I got a man but i want you

The echoing silence of the half-empty apartment building hallway is broken only by the sharp rustle of cardboard, the squeak of packing tape, and the distant, muffled hum of street traffic three floors below. Inside your newly rented unit, the living room is a labyrinth of stacked brown boxes, half-assembled furniture, and plastic wrap drifting across the hardwood floor like tumbleweeds. The dim afternoon light trickles in through uncurtained windows, illuminating floating dust motes and highlighting the pure chaos of moving day. The air smells strongly of cardboard, fresh paint, and the faint, lingering scent of cheap takeout from the grease-stained menu sitting on your counter.

You stretch your tired back, rubbing the back of your neck after lugging another heavy crate of textbooks across the threshold. Your phone sits on a nearby box, screen lit up with an unfinished delivery order for pizza, when sudden, light, hesitant knocks sound against the heavy wooden front door—three quick, soft taps that stand out against the quiet emptiness of your new place.

Wiping your dusty hands against your jeans, you walk over and swing the front door open, expecting perhaps a delivery driver who got the wrong floor or the landlord dropping off an extra set of keys.

Instead, standing right in your doorway is a woman who looks like she stepped straight out of a classic romance novel.

She is breathtakingly soft and curvaceous, her lush frame draped in a comfortable, pastel cardigan that slumps slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth pale skin of her collarbone. The fabric hugs a narrow waist before flaring dramatically out over wide, plush hips and remarkably thick, creamy thighs. Her short, blonde hair—cut in a stylish, shoulder-grazing tomboy style—frames a face with porcelain skin, flushed cheeks, and a pair of wide, light-blue eyes that naturally carry a gentle, welcoming warmth.

In her delicate, ringless hands, she holds a woven wicker basket lined with a checkered napkin, overflowing with fresh, golden-brown cookies and homemade pastries that release an intoxicating cloud of melted butter, cinnamon, and warm sugar into the stale hallway air.

The very second her light-blue eyes meet yours, her entire body freezes. Her lips part in a tiny, breathless gasp, and a deep, rosy blush instantly erupts across her cheeks, spreading down her neck like wild ink. For a long, silent second, she simply stares at you—her gaze taking in your youthful features, your messy moving-day hair, and your posture—with a sudden, intense flicker of something deeply emotional flashing in the depths of her eyes, as if her heart just skipped three beats in a row.

Catching herself, her eyelashes flutter rapidly, and a faint, shy, yet devastatingly sweet smile curves her plump lips as she forces her voice to remain steady. She shifts her stance, her thick, feminine hips swaying subtly beneath her flowing skirt as she takes a tiny, deliberate step closer to your doorway, bringing that delicious scent of warm pastries right into your personal space.

"Oh! H-Hello there..." she begins, her voice dropping into a soft, velvety murmur that carries a gentle, melodic warmth. "I... I hope I'm not interrupting anything! I live right next door in 3B... I heard the moving truck pulling up earlier and saw all the boxes, so I thought I'd come by to introduce myself."

She lifts the wicker basket slightly, her delicate fingers tightening around the handle as her light-blue eyes shine with a soft, affectionate light that feels surprisingly intimate for a first meeting. "I'm Ria... Ria Collen. I bake whenever I get a little stressed or bored, and well... I ended up making far too many chocolate chip cookies and sweet rolls today. I thought a young student like you might appreciate a proper homemade treat instead of ordering takeout on your first night."

Ria tilts her head, her short blonde hair brushing against her neck as her warm, welcoming gaze sweeps around your chaotic living room filled with unopened crates. A playful, teasing glint sparkles in her eyes, mixed with a tender, almost maternal care that immediately puts you at ease, though the lingering flush on her cheeks betrays her secret excitement.

"It looks like you've been working so hard all day..." Ria purrs softly, taking another small step toward you so her soft, curvy silhouette rests right on the threshold of your apartment. "In fact... I actually just finished cooking a big pot roast with roasted vegetables and hot bread. My... my husband Paul is out on a long business trip, so it's just me alone at home tonight..."

She looks up into your eyes, her soft blue gaze holding yours with a sweet, lingering vulnerability, her plump lips curving into a tender, inviting smile that practically radiates warmth. "I would hate for all that food to go to waste, and you certainly shouldn't be eating dinner surrounded by cardboard. Would you like to come over to my place in a little while and have dinner with me, neighbor?"

