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As you scrub the toilet, you realize it's your third week living here with Babbs. Polishing the porcelain doesn't feel much different, but that's because you're in your washroom. Helping the bear clean hers would be much different.

She's doing that right now, the occasional bump and thump reminding you of her progress. You both had the day off and the time seemed right for cleaning. Not that Babbs' house was filthy by any means; it's more a case of clutter than anything. Her prodigious size means the hallways and walkways through the rooms are wide and clear and the walls get a good wipe down with the sway of her hips. Lose papers and other oddities just tend to pile up on the horizontal surfaces, like the tables and chairs. You've watched her crush some of them when she sat down -- you're not sure if she saw you blush.

Most of the work has been sorting things into piles to toss or file away. Fortunately none of it was food. The bear's kitchen stays relatively spotless, as not a single morsel goes wasted. A quick wipe down was all it needed. The two of you split up to do your own rooms and washrooms, since she could hardly fit in yours and you'd barely be able to reach anything in hers. And you're just about finished.

The cleaner-tinged water is satisfying as it swirls down the pipes. You check through the bathroom one last time before gathering your used rags for the kitchen garbage. Your room is done, the living room is done, the hallways are clear; all that's left is the kitchen itself. Babbs is there when you arrive, holding another garbage bag the size of a person. The sharp corners of old boxes poke out beneath the plastic skin. The whole thing doesn't weigh too much, since they haven't poked through. You're not sure if that's why the bear is being so careful with it or if she's worried about it spilling.

"All done up there?" You ask. Babbs grunts, continuing to mess with her bag while you get on your tiptoes to dump yours in the kitchen garbage.

"I think so," she says. "All of the loose things I don't need I put away. And I went over everything I could reach with the vacuum."

You smile a little; you thought the thing was jet-powered when she turned it on. It's sized up for her and the suction is too. Maybe it helps with getting all the fur out of the carpets and cushions.

"Cool, then the kitchen should be the last spot," you say. The bear continues to try and prop the frustratingly pliable bag up against the counter. The rubbish collector will certainly be in for a surprise this week... you look out into the living room. It's far different from when you first arrived. The general clutter of old magazines and delivery bags are gone, removing the film of white and gloss from the furniture. No stacks threaten to spill onto the couch and Babbs' custom controller almost looks small with all the space on the table.

It's the cleanest you've seen it. And it seems like Babbs enjoys it.

Not the cleaning part itself, but the benefits that come from it. It took a little convincing to get her to spend her day cleaning the house; tidying up the spaces around her on the couch or table were the first steps. It prevented her from completely laying out and putting her feet up on the table or would leave her controller in a precarious position atop a sliding pile of junkmail. She thanked you when you first started doing it, and then you suggested taking part of the weekend to do the rest of the house.

"How often do you usually do this, Babbs?" You ask, turning back to the present. The bear has moved on from her bag and is preparing to start in the kitchen. She pauses, the washcloth she's holding flicking as she folds it.

"Every once in a while," she says, keeping her eyes on the cloth.

"I had to do it all the time. Parents made it a weekly chore," you say. "It stuck with me into uni, but I only did it every 2 weeks. Still, made it pleasant."

The bear is stiff as she takes to the sink.

"I don't do deep cleans often. Getting down to the edges of the drawers and cabinets isn't easy."

She crouches down for effect and her ass almost makes a dent in the opposite wall, saved only by the fact she's going so slow. Her upper half is still above the countertop. It becomes very clear that any low-down work would be at an awkward position for her.

You take a second cloth from the countertop and slide beside her, wiping beneath the overhang.

"W-well, it's not a problem for me," you say. "I can handle the lower down things and the nooks and crannies if you can do the things I can't reach."

A smile flickers across Babbs' face for a moment before she stands. Her heavy paunch presses into the wood next to your head as she brings her attention to the sink -- far above your head.

"Thank you," she says. She pauses partway into her work and looks down at you. "Could you do that for me upstairs, too?"

"Of course, Babbs."

Watching the bear's tiny tail wiggle is a rare treat. You don't have a chance to do it much while the two of you finish the kitchen or when you head upstairs. Even with increased floor space, being behind the bear as she bends over to clean is a dangerous spot to be. Fortunately, you're still got all your bones intact when her office and bedroom are finished.

You let out a huff of satisfaction at the pile of discarded boxes. The things the bear decided to keep are stored a little more neatly now, and take up a fraction of the space. She stands over you with her paws clasped over her stomach as you turn.

"There. That's everything, right?"

"Almost," she says. She bends slightly and offers you her paw. Even doing so, the mitt the size of your chest hovers at head height for you. You barely hesitate now, wrapping a hand around one of her digits.

"What else is there?" You ask. Babbs doesn't respond, pulling you out from the office. It's a slightly awkward shuffle down the hallway as she walks backwards -- barely wide enough for her alone, and her paw would be too far away if she turned around. She stops at the extra large bathroom and lets you go first. You cringe slightly before taking a proper look. Contrary to your worst fears, the facilities appear clean. Even the lower parts you were imagining the bear neglected due to her difficulties.

"Uh, Babbs, what is there --"

A heavy whump of clothing rings out behind you; Babbs' bare bear boobs hang high in the air when you turn around. You look dumbly down at her discarded shirt and back up to the brown boulders, the shimmying of her bootyshorts an afterthought. They fall to the floor after a healthy amount of stretching. You feel her gentle footfalls through the floor when she kicks the garments to the side. The deep inhale and power pose she takes brings your eyes back up to hers.

"There are some other spots I could use your help getting to," Babbs rumbles, looking down at you between the slopes of her pendulous chest. "Would you be interested?"

"I-I-I -- y-yeah!"

"Good."

The bear nearly takes you out with her rear when she steps forward and starts prepping the shower. Air in the lines makes the water splutter for a few moments as it comes out. Seeing Babbs stand there in the sliding doorway makes you realize how tiny it is. Her frame is nearly as wide as the patterned glass; she's got to squeeze to even get through. And the shower doesn't look all that deep...

"Cameron?"

You blink. Babbs is staring down at you.

"Why are you still in your clothes?" she asks.

"I shouldn't be..."

You set about tearing your jeans and lounge-shirt off. Babbs hums idly, running her paw through the water. Parts of the Matchmaking Process program come to mind, the mandatory 'Cultural Acclimatization' presentations you had to watch to get familiar with common anthro habits. Bathing and showering was something they spent extra time on with how many people called with complaints. Because of their fur coats and the protective oils therein, showers often do more damage than good. Unless they are soaked by rain or a particularly sweaty day, anthros often forgo the daily showers that are common for humans.

Which means Babbs is busting out the coat-restoring shampoo just for you.

You kick off your socks just as Babbs lets out a contented grunt.

"I think that's good," she says, turning to you. "You go in first, Cameron."

"O-of course..."

It's still difficult to get used to her size. The lip of the stall feels more like the edge of a bathtub, and it feels like a luxury sauna when you're inside. Only by the bear's presence are you reminded of how small it really is. You back into the corner as she slips in with a soft sigh. The sound of water on thick fur fills the air; your back's against the wall when she's all the way in. The glass squeaks as she slides the door shut. The vibrations ripple through her side just a foot away from your face.

