” Korra says with a small shrug, dropping her hand. “You know me.”
Asami exhales a breath that isn’t at all a laugh. Korra's propensity for injury isn't humorous.
“Have you dated at all?” Korra asks suddenly.
The question makes Asami stiffen, catching her off guard. “No. I…”
She can’t tell Korra the truth, why she still wears the ring Korra had slipped on her finger, like their vows haven’t been discarded even after all this time. Even if Asami’s scent has changed slightly, losing its bit of Korra that screamed to the world that she was claimed, Asami has never given others the opportunity to pursue her.
Few desire an omega with a mating bite, anyway. It is a mark that speaks of forever, even when forever turns out to be a lie. But the Sato name still holds value. She holds value.
“I don’t have any interest in that,” Asami clarifies. “Have you dated?”
“Definitely not.” Korra’s gaze is forlorn in a way Korra probably doesn’t realize, like she’s trying to make Asami understand something too great for words. “I thought time would make it easier to open up to others. But I can’t talk to any omega, or any woman, without thinking about you. I can’t go a day without thinking about you.”
Something hot and ugly twists in Asami’s gut at the thought of Korra with other omegas, even in an official capacity as the Avatar. The idea of Korra being asked—maybe begged—to help someone through their heat, to ease that deep, unbearable ache the only way an alpha can. Had she ever done it, or would she? Could she hold someone close in the way she used to hold Asami, whispering to them in that low, steady voice, easing them through it with her touch?
Asami’s fingers dig into her own arms before she realizes she’s tensing, her nails pressing faint, crescent-shaped indents into her skin.
Even as the thought comes to her, she doesn’t ask about men, or betas. Or beta men, like Mako.
The idea of Korra with anyone else makes something inside her seize.
It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. They’ve been apart for two years. They’ve been apart for four heats. Korra made that choice for the first, and Asami made that choice for every one that followed.
And yet.
She swallows thickly, looking away. “Are you hungry?”
Korra shifts, a bit put off by the sudden change. “Uh… Yeah. Sure.”
Asami turns toward the kitchen, barely hearing her over the rush of blood in her ears. She braces her hands against the counter, forcing herself to breathe and steady herself, feeling anything but steady now.
Asami doesn’t like to think about those days.
A year into their marriage, they had been so sure. She had stopped her birth control, stopped her heat suppressants and scent blockers. She had let herself be fertile and ready and breedable for the very first time in her life.
It's too easy to remember the hungry way Korra had looked at her in the days beforehand, the way her touch had lingered possessively, the way her scent had deepened with anticipation, with the instinct to provide, to protect. Korra had sent all alpha and beta staff away from the mansion, knowing how territorial she might become, how aggressive she could be if she caught even a hint of a challenge to her claim.
Korra had wanted this. Korra had promised this.
And then the news came.
The Earth Kingdom had always been slow to change. After countless millennia of it grueling under a monarchy, King Wu’s push toward democracy had been met with skepticism and resistance. The collapse of the previous queen’s regime had left a power vacuum that nearly swallowed the nation whole. But after Kuvira, and a few more years on top of that, the idea of democracy gained traction.
A new vision for the Earth Kingdom had taken shape: not a single monarch ruling over all, but an Earth Confederation, where each province would appoint a member of parliament to represent them. It was a solution that appealed to the people.
Thus came the emergency referendum, with a formal, legally binding vote from each of the provincial governors. Each leader came together to draft a new system of governance, signing off on a complete overhaul of power, shifting it to an elected body of representatives. It was the final step toward a true democracy. Not just an idea championed by Wu, but a reality finally backed by law.
For the referendum’s decision to take effect, however, it still required Wu’s approval and signature. After that, he would remain king, but the monarch’s role would become mostly ceremonial. Wu had been advocating for this change—had fought for it, had believed in it—but officially signing away his power would mark the true end of his family’s rule.
And there were those who would never allow that to happen.