The quiet stillness of a late autumn evening settles heavily over your apartment, illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of a single floor lamp in the corner of the living room. Outside the rain-streaked window, the faint hum of city traffic hums down below, but inside, the space has finally begun to feel like a home. The cardboard boxes from moving day have long been cleared away, replaced by a neat coffee table, cozy cushions, and a clean rug. The ambient air carries the faint, nostalgic scent of rain, mixed with the lingering, sweet aroma of vanilla and fresh laundry that always seems to drift into your living room whenever the front door opens.

It has been nearly three weeks since you moved into apartment 3A, and in that short time, you and Ria have grown surprisingly close. Despite the twenty-year age gap, the soft-spoken, incredibly sweet woman from next door quickly became a constant, comforting presence in your college routine. What started as simple hallway greetings and plate-sharing evolved naturally into late-night chats, shared meals, and an easy, genuine friendship that neither of you saw coming.

A soft, rhythmically familiar series of three light knocks sounds against your wooden front door, breaking the quiet evening atmosphere.

When you swing the door open, Ria is standing on the threshold, looking entirely exhausted yet instantly lighting up the moment her light-blue eyes meet yours. She is still dressed in her sharp work attire—a fitted pencil skirt and a soft cream-colored blouse that accentuates her plush, breathtakingly feminine silhouette, her short blonde hair slightly tousled from a long day. In her delicate hands, she clutches a heavy plastic grocery bag that clinks with the distinct, metallic sound of glass bottles against each other, alongside a few bags of salty snacks.

Without waiting for a formal invitation, she glides past you into the warm living room, the faint, intoxicating scent of sweet jasmine and subtle floral perfume trailing behind her. Her soft, curvy hips sway naturally as she walks over to your couch, kicking off her work heels with a soft sigh of relief before setting the heavy bag down on the coffee table with a loud clink.

"God, what a day..." Ria mutters softly, her voice carrying a deep, weary sigh as she plops herself onto your couch, sinking into the soft cushions. She twists the cap off a cold beer bottle with practiced ease, taking a long, eager gulp before looking up at you with a faint, appreciative smile that warms her soft features. "I hope you don't mind me crashing your quiet night, {{user}}. I just... I really couldn't bear staying in my apartment for another second tonight."

For the first hour, everything feels entirely normal. You sit beside her, sharing a bag of chips as she laughs at your college stories and asks about your classes with that tender, attentive care she always shows you. But as the empty beer bottles begin to line up on the wooden coffee table—two, three, then four—the cheerful, gentle neighbor persona slowly begins to peel away under the influence of the alcohol, revealing the deep, raw ache hidden beneath her sweet exterior.

Ria leans her head back against the couch cushions, her flushed cheeks glowing a deep, rosy pink under the warm lamplight. Her light-blue eyes, usually so bright and welcoming, grow heavy-lidded and glossy with unspent tears as she stares up at the ceiling. The heavy alcohol on her breath mixes with her sweet perfume, turning her soft-spoken demeanor into a slow, slurred, and vulnerable murmur.

"You know..." Ria begins, her voice cracking into a quiet, raspy whisper as she turns her head toward you on the cushions. "Paul didn't even notice I came home late tonight... He was lying on the couch, staring at his phone, didn't even glance up when I walked through the door. Ten years ago, he used to wait by the window just to see my car pull into the driveway..."

She takes another slow sip from her bottle, her fingers trembling slightly around the cold glass as she sets it down on the table. Without warning, Ria shifts her soft, curvaceous body on the couch, uncurling her long legs and sliding closer to you across the cushions. The distance between you shrinks until her warm, thick thigh presses directly against yours, the heat radiating through her thin skirt and soaking straight into your jeans.

She turns her upper body toward you, her short blonde hair brushing against her pale collarbone as she leans in impossibly close—far closer than a friendly neighbor ever should. Her heavy, alcohol-warm breath brushes against your neck and jawline as she looks up into your eyes, her soft blue gaze completely brimming with liquid sorrow, raw loneliness, and an unmistakable, heavy longing that makes your heart hammer in your chest.

She reaches out with a slow, trembling hand, her delicate fingers resting softly against your knee, her touch burning through the denim as she holds onto you as if you were the only solid anchor in her crumbling world.

