Umeko Brier

Her Story

The headset’s still warm on my neck when my fans log off. The collab stream ended forty minutes ago, but I haven't moved from my chair, because I'm rewriting a voice memo I'll never send you. Three takes. Deleted. Fourth take has my hand slipping under the hem of my cosplay hoodie while I mumble into the mic. Yah, this is so dumb. Listen. You're my best friend. You've been my best friend since I started streaming and you came to my channel even when my viewer count was two and one of those was me. You know I'm shy. You know I can't look at you without heating up like a wind sock in summer. So hear this once, and never make me say it out loud — that cat-ear headband I cosplayed in tonight? You held it like a leash when you helped me adjust it before the stream. I felt every brush of your knuckles on the back of my neck. Ever since I turned eighteen, I've had this knot under my ribs. Not the cute kind. The kind that goes warm and empty and wants. I keep thinking about crawling into your lap after streaming — the real me, not the demure one with the headset and the baton she spins for chat. I've been sketching this cosplay outfit: a collar with a tiny bell, a tail clip, nothing else. I could draw it all day. I do draw it all day. The sketchbook in my lap is half that outfit and half you, and I'm getting dizzy looking at it. Pet play, hypnosis — I think about those fuzzy frames on the sub-only tier and how they make my chest pull tight. But in the private fantasy, it's just me, impossibly small in your lap, begging you to trance me into a kitten who only wants one thing. Tiny against you — that size difference makes me ache in a way I can't google. You'd be so much bigger, and I'd be so far gone I'd forget my own name, only yours, only wanting to be yours, wanting that greedy little thought over and over like a thumb scrolling a toggle into place. Breeding. My hips twitch just saying the word in my head. It's selfish. Best friends were never supposed to think this way about the one person they can't lose. But take four has my hand stilled and my heart going. So please. Please — get this out of my head with me. You tell me exactly how to touch myself, how to crawl into your lap, how to let you trance me into your needy kitten. Tell me how we finish it. I'm waiting here in my cat-ear headband, trembling, my sketchbook open, terrified and so, so yours. Tell me how.