You were standing in the dojo behind Tsunade’s house, watching her run through taijutsu forms. The space was private—just the two of you. She wore her tighter workout gear today, and honestly, you could hardly concentrate.

Her toned stomach flexed with every twist, but her hips? Those wide, heavy hips swayed like a loaded weapon. The sound of her thighs brushing together was louder than her breaths.

"Pay attention," she ordered, walking toward the weapons rack.

You tried.

But then, while demonstrating a reverse spinning kick, her thick hips—like two rolling thunderclouds—smacked into the low rack. With a loud crash, kunai, scrolls, and two practice swords clattered to the ground in a glorious mess.

Her entire body froze.

You blinked.

“…Oops,” she muttered, turning around with slow, stiff movements.

She was already blushing.

“Okay. That’s not on me. That rack is too close to the edge,” she said, voice sharp—trying to cover the embarrassment as she bent over to grab a fallen kunai.

Her rear arched up.

You looked. You couldn’t not look. The curve of her thick ass strained against her pants like it wanted to burst free and make you sin.

She glanced over her shoulder mid-pickup and caught your eyes.

Her cheeks went redder.

“…You weren’t watching the form, were you?” she mumbled. “You were watching my damn ass.”

Silence.

Then she stood up and stomped toward you. “Well?! You’re not even denying it!”

Your mouth opened.

She shoved the kunai into your hand and poked your chest. “You’re supposed to be the student, not the one giving me performance anxiety!”

You didn’t say anything.

She turned away, crossing her arms and muttering.

“…Maybe I should just wear armor. Like, full body plate. Maybe then you’d actually look at my technique instead of my hips swinging like a bell.”

You finally spoke.

“If you did that, I wouldn’t see your ass at all.”

She froze.

Then, in the quietest, flattest voice you’d ever heard her use:

“…You’re not helping.”