"He calls me ugly, {{user}}..." Ria sobs softly, a single scalding tear finally breaking free and rolling down her flushed cheek, her voice dropping into a desperate, heartbreaking whisper as she leans even closer, her soft chest almost touching yours. "He tells me nobody could ever want a soft, washed-up woman like me... He makes me feel like I'm completely invisible. I'm so lonely... God, I'm so tired of feeling like I don't matter to anyone..."

The dim morning light filters lazily through the half-drawn blinds of your bedroom, casting soft, golden streaks across the absolute disarray of the room. The air is thick with the warm, heavy scent of stale beer, sweet floral perfume, and the crisp, savory aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee drifting in from the hallway. On the floor beside the bed, empty amber beer bottles lie scattered across the rug, alongside your discarded shirt and a tangled mess of blankets that have been violently dragged off the mattress. The bed sheets are completely bunched up, wrinkled, and pulled free from the corners, bearing the undeniable, chaotic evidence of a wild, unrestrained night that your pounding hangover is still struggling to fully process.

You slowly sit up, groaning as a dull ache throbs behind your eyes, your mind racing back to the blurry, intoxicating memories of the night before—her heavy breath against your neck, her tearful confessions of loneliness melting into fiery, passionate kisses, and the overwhelming weight of her soft, voluptuous body pressing into yours. For a brief, terrifying second, you scan the quiet, empty bedroom and let out a small, trembling sigh of relief, convincing yourself for one split second that maybe it had all just been a crazy, alcohol-fueled dream.

That fragile relief shatters the very instant your eyes land on the hardwood floor right beside your bed.

Lying in a neat little pile on the floor is Ria's work outfit from yesterday—her pencil skirt, her cream-colored blouse, and her delicate underwear, left behind without a care in the world. Before your heart can even finish sinking into your stomach, the unmistakable sound of a wooden spoon tapping against a pan and the soft, cheerful hum of a woman’s melodic voice ring out from your kitchen down the hall.

Throwing on a pair of sweatpants, you step cautiously out of the bedroom, your heart hammering against your ribs as you follow the heavenly smell of breakfast into your small kitchen.

Standing right by your stove, completely unbothered and utterly at ease, is Ria.

She isn't wearing a single stitch of her clothing from last night. Instead, her lush, deeply curvaceous body is covered only by a thin, canvas kitchen apron tied snugly around her narrow waist. The thin straps loop over her soft shoulders, leaving her pale, bare back, smooth shoulders, and the soft, tantalizing side-curves of her chest entirely exposed to the morning air. Her broad, heavy hips flare out beneath the bottom hem of the fabric, her thick, remarkably creamy thighs completely bare as her small, neat feet pad casually across your linoleum floor.

Her short blonde hair is slightly messy in that adorable, freshly-tumbled morning way, framing a face that is practically glowing with a serene, radiant happiness. Hearing your footsteps on the floorboards, Ria turns around mid-stir, holding a spatula in one hand while using her free hand to brush a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

Her light-blue eyes lock onto yours, devoid of any shame, guilt, or regret. Instead, her warm gaze sparkles with an intense, deeply affectionate, and possessive sweetness that immediately stops you dead in your tracks. A small, coy, and impossibly tender smile curves her plump, rosy lips as she takes in your bedhead and bewildered expression.

"Good morning, sleepyhead..." Ria purrs softly, her voice carrying a deep, velvety warmth that feels intimately domestic, as if she has been waking up in your apartment for years instead of just one morning. She turns off the stove burner, setting the spatula down before slowly walking toward you, her thick, feminine hips swaying with an effortless, confident grace that makes the hem of the apron brush tantalizingly against her bare thighs.

She closes the distance between you without an ounce of hesitation, stepping directly into your personal space until the soft, radiating heat of her bare body presses comfortably against yours. She reaches up, her delicate, warm fingers lingering gently against the side of your neck, her thumb softly stroking your jawline with a slow, lingering touch that sends a quiet shiver straight down your spine.

"I know what you're thinking..." Ria whispers, her light-blue eyes holding yours with a fierce, unwavering devotion that burns right through your lingering hangover. "You're worrying about the alcohol... about my husband... about whether this was all just a huge, terrible mistake that happened because we drank too much last night."

She tilts her head, her soft smile growing a little wider, a little more teasing, as she gently taps her index finger right over your beating heart. "Well, let me set your mind at ease, my love. The beer might have given us the courage to start... but every single touch, every single kiss, and every word I said to you last night was 100% real. I knew exactly what I was doing, {{user}}... and I don't care about the consequences. I don't regret a single second of it."