Loyalist factions saw the transition as an affront to tradition, a betrayal of everything the Earth Kingdom had been for thousands of years. There were whispers of rebellion, of retribution. Some governors had signed off out of political necessity rather than true conviction, while others saw this as an opportunity to climb higher. Wu was walking into a storm that could turn dangerous at any moment.
Korra had gotten wind of it as soon as the news of the referendum broke, and she hadn’t hesitated.
Wu was a rare kind of leader, an omega male sitting in the highest seat of power, unbonded, vulnerable in ways most politicians never were. He had Mako, of course, as his protector and confidant. They were bound to one another through admiration but not a mating bite, something deeper than duty and not yet spoken publicly. Mako was with him, but like Wu, he was not an alpha, and could not silence a room of dissenters.
Korra was something else entirely. A female alpha was just as rare or rarer than a male omega. For most of the world, they were both seen as something that didn’t quite fit within the rigid structures of traditional society. But Korra was quite an alpha, on top of being the Avatar: she was strong, aggressive, dominant in a way that had always unsettled those who wanted her to be less so.
Wu needed someone at his side who could command respect, who could act as a shield if things turned hostile. Someone who could walk into a room and own it. Someone who would defend Wu’s right to retain his throne, even as power-hungry alpha governors circled like hyena-vultures, seeing his seat of power as just another thing to claim.
Korra had turned her gaze outward, to the world, as she always did.
Even as her wife needed her. Even as Asami lay there, body aching, dripping, silently begging, vocally begging for Korra’s hands, for her mouth, for the weight of her, for relief from the unbearable heat that had taken hold of her bones. For a promise fulfilled.
Korra had kept her mind elsewhere. She had stayed on the phone with world leaders, with President Moon, with Mako, with Wu. Talking about politics, about duty and promises kept, while Asami burned for her.
When Korra finally came to a decision, to break this ultimate promise and leave her wife’s side, to spend her days beside a different omega and fulfill his dreams instead of hers, Asami had crumpled.
She had begged, falling to her knees as Korra packed her things. She had cried, wailed. She had pushed her pheromones out as strongly as she could, her body betraying her senses, imploring Korra to stay, to take her, to fulfill what they had sworn to each other for so long.
They were supposed to spend this week together, locked away in the mansion alone but together, trying for pups at last. Instead, Korra had ripped Asami's hands off of her, eyes brimming at the sight of Asami’s tear-streaked face.
After a number of words and voices raised, Korra held her nose and left.
Wu was no threat. Mako was no threat. Korra spending time with them had never shaken Asami’s trust.
But this time had been different. This time Asami had been left alone to suffer. Her heat had come in full force, raw and searing, a torment she couldn’t escape. Her body had called for Korra, only for Korra, and Korra had not answered. Korra had chosen not to answer.
No amount of pillows and blankets, no cold baths, no desperate, frustrated attempts to ease the unbearable ache between her thighs could make up for the absence of her bonded mate.
And yet, the sharpest pain had not been from desire, but from loss. It had been grief. The most excruciating, helpless days of her life were spent curled up in their bed, drowning in her sweat and the lingering scent of Korra that only mocked her for what she did not have.
When Korra had returned—when Asami had finally managed to drag herself from bed, when the housekeeper had helped her into something that made her look half like herself again, when the butler had gently coaxed her into eating—
Asami had seen Korra’s guilty face and known. Korra had come back smelling like someone else’s palace, like places Asami had never been, like countless people who were not her. Asami’s heat had ended by then, and the fog clouding her mind had dissipated.
A marriage was built on trust. On choosing each other, over and over again.
Korra had made her choice.
Maybe inviting Korra over had been a mistake, letting her scent settle into the space and mingle with Asami’s own. They had closed out the rest of the world so nothing remains but the two of them. Orbiting each other like they always have.
