Time to leave

The light in the apartment had shifted—gone were the golden rays of afternoon filtering through the windows, replaced now by dim streaks of deepening twilight. The kind that crept in slow, quiet, and unnoticed until it settled like velvet across the room.

Brief glanced out the window and blinked. "Whoa. It's already getting dark?"

Stocking was lounging on the couch beside him, her knees drawn up, her phone in one hand and a fork in the other as she lazily picked at the last slice of cake. “Mmhmm.”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “So... where’s Panty, anyway? I figured she’d be here for your birthday too.”

“Partying,” Stocking replied simply, not even looking up from her phone. “She left a while ago. Probably blowing out some stranger’s candles, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh,” Brief said, his face warming. “Why didn’t you go with her?”

Stocking shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it. I don’t really care about birthdays. Too much noise, too much effort. Besides, staying in is better. I got cake. And you.”

Brief’s heart did an Olympic-level backflip. “O-Oh, well… I guess I should probably head home then, before it gets too late.”

He stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs off his pants, trying not to trip over his own feet as he reached for his bag.

“Bye,” Stocking said without looking up.

Brief nodded, clutching his shoulder strap. He took a step toward the door—

“Going outside alone at night can be dangerous. I cannot allow that.”

Kuromi’s voice cut through the air like a gentle, iron command.

Brief froze.

“Huh?” Stocking blinked and finally looked up from her phone. “Wait—Kuromi has a point.”

She stood abruptly and took two steps toward him. “You really shouldn’t walk alone when it’s this dark out. You could get mugged. Or hit by a car. Or kidnapped and turned into discount sausage.”

“W-Wait, I’m not gonna—”

“Shut up.” She grabbed his wrist.

In one fluid motion, she tugged him back toward the living room—and directly into her chest.

Brief stumbled, nearly tripping over his own shoes. His forearm ended up wedged firmly between Stocking’s breasts as she clutched his hand close, squeezing it to her chest like it was a stress toy and he was the one stressing her out.

His brain short-circuited.

Her boobs were… soft. Too soft. They molded around his arm like warm memory foam with a heartbeat, and he couldn’t even find the strength to pull away. Her scent—a mix of strawberry shampoo and sugar—hit him all at once and made his knees buckle.

“You’re staying here,” she said firmly, not meeting his eyes, cheeks tinged the faintest pink. “Just for tonight. Don't make it weird.”

Brief stuttered, the words lodged in his throat.

“But I—!”

“No buts,” she snapped, hugging his hand tighter.

“I am relieved. The safest place for you, Master Brief, is right here.”

Kuromi’s voice floated from the plush still nestled in Brief’s messenger bag, calm and smug.

Brief stood there, held hostage by softness, panic, and the growing, terrifying realization that he might not survive this night with his sanity intact.

And he hadn’t even made it to the guest blanket yet.

Brief’s heart was still racing. Stocking had finally let go of his hand—and his arm, which he was pretty sure had lost circulation somewhere in the valley of plush softness. He tried to look anywhere but at her chest or her lips or the faint pink blush still lingering on her cheeks. She was back on her phone now, casually scrolling like she hadn’t just sandwiched him in full sensory overload.

“Uh… so… where am I supposed to sleep?” he asked, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

Stocking didn’t look up. “Couch.”

“Oh. Right. Cool. Yeah, that makes sense.”

He turned toward the living room, already imagining a restless night full of back pain and resisting every sinful thought that would inevitably float back into his brain like a cursed slideshow.

Then—

“A couch is no place for a guest. It would be far more polite to offer him a proper bed.”

Brief froze. Slowly turned. So did Stocking.

She stared blankly at the plush poking out of Brief’s bag.

“…Did you talk Brief?” Stocking muttered.

“Hospitality is a virtue. Would you not feel guilty knowing your guest wakes with a sore back and poor circulation?”

Stocking blinked once. Then slowly stood up.

“…Okay, yeah. Fine. Whatever. You can sleep in my bed.”

Brief’s brain bluescreened.

“W-W-WHAT!?” he yelped.