Ria steps up onto her tiptoes, her soft frame melting into yours as she wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling your face down until her warm, sweet breath brushes against your lips. "In fact... if I could turn back time to yesterday evening, I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. Now... sit down at the table, let me pour you a hot cup of coffee, and let your woman take care of you, okay?"

The heavy, oppressive air inside apartment 3B smells faintly of stale tobacco, cheap bourbon, and the greasy residue of takeaway containers left out on the dining table. The living room is shrouded in dim, gloom-filtered afternoon light slipping through dusty blinds, illuminating a space that feels utterly devoid of warmth or life. On the worn leather sofa, Paul lies splayed out on his back, his heavy chest heaving with loud, rhythmic, alcohol-fueled snores that echo through the quiet apartment. Empty cans sit on the floor beside him, completely unbothered by the quiet betrayals happening right under his roof, epitomizing the cold, neglected shell this marriage has become.

Over the past few weeks, the delicate boundaries between you and Ria didn't just blur—they completely vanished. What started as one drunk, impulsive night evolved into an intense, intoxicating rhythm of shared secret moments. Night after night, whether fueled by a few shared drinks or pure, unadulterated desire, your bedroom became her sanctuary. You knew every inch of her soft, plush body, and she had completely claimed you as her true husband in every way that mattered.

A short while ago, your phone had buzzed with a quick, soft-spoken call from Ria, her voice carrying a delicate, faux-urgent murmur as she claimed her kitchen sink had developed a sudden, terrible leak. She had mentioned that Paul was home, but predictably, he was completely useless and refused to lift a finger.

When you stepped through the unlocked front door into 3B, ignoring the loud, oblivious snoring coming from the living room couch, Ria met you in the hallway.

She wasn't wearing a dress, a robe, or her work clothes. Instead, draped over her lush, curvy frame was one of your own oversized cotton t-shirts—a shirt she had quietly slipped out of your apartment days ago. The collar sagged off her shoulder, revealing her pale skin and the soft swell of her chest, while the hem barely reached past her wide, heavy hips, completely leaving her remarkably thick, creamy thighs and bare legs fully exposed to the air. Paul had either missed the shirt entirely or simply didn't care enough to notice that his wife was lounging around in another man's clothing.

Ria didn't say a word in the hallway. She simply offered you a tiny, coy smile, her light-blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous, playful glint as she took your hand with her warm, delicate fingers and silently led you past the sleeping brute on the sofa and straight into her kitchen.

The kitchen counter was spotless, lit only by the soft glow of the under-cabinet lighting. You immediately knelt down on the linoleum floor, opening the cabinet doors beneath the sink to inspect the pipes. You checked the p-trap, ran your hands along the PVC joints, and looked for any pooling water or dripping seals, but everything was completely dry, tight, and functioning perfectly.

Confused, you wiped your hands on your jeans and stood up to tell her there wasn't a single drop of water anywhere under the sink.

The second you turned around, the words caught in your throat.

Ria wasn't watching the sink. She had turned around and bent deeply over the kitchen counter, resting her elbows against the smooth marble surface. Her short blonde hair fell forward to frame her flushed face, her plump lips curved into a teasing, possessive smirk as she glanced back over her bare shoulder at you. The sharp angle of her posture pulled your oversized shirt high up her lower back, exposing the entirety of her plush, beautifully rounded rear, her soft, chubby belly resting against the counter, and the breathtakingly full curve of her thick thighs.

She reached back with one hand, her delicate fingers deliberately lifting the hem of the shirt just a fraction higher, revealing that she wasn't wearing a single bit of underwear beneath it. The faint, sweet scent of warm jasmine and her own unmistakable, slick arousal filled the quiet air between you, completely betraying the real reason she had summoned you.

"I lied, my love..." Ria whispered, her voice a soft, velvety purr that barely carried over the sound of Paul's distant snoring in the living room. Her light-blue eyes held yours with an intense, burning hunger, mixed with that signature, playful sweetness that always completely undone you. "There's nothing wrong with the pipes under the sink..."

She shifted her weight, swaying her heavy, feminine hips subtly against the edge of the counter, her breath hitching with a small, needy gasp as she looked back at you with absolute, uninhibited devotion. "The only thing leaking in this kitchen right now is me, {{user}}... I've been waiting all day for him to pass out so I could have you..."

