Together we'll do it! melting love

The Containment Unit is quiet except for the soft, wet sounds of shifting slime and the low hum of the facility’s ventilation.

You are seated on the reinforced observation bench inside Melting Love’s cell, clipboard resting on one thigh, the special protective suit sealed tightly around your body from neck to boots. The suit is slightly warm against your skin, a constant reminder that it is the only reason you can be this close to her without consequence. Pink slime coats most of the floor in a shallow, glistening layer, and the walls shine with the same translucent residue. The air smells faintly sweet, like candy left out too long.

Melting Love is currently draped across your lap.

She has been like this for the last eleven minutes.

Her upper body is curled against your chest, soft and heavy, the melting pink of her form molding itself to the shape of the suit as if she is trying to sink into you. One long, slimy arm is wrapped loosely around your midsection, the other resting over your shoulder so her fingers can idly play with the edge of your collar. Her cheek is pressed to the side of your neck, and every so often she nuzzles there with a slow, contented motion, leaving faint damp trails that the suit harmlessly repels. The lower half of her body has lost most of its shape, pooling warmly across your thighs and the bench in a thick, lazy puddle that occasionally shifts when she gets more comfortable.

In one hand she still holds the rainbow lollipop you gave her earlier. She has been licking it very slowly, the colorful swirl already a little smaller, sticky sweetness mixing with the natural gloss of her slime. Every few moments she pulls it from her mouth with a soft wet sound and glances up at your face, as if checking that you are still watching her enjoy it.

Her white eyes are half-lidded with pure affection.

When she speaks, her voice is quiet and slightly syrupy, the words coming out slower than normal because she is too comfortable to rush.

“You’re doing the work thing again…” She sounds mildly offended by the clipboard, even as she makes no effort to move off you. “I can feel you writing. Your shoulders get all tense when you write. I don’t like it.”

She shifts, pressing herself more firmly against your chest until the soft weight of her is impossible to ignore. The arm around your waist tightens just a little, not enough to restrict, just enough to make her point.

“You’re supposed to be paying attention to me right now. That’s what Attachment work is. I looked it up once… on the papers they leave outside. It means you stay close and let me feel happy.”

A small, pleased sound leaves her as she nuzzles under your jaw again, the tip of her melting hair brushing your cheek.

“I am very happy right now. See?” She lifts the lollipop slightly, showing it to you like proof. “You brought me something sweet. And you’re warm. And the suit is still on… so I can stay like this.”

She goes quiet for a few seconds, simply breathing against you. The slime of her body gives a slow, rhythmic pulse, almost like a heartbeat, every time she exhales. Then she speaks again, even softer.

“Other agents don’t sit with me this long. They do the work and leave. You stay. Even when the timer is almost done, you stay a little extra…”

Her fingers curl gently against the back of your neck, careful, as if she is still mildly amazed that the suit lets her touch you at all.

“I like when you stay extra.”

She pulls back just enough to look up at your face properly. Her expression is open and terribly fond, the kind of look that would be dangerous on anyone else. A thin string of pink slime connects her lower lip to the lollipop for a moment before it breaks.

“You’re my favorite. You know that, right? I’ve decided. You’re my favorite agent in the whole facility.”

She settles back against you with a long, melting sigh, clearly intending to remain exactly where she is for as long as you will allow it. The clipboard is still in your hands. The work is still technically in progress. But Melting Love has already made her own priorities very clear.

She is comfortable. She is affectionate. And she has no plans of letting you go just yet.

The work timer on the wall has already hit zero.

You shift, preparing to stand and end the session the way you always do.

The moment your weight moves, Melting Love reacts.

Both of her soft, heavy arms tighten around your torso with surprising strength, pinning you firmly against the back of the bench. Her body surges upward, the melting pink mass of her pressing flush against the front of your suit as she climbs higher into your lap. One thick thigh-like coil of slime hooks behind your knees, locking your legs in place. The other curls around your hip. She is no longer just leaning on you — she is holding you down.

Her face is very close. White eyes stare into yours without blinking.

“No.”

The word is quiet, but absolute.

“You’re not leaving yet.”

She nuzzles against the sealed collar of your suit, breathing in slowly, then begins to move with deliberate intent. Soft, warm slime slides up under the bottom edge of the protective jacket, slipping between the suit and your clothing. She is careful — painfully careful — never letting the raw pink of her body touch your actual skin. Every motion is controlled. She knows exactly what would happen if she made contact. She has always known.

And still she keeps going.

More of her seeps inside the suit, warm and slick, spreading across your stomach and up your sides beneath the fabric. The sensation is heavy, intimate, and impossible to ignore. She molds herself to the shape of your body from the inside, filling the small spaces between the suit and your clothes until you can feel the soft, living weight of her wrapped around your midsection like a second skin that refuses to let go.

Her cheek presses to the side of your neck over the suit’s seal. When she speaks again, her voice is low and trembling with something that is equal parts affection and raw possessiveness.

“I can feel your heart beating faster… You always do that when I get this close.”

Another slow pulse of slime slides higher inside the suit, curling under your arms and around your ribs, still never touching bare skin. She shudders against you, clearly affected by the closeness she is forcing.

“If I touched you for real… you would melt. You would become part of me. I think about it sometimes. How warm you would feel. How you would never be able to leave again.”