As they spend the next hour eating and conversing, Asami can tell Korra still likes the look of her. She doesn’t say it outright, but it’s there in the way her eyes track every movement, in the way they darken and linger. When Asami gestures to the apartment’s finer features, fingers tracing over richly oiled woodwork gleaming with gold inlays, Korra’s gaze drifts but always returns to her. Korra studies the fabric of an armchair, then the curves of Asami’s neck and shoulders. The fancy oven, then the red paint of Asami’s lips.
Asami refuses to preen under the scrutiny, refuses to acknowledge the heat curling low in her belly when Korra swallows hard, as though struggling to keep herself in check.
She leads Korra through the space, pointing out delicately carved motifs throughout the interior, with her favorite spot being the cozy reading area by the upstairs balcony where the sunlight spills just right over a book. The small balcony offers a view of red-tiled rooftops and the distant peak of a neighboring volcano.
Once outside, Asami rests her hands on the wrought iron railing, staring out and secretly luxuriating in Korra’s presence at her side, growing more comfortable with it now. She’s glad the breeze sweeps away some of Korra’s scent, and the scent of herself, growing deeper with traces of arousal now. After a time, Korra’s hands perch on the railing, too, jaw tensing.
It’s been a while.
Korra speaks of the past two years. The diplomatic negotiations, the grueling training routines, the villages she’s helped rebuild. She talks about the Water Tribe summit, the awkward dance of maintaining peace between her father, cousins, and a faction of Northern traditionalists who were irritated by the chiefs’ progressive agendas. There were skirmishes, the benders who saw her as more of a symbol than a person and wished to challenge her just to challenge themselves.
Then she mentions the fights that left marks.
Korra pulls her shirt from where it’s tucked neatly into her pants and fur skirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the scar on her abdomen. It’s old now, healed into a thin, pale line, but Asami recognizes the edges for what they are. A blade wound, torn deeper upon its exit.
“He tried to give me a surprise appendectomy,” Korra says jokingly. “I should’ve seen it coming. His beliefs were straight from the Equalist playbook, even if he wasn’t officially with them.”
Asami’s hands clutch tighter on the railing as she resists the urge to trace over this scar next.
“I killed him,” Korra adds. “I didn’t hold back. He, um… Let’s just say he didn’t have time to regret it.”
Maybe Asami’s pained expression betrays her.
Korra’s scent swells, warm and grounding, a clearly deliberate act meant to soothe. But all it does is make Asami’s throat tight and pulse thrum. It isn’t fair how easily Korra can reach inside her and pull loose things Asami thought she had nailed down. How, after all this time, she still wants to be soothed by her, to be reassured by those hands, that mouth and the words she knows will fall from it, if only she allows Korra to speak in earnest.
Asami reaches out, deciding against her better judgment. Her fingers brush over Korra’s hand, still resting against her own stomach where the scar hides. Korra inhales sharply but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she lets Asami move her hand aside, lets her trace the rough, uneven line of the wound that nearly took her life.
“I’m sorry,” Asami says quietly.
Korra doesn’t respond right away. She exhales, slow and measured, then shifts her arm around Asami, inviting her closer into an embrace. It’s not an alpha’s command, but an offer.
She slips herself around Korra’s waist, pressing in as Korra wraps both arms around her. The warmth is immediate, the solidity familiar. Strong in a way Asami has never doubted, but now… Her muscles speak as though she carries the weight of something more than two worlds. Like she’s spent every moment of these last two years trying to prove something, to herself, to everyone else. To Asami.
Maybe that’s why Korra changes the subject so soon, like a deliberate shift as a means to pull focus away from the unspoken tension between them. She speaks of the new Earth Confederation, of its young parliament and the slow, grinding effort to make it work. It isn’t a well-oiled machine yet, but they’re hammering out its faults. Wu holds far less power now as a king. His role is mostly ceremonial, signing off on the rare piece of legislation or acting as a diplomat when needed.