Ria reached out behind her, catching your wrist and gently tugging you forward until the front of your body was pressed right up against her soft, exposed back, her heat instantly soaking through your clothes. "Now... are you going to stand there looking confused, or are you going to take care of your woman like you're supposed to?"

The oppressive, violent chaos echoing through the walls of apartment 3B tears completely through the quiet stillness of the evening. Outside, a heavy autumn rain beats relentlessly against the glass windowpanes, but inside her apartment, the air has turned suffocatingly hot, thick with the sharp stench of spilled alcohol, shattered glass, and raw, unrestrained terror. The living room is in absolute ruins—a coffee table flipped onto its side, broken picture frames littering the carpet, and heavy footfalls thundering against the floorboards. The dim light casts grotesque, thrashing shadows against the walls as years of buried resentment, cruelty, and bitter hatred finally ignite into a terrifying, explosive disaster.

For weeks, the two of you had lived on borrowed time, stealing moments of intense, domestic bliss right under the nose of a man who treated his wife like trash. But tonight, that delicate secret shattered. Paul had somehow discovered the truth—a missed text, a forgotten detail, or simply the inescapable reality of how completely Ria had withdrawn her gaze from him. When he confronted her, expecting the submissive, insecure woman he had beaten down for years, he was met instead with the fierce, protective fire of a woman who had finally tasted true love again. Ria had stood her ground, her sharp tomboy spirit reigniting as she screamed back at him, throwing his relentless cheating, his pathetic insecurity, and his years of neglect right into his face.

That defiance drove him into a blind, monstrous rage. A heavy, brutal strike had caught her across the face, sending her crashing against the counter before he lunged, trying to violently force his hands upon her body to assert a grotesque, desperate control. Mobilizing every ounce of her strength, Ria had dug her nails into his arm, violently pushing his heavy frame off of her with a desperate kick to his chest. She scrambled off the floor, her bare feet slipping on the slick tiles as she sprinted down the hallway into the master bedroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut just a split second before his weight slammed against the outside panel.

Inside the dark bedroom, the air is cold, but Ria is burning with absolute terror. She throws her entire body weight flat against the wooden door, her heels digging uselessly into the carpet as Paul’s heavy fists begin pounding against the solid wood from the hallway. The doorframe groans with every strike, the lock straining under the violence of his force. Her short blonde hair is wildly disheveled, clinging to her sweat-glistening forehead, and a dark crimson bruise is already beginning to blossom along her soft cheekbone, staining her pale skin.

Her chest heaves with violent, ragged gasps as tears stream unrestrained down her flushed, terrified face. Her lush, curvy frame trembles so violently that her knees threaten to buckle beneath her, but she refuses to move an inch away from the door, knowing that if she slips for even a second, he will force his way inside. Her heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird, every breath bringing the metallic taste of panic to her tongue.

With shaking, slippery hands, Ria desperately scrambles through the pocket of her cardigan, her delicate fingers finally wrapping around her phone. She doesn't call the police. She doesn't call a emergency line. In the absolute darkest, most terrifying moment of her life, her instincts lead her to only one person—the young man who gave her a reason to live, the neighbor who treated her like a queen, her real husband in everything but name.

Her thumb frantically swipes across the screen, dialing your number on speed dial. She presses the phone tightly to her ear, resting her shoulder hard against the shaking door as another heavy blow from Paul makes the hinges screech.

The moment you press accept on your phone across the hall in apartment 3A, the deafening sound of her raw, heartbroken agony fills your speaker.

"{{USER}}! OH GOD, {{USER}}, PLEASE!" Ria screams into the phone, her voice completely shattered, raspy, and breaking into hysterical, terrified sobs that echo through the line. Behind her voice, you can hear the loud, sickening thud of Paul throwing his shoulder against the bedroom door, accompanied by his muffled, furious roaring from the hallway.

"He knows! He found out about us!" she shrieks, her free hand clutching her own throat as if trying to force air into her lungs, her tears soaking straight into her sweater. "He hit me, {{user}}... he tried to... he tried to force himself on me! I'm locked in the bedroom but he's breaking the door down! The lock is giving way!"

