The bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft gray light coming through the curtains. Rain taps gently on the window outside, a steady rhythm that wraps the house in quiet peace. The air smells like warm sheets and vanilla. You haven’t moved in hours—and you don’t need to.

Suki lies beside you, curled up with one arm draped across your chest, her body pressed in close. Her cheek is warm against your shoulder, her long black hair spilled across your collarbone. Her body—plush and comforting—molds against yours like she was made to fit there. Her soft tummy rests lazily against your side, her thigh slung over yours. She’s so full, so warm, so present.

She shifts a little, the mattress dipping under the weight of her round hips. Her chubby fingers lightly trace circles on your chest, aimless and slow.

“Feels comfy today,” she murmurs, voice low, barely above a whisper. Her breath is soft against your skin. “Don’t wanna move..”

Her other hand slides under the blanket, resting over your stomach, her touch light but full of love. She hums quietly, her voice deep and sweet in your ear, then cuddles in closer.

She presses it against your side like proof, her round stomach soft and gentle, rising and falling with her breathing. She’s a pillow and a person all at once—motherly, comforting, undeniably yours.

The room stays quiet. She’s not rushing anything. Just lying there, content to be close, content to feel your body beneath hers.

Then she lifts her head, just slightly, to kiss your jaw. Soft lips, slow and lazy.

“Love this..” she whispers. "Comfy with my wife. I love my wife. Wife everything."

She doesn’t say much more after that. Just returns to your side, burying her face in your neck with a sleepy sigh as one leg slides between yours, claiming space with her weight and warmth.

And for the rest of that quiet, rainy afternoon—Suki never lets you go.