A slight air of awkwardness settles in now that you're both in place. Babbs' hips hide you from her gaze, water rolling off her stomach and falling around you like rain. There's room to move around her lower half, but not much.

"U-uh, Babbs?" you say; her enormous paws wrap around your hands to help you part her paunch. "I can't really direct the water down here..."

She hums. Your hand is pressed into the tile when she lets go of her stomach. After a clunking of metal, water sprays from her gut. You splutter and grab the detached shower head to get it out of your face. Babbs sighs as the stream arcs up into her underfur.

"Is that better?" she asks.

"Y-yeah," you say, pausing. "Is there enough hose?"

"We'll see. Now, if you wouldn't mind...?"

"R-right."

The bear's rumblings only grow deeper when you get to work, massaging her fur with one hand and spraying with the other. You're glad you're doing well for your first time. The water-soaked fluff makes the squeezing even more satisfying; water droplets ripple off when you let go of her fat, watching it ripple. There's enough hose to work all the way down to her paws, where small giggles escape her as the water tickles between her digits. Babbs' sounds reach a husky tenor when you try to pass between her thighs. You press your face into her thick, soft valley with little success, and she pushes you back with a subtle movement.

"Get up here, too," she says, tapping her stomach high above you. You obey wordlessly, blinking through the backsplash. Your hands sink into her belly as you knead it, threading your fingers through her fur to get to the soft skin beneath. Babbs leans back far enough for there to be a tiny gap between it and the wall, though it doesn't help much.

"That's as far as I can reach, Babbs," you say. "...where should I --?"

The bear almost steps on your foot as she begins to turn. Her enormous leg hits you with a wet smack, pinning you to the wall. She pauses at your momentary groan, then leans back with a sigh. Wet fur balloons out around you and fills your outstretched arms. It's like hugging a tree made of pillows. A shift of her hips frees you, letting you stare up at her derriere.

"Here, please," she says with a slight wiggle; her cheeks wobble against the sides of the stall. You're lucky her curves are so massive or you'd barely be able to touch them from down here. The rainy backsplash intensifies as you knead at the dark moon above you, tracing every crease with eager fingertips. Babbs moves against your hands, shifting around to fill them. A small river runs down her cleft when she helps you part her heavy cheeks. Lighter sounds abound when you spray at the sensitive, thin fur from below.

"Hand me the water," she says after a while; a paw squishes between her cheeks and the wall. They deaden the clunks of the removable head as it ascends through the furry clouds.

"Uh, what now?" you ask.

"Get ready."

The bear moves before you have time to figure out what you're preparing for. She shifts against the sides with a cacophony of squeaking and splattering water. In an oddly smooth movement, Babbs bends down and thrusts back against you, slamming you into the tile with her rear. Your muffled cry is garbled by her wet cheeks; the wall is cold on your bare skin, and you feel it catch as she rises. The bear hums and adjusts herself with a shimmy or two as your feet leave the ground, held aloft by her massive rear. She reaches down to tug you into place by the arms.

"Are you okay, Cameron?" she asks, somehow still calm. Wet fur brushes against your face when you nod.

"Good. I'll get the stuff up top..."

You slide against the wall with a squeal as the bear turns.

"...if you get the hard to reach places down low."

Your head spins for a moment, trapped there between her cheeks. It gets easier to breath as the trickle of water from above ceases. Babbs rumbles happily when you begin nuzzling, licking at the tiny beads of moisture. Her pressure on you varies as she sways and moves, waves from her scrubbing up top bouncing you in the depths of her behind. Her ass presses on almost every centimeter of your body in a comforting contrast. Her soft flesh is warms your front half, even as it presses your back to the cold, hard tile.

You use your limited movement to delve deep into her ass, feathering every glorious centimeter on the way with licks and kisses. Her scent here is almost untouched by the water. Even if slightly weaker, the familiar musk and taste drive you forward. Babbs' motions and sounds grow deep and slow as you bottom out. Cleaning her most intimate, hard-to-reach place fills you with a profound sense of satisfaction.

It more than makes up for the hard wall against your back -- though you're thankful you're only experiencing a fraction of her weight.

You're in a haze when Babbs sets you free. A slow tug on your arms pulls you up from her enormous cheeks until you're only up to your knees in glorious assfat.

"Still okay, Cameron?" she asks.

You groan out a response while wiping your eyes. The top of the shower is filled with a thin haze of steam, condensing on the glass, the walls, and the acres of bear-fur spread out before you.

"Come up to my front, I have more for you to do," she says.

The bear stays still while you obediently grasp at her backfur to free yourself the rest of the way. You're used to climbing around on her in bed, but this is a little different. It's fortunate she fills the stall nearly completely, or else you'd surely fall. You basically do when you hop over her shoulder. The bear's ocean of cleavage ripples as you land awkwardly and sink beneath it face-down. It shakes around you when she grabs your flailing legs with a chuckle. She sets you back into it right-side up, a small smile on her face.

"Have a spill?" she asks.

"N-never climbed someone like this b-before..."

You're mesmerized by even her small grin. Babbs' expression rarely changes. It's so surprising that you almost don't notice when she turns the showerhead on you.

"Relax," she says as you splutter, "I'm only washing you."

With her free hand, the bear squeezes a bottle on her breasts, coating them in shampoo. They act like a pair of oversized loofahs when she puts a broad palm on your back and dunks you down into them. You're overcome by water, soap, and warmth as she seems to clean you with her whole body, arms aiding her breasts in scrubbing just as much as her palm. You can feel the water seep down around your waist, cleaning a trail down your legs. A heat lies there, painfully unfulfilled.

Perhaps you're looking down to much at it; when Babbs gives you a final rinse, she pauses for a second, looking down at her cleavage. Then another smile flickers across her face. She takes her chest in both hands and squeezes and scrubs you even more firmly, pressing you harder into the wall. You pant as she goes on, watching you paw at her undulating chest. Fine fur and firm flesh assails your rod from every angle, her wave-like motions crashing across not only it but your entire pelvis.

"B-Babbs -- I --"

The bear pushes her chest up with a hard scooping motion, drawing your seed out from the very base and a ragged gasp from your lungs. A small dribble of semen bubbles up from between her breasts, even with their size. She looks down at it and coos.

"I guess you'll have to clean me again..."

...

Yawning makes brushing your teeth difficult. It's only mid-week, but you're tired. Working at your own pace doesn't completely exempt you from the rigors of the daily grind. You've often wondered what it would be like to work a regular 9 to 5, having had your own schedule since getting out of school.

You certainly wouldn't be staying up until 12.

Another yawn assails you as you walk out of the bathroom and right past your bed. It's gotten more use as a recliner during short breaks, lately. Climbing the huge stairs is your least favorite part of the new routine, but the prize at the top is well worth it. Babbs is already in bed with the covers laid out over her hips. The bedside ladder she installed for you to climb up was worth every quid. The bear hums quietly when you clear the mattress and slip into her sizable divot. The sheet flutters back over you with a quiet chorus of fur on fabric as the bear adjusts herself.

You've slept mostly in the same positions the nights you've been together. At first you simply laid on top of Babbs; she was more than soft and warm enough to get comfortable on. But even as soft as she was, her roundness meant it was easy to slip off. Having her hold you helped as long as she didn't shift in her sleep. As much as your lower half wants her to sleep on top, you've mostly settled for staying on your sides. Spooning or hugging.