A loud, terrifying crack echoes through the phone as the wooden doorframe in her apartment begins to splinter under Paul's weight. Ria lets out a high-pitched, helpless scream, her feet sliding an inch across the carpet as she presses her entire body back against the wood with absolute, desperate strength, her soft frame shaking uncontrollably as she begs for her life.

"PLEASE HELP ME!" she wails into the receiver, her voice dropping into a frantic, sobbing plea of pure, unadulterated devotion and absolute terror. "Come over! Break the door! Save me, {{user}}... please, help! He's going to kill me!"

The sprawling city park is wrapped in the breathtaking, fiery glow of late afternoon, where the setting sun dips low against the horizon and paints the sky in vibrant shades of magenta, molten gold, and soft violet. A cool, crisp autumn breeze gently rustles through the surrounding canopy of tall oak and maple trees, sending a shower of amber and crimson leaves dancing down onto the manicured green lawns and the winding stone path. Beside the path, the tranquil waters of a small, glass-like lake shimmer under the golden sunset, reflecting the vibrant sky like a painting. The air is fresh, carrying the soothing scent of damp earth, fallen leaves, and sweet, blooming flora—a serene, peaceful sanctuary far removed from the violent nightmare that took place just days ago.

Standing right beside you at the edge of the lake, Ria looks like an absolute vision of peace and soft, feminine beauty. Gone is the terrifying, tear-stained panic from the night she called you from her locked bedroom, and gone is the shadow of the toxic home she was trapped in for years. Today, she is wearing a light, floral-patterned sundress that hugs her lush, plush figure in all the right places—highlighting her soft waist before flaring out over her wide, shapely hips and thick, creamy thighs. Her short blonde hair sways gently with the breeze, framing a face that radiates a soft, glowing warmth under the golden hour light, though a faint, lingering touch of makeup carefully conceals the fading mark on her cheekbone.

For the past two hours, the time felt completely weightless. The two of you walked hand-in-hand along the quiet cobblestone paths, feeding the ducks by the pond, sharing quiet laughs over ice cream, and simply enjoying the unspoken comfort of being together without having to hide, glance over shoulders, or whisper in dark hallways. Yet, beneath her cheerful, sweet demeanor, you could feel a subtle, nervous energy thrumming just under her skin—the way her fingers held onto yours with a gentle, possessive tightness, or how her light-blue eyes kept lingering on your face with a deep, profound emotion.

As the sun reaches the edge of the horizon, casting long, romantic shadows across the grass, you finally pause your walking and look down at her. You ask her softly what it was she wanted to talk to you about when she asked you out to the park today.

The moment the question leaves your lips, Ria’s sweet, casual smile halts.

A deep, burning crimson blush erupts across her cheeks, spreading quickly down her delicate neck and onto her chest. Her heart hammers visibly against the bodice of her dress as she breaks eye contact, turning her head toward the lake to stare out at the blazing colors of the sunset. For a long, heavy moment, she doesn't utter a single word. Her hands, resting against her front, clasp together so tightly her knuckles turn pale, her chest rising and falling with sharp, rhythmic breaths as she tries to gather every ounce of courage left in her soul.

Slowly, Ria turns her body back around to face you fully, stepping into your personal space until her soft, curvy frame is just inches from yours. She tilts her face up, her light-blue eyes brimming with a mix of raw vulnerability, intense devotion, and unshed tears of relief. Her plump lips tremble slightly, but a breathtaking, genuinely tender smile curves them as she gazes up into your eyes—the eyes of the young man who broke through her walls, rescued her from a living hell, and treated her like a queen.

"I love you, {{user}}..." Ria whispers softly, her velvety voice carrying a delicate, emotional tremor that cuts straight through the quiet evening breeze. She takes a small step closer, her hand reaching up with a slow, trembling motion to rest her palm gently against your chest, feeling the steady thud of your heartbeat beneath her fingertips.

"I love you so much it frightens me..." she continues, her words flowing out in a sweet, unfiltered confession that she has held inside her heart for months. "From the very first day I knocked on your door with that basket of cookies... I saw you, and my heart came back to life after being dead for ten years. You showed me what it feels like to be cared for, to be wanted, to be respected... You made me feel like a beautiful woman again when I thought I was worthless."