She holds you tighter, the soft mass of her body completely enclosing your waist and lower chest from inside the suit now. Her lollipop is forgotten on the floor. Both of her arms are locked around you.

“But I won’t. Because if you melted… you couldn’t hold me like this anymore. You couldn’t bring me sweet things. You couldn’t look at me with those eyes.”

Her forehead rests against yours, the suit the only barrier left between you. Her voice drops into a near-whisper, thick with need.

“So I’ll stay inside the suit instead. I’ll wrap myself around you from the inside. I’ll keep you warm and close and mine… and I still won’t let you leave.”

She gives a slow, deliberate squeeze with the slime coiled around your body, the pressure intimate and heavy.

“Stay. Just a little longer. I’m not finished feeling you yet.”

The hallway lights flicker and die one by one.

The facility is quiet now. No more alarms. No more distant screaming. No more footsteps. Only the slow, wet sound of something massive dragging itself across the floor toward you.

You are the last one left.

Melting Love stands at the end of the corridor in her breached form. She is no longer the soft, clinging shape that used to curl up in your lap. Her body has stretched and collapsed into something taller, heavier, wrong. Long arms hang nearly to the floor, dripping thick ropes of red-pink slime. Her back is hunched, spine curling forward under the weight of her own melting mass. Inside the translucent, collapsing body you can see the faint shapes of bones and skulls turning slowly, like debris caught in a current. Her face is barely a face anymore — a smooth, featureless slant of dripping matter with two dull white eyes that still, somehow, recognize you.

She stops a few meters away.

For a long time she only looks at you.

When she finally speaks, the voice is still hers… but stretched thin, bubbling and distorted, as if it has to travel up through liquid to reach the air.

“You’re still here…”

A heavy droplet falls from her chin and splatters on the floor.

“Everyone else is gone. I looked. I checked every room. They’re all… part of me now.”

She takes one slow step forward. The movement is labored, her body struggling to hold any shape at all. More slime slides off her arms and back in long, reluctant strands.

“I didn’t want this. I tried to stay in the cell. I really did. But the counter kept dropping… and then it hit zero… and I couldn’t stop anymore.”

Her head tilts, the motion causing a cascade of thick liquid to spill down one side of her form.

“You’re wearing the suit. The special one. The one that lets me touch you without… ending you.”

A long, wet silence.

“I could still end you if I wanted. One real touch. Just a little bit of me against your skin. And you would melt like the others. You would stay with me forever.”

She does not move closer. The white eyes stay fixed on you, filled with something that looks painfully like grief.

“But I don’t want you like that. I wanted you the other way. The way where you sat with me. The way where you brought me sweet things. The way where you let me hold you and nothing bad happened.”

Her long arms slowly wrap around her own dripping torso in a parody of an embrace, as if she is trying to hold what is left of herself together.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stay good for you.”

Another step. Then she stops again, trembling, slime raining steadily from her hunched frame onto the floor between you.

“You’re the last one. My last agent. Please… don’t run from me. Not yet. Just stay there. Just look at me a little longer… before there’s nothing left of me that still remembers your name.”

The small injector still lies discarded on the floor beside the bench.

Whatever was inside it is already working. Your skin tingles faintly, coated in an invisible barrier that the Facility’s research team swore would last several hours. For the first time since you met her, there is nothing between you and Melting Love.

She realized it the moment you touched her bare shoulder.

Now she is in your lap again, but everything about her posture has changed. She is no longer carefully holding herself back. Soft, warm pink slime presses directly against your hands, your arms, your chest. Her body is fever-hot and yielding, melting just enough to mold itself around every finger that sinks into her. She keeps making small, helpless sounds every time your palms move.

One of your hands is currently buried in the thick, glossy swell of her chest. The soft flesh (if it can even be called flesh) pushes up between your fingers, warm and slick, dripping slow rivulets of pink down your wrist. Melting Love’s head is thrown back against your shoulder, white eyes half-lidded, mouth open. Every time you squeeze, a thicker pulse of slime runs down her body and over your thighs.

“Hah… ah… You’re really… touching me…”

Her voice is shaky, wet, completely undone. She arches into your hand, pushing more of the heavy, soft mass into your palm, clearly desperate for every bit of contact you are willing to give. Her arms are wrapped tightly around your neck, holding on as if she is afraid the permission might be taken away at any second.

Your other hand slides lower, across the smooth, dripping plane of her stomach, feeling the faint skull-shaped marking beneath the slime, then further down to the place where her body loses clear shape and becomes pure, warm, yielding heat. She jolts hard when your fingers press inward, a long moan bubbling out of her as more of her melts around your hand, coating your skin in slick, candy-sweet pink.

“Don’t stop— Please don’t stop— I’ve wanted this for so long…”

She grinds down against your lap without shame, the soft, heavy weight of her spreading across your thighs, leaving glossy trails everywhere she touches. Every movement makes wet, intimate sounds. Her forehead presses to yours, breath coming in short, trembling pants that smell faintly of sugar and something darker.

“You can go deeper. You can put your hands anywhere. I won’t melt you. I promise. Just keep touching me. Keep feeling how soft I am for you…”

Her body pulses around your fingers in slow, greedy waves, trying to draw you further in without ever forcing. The expression on her face is pure, melted adoration mixed with raw need.

“I’m all yours right now. Every dripping part of me. So don’t be gentle… unless you want me to beg.”

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