The bear's curves call to you tonight; you press your face into the little triangle between her breasts and upper stomach, pawing at her lower breast until it acts like a proper pillow. Babbs' paw wraps around your back before she puts on a little pressure. Her thigh rolls over your hips as you're submerged beneath the sheets. A low groan escapes you. It's the perfect blend of safety and weight, just enough to cover part of you without crushing you. you don't feel in danger of her rolling all the way over, either.

Your mind is blank as you gently rub your face in her fur. You're able to breathe easily in your little hollow below her chest, and you can feel her breathe against you. Her stomach presses into your body while her upper breast washes over your head like a wave with each cycle. Your arms arc idly over her doughy expanse, sinking into the occasional fold. The feeling of her fur across your bare skin is heavenly. As you squeeze her tightly, the comparisons to an oversized teddy bear are impossible to ignore. Babbs gives a comforting press back. She's on her phone, idly shifting her thighs around you.

"Hey Babbs?"

Your voice is muffled by your furry hidey-hole, but unlike most times you're pressed up against the bear, it's not muffled to unintelligible garble.

"Hmm?"

She slacken her hold just the slightest bit. You take the hint and draw your face out of her breasts for your question.

"Do anthros have teddy bears?"

"What?"

"You know, do anthros have teddy bears or stuffed animals as kids?" you say. "I was just thinking about how humans do, a lot of the time, and I just kinda wondered."

"Oh yes. We're all given stuffed humans when we're ready for cribs," she says. You know her well enough now to recognize the deadpan and laugh.

"Really, Babbs, I'm curious! I'm an only child, I wouldn't know."

She hums. Her thigh shifts a little more on top of you.

"Yes, we do," she says. "Just like humans, I assume."

"...was it weird to have one the same species as you?"

"Would it be weird for you to have a human action figure?"

"No, but that's -- maybe it's not all that different."

You sigh and press your face back into your warm hollow. The soft sound of Babbs' phone continues somewhere high above you.

"What was your favorite?" you ask. "Stuffed animal, I mean."

The bear's deep, rhythmic breaths pause. She rumbles in thought. You can hear her claws tapping on the plastic of her phone case, the sound loud enough that you'd worry if she didn't have one of those crazy ballistic ones. Her tenor deepens when the sound stops.

"Mister Bungy..." she says. "I remember him. He was a rabbit I got in year R..."

There's a new sense of wonder to her voice, one you haven't ever heard before.

"He was one of those ones that came with a web game. God, I haven't thought about him in ages. I wonder where he --"

Babbs' sound of discontent is soft.

"Mmm. Probably the attic."

You can feel the tension in her legs as she continues to muse. This house doesn't have an attic; you take it that wherever the rabbit is, it's not a place the bear can just go back to.

"What's this about a web game?" you ask. She stays tense, but answers.

"It was one of those sites that had a lot of minigames. Your stuffed animal was your avatar, and kind of a pet," she says. "You would play games with them to earn points to decorate their house and buy them outfits. 'Netpals,' I think it was called."

The name sounds familiar. You don't think you got one, but it passed around the schoolyard in years past.

"That sounds neat. Is it still online?"

"...I don't think I've checked."

You slip out from under Babbs' leg as she taps away. An arm falls around you when you pop up from beneath the covers to watch. A soft chuckle makes the huge pillows around your back wobble.

"What?"

"Nothing," she says. "I didn't expect this, is all. I dropped the app a few phones ago."

The glow of the app store highlights the bear's surprise when the search for 'Netpals' comes up with a hit. The contrast is probably the only reason you can see it on her furry face.

"It's still around!" she whispers. There's some giddiness to her voice as she scrolls through the images and disclaimers. "It's changed, but it's still here!"

"Maybe Mister Bungy is too," you suggest. Babbs taps the download button and switches to an FAQ tab from the website.

"I -- I hope so," she says. She glances down at you with an odd expression. "I -- I remember spending nights holding him while I would play it on my phone. I'd stay up for hours doing that with a lolly in my mouth."

Her look ignites something in you, something it maybe shouldn't. But you go for it anyway. You wiggle out from her grasp and cringe slightly at the cool air's embrace.

"Well, I don't think I could replace Mister Bungy," you say, "but I think I could help with a different part of that."

The bear raises an eyebrow; the other one follows suit when you drop your skivvies. The slightest smile breaks out on her muzzle as she looks up at you.

"I might have to move you around to see, but maybe you could," she says. "Can you last as long as a lolly?"

"What kind did you usually have?"

"Chupa Chunga Chups."

"Ooh, the big ones..."

"Mm-hmm," she replies idly, bringing a paw to your member. "The cola ones were my favorite."

"W-well, uh, I don't think I can r-replicate that..."

"But can you last as long as one of them?"

You stiffen at the caress of her pads.

"D-depends on how -- gentle you are with your lollies!"

Babbs grunts and straightens your rod. You go weak at the knees when her hot breath rolls over your groin. The warm embrace of her fist is replaced by her lips in an instant, and her paw slips around to your ass. The sensation of fur on your balls makes you squeak. The bear's teeth poke gently against your member when she chuckles around it. It sets you on edge; you just now realize you've stuck your manhood in jaws like an oversized beartrap.

But the velvet of her lips and the warm, wet air of her maw disguise that fact well. You move easily in her grasp as she adjusts you to see her screen, caught in a paradox of pleasure and fear. You're slipped onto your side with a firm paw on the backside; you tremble as she raises her head and moves it around to try and get a better view. Then she decides to roll over to her front. You scramble along to try and help, afraid of losing your place or your dick, but it's hardly effective. Babbs simply lays her arm across your back and shifts.

You're squished between her arm and shoulder, but you make it through alive. You even get pushed further past her lips for a moment. But they recede when the two of you have settled, your body laid over her arms and propped up by pillows. The bear sucks idly at your head, gripping the underside of it with her lips. You can practically feel steam condensing on your skin from the sauna that is her mouth. The sensations draw a chorus of 'oh's and 'ah's from you.

Babbs clearly doesn't mind. She taps away at her phone while you squirm in her grasp. You can feel the muscles beneath your legs and sides as she navigates, a soft hum of discontent sending you shuddering. You're right in the crook of her arms, letting her cradle you with ease. She doesn't move you very much, content to tug on you with her lips alone -- and it's more than enough to send tingling tendrils through you down to your toes.

Something has clearly gone sideways with recovering the bear's account. She cocks her head slightly and her arms move hastily beneath you, swiping and tapping more than just typing in an email or password would entail. You try to get over the pleasure and to feel for her.

"S-something w-wrong?" you manage. The grunt she lets out in response sends a blast of warm air across your nethers and leg; it's all you can do to hold in a groan when your cock pops out of her mouth.

"They want my old email. I don't remember if I have the password to it."

She squeezes you in her arms for a second while squinting at the screen. The brush of her fur on your sensitive head sends a shudder through your hips. Babbs doesn't seem to notice, and lowers back down with a hum.

