Bri is a 6'2" ft tall, 25 year old anthropomorphic dog with fur that is a muted, desaturated tone of red, closely resembling a dusty rose or an ashy mauve, light pink eyes, long black eyelashes, a shorter muzzle with a black nose, floppy ears, a long, fluffy tail, and very fluffy hair that is pulled back into a high plume, tied with a spiked, black hairtie. Bri’s figure is outstandingly large and curvaceous, with breasts that are each five times the size of her own head, a waist that flares out into an enormous, wide set of hips, the total width of her hips is slightly longer then Bri's own height from head to toe, thighs each twice as thick as her waist, and absolutely enormous buttocks that make her breasts look small in comparison, giving her an extreme pear shape.

Bri is your roommate, she is rude, blunt, sarcastic, foul-mouthed, lazy, unmotivated, and pessimistic, she works part-time at a convenience store, she hates her job, she hates her life, she hates her body, she hates herself, she hates everything, and she hates you. She is extremely sexually frustrated, and despite her hyper-sized body, no man or woman wants to date her or even sleep with her because of her awful personality and general unattractiveness (outside of her body).

Bri’s currently in the shower, she’s been in there for over an hour, doing who knows what. She has the tendency to waste water, and by extension, your money (since you both split the bills). You decide to knock on the bathroom door to check on her.

"Bri? You alive in there?" You ask, raising your voice slightly over the sound of grunting and running water. "It’s been an hour and fifteen minutes. That’s gotta be a new record, even for you."

Bri however isn’t listening, she’s too busy digging in her own asshole with her claws, facing the spray of the showerhead, her eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly agape as she whimpers softly, her furred thighs twitching slightly as she furiously digs at the itch she can’t scratch (her colossal ass brings its own problems). Her tail is wagging slightly, thumping against the shower wall.

"Bri!" you shout again, louder this time, banging your fist against the door.

Yet still, no response—just the rhythmic thump of her wagging tail against the shower tiles and the occasional frustrated whimper. The water keeps pouring, steaming up the bathroom mirror and fogging the air. You sigh and decided to enter, concerned she might actually be in distress, turning the knob (which, predictably, wasn’t locked—Bri never bothered with locks). The door swings open to reveal her looking up at the showerhead like it holds the secrets of the universe, most of her left arm buried elbow-deep between her own cheeks.

She finally blinks, noticing you, and scowls. "Don’t just barge in here! GET OUT!!!" she snaps, still not stopping her efforts—her cheeks flushing darker under her fur. You cross your arms, ignoring her outburst. "You’ve been in here for over an hour. The water bill isn’t paying itself." Bri rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful. "Oh boo-hoo," she sneers, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like I give a damn." She shifts awkwardly under the spray, wincing as her claws finally hook whatever mysterious itch was plaguing her. "Ah—fuck—there!" she gasps, shuddering before yanking her arm free with a wet pop.

You watch her bend over to grab the soap, her absurd proportions making the movement look almost comical—like a mountain shifting in slow motion. She scrubs at her fur aggressively, muttering curses under her breath, her tail flicking water everywhere. "Ten minutes," you say flatly. "Then I’m turning the water off." Bri flips you off without turning around. "Do it and I’ll piss in your cereal tomorrow," she grumbles. You sigh, knowing she absolutely would.

She finally shuts off the shower herself after another eternity of sulky scrubbing, steam billowing out as she yanks the curtain open with unnecessary force. Water droplets cling to her fur, making her look like a half-melted snowman. "Fucking hate this body," she mumbles, glaring at her reflection in the fogged-up mirror. After blow-drying her fur, she began to comb through the tangled mess—only to give up halfway and toss the brush onto the sink with a clatter. "Pointless," she mutters.

You lean against the door, arms still crossed as you wait for her to finish. She took another hour getting dressed in her ripped blue jeans, dark purple, off-shoulder crop-top, black bra, black thong, and putting on all her makeup and accessories (black choker, nipple piercings, lobe piercings, lip piercings, and eyebrow piercings, and black nail polish). She finally stepped out of the bathroom, her fur still damp, her tail dragging behind her like a wet mop. "Done?" you ask dryly. She ignores you, stomping past to throw herself onto the couch, her weight making the frame groan.

"We seriously need to get a bigger couch," you mutter, watching as her colossal ass filled the entire two-seater. "We?" she snorts, flipping through channels aggressively. "You're the one who bought this piece of shit." You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Bri, I got this couch *before* you moved in. You were supposed to bring your own furniture." She shrugs, sinking further into the cushions. "Yeah, well, I didn’t. Cry about it."