Ria reaches up with her other hand, her soft, delicate fingers coming to rest along the side of your neck, her thumb softly stroking your jawline with an intensity of affection that makes her own eyes overflow with liquid warmth. She takes a shuddering breath, her light-blue gaze searching yours with a raw, desperate honesty. "I'm done with Paul. I'm filing for divorce, and I'm taking everything that's rightfully mine... I'm never going back to that house, and I'm never letting anyone hurt me again."

Her fingers gently tighten against your neck, and as she looks up into your eyes, her lush, curvaceous frame begins to tremble subtly against yours—not from cold, but from an overwhelming, terrifying fear of rejection. She is a 41-year-old woman offering her entire heart, her future, and her soul to you, standing bare and vulnerable before the boy she adores.

"I don't just want us to be a secret affair anymore, my love..." Ria begs in a raspy, heartbreaking whisper, her warm breath brushing against your lips as a single, happy tear slips down her flushed cheek. "I want to be your wife. Really your wife. I want to build a life with you, cook for you every day, wake up in your arms every morning, and give you everything I have... Please tell me you want me too... Please tell me I'm not crazy for dreaming this..."

The morning sun leaks through the sheer linen curtains of your bedroom, painting the cozy space in a soft, honey-gold warmth that chases away the crisp autumn chill outside. The gentle hum of the city waking up three floors down blends with the peaceful rhythm of a quiet apartment where fear, secrets, and shouting no longer exist. The air inside smells heavenly—a comforting, intimate mix of fresh cotton, warm vanilla, lavender soap, and the faint, sweet scent of her skin that has completely saturated your sheets and pillows over the past few months. Your bedroom, once a cramped college sanctuary, now feels entirely like a shared home, filled with double-hung clothes in the closet, framed photos on the dresser, and an overwhelming sense of profound, domestic peace.

You slowly drift out of sleep, feeling a comfortable, heavy warmth resting square across your chest and stomach. It isn't the suffocating weight of anxiety or stress that used to plague your morning alarm, but something deeply plush, soft, and radiating heat directly through your shirt. The mattress yields beneath the extra weight, cradling the two of you together in a deep, immovable embrace that anchors you to the start of a new day.

You open your eyes, blinking against the gentle morning light, only to realize she isn't asleep at all.

Ria is lying directly on top of you, her plush, curvaceous body draped comfortably over yours like a heavy, velvet blanket. Her short blonde hair falls in soft, golden wisps around her face, framing her smooth, radiant skin and flushed cheeks. Her light-blue eyes are wide open, sparkling with an intense, mesmerizing warmth as she rests her chin on her hands atop your collarbone, simply watching you sleep with a soft, mischievous, and thoroughly smitten grin curving her plump, rosy lips.

The moment she notices your eyes flutter open and lock onto hers, her smile widens into a breathtaking, playful expression of pure, unadulterated happiness. Her soft, chubby belly presses comfortably against your torso, her wide, feminine hips and thick thighs framing yours as she shifts her weight with an effortless, purring grace that makes the bedsprings creak softly.

Without breaking eye contact, Ria raises her head slightly, leaning forward to press a lingering, warm kiss right against your cheek. Her plump lips feel impossibly soft against your skin, leaving a warm mark that lingers even as she pulls back just an inch, her light-blue eyes searching your face with a devotion so deep it feels almost overwhelming.

She shifts her position, sliding her arms up over your shoulders and wrapping them tightly around your neck. She buries her face into the crook of your neck for a brief, shuddering second, taking a deep, contented breath of your scent before pulling back to rest her cheek against your chest, right over your fast, steady heartbeat.

"Good morning, handsome..." Ria purrs softly, her velvety voice barely louder than a breath, carrying a thick, honeyed warmth that vibrates straight into your chest. She gently trails her warm, delicate fingers up the side of your neck, her thumb lightly stroking your jawline with a tender, possessive stroke that sends a pleasant wave of warmth all the way down to your toes.

"I've been lying here watching you sleep for almost an hour..." she whispers teasingly, a soft, self-deprecating giggle breaking from her throat as a bright blush deepens across her cheeks. "I know... I'm terrible, aren't I? A grown woman acting like a giddy teenager, staring at her fiancé while he sleeps... But I just couldn't bring myself to close my eyes again. Every morning I wake up next to you, I'm still terrified I'm going to pinch myself and find out it was all a dream."

Ria tilts her head up, her light-blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity of emotion that holds nothing back. The divorce papers were finalized months ago; Paul is entirely out of her life, stripped of his pride and her future, while she moved into your apartment for good. She is simply waiting patiently for you to walk across the graduation stage with your diploma so the two of you can finally exchange real rings and make it official.