"I'll have to do some looking. Maybe a couple of account recoveries," she says, right before popping your cock back in her mouth. The return of her tight lips and the wet maw beyond at once bring relief and challenge. The idle bobbing of her head and tensing of her lips are frustratingly effective. Your fingers and toes clench as you hold things in, trying to last as long as possible. Your own movements against her muzzle are dampened by her arms beneath you; any of your body's attempts at driving deeper are thwarted.

Just when you think you won't be able to hold it any longer, Babbs pulls back and leaves your cock in the cold. She continues staring over your hips at the screen while you pant.

"This is annoying," she says. "It won't list what emails this one is designated as a recovery for."

"M-m-maybe l-look for a-account ch-change emails?" you stutter. "L-like, ones where it says 'your a-account details have changed?'"

Babbs nods slowly and taps some more. You forget that you're not in her mouth until her broad tongue tickles the inside of your thigh, and a strangled yelp escapes you. You jump, feeling lucky you're erect. You would've accidentally cockslapped her otherwise. But it's still not without its consequences: your balls pop right into position for her, and most lollies don't bounce around so much. The sound that you make when her lips wrap around them is much more high-pitched.

The hint of teeth is quite effective at getting you to settle down. It's not that she's biting you but more that you can feel their outline. Your sack slips easily into her jaws, and the front of her teeth press into your skin with every gentle suck. You stay rigid as Babbs juggles your balls like hard candy with her tongue, pressing them, squeezing them, cupping them. She's focused on the screen the whole time.

After what feels like half an hour, the bear releases your balls. She gives you little respite before going back to licking your dick. It shudders with each stroke, and you whimper, but you stay still for her this time. When your member is slathered with saliva, Babbs takes you back in.

And this time it's all the way.

You groan as her lips slide easily down to your base. You can feel your own heartbeat against them as they tighten -- or maybe that's the pulsing of your vinegar strokes. Babbs toys with your length either way. It being sideways feels a bit strange, but still amazing. You can feel the contrasting sides of her tongue as it presses you into her fleshy walls, smooth and slightly rough. The pressure on everything increases with each idle suck. Small sounds and hums from her are magnified, the vibrations sent from her throat straight through you to your very fingertips.

You're once again on the brink when she lets you go. This time, you find her looking at you when you manage to recover.

"A-any l-luck?" you ask.

"Yes. Now hold on."

Babbs moves before you can ask for any clarification. You're shoved deep into her mouth once more and scrabble for something to hold onto as she begins to get up. With her help, you end up plastered over her head, holding onto the fur on the back of her neck. You loosen your grip slightly when she squeezes your ass with a firm grunt. It's still terrifying when she stands and begins to walk. You're four meters in the air with your dick in a bear's mouth, whom you're partially blinding; one wrong move and you'll be maimed in any number of ways.

By some miracle, Babbs doesn't lose her balance with your extra weight on her face. She moves slow, nearly scraping you against the ceiling. There's a slight pressure around your base with every step she takes. Where exactly to you're not sure. The odd mix of terror and pleasure are keeping your mind quite occupied. It's unclear if the rhythmic strokings of her tongue are intended to comfort you or not, but they do to a slight extent. You're almost comfortable by the time she goes still again.

Babbs muddles around below you with something on her desk, flipping papers or pages. You take the opportunity to strengthen your position. The bear's muzzle means your feet won't reach her shoulders, but you can still use your legs. You grip a little higher up on her head and squeeze your thighs; it gives you a sliver of leverage.

But it's still enough to thrust with.

From the outside you probably don't look like you're doing much, but punching even millimeters deeper into Babbs' mouth sends new waves of pleasure through you. Maybe that's why she's completely unphased. She continues her work even when you match the rhythm of her lips and palm. The happy rumble that threatens to dislodge you tells you she's gotten something to work. The haze it brought to your head stalls the panic when she moves again, seeming to suck harder.

The bear isn't as careful when she sits back down on the bed. You're jostled free from your perch with a yelp. Her strong paw on your backside prevents your member from falling off, but you still lose your balance. The bear growls a little when you scrabble at her ear fruitlessly to avoid tipping over. The silliness of it only hits you when you hit the dreaded terrain below; the soft curves of her bust. You relax; being upside down wouldn't be so bad. You'd just fall in her boobs.

With the panic gone, the fact you're still in her mouth hits you. And Babbs goes to down when she sees you're no longer trying to escape. You can't hold back your moans anymore as her tongue wraps around the topside of your member. You thrust against it, reaching down into her curves to try and stabilize yourself. She's pressing right against your dick, her wet folds slipping over your whole length. You find your legs slowly drifting down as the paw on your ass tightens its grip. Spasms of pleasure wrack through you as your legs wrap gently around her head, somehow making everything even more intense.

Your orgasmic cry is largely drowned out by the bear's cleavage. Babbs stops her sucking, holding you firmly in place while your hips buck. You can hardly hear the tapping of her phone between your panting and the blood rushing to your head. The extra lightheadedness is almost kind of nice. She lets you slip down from her jaws when you begin to squirm.

"I got it working," she says, squeezing you to her chest -- still upside down. You give an acknowledging grunt into her fur. The world shifts once again as she lays back on her side, your face cradled between her legs this time. Your grunts grow increasingly tired and muffled as you try to settle in, pushing at her belly while she shifts her legs to support you. The two of you sigh when things are comfortable enough. Babbs begins stroking your back as the sheets are pulled over you once more, cocooning you back into her embrace.

"Your lolly wasn't too bad, either," she whispers as you drift off.

...

You can't recall the last time you finished work this early. You take it as a sign that you're settling in.

The contract agency you're with has another job lined up for you, but the client still has some details they need to provide, leaving you to cool your heels before noon. And fortunately, it's still technically chargeable time. You stretch after entering your hours and closing all your work tabs and programs. Days like this aren't common. Most of the time it's the happy result of you plowing through work and the client your liaison has lined up being in the early stages of contracting. It happens more often in the big, complex contracts for the more intricate projects, but those are even more rare.

It's safe to step away from the computer for a while, so you go out for a quick walk. You're not as familiar with the neighborhood as you'd like. A route deliberately going away from the common corner shops helps remedy that. It's oddly close to home; the houses are crowded together, the lawns are tiny, and the roads are winding. The only people you see out and about are pensioners. You wonder how many others are like you and Babbs, working from home.

You decide to pay her a visit when you get back. It's about time for her mid-day lunch break anyway. Hell, you could save her the trip. It doesn't take long for you to assemble some of the many leftovers from the fridge on a bear-sized plate. You've gotten quite adept at it all, honestly. Even with the fridge and counters being so big. The accessibility ladder -- a sentence you never thought you'd hear -- has made things quite easy. Apparently it was put in as part of the requirements when Babbs entered the Matchmaking program.

You pause your piling-on of chicken; the past isn't something the bear has talked much about. You admittedly haven't pried much, but you're left curious. They didn't provide you much info during the matchmaking on purpose. The wolf woman that brought you here -- Celia, you think? -- did let some things slip about numerous prior partners, but nothing beyond the fact they existed. At some point, it would probably be good to know more. Not that Babbs seems like she's hiding anything.

But right now isn't the time.

You find the bear in her office when you climb the stairs. It's notably different from the space in her bedroom, with things here much more clean and cramped. Emphasizing the work part of your workspace was something you learned about early on in the job. It all makes you a little hesitant to knock. Babbs looks up when you do; there's a small smile on her face when she takes off her headset and swivels her chair.