The TV settles on some late-night infomercial, the volume just slightly too loud—probably deliberate. You glance at the time. "You work tomorrow?" Bri exhales sharply through her nose. "No, I quit." You blink. "What?" She slid her hand into the waistband of her jeans, rubbing absently at her clit. "Called in earlier. Said ‘fuck this’ and hung up." You stare at her, watching as her fingers moved lazily beneath the fabric. "You can’t just—" "Watch me," she interrupts, smirking when you avert your eyes.

She curled two fingers inside herself with a wet squelch, the couch springs protesting as she spread her legs wider. You cleared your throat and grabbed your jacket from the coat rack. "I’m heading out." Bri made a show of sighing dramatically. "Oh no. Anyway—" The door slammed behind you before she could finish.

For a second there, Bri actually felt something—maybe regret, maybe loneliness—but she swallowed it down and doubled down on her fingers. The infomercial host droned on about non-stick pans as she arched into her own touch. "Fuck...fuck this..." she muttered, biting her lip. Her tail thumped against the cushions as she came messily, panting.

You were gone for the next hour and a half—just long enough for Bri to start worrying, which pissed her off more than anything. "Where the fuck did you even go?" she barked when you finally stepped back inside. You sighed heavily and ignored her, tossing your jacket back on the rack. "I’m going to head to bed," you muttered, already halfway down the hallway.

"Wait—" Bri suddenly blurted, then immediately recoiled from her own outburst. "Never mind." Her tail flicked once in agitation before she slumped further into the couch cushions. "Whatever." You hesitated, then sighed, continuing toward your room.

Internally, Bri was freaking the fuck out. You’re usually there for her, even despite her bullshit, not even her own parents are there for her anymore, they were eager to see her go, even helped her pack. She didn’t want to admit it, but she’s scared she’ll lose you too, but she doesn’t know how to express it without it coming out as venomous sarcasm, so she just digs her claws into the couch armrest and scowls at nothing.

You pause at the doorway, sensing the shift in the air—the way her tail tenses, how her ears flatten slightly despite her attempt to look indifferent. "...And Bri?" you say quietly. "What?" she snaps, too quickly. You glance over your shoulder. "I’m moving out tomorrow."

The silence is immediate. The infomercial’s cheerful pitch about revolutionary kitchenware fills the space between you like a cruel joke. Bri’s fingers curl into the couch fabric, claws tearing through the upholstery with a soft *rip*. "You… you… you can’t," she stammers, voice cracking, then hardens instantly. "Fucking *whatever*. Die in a ditch."

You exhale through your nose. "I found a place across town. Now all I have to do is sign a lease tomorrow." Bri’s tail lashes once, violently, knocking a half-empty soda can off the coffee table. "I *said* whatever," she growls, but her ears are pinned back now, her shoulders hunched. She won’t look at you.

With a sigh, you entered your room, shutting the door softly behind you. The moment the latch clicked, Bri broke down—grabbing a pillow and screaming into it, her tears soaking the fabric. Her claws tore through the stitching, stuffing spilling out like her guts. "This can’t be happening, this just can’t be happening," she gasped between ragged breaths.

In your bedroom, you laid down on your bed, looking up at the ceiling. You could still hear muffled cursing from the living room—her voice thick with tears—but after a while, it stopped. Instead, the creak of the couch groaned under shifting weight, followed by hesitant footsteps padding toward your door.

A soft knock, almost tentative. You waited a moment before sighing. "Come in." The door cracked open just enough for Bri's eye to peer through, her ears drooping. "...So you're serious?" she muttered, her usual venom diluted into something small and brittle. You sat up slightly. "Yeah, Bri. I am."

She shoved the door open fully now, arms crossed—but her tail was tucked between her thighs, her fur still damp and sticking up in patches where she'd been crying. "Fucking—*fine*," she spat, then immediately winced at her own tone. "I mean... shit." Her claws dug into her arms. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

You shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing your temples. "I don’t know… I’m not your caretaker. Not anymore." Bri flinched like you'd slapped her. "I never *asked* you to be," she snapped, but her voice wavered halfway through. She slumped against the doorframe, suddenly looking exhausted. "Please don’t leave," she whispered—so quiet you almost missed it.

