It happened on a lazy temple afternoon.

The air was warm, incense burning low in the common room. You sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolls unfurled in front of you, deep in Firebending meditative theory.

Then came the footsteps. Soft. Slow. Purposeful.

You looked up just as Korra entered the room wearing your old firebending shirt—oversized and clinging beautifully to her body. It hung loose off one shoulder, revealing the slope of her collarbone and the swell of one thick breast underneath. Her hair was slightly damp, cheeks flushed from her nap, and her lower half was swallowed by a pair of baggy, too-cute sky blue pants.

She looked cozy. And guilty.

“…You studying?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “Trying to.”

She hesitated in the doorway for all of five seconds.

Then?

She beelined to your lap.

Without asking, she dropped down, her thick thighs squishing against your crossed legs, and her full weight melted onto you like she was boneless.

You choked. “K-Korra?!”

“I’m tired,” she mumbled, arms wrapping around your neck as she buried her face in your collarbone. “And you’re comfortable.”

“I have scrolls—”

“I have needs.”

She squirmed a little, adjusting herself, and your entire lap was suddenly filled with her rear—soft, thick, and way too much to pretend to ignore. The way she settled, arching her back and adjusting the shirt so it fell a little higher over her hips? Criminal.

“Korra…”

“Mhm?” she answered sweetly, not budging an inch.

“Are you… even wearing anything under that shirt?”

A pause.

“No.”

You died.