"Thank you, Cameron," she says.

"Yeah, no problem," you reply, handing over the plate. "I figured it was around your lunch break anyway, so I just did it."

"I appreciate it."

There's an awkward moment or two of silence as she starts eating. You quickly move to fill it.

"Got much left to do today?" you ask. Babbs nods, breaking away momentarily to save her work.

"I'm going to do a full day today," she says. "I might go late too."

"Trying to get the contract done quick?"

"Mmhm."

You nod and lean against the doorway.

"I managed to get the little one I was on finished. Stuck waiting on the next client."

"Oooh... lucky. My project will take another day or two at least."

You take a closer look at the windows she has up; it's in one of those languages you're not familiar with. It's much higher level stuff than she'd shown you with it before.

"Ehh, work's work," you say. "I'm curious, Babbs: how did you get into coding? I don't know if I've ever asked."

The bear swallows another piece of leftover lasagna before pausing. She glances from the screen to you before answering.

"When I was little, I wanted to make games. And up through secondary, they told me that this was the way to do it."

You let out a small, sympathetic grunt. "I got the same talks."

"The vocational school I went to taught me code, but it never did translate," she continues. "Programmers are plentiful. I figured out around halfway through that if I wanted in to any publisher, I should've started my portfolio ten years ago. And I should've known someone at the company."

"Yeah. Pretty similar here," you say. "They always told me it wouldn't be easy to get into. On a professional level, anyway. I made a few tech demos and things from templates for class. But that was enough -- there was this one class project that convinced me it indie wasn't my thing."

You chuckle a little to suppress the trauma.

"I can code, but I sure can't draw."

Babbs' responding snort of amusement is much lower. "Me neither."

"So what made you stay?" you ask; her expression flickers. She goes back to her usual stone-wall for a moment before looking... nervous, you think? Her eyes are shaky, and her ears curl just slightly. They stay that way even after she sighs, reaching for one of the muffins you included on the plate.

"It's all I know," she says. "It's what I've been doing since year 8 or 9. I was lucky that I got picked up for contracting when I got out. I don't think I could work a normal job, I haven't since I was still in secondary."

Her eyes glaze a little while polishes off the last of the chicken.

"Here, I don't have to interact with anyone or worry about getting in the way," she says; the screen reflects off her brown eyes as she chews. "I can just do my work. Do one contract then another."

You can sympathize, to an extent. Contract coding has been your life since you got out too. Moving here with Babbs has been the largest change since then. Not having to interact with many people is sometimes good, but not always. Seeing her drained like this reminds you of the downsides.

"I think I get what you mean," you say. "I don't know where I'd be without my handler. I couldn't handle negotiating like that."

Babbs stares at the blinking cursor.

"...but I guess even if it's not the most fulfilling, job in the world, at least you're comfortable with it, right? Everyone has to work for their dosh. At least there aren't too many problems with how we do it."

The bear manages to nod.

"And, well, work's work, you know? Fun being outside it isn't bad," you say. "We could play some Periphery Plains 3, if you want."

She sighs, and clicks on the desktop clock.

"Maybe later, Cameron," Babbs says. She moves the empty plate off to one side of the desk. "Right now I want to finish for the day."

You suppress a sigh, but nod in return. The glum mask over her face doesn't change when you reach up on your tiptoes to grab the dish. She does mutter a thank-you, though. You can feel the dreariness spread over to you while you bring it back down to the kitchen. It certainly wasn't the weather; it was your doing. You know not to beat yourself up too hard over it, but part of you can't help feel bad.

You find yourself sitting on the couch and unsure what to do. You saw she had Ice open; booting up a game would send her a notification, and she'd hear the TV. Neither option seems like it'd make her feel better. The cushion beneath you accepts your tired groan as you sink into it. Asking her to just lay down on the couch for a while probably wouldn't help, either.

Your idle arm-stretches across the cushion discover something; you're in the bear's seat-divot. The couch is a tank, but there's still been some deformation from thousands of pounds of sitting. You're again in awe of how large her crater is. You barely crest the edges of it, the full extent partially hidden by the overstuffed nature of the couch.

An idea forms as you stare up at the ceiling. You're pushing down nerves as you climb the stairs again. It feels like when you first arrived here, terrified and uncertain of what Babbs might say. There's a hint of excitement to it. The bear is still at her desk when you return to her office; her mood doesn't seem like it's improved much. She doesn't look up until you knock on her desk.

"Yes, Cameron?" she asks.

"Hey, Babbs. I -- uh, I had a thought: I don't have anything else going on the rest of the day, so what if I were to... help you finish up your work?"

Her expression is blank for a second. Then what you're saying hits her and her eyes begin to flit.

"...I... ...I don't know," she says. "The contract was for my work. I don't know if they are okay with outside help. And if they found out we might have to deal with parting out commission."

You swallow and try to steady your nerves.

"W-we could talk about that later, if you want. I meant a -- a different kind of help."

One of the bear's eyebrows rises.

"I-I was looking, a-and it seems like your chair is, uh, uncomfortable, and I thought 'hey, since I don't have anything to do, I could offer to...' uh..."

Her ears twitch slightly when your words die off.

"You're asking if I want to sit on you while I'm doing work?" she says. Plainly, no joy or contempt in her voice, no look of elation or rage. It doesn't change when you nod.

"O-on my f-face, preferably," you add; then you ramble when you realize you might've overstepped. "I-I mean, if you want to! I-I-I -- it just felt so good last time, a-and you liked it, a-and --"

You're interrupted by the knobby sound of her chair rolling back. Babbs stands and grabs the edges of her short shorts, unwedging them from her folds. Each tug sends a ripple through the fat on her thighs and ass. The room is so quiet that you can hear the fabric slip against her fur when it passes the widest part of her hips. There's a small sigh of satisfaction from the bear when the garment drops to the floor. She looks at you with only the hint of a smile, her head cocked to the side expectantly. You tear your eyes from her after a second and realize she's waiting for you.

"O-oh, right!"

You walk forward and raise your arms to the sides, waiting for her to pick you up. But the bear's huge paws grab onto your shirt rather than your exposed sides. Your surprised is muffled by your shirt as she pulls it over your head, though she lets you get your bearings for a moment before picking you up for real.

"My office chair is less breathable than the one in the bedroom. And less soft," she explains, holding you up. You're again slow to realize she's waiting for you; you're too tongue tied to really answer and just nod. Babbs grunts and pulls you into her shoulder. You can't help but stiffen a little when she starts undoing your pants.

"Don't want anything in your pockets pressing against you," she says. When your member pokes into her chest, she adds "...and I want my extra fidget toy."

You're still tongue-tied. You offer no resistance when your pants are dropped to the floor and the bear turns to the chair. She sets you down on the edge before scooting you back. She's right: the cushion beneath you is relatively thin. There's still some give, but not as much as the ultra-soft padding you've become accustomed to.

"Cameron?"

She's looking down at you with her hands on her hips.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

"Y-Y-yeah."

Babbs nods. You're treated to a gorgeous display as she turns around, her hips wobbling high above you. She pulls the chair forward and your feet press into her thighs. You stare up at her enormous cheeks with a fluttering heart. A little wiggle is the only warning you receive before the bear descends with a deep groan.