Asami listens idly, only half-registering the meaning of those words. She can only think of Korra’s repeated sacrifices as she makes this world a better place. The scars left upon her psyche have been just as deep or deeper than the ones cut into flesh.
Korra asks a question, and Asami doesn’t hear or answer it.
Instead, she remembers the girl Korra had been at eighteen, the girl who broke herself repeatedly trying to save the world. When Korra was hurt too severely, Asami had stayed at her side for as long as she could, modifying a wheelchair to fit her more comfortably, trying to smile even when Korra’s pain wouldn’t allow her to smile back. She had hoped her omega presence would calm Korra and remind her that not everything is out to hurt her.
But Asami knows the truth now. She knows she’s stabbed Korra just as deeply, square in her heart, even if there is no scar to commemorate it.
Korra would sacrifice all of herself, more than herself, to bring peace and order to the world. This means she would set aside everything, even the mate she promised the world to, even during the most important and pivotal moment of their lives. For peace. Trading her own well-being for the world's.
Korra shifts against her, seeming uncertain, and asks something else.
But Asami’s ears are ringing. She can’t answer, can’t say anything except a choked, “I’m sorry.”
When tears prick at her eyes—when Korra draws back to get a better look at her—Asami can’t help but whisper another, “I’m sorry.”
Asami barely has time to process the shift before Korra is moving, her grip firm but not forceful. The balcony door swings shut behind them with a sharp kick of her foot, pushing the city and its facade of composure out of sight and mind.
And then Asami's back meets solid wood. The bookshelf behind her rattles, the spines of volumes she hasn’t read pressing into her. The movement isn’t rough or unkind, but deliberate and confident.
In an instant, Asami feels the shift in Korra’s posture, the way her muscles fall slack. Korra starts to draw back, a flicker of doubt in her expression. It looks as if she’s second-guessing or giving Asami an out.
Asami doesn’t take it.
Instead, she clutches at Korra, hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her in rather than letting her go. Her body replies before hesitation can take root, encouraging Korra by leaning into the warmth and weight of her.
She wants this. Wants her.
And then Korra breathes out, warm against her throat, her voice rough and thick with regret. “A day doesn’t go by where I’m not thinking about you. Thinking about how much I fucked up. Thinking about what life would be like if I had prioritized you. Prioritized us. Instead, I prioritized… politics.”
Their faces are tucked into each other’s necks. Korra’s scent is overwhelming here, rich and familiar, seeping into Asami’s skin, curling into her lungs. She wants to bury her nose deeper, press into the soft skin where Korra’s pulse thrums so steady and strong. She’s so close to the mark that remains faintly visible even now.
When Korra’s hands slip to her hips, firm but reverent, Asami gasps at the memory of the way Korra used to hold her like this, take her like this. The quick snap of her hips. The perfect plunge, deep, filling the entirety of her. How they would shudder together, come apart together, ecstasy rippling between them like a current with no beginning or end. She used to be able to lose herself in Korra, feeling herself clench tight around Korra’s cock, keeping her held tight within as if she would never, ever let Korra go again.
She squeezes her eyes shut against the rush of it. The arousal in her gut hooks and tugs, but her throat feels tight with grief at the knowledge that she’d let Korra go. More than that, she had forced Korra to go.
Yes, Korra had prioritized politics over her. The health of a nation over the health of her wife.
It was important that she shape the Earth Confederation the way Aang had shaped the United Republic alongside Fire Lord Zuko. As the Avatar, she had to be there to negotiate, to guide, to ensure that a king stepping down from absolute power was treated fairly and kept safe. Protected in a moment that could have unraveled into chaos.
Asami knows this. She understands it completely.
But understanding doesn’t erase the pain. It doesn’t erase the long days and nights Asami spent alone in their bed, in their nest, sobbing over the plans that had crumbled into nothing. Theirs was a future they had dreamed up together, only for Korra to walk away when it mattered most.
If things had happened differently—if the referendum had been delayed even by a few days, a week—what would they have now? What kind of life would they have built together?
