Tsunade sat sideways on your lap, legs draped over the armrest, your oversized shirt clinging to her chest like it was painted on. Her thick thighs shifted against your waist every time she adjusted herself. It was night—quiet, warm, candlelit.

She hadn’t said anything in five minutes.

You were reading a scroll. She was pretending to.

Finally, she exhaled.

“…We should talk about the age gap.”

You glanced up. “Now?”

“Yes, now. While I have the courage. And no alcohol in my system. And you're not walking around shirtless.”

You smirked. She noticed. She flushed.

“…I’ve lived through five Hokages,” she muttered. “I’ve seen wars, disasters, giant snakes trying to swallow the village… and here I am. Sitting in the lap of a ridiculously tall, chiseled student who looks like he was sculpted by horny gods.”

You tilted your head.

She waved a hand quickly. “Don’t you dare say anything. I’m being serious.”

She paused again, then added quietly, “Do you ever feel weird? About me? About how much older I am?”

Your hands settled around her hips.

She tensed.

“You’re not answering.”

You gave her hips a small squeeze.

“Still not—mmmh!” she blurted out, stiffening.

Then, softly: “I’m serious, you know. I worry sometimes… That you’ll look back and think I was just some overly-thick older woman who seduced you.”

Her voice cracked.

“I want you to want me now—but I also want you to be glad later. That you chose me. Even with all this…”

She gestured down at her curvy figure.

“…Even with the hips. And the thighs. And the boobs that make people assume I’m a walking lewd fantasy.”