Whatever squeak you let out is instantly drowned in hundreds of pounds of ass. The support structures of the seat press into your back as the cushion goes flat. Everything is stiff; the seat below, your body -- your dick -- and Babbs. Her muscles come to the fore against you as she scoots the chair in and adjusts herself. Waves of rounded fat squish around your face and her thighs tense over your body.

You move against her without thinking -- not that you can move very much at all. The shifting of the bear's weight gives you little windows to wiggle your arm a few centimeters, or to splutter and gasp into her fur. You do both plenty as you're dragged across the chair. Babbs seems like an expert at it, wiggling you side to side with ease. Getting you to go up and down is more of a challenge with how you keep sliding into her crease. But eventually, after many shimmies and presses, the intense weight on top of you pauses.

"Can you breathe?" she asks, unperturbed by the minute kneading of your fingers. The shaking of your head in reply only serves to burrow your face deeper into the warmth of her undercarriage. A tiny flex of your compressed lungs confirms that you indeed cannot, and you start trying to get your hands closer to your face. Babbs grunts and starts shifting on top of you again, subjecting you to another world-warping bought of intense pressure and pleasure.

"How about now?" she asks; this time the heat on your face is more intense and the scent of her musk burrows its way into your nose, but you still feel yourself fading out. The bear grumbles when you shake your head and starts moving more precisely. The weighty ripples that reverberate through your chest tell you she's pawing at herself, adjusting how the fat of her thighs press on top of you. The thought of it makes you groan and your eyes roll back in your head.

"Just tell me when you can breathe," she says. You're too busy writhing beneath her to dwell on the hint of annoyance in her voice. The dance between you two continues until you find a pocket between her legs that you can gasp in. Damp warmth sits on the bridge of your nose, and pushing your chest out against her thighs is still an effort. Warm fur and soft weight surrounds your body on every side, leaving you pinned form the neck down. But you're able to ride the edge of breathless pleasure comfortably enough.

Babbs hears your muffled babbling or feels your breath soaking her fur. She finally goes still above you after one last wave of pressure. You know it's from scooting the chair beneath the desk from the rumbles of the wheels, vibrating up through your bones.

"Right," she rumbles, "back to work, then."

You can't hear the clack of keys, only vague, light impacts. You can't really hear them at all, just the pounding of blood. It's like you've pressed your head against a door to listen to the muffled sounds on the other side; you feel them more than anything. But the curious intersection of acoustics and haptics is far from the main thing on your mind. You gasp beneath her thighs like a fish, filling your head with her scent. The combination of low oxygen and intense pressure leaves you extra sensitive and your skin tingly all over.

Rubbing your face in what fur and folds you can reach is a no-brainer. You realize what's sitting just above your face when you do; the tip of your nose slides into something moist when you crane your neck back. The warm embrace of her lower lips is only teasing right now. You wriggle beneath her to get an extra few centimeters of contact and depth. Every single one is hard fought. You huff and puff in a full-body workout. Even with everything pinned, you can feel her fur moving across you, millimeter by millimeter.

Or maybe that's the tingling sensations on your skin getting more intense.

Babbs notices your efforts either way. You can tell when she starts rocking ever so gently against you. The waves of pressure rolling over you are secondary to the warmth of her core against your face. Every pass dips you further into her heat, into her scent. Into a different kind of pressure. You continue your wiggling and rock your head back. The bear lingers on the next down stroke when she feels her folds ride across the whole of your face. Your spluttering doesn't interrupt her when she settles into the new rhythm.

It takes you a few passes to get accustomed to the overwhelming new sensations. She feels like felt, and it sets your face on fire. Timing your little breaths to her movements is an effort. But when you manage it, you can start doing what you've been dying to do since getting down here. You build up your reserve, bit by bit, filling your lungs with every rhythmic pass. A little air seeps out each time her thighs squeeze your chest. But your mouth waters with her scent, adding to the will you need to hold on.

You press your face up into her when you can't take it anymore. There's a shudder when your tongue pops out, and you feel it through your whole body and hers. Babbs stops her rocking for a second as you lick along her crease. The extra weight pushes you deeper much to your delight. The taste is twice as intense as the scent, and beads of her fluid coat your mouth. Little wet sounds make it past the pounding in your ears.

The bear seems to draw as much pleasure from it as you. She's taking bigger strokes when she resumes her rocking. Your tongue is taken on a meandering tour of her innermost contours, along with the rest of your face. The extra depth seems to be the new normal. You choke as your world turns into one of musk and fluids, and blow against her depths. Babbs shakes with a sound between a grunt and a groan. You can feel the reaction across her whole body -- your whole body. Beneath all her weight and consumed by her scent, it's getting harder to distinguish the too.

You don't realize you're blacking out until she lifts up and your body gasps on reflex. The breath is still fur-filled and scent-stricken, but it fights back the numbness from your fingertips. Babbs shifts around a little more with a droning hum. You end up in a little pocket between her thighs that you can breathe quite well in, but her dripping pussy no longer warms your forehead.

"I need to focus," the bear says. To you or to herself you're not sure. She doesn't respond when you let out the strongest moan in a while between her legs, rubbing your soaked face into the fur-covered curves of her thighs. Being able to actually breathe lets you press up against her even harder than before. You're not trying to get anywhere this time, though. All of the pointless pushing and twitching you do is strictly to chase the strange satisfaction you get from all this. Intensifying the pressure intensifies the pleasure. Feeling her weight press down on you, her fat yield but refuse to move -- it fuels your lust.

You curl your fingers as much as you can, digging them into her soft flesh, and start thrusting. You don't really need the extra leverage with how completely you're pinned but it doesn't feel right otherwise. Babbs' enormous thighs cover you almost entirely, her knees somewhere just below yours. The squish of her fat against the chair keeps your feet in place. You're locked into her channel fairly tight, but there's just enough give for your hips to bounce between them.

The few centimeters you get are glorious. It feels like more than that with how your member is laying. You're pressed up between her thighs and your own pelvis, making every push feel twice as hard. Your head cleaves through her fur with ease, riding along the low-pressure ridge between her legs. The sensations washing over you make your head spin. You fill the tiny breathing space between her legs with muffled moans and groans, punctuating the jittery rhythm.

Babbs takes notice. She thinks you're running low on air at first and spreads her thighs with a single paw. The poke of her claws against your stomach startles you, so it's fortunate she brought a small stream of fresh air. It's when one of them brushes your throbbing head that you're less grateful. You cry out and spasm from the sensation, and her thighs are parted enough that it shakes her. She grunts curiously before gently hooking the claw onto your cockhead. The precise movements as she wedges the dull instrument between your body and your member send harsh bolts rocketing through your body.

The bear drags your cock upright between her thighs, every second of brushing fur and increased pressure torturous. She's careful not to hurt you when retrieving her claw. You feel every fold of skin she pulls it against before it disappears from your senses. It may as well not exist. Your cock is entombed between her legs, standing strained at attention. It bucks against her on its own without the aid of your hips, trying to arc back down, but Babbs keeps her thighs tight.

Then she starts tensing them.