How many lives could they have made together?
Asami exhales a choked, uneven sound as Korra pulls her back into another fierce embrace. She presses her face into her mate’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, willing herself to not break down again. Korra’s warmth is devastatingly familiar, the saltwater scent lapping calmness over her in waves.
"Where would we be," Asami strains to say, "if things hadn’t gone so wrong? What do you have pictured in your mind?"
Korra’s fingers splay against Asami like she’s committing her shape to memory. "Vacationing in the Spirit World every year for our anniversary,” Korra says easily, “and not coming home until we grow sick of the place. Spending the whole night wrapped up in each other and then sleeping in until noon."
“The whole night?”
“... The whole night.”
Asami swallows, but it doesn’t help the tightness in her throat. She still remembers what that feels like, to be so lost in her mate’s love, in the warmth of her body, the strength of her hold. Korra had loved her in a way that left no room between them, like she wanted to imprint herself beneath Asami’s skin. And Asami had let her, over and over again, relishing in it until she had completely forgotten what it was like to be alone.
“Breakfast in bed?” she asks, just to see how Korra will respond.
“Just you,” Korra whispers. Her lips ghost over Asami’s cheek.
As Asami licks her own lips, a shudder rolls through her, hot and sharp, settling low in her belly. It has been so long since anyone has touched her like this. Since Korra has touched her like this.
Korra exhales, shaking her head and trying to collect herself. “Sorry. I don’t mean to… I didn’t come here for this.”
But the air between them is already shifting, charged into something electric.
“No.” Asami draws back just enough to look Korra in the eye, her own gaze dark and searching. “I like hearing it. I missed your voice. Your touch.” Korra makes a sound low in her throat, a noise that shivers through Asami’s bones. She finds one of Korra’s arms and pulls it more firmly around herself, anchoring them together. “Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking this way either. But it’s been. Too. Long.”
The tension snaps.
Their lips crash together, desperate, consuming, a collision of breath and heat and longing that has festered too long. Their mouths part, tongues meeting in a way that tastes of everything unspoken, everything neither of them has dared to acknowledge since they were last in each other’s arms.
There is no hesitation, just the sharp, undeniable truth of them: of everything they still are, everything they have never stopped being.
Korra’s hands shift, strong and sure, slipping down to Asami’s thighs and hiking her dress upward. And then she’s lifting her, hoisting her up against her abdomen with ease. Asami’s arms loop around Korra’s shoulders, her fingers threading into short, choppy hair. It’s uneven again, like she’s been cutting it herself. The knowledge sends a thrill through Asami, and she growls, pleased at the truth that no one touches Korra the way she can.
Korra kisses her as she moves, walking them out of the reading area and into the hallway. The sharp sound of another door being kicked open makes Asami laugh against her lips.
But when Korra suddenly rips their mouths apart, blinking in confusion, Asami realizes where they are.
The bathroom.
Asami bursts into laughter again, breathless, head tipping back against the doorframe. “You’ve really gotten into the habit of kicking doors, huh?”
Korra groans, forehead pressing to Asami’s shoulder. “Spirits,” she mutters. “Wrong door.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, Asami’s smile feels authentic.
When Korra takes a better look at her, she seems awestruck at the sight of Asami so disheveled and needy, lips swollen from kissing too hard.
“I know it’s not my place to tell you this anymore,” Korra breathes, “but I love you.”
The words steal the air from Asami's lungs. Before she can process them and form an adequate reply, Korra adds, “And because I love you, we’re going to stop here.”
Asami groans as Korra sets her down, her legs unsteady beneath her. She wobbles and reaches out to brace herself against a wall, disbelief flashing across her face. “You’re kidding.”
Korra huffs a quiet laugh. “I wish I was.”
Asami wants to argue. Before she can get a word out, Korra leans in, pressing her lips to the scar on Asami’s neck—her bonding mark, half-faded and unmistakable.
