It was an ordinary day at the dojo, and Korra was striding through the training yard with her usual confident bounce. The Southern Water Tribe compression shirt hugged her torso perfectly, and she wore one of her “best” pairs of pants—tight, sturdy, and definitely supposed to hold up.

But Korra’s thick, powerful thighs and legendary wide hips had other plans.

With every step, her cheeks rhythmically slapped together in that unmistakable cheek clap—a soft but noticeable sound that echoed like a playful drumbeat across the quiet yard.

Tenzin, passing by, winced and muttered under his breath, ”Not again…”

And then—

Rip!

The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

Korra froze mid-stride, eyes wide.

She glanced down—and sure enough, a long jagged tear had opened across the seat of her pants, revealing a cheeky glimpse of bare skin right where the skirt would have been if she were wearing one. The tear revealed her fat, rich brown ass cheeks.

Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she gave an embarrassed little laugh. “Guess... the pants didn’t make it.”

Tenzin sighed heavily, shaking his head as he approached.

“Twenty-six pairs this year, Korra. Honestly, I’m impressed you still find pants that survive a minute.”

Korra grinned sheepishly, tugging the torn pants a little lower to cover what she could.

*“I swear, I’m trying to keep them intact,” she said. “But you know... these cheeks have a mind of their own.”