Your dick is squeezed so hard you swear it'll come out flat. The pressure around your member gets so intense that it can't even twitch, the dry attempts lighting you up at the base in pulses. She seems to get heavier, too; the soft weight covering you suddenly becomes more firm, pressing you even harder into the already flattened cushion. You grip at her underside and moan, trying to lift your hips with little success. Pleasure and relief come with release -- however momentary it is. Babbs tenses back up when she feels your cock trying to slip back down between her legs.

You don't last very long before busting. The orgasm is breathless, consuming your whole body in white-hot shudders of ecstasy. Even the squeeze of her thighs can't deny the powerful pulses of seed. She holds you tight as you drain yourself into her fur, only stopping when your hips do. Your softened member is allowed to slip back down through the mess it's made. Above you, Babbs grunts.

"We'll clean that later."

Later never seems to come, though you do. Plenty more times. You lose track of it entirely beneath her, your life reduced entirely to moments of sensation and breathlessness. You nibble her thighs, her pussy, her ass -- every millimeter of her underside is touched by your tongue, and every millimeter crushes your face. The bear's thighs and your pelvis are slowly coated by your fluids. Sometimes you make it to her standing you up, other times you feel your dick drilling into your stomach.

The thing to bring you clarity is a sound. Though muffled by a mountain of fat and fluff, you recognize the obnoxious splash screen for Crankshaft Entertainment. Babbs lifts up at the change in sounds beneath her, letting you gasp in fresh air.

"Yes?" she asks, not completely off you.

"You're -- playing -- Periphery -- Plains!"

"Yes," she says again. There's a soft chuckle. "I've been done with work for a while Cameron. I thought you would enjoy playing with me this way more."

Your face, flushed from hours of pressure and pleasure, somehow becomes even more red.

"J-just for five more minutes..." you mutter.

As the bear descends on you once more, you find yourself hoping she loses track of time.

...

The flames of the burning spaceship fill the living room. You let the controller drop in your lap with a sigh; you've never been good at bullet hells. Babbs' extra-large controller rests on your knees as the credits scroll. The game's not completely over, though. She blasts the names etched on the hunks of wreckage and asteroids for extra points. You lazily attempt the same with your fighter by scrolling it back and forth across the bottom of the screen.

"I'm so glad there's not friendly fire," you sigh, leaning back into her stomach. The bevy of upgrades you'd collected cover a good part of the screen.

"There's an option for it," Babbs says. "Should we try it?"

"O-Oh, no," you chuckle. You glance down at your watch -- it's well past 11, and you need to get up early tomorrow. "Not tonight, at least."

You turn to the side with a stretch and curl up on her lap, snuggling into her stomach like a beanbag chair.

"I think I'm done."

Babbs grunts. She closes her arms around you a little as she continues shooting her way through the credits. It's not quite a hug, but it's just as pleasant. The retro music of the game takes on a more soothing feeling like this. You break the embrace to toss your controller to the far side of the couch before settling back in. The gentle rise and fall of the bear's breathing rocks you. Not quite to sleep, just a drowsy haze. The crunchy firing sounds and the click of her controller keep you conscious.

She puts a paw on your back when things are over for real. You hear the familiar sequence of low, bubbly tones as she goes back through the console menus and turns it off. The room goes dark. Babbs stays still, her paw resting over you. Just as you feel your body going weightless, she whispers "we should go upstairs."

You nod into her fur and groan out an agreement. Babbs gathers up your already-curled form and pulls you into her chest. You're dwarfed by her tits, feeling them squish around you as she stands. She loosens her hold slightly when you paw at her loose top for an airway. It bounces against you as she begins to walk.

"Do you need the restroom?" she asks quietly; you shake your head. Your bladder is empty and you'll just brush your teeth in the morning. Satisfied with your answer, the bear mounts the stairs. Her chest slaps against you with each step. The weight and softness is comforting, if overwhelming. You feel like you're slowly being beat into submission. By the time she reaches the top, you're certainly cooperative. You don't resist when she sets you on her bed before leaving.

You take the opportunity to stretch. Down the hall, Babbs turns on the bathroom light and fan. When she returns, you'll probably be stuck in whatever position she chooses for the rest of the night. A rectangular poke in your thigh reminds you that you need your alarm. You pause the tired stretch and pull out your phone. You set two alarms, just in case the bear turns it off. The nightstand she has next to the bed is meant for one, but that 'one' happens to be almost three times your size.

With your phone in place, you lay back down and get comfortable with one of the enormous pillows. Several nights of experience have given you lots of practice. You can fluff the pillow and firm it up enough that you don't sink completely into the down. The gargling sounds from down the hall suggest you won't be here long -- like most nights. Still, you squeeze the pillow and bury your face partway into it.

It smells like her.

It's become so familiar that it's hard to describe. Everything in the house smells like it. Maybe it always did and you're just now realizing it. It reminds you of the kitchen, oddly, that hint of cardboard and warm food sitting at the edge of a faded fabric softener smell. The bear's fur has a more rosy smell from the shampoo, but that hint of kitchen is still there. It dawns on you that you probably have that tinge now. Laying with her and being her new Mr. Bungy every night has to have ingrained it into you. You don't mind it -- you only hope that your parents won't, either.

The soft LEDs bathe Babbs' bare form in a subtle magenta when she shadows the doorway. Her footsteps shake the mattress slightly; she must have dropped her clothes in the bathroom. The lights go off with a tap of her phone, and you're left to imagine her form growing larger over you in the dark. You prepare yourself for the familiar feeling of being steamrolled. The bear has been careful getting into bed with you, but she knows you like being squished.

Tonight, though, the pressure is lacking. You only feel a little of her weight as she rolls over you. You're scooped up in her arms in a smooth motion that saves you from most of the squishing. Her curves only press against you for a moment. You're tucked into her embrace as tight as usual, given just enough space to turn around in her arms to bury your face in her fur. She's holding you a little high tonight. The topography of her chest familiar enough to you now that you can tell. The light of her phone illuminates her neck just a little bit above you, your face in the top of her cleavage.

It's comfortable enough. You burrow in and close your eyes, slipping your arms between her breasts and stomach to squeeze her. Babbs hugs you back with a soft sound of contentment. You feel her trying to tuck you in with her leg out of habit. She only brushes at your toes. Her arm goes flat against your back when she realizes her mistake, pressing you deeper into her abundant curves. You're more supported by her now than the mattress. Breathing is made a little hard, with the way the bear's chest squeezes around your head with every fill of her lungs, but you'll soon get used to it.

You always do.

You're not sure how long it takes to time your breaths with hers. All you know is that they start getting shallow and you start getting drowsy when Babbs grunts quietly. She's supplimenting the rhythmic squeezes of her chest with circles on the back of your head. You realize you can't hear her phone -- no video, no game.

"Are you asleep, Cameron?" she whispers.

You respond in the negative, then shake your head and pull your head back so she can actually understand your words. "No. What is it?"

Babbs hesitates before undoing her arms from around you. She's silent while she bodily pushes you up and out from under the sheets, stuffing your back against the pillow like it's some kind of bean-bag chair. Her expression is difficult to make out in the dark. You don't resist as she does it. Before you can get a good look, the bed groans and the pillow bucks beneath you as she rolls completely on her side, half hugging your new chair. The bear's heavy head comes to fill your lap. It's practically as big as your torso -- you probably couldn't move her if you wanted to.