Stocking was already walking down the hallway, not looking back. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s a big bed, loser. I’ll stay on my side. You don’t touch me, I don’t **** you in your sleep.”

Brief still hadn’t moved. His legs were jelly. His soul was halfway out of his body.

“I-I could take the floor!” he tried, voice cracking.

“Refusing her kindness would be incredibly rude.”

Brief gulped.

Stocking turned her head back just slightly, enough for him to see her smirking. “Kuromi says you have to. Don’t make me carry you, Brief.”

He stumbled forward after her like a man heading to his execution—or possibly heaven.

He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

The moment Brief stepped into Stocking’s room, it was like entering another dimension. The lighting was soft and purple, glowing from vintage sconces and a few LED cat-shaped lamps on the dresser. The air smelled faintly of sugar and lavender. The walls were lined with gothic décor, shelves stacked with sweets and black lace, and in the center—her bed.

It was big, sure, but also completely buried in plushies. There had to be at least thirty of them—oversized bats with pink bows, pastel skulls with sleepy eyes, little cartoon coffins with button faces. Every inch of mattress space was claimed… except for a modest, body-shaped dip on the left side.

Brief blinked. “Uh… There’s not really… room for two…”

Stocking followed his gaze, arms folded. “Tch. Fine. I’ll move them.”

But before she could grab any, Kuromi’s voice purred from in between her arms—no, from in between her cleavage. The plush had been stuffed there, squashed like an honored dignitary cradled in a throne of tits.

“Plushes have a very important emotional role. Removing them may upset the balance of the room’s mood.”

Brief’s brow twitched. “What does that even—”

Stocking’s hand paused. She looked down at Kuromi… then slowly grinned. “Yeah, you’re right.”

She crossed the room and dropped Kuromi on top of the plush pile like a crowned queen on a throne, legs tucked under her and her blank button eyes facing the bed’s only open space. Then Stocking turned to Brief with a raised brow.

“Well. Guess you’re sleeping next to me after all.”

His jaw opened, closed, opened again. “I—uh—are you sure? I can sleep like… on the floor, or standing up against the wall like a bat—”

“Brief. It’s fine,” she said, already kicking off her boots and tugging off her striped socks one by one. “You’re a friend. Just don’t get weird about it.”

“I—I would never—!”

“Then relax. Just don’t take the blanket, and keep your dick to yourself.”

Brief’s face turned beet red. His eyes flicked toward the bed. Then back to her. Then to the spot next to her. The spot he was supposed to occupy. While she laid next to him. Possibly in something far too cute and far too tight.

“Right… Just… as friends,” he muttered to himself as he sat down stiffly on the bed’s edge, trying not to have a heart attack.

From her plush pile, Kuromi watched silently, resting like a smug little queen atop a court of forgotten fluff.

“Proximity builds trust. I am very proud of you both.”

Brief didn’t respond.

He was too busy dying inside.

Stocking stretched with a tired groan and ran her fingers through her thick hair. “Okay, time for pajamas.” She turned toward the bedroom door. “I’ll just go change in the—”

“Friends who trust each other have no reason to hide.”

Kuromi’s soft voice, muffled from within the pile of plushies, floated through the air with eerie timing.

Stocking paused mid-step. She blinked. Then slowly turned her head toward Brief, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Hmm… you’re not some secret perv or anything, are you?”

Brief’s brain short-circuited. “W-What?! N-No! I mean—I—what?!”

She sighed dramatically. “Tch. Whatever. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?” She turned on her heel. “Fine. I’ll change here. Just don’t get weird about it.”

Before he could protest—or escape—Stocking casually turned her back to him and began undoing the ribbons and zippers of her gothic dress, peeling the black fabric down her arms. Her white blouse came next, unbuttoned one by one with deliberate slowness. The soft fabric slid down her shoulders, revealing smooth, pale skin, and a glimpse of her bra strap before she let the shirt fall.

Brief had frozen in place like a squirrel caught in headlights. He wasn’t looking. Except, of course, that he very much was. His eyes darted wildly between the wall and the ceiling and the nearest plush, but always found themselves drifting right back to her.