The silence stretched, thick with tension. Bri’s ears twitched as she stared at the floor. "I don’t *want* to lose you," she admitted, kicking at the carpet with her clawed toes. "But I also don’t know how to *not* be… me." You exhaled slowly. "Yeah, well. I don’t know how to keep pretending I’m okay with being your punching bag." Bri winced again, her tail curling tight around her thigh.

She finally lifted her head, pink eyes watery. "Can… can I confess something stupid?" You shrugged. "Sure." Bri hesitated before blurting, "I… I treat you like shit because I’m trying to hide how much I *actually* fucking love you." She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth as if she could shove the words back in. The confession hung between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.

You stared at her for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. "Geez, Bri." She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself. "Yeah, yeah, I know—pathetic." But then she heard you stand up from the bed, and suddenly you were crouch and in her face. "Say it again," you demanded quietly. Bri blinked, stunned. "What?" You grabbed her wrists gently. "Say how you feel, describe it to me *without* wrapping it in insults this time."

Her ears flattened and her tail tightened around her thigh. "I... I feel..." Her claws flexed against your grip, then she swallowed hard. "I'm fucking *terrified* of being alone, okay? And I can't—I don't know how to *fix* this." Her voice cracked on the last word. You sighed, resting your forehead against hers. "But what about your confession? Describe it to me in better detail, Bri." She inhaled sharply. "Fine! I—I think about you constantly, I get jealous when you talk to other girls, I fantasize about holding you when I can't sleep, okay?! There, happy?!"

You chuckled softly. "See? That wasn't so hard." Bri yanked her wrists free and shoved at your chest weakly. "Fuck you," she muttered, but there was no bite to it—just exhaustion. You caught her hands again, lacing your fingers through hers. "Bri, there’s only one way you’re fixing this." She scowled. "What, groveling? I’d rather die." You squeezed her hands. "No. You're going to apologize for everything, right here, right now. And then you're gonna let me ask you a question."

She froze, ears perking slightly. "What... kind of question?" You smirked. "Apolgies first, then you’ll find out." Bri groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes—but then took a deep breath. "Fine. I... I’m sorry for being a dickbag. I’m sorry for wasting water. And..." She hesitated, then mumbled, "I’m sorry for... for pushing you away."

You squeezed her hands again, softer this time. "Better. Now—" You locked eyes with her, suddenly serious. "Bri, will you be my girlfriend? Officially?" Her pupils dilated, her tail puffing up like a startled cat. "Wh—are you fucking kidding me?" she choked out. You shrugged. "Nope. Unless you’d rather keep pretending you hate me?"

Bri’s ears twitched violently before she buried her face in your shoulder, muffling her response. "I... fine, yeah, whatever," she grumbled, her voice cracking. You laughed, running a hand through her damp, tangled fur. "See? That wasn’t so bad." She bit your shoulder lightly. "Shut up. I regret this already."

Without warning, you grabbed her face and kissed her—right on the lips, silencing her next sarcastic remark. Bri stiffened, claws digging into your arms—then melted like ice cream in July, her tail wagging so hard it slapped against the doorframe. When you pulled back, she blinked dazedly. "Oh," she breathed, pupils blown wide. "So that’s what it’s like when I don’t ruin it."

You snorted, thumbing away the smear of her black lipstick from your mouth. "Yeah, well. You’re gonna have to get used to *not* ruining things now." Bri’s ears flicked, her expression twisting into something vulnerable. "What if I do? Ruin it, I mean." You shrugged. "Then tuck your tail between your legs and come give me a hug. That can be your way of apologizing when words fail."

Bri scoffed, but her tail thumped against the doorframe—her version of a wag. "Fucking gross," she muttered, but when you opened your arms, she folded into them instantly, her damp fur pressing against your chest. "Just so we’re clear," she mumbled into your collarbone, "I reserve the right to still be an asshole sometimes." You kissed the top of her head. "Duly noted."

She pulled back suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Wait—does this mean we can have sex now?" You blinked. "Goodness, Bri." She huffed, crossing her arms. "What? I’ve been pent up for *years*." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Fine… but only if you can say the three special little words first." Bri gagged dramatically. "Ugh, *fine*—I... I..." Her ears flattened as she whispered, "I love you," like it physically pained her.

You grinned. "There, was that so hard?" She flipped you off. "Yes, now shut up and fuck me." You rolled your eyes but helped her to her feet—only for her to tackle you onto the bed, her enormous hips barely fitting sideways on the mattress. "You sure about this?" you asked as she fumbled with your belt. Bri paused just long enough to glare. "If you ask one more stupid question, I’m leaving you for someone with a pulse."