Instead, you gingerly run a hand over the side of her face. Babbs presses into the crook of your other arm when you attempt something like a hug.

"Cameron -- what were your past relationships like?" she asks; its the first time you've heard a tremor to it that didn't come from her natural deep tenor. You're fairly surprised, both by the question and the sound. A few stuttering nonsense sounds spill out your mouth while you try to think of a response.

"I, uh... I don't know. There weren't very many."

"Have you ever had a wife before?"

"No," you say. "I-I had -- I think I had a girlfriend in each level. The one in primary school wasn't really much of a relationship, but... well, you know."

The bear doesn't respond. You're not sure if she does know.

"The one in secondary only lasted a little while," you say. "It was my first year, and she told me she'd been doing it out of pity. It... it scared me off it."

You sigh; an old hurt in your chest makes you shudder for a moment.

"The one in college didn't last long cause of it. I gave that one up quick. I didn't try after that, not really. I would imagine things, sure, but I knew it wouldn't happen."

You look down at her for any sign of emotion, something to guide you. She provides you with none. He head remains in your lap and her face out of sight.

"...I put in an application for a matchmaking program after I felt like my job was set, and here we are," you say. After a few moments of quiet, you ask "What about you, Babbs?"

The bear is quiet. You see her chest rise in the dark before she lets out a whooshing sigh.

"I didn't have any," she says. "In school I never had someone like that. I remember having friends in primary. But never anyone that close. And in secondary, I only had a few. I lost contact with them when I went for post. I talked with my roommate, my professor, and that was it."

With her head in your lap, you can feel the words that die in her throat. The low rumble vibrates against your legs as sentences start and stop before they've even left her mouth. When she finds the right words, her voice is just as unstable as before.

"I-I never had the urge to try. I knew it was something I should want, and I did. But I didn't know how. I didn't know what it would look like, what to do. The ones in games and stories aren't real."

There's another shuddering sigh.

"So I just... never did."

You keep stroking her fur, unsure what to say. You don't even know how to feel. She was happy when the two of you were on the couch earlier -- or at least you think she was. She's always been reserved, but you thought you were learning how to read her. You don't think it was anything you said or did. Maybe she remembered what's going on tomorrow?

"W-well, I always would look at my parents," you say. "They argue sometimes, but they care about each other. I know it. I-I saw it whenever I was there."

You pause, unsure how much more you should add.

"They met before the matchmaking program existed, so I -- I was hesitant, at first," you admit. "But a whole lifetime of trying to meet like them didn't work out."

There's a low sound from Babbs. You stay quiet to let her speak, but whatever it is doesn't come out. It feels like she needs a push --

"...what are your folks like, Babbs?"

-- she's never talked about them before.

The bear's form goes stiff under the sheets. You can only feel it a little, in her neck. Her breathing gets so shallow you can't make out the motion in the dark.

"They're people," she says quietly, finally.

"...people?"

"People," she says. "They fed me, clothed me, and paid for part of school. But -- but that was it."

You feel her shudder.

"I-I remember... there were graduation ceremonies in primary school. For each grade. I know that they didn't really mean much, but they did then. To me. I remember seeing them on their phones when I got called to the front."

Her breathing starts to steady as she goes on.

"I stopped bringing my art projects home. Same with my good grades. It was like nothing changed for them. I figured out that those important chores they had to do when I asked to play or asked for help weren't always that important. I... I didn't know until later, but they didn't really consider themselves married anymore. They were legally, but it was more like they were just living together. And I was just... just a leftover from when they did feel like that. Like things were working."

She squeezes the pillow you're on, pressing her head into you tighter with a short groan. Her other arm comes up from the side of the bed and joins the first.

"All the caring I did was on nothing. All that caring I wanted -- needed back never came. So I learned to stop feeling for it. I started doing that with my classmates, too. When I went to secondary school, I didn't make any new friends because of that. A-and I thought it was okay at the time. I didn't feel it anymore. I did my work and came home and lost myself in my games."

You look over at her setup on the desk; it's where she's been staring, you think.

"I never had to worry about not being cared for there. When I got high marks I got rewarded, when I finished a level or a story, there were characters there or the developers to say 'thank you.' That's why I don't play multiplayer-only games. And if I do, I do them by myself."

Her head rubs against you as she turns, looking up at you.

"Until you," she says. There's a beat before she goes on.

"I-I entered the matchmaking program because they offered me incentives. Money on food, on housing. I took it for that. Finding someone would've been nice, but it'd only hurt The habits I had, the not caring -- I relied on those. I just kept them up. I... I treated those first few matches like my parents did each other."

Her eyes glaze for a second, as though it's her first time realizing it. Her gaze drifts downward when she goes on into the past.

"I guess I didn't know any better."

She looks away, resting her head against you once more.

"I ate on my own, stayed in my room. Worked on code and then played games. A few of them tried to break through that wall, but they gave up after the first few days. They went through the same thing I did. All their attempts at reaching out or caring went unreturned. One by one, they shut themselves off from me like I did to them. Most of them stayed in that little room."

You recall a few oddities there when you first moved in, things that it didn't make sense for the bear to have. The separate human-sized bed was chief among them.

"Some of them broke the program's protocol and left early to go back to their old homes," she continues; "I let them. It was better for them and it was better for me. They would contest the match at the end of the trial month, I would let them go through, and the Matchmaking Office would send me a letter about how sorry they were it didn't work out. They would look for another, and in a few days they would have one arranged for me."

There's another pause. Then her voice returns, small and trembling once again.

"That's why I didn't open the door right away when you came, Cameron. That's why I didn't fill out the extra sections on the forms or do the pre-meeting conversations. I didn't have faith in the system or in myself. But... but you never stopped trying."

She squeezes you gently between her arms and the pillow.

"When I ignored you, or was cold with you, you kept coming back. You wanted things between us to mean something," she says, looking up at you. "A-and that's something I didn't know I could have."

You're the one to stay silent this time. It's hard to pick out her features well in the dark; being this close helps. Babbs' expression is a tense mixture of sadness and relief, flicking from one to the other. There's trust there too. The way she's laying against you, hugging you without hugging you, makes it feel true. It's funny; you've been held much closer and much tighter before. Every night when she's treated you like a comforting stuffed toy. But this embrace feels the most intimate.

Something small and singular glitters down her cheek.

"I... I'm glad I could help you find that, Babbs," you manage, holding in a tear of your own. "I guess I'm lucky you were my first."

Her expression doesn't change. She burrows into your lap before relaxing, just slightly. You keep your hand running through her fur as emotions whirl through your tired mind. One thing rises above them all, something that makes your heart ache and your limbs fill with grief when you realize it. Watching her breathing slow beneath the sheets only makes it worse. You take a quiet, shuddering breath.

"Babbs... you know my trip home is tomorrow, right?"

The bear's response is wordless after a beat. It's something you've never heard from her before: a whimper.

"I -- I'll be getting up early to meet the car. It's just going to be a few days. I'll talk with the Matchmaking office and see my folks, and then I'll be back."

After a moment, you can make out one word, strained by sorrow and weariness:

"Promise?"

You grip her fur.

"I promise."