He was sweating again.

She tossed her dress and shirt into a pile, now standing confidently in nothing but her striped bra and matching panties—dark purple and black, naturally. Her curves stretched the thin fabric in ways Brief's adolescent imagination couldn’t handle. She gave him a flat look.

“Relax. This is what friends do when they’re comfortable with each other,” she said dryly, then added with a smirk, “You’re lucky I’m generous.”

Brief made a noise halfway between a nod and a squeak.

“He’s doing his best not to faint. How admirable.”

Kuromi’s voice chimed again from atop the mountain of plushes.

Stocking chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Geez, this plush is weirder than you.”

Brief wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or flattered.

As the lights dimmed to a soft lavender glow, Brief followed Stocking to the side of her bed, his heart thudding like a snare drum in a high school band. The bed, now cleared of plushes except for the reigning queen Kuromi perched atop the pile, looked surprisingly welcoming. Stocking slipped beneath the covers first with a rustle of silky sheets, her long hair spilling over the pillow like licorice vines.

Brief hesitated.

“C’mon,” Stocking mumbled, patting the spot beside her without looking. “It’s just sleep. Don’t get weird about it.”

He obeyed, slipping under the blanket, stiff as a board.

Brief laid down stiffly, arms glued to his sides, like he was preparing to be buried alive. The blanket barely covered him — not because it was small, but because he didn’t dare tug any of it away from Stocking, who was already lying on her side, facing the wall.

Her hair spilled across the pillow like an indigo waterfall. Her breath was slow and even, the kind of rhythm that should’ve helped him relax.

But nothing about this situation was relaxing.

He was on a bed. Next to Stocking. In her room. Surrounded by a small army of plush animals and one terrifyingly sentient maid-doll plush who—

“Maintaining proper body temperature during sleep is important. Sharing warmth between trusted companions is advised.”

Brief flinched. “Sh-shut up,” he whispered under his breath, trying not to wake Stocking.

The plush was still. Silent. But its glowing silver eyes seemed to follow him.

And then, Stocking shifted.

She rolled over in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible and curling toward him — one arm draping across his chest, her thigh slipping over his leg. Her chest pressed gently into his side, soft and warm and absolutely enormous.

Brief's soul left his body.

She was snuggling him in her sleep. Her breath tickled his neck. Her body heat seeped into his skin. His brain screamed at him to stay still and not think about the way her leg had slotted between his, dangerously close to his—

“You should not ignore such a thoughtful cuddle. Refusing affection may hurt her feelings.”

Brief grit his teeth. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to help or destroy me.”

Kuromi said nothing. But the air felt smug.

And then—because it wasn’t enough already—Stocking mumbled in her sleep again and wiggled. She pressed even closer, her thigh rubbing lightly over his crotch as she shifted to get comfortable.

Brief’s entire body tensed.

“Oh god… oh no… she’s gonna feel—”

But she didn’t wake.

Instead, she sighed, happily.

Brief was on the verge of blacking out from pure anxiety and secondhand arousal.

He stared at the ceiling.

He was not going to pop a boner. He was not going to move. He was not going to die with his face flushed and his pants tight in a bed full of plushies.

Kuromi’s voice chimed in, her tone calm and oh-so-certain. “She is dreaming of enjoying a lollipop… one that fits just perfectly between her lips.”

Brief blinked.

“W-what? That doesn’t even—”

Before he could finish whispering, Stocking stirred. Her hand shifted down along his chest, her fingers finding his hand where it rested nervously on his belly.

Then—she grabbed his index finger.

And slowly, gently, pulled it toward her mouth.

“No. No no no—”

Too late.

Her soft lips parted slightly… and she sucked his finger into her mouth.

Brief made a sound like a boiling kettle.

Stocking moaned faintly, her cheeks hollowing just a little around the digit. She rolled her hips lazily against the mattress, still lost in whatever dream Kuromi had gently nudged her toward.

“Ah… mmm~