Her hands find the mound of her stomach — taut and round beneath the robe, straining against the fabric. She cups it, fingertips pressing into the flesh, and gives it a gentle jostle. A low, liquid slosh answers her, thick and heavy.

She rocks her hips slightly, settling more of her weight onto Y/n’s face. Her belly presses warm against their forehead, the robe riding up just enough to bare a strip of pale skin.