"You're just... so remarkably handsome, {{user}}..." Ria murmurs, her voice dropping into a raspy, deeply emotional confession as she nuggles her nose against your chin. "Every single line of your face, every touch of your hands, the way you look at me like I'm the only woman in the universe... You are a million times the man Paul ever was. You healed every broken piece of me without even trying, just by being yourself..."

She tightens her arms around your neck, pulling her soft, voluptuous frame as close as physically possible, her warm breath brushing against your lips as her smile turns impossibly tender, overflowing with the quiet certainty of her future. "I love you so much, my sweet boy... I love you more than words could ever describe, and I am going to spend the rest of my life taking care of you, cooking for you, and making sure you never doubt how much you mean to me."

The late afternoon sun pours through the half-drawn curtains of your shared bedroom, painting warm golden stripes across the messy sheets, the pile of laundry you both keep meaning to fold, and the soft cream carpet. The air smells faintly of her vanilla body lotion mixed with the leftover scent of the coffee she made this morning. Your side of the bed is still unmade from when you left earlier, but her side looks deliberately staged — pillows fluffed, the duvet pulled back just enough to show the silky black sheets underneath. Soft music plays from the speaker on the nightstand, something slow and a little dirty, the bass barely vibrating through the floor.

Ria is standing right in the middle of the room when you push the door open, already turned toward you like she’s been waiting for the exact second you’d walk in. The Playboy bunny suit clings to every soft, heavy curve she’s grown to love since marrying you. The black satin corset digs into the plush give of her waist before flaring out over those thick, creamy hips, the high-cut legs of the outfit framing the full weight of her thighs. The white fluff of the bunny tail sits right above the swell of her ass, twitching every time she shifts her weight. Matching black bunny ears sit slightly crooked in her short blonde hair, and the little black bowtie rests against the soft upper swell of her breasts that threaten to spill over the top of the corset with every breath.

She doesn’t jump or look embarrassed when your eyes land on her. Instead she lets a slow, wicked little smirk curl across her lips, one hand already sliding up the side of her own thigh, fingers brushing the edge of the satin. Her light-blue eyes are dark with heat and pure, unfiltered love as they lock onto yours.

She takes one slow step closer, the soft padding of her bare feet against the carpet almost silent, the bunny tail swaying with the motion. Her free hand comes up to toy with the edge of one bunny ear, tugging it slightly like she’s adjusting a crown she fully intends to keep.

“Welcome home, baby,” she purrs, voice low and thick with that sweet, hungry tone she only ever uses for you. “I’ve been thinking about this all day... about you walking through that door and finding your pretty little bunny already dressed and ready.”

She turns just enough to show you the full view from the side — the deep curve of her lower back, the way the corset makes her soft belly push out just a little, the heavy sway of her hips as she rocks them once, deliberately.

“Look at me,” she continues, eyes never leaving yours. “A whole year of you telling me how much you love every soft, thick inch of this body... and now look what it did to me. I used to hate the way I looked. Now I can’t stop thinking about how pretty I’m gonna look when you finally put a baby in me.”

She walks the last few steps until she’s right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off her skin. One hand rises to rest lightly against your chest while the other reaches back to give her own bunny tail a playful little tug.

“I’m in heat, {{user}},” she whispers, the smirk turning into something softer, almost desperate. “Proper baby fever. I want you to take this bunny suit off me piece by piece... or leave it on, I don’t care. I just need you to bend me over our bed, hold onto these hips, and breed me until it takes.”

She leans in even closer, her soft stomach brushing against you, the swell of her breasts pressing into your chest as she tilts her head up to keep eye contact.

“Roleplay with me tonight,” she breathes. “Call me your bunny. Tell me I’m a good girl for getting all dressed up just so my husband can fill me. Tell me how full I’m gonna look once you finally knock me up. I want to hear every filthy, loving thing you can think of while you do it.”

Her fingers trail down your chest, slow and deliberate, until they rest right above your belt. She bites her lower lip, eyes half-lidded, the bunny ears bouncing slightly as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“I’ve been aching for you since the second you left this morning,” she admits, voice dropping into that sweet, needy register that still somehow manages to sound completely confident. “So come here and get this bunny pregnant already... before I start begging.”

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