She doesn’t just kiss it. She suckles.
The pull is slow, deliberate, a touch meant to unravel, and Asami shudders, her fingers tightening against the firm muscles of Korra’s abdomen.
“And I’ve been thinking too much,” Korra murmurs, her lips hot and moist against Asami’s skin. “Ever since I found out you were here. I want you so much. I want to do everything to you, with you.” Her hands skim behind Asami to flex over the swell of her ass and hips through her dress. “But most of all,” she husks, “I want to apologize properly.”
Asami shivers at the admission, the heat of Korra’s breath sending a pulse of want straight through her. She reels under the attention, tilting her head to offer more. She wants Korra to bite down, to claim her once again, to erase the time and distance between them with the sharp, bloody press of her teeth.
The thought strikes her hard, paralyzing in its intensity, but then Korra’s teeth really do scrape against her throat. The sound that slips from Asami is as breathless as it is needy, a plea wrapped in a moan. She fists her hands in Korra’s shirt, pulling her in more firmly, wordlessly encouraging her onward.
Korra drawing away from her yet again is like a wound reopening. Asami remembers too vividly how her own body made her lose all sense and reasoning back then. How her heat had burned hotter, how her scent had thickened with desperation when she realized Korra was planning to leave. She had buried her face in a pillow to muffle the sobs, trembling through the agony of it all, her body wracked with an unbearable pain that no amount of logic or self-control could stamp down.
Now, as Korra withdraws slightly, Asami refuses to let her go.
If their roles are reversed this time, then it’s Asami’s turn to lay the demand.
She presses their foreheads together, forcing herself to breathe through the emotions clawing their way to the surface. “I need you, Korra. I need you. I love you.”
Korra blinks, as if she hadn’t heard her properly. “What?”
“You said you love me, and that’s why you want to stop. But I don’t want you thinking I feel any less... I love you, and I don’t want you to stop.”
As Korra stares at her, Asami watches as something in her expression shifts. It’s as if all the strength she had gathered to keep herself from breaking finally gives way.
Asami’s heart breaks as she sees the first tear fall from Korra’s eyes. Without hesitation, she reaches up to wrap her arms around Korra to pull her back in, knowing her mate needs reassurance now. She presses a soft, slow kiss to the trail the tear left behind, then another to Korra’s opposite cheek, where her new scar is still healing. The skin is rough beneath her lips, a reminder of the countless battles Korra has fought in the name of peace.
“My therapist says I have a toxic way of coping,” Asami admits, feeling amused and embarrassed to voice such things as Korra squeezes her tighter. “I get rid of things before they can leave me. That I throw everything away so I can pretend I’m the one in control. Maybe an omega complex, or daddy issues, I don't know.” Asami's breath shudders out of her and she squeezes back just as firmly, desperate to keep Korra close at long last. “I’m so sorry I did that to you. I was… stupid, thinking I could ever move on from you. Thinking life would be easier if I didn't need anybody.”
Korra shakes her head. Her hands slip over Asami’s back, up to her shoulders, embracing her with utter certainty now. “You’re the smartest person I know,” Korra disagrees. “Even if I don’t always understand everything, I just… I think there was something that needed to be healed. I hurt you so badly and you needed space to breathe without me.”
“I don’t want to breathe without you,” Asami pleads. “Korra… Alpha.”
Korra shifts to cradle Asami’s face in her hands. Her touch is affectionate and contemplative as she traces the shape of her all over again, maybe committing her to memory, in case this is her last opportunity to do such a thing.
Korra’s thumb brushes over the swell of Asami’s lower lip and lingers.
“Asami,” Korra whispers roughly. “Tell me to stop.”
Heat pulses between her thighs, wet and wanting now. Asami parts her lips, tilting her head down just enough to press a kiss against the pad of Korra’s thumb. Slow and deliberate, she lets Korra feel the warmth of her mouth and the promise in the gesture. “Don’t.”