Samus
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[EARLY ACCESS] SHRINK IMPACT | GENSHIN IMPACT - CHAPTER 22
🕑 Added 2025-04-02 09:34:23 +0000 UTCHer hands may have been cupping you protectively, soft and delicate as they were, but Sucrose had you scared. You didn’t know what she intended to ‘document’, but you weren’t exactly excited to find out…
Her breath shuddered through her chest and across your skin with every exhale, shaky and uneven. She kept stealing glances down at you, then away, as if unable to fully believe she held you again. Clearly, this was a moment she had been eagerly waiting for.
You could hear the flutter in her throat each time someone passed too close, but it wasn’t fear of being caught that made her cheeks flush red and her grip momentarily tighten—it was you. She ducked into side streets, hugging you closer to her chest with each turn, her pace hastening with every step that brought her closer to the sanctuary of her home.
Her thighs brushed with each stride, legs pressed together too tightly for comfort, her flustered breathing now accompanied by the occasional soft squeak escaping her lips—quiet, but unmistakably charged. The anticipation in her body built with every passing second.
It had you on edge. She was so riled up, you really feared what she might do next.
Finally, her cottage loomed ahead, alchemical runes glowing softly across the doorframe. She nearly dropped her keys twice, her breath catching as she whispered frantically to herself. When she got the door open and slipped inside, it closed with a heavy, quiet thud, sealing the two of you in.
For a heartbeat, she just stood there.
Back against the door.
Eyes shut.
Breathing hard.
And then—she unwrapped her scarf with trembling fingers and slowly exposed you to the dim, flickering glow of her lab. Her breath caught in her throat again as she looked down at you in her palms.
“I-I can’t believe it,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You’re really here again...with me…”
She held you up, inches from her flushed face. Her huge eyes shimmered behind her fogged-up glasses, pupils wide, lips parted with a soft exhale of wonder. She looked at you the way an alchemist might gaze at a never-before-seen miracle—or like someone on the edge of losing all control.
"You're so perfect," she breathed, eyes roving hungrily over every detail of you. "Still so tiny...I almost forgot just how small...how warm...how easy you are to hold. To…to fit anywhere…"
Her fingers curled tighter around you, not painfully, but firmly enough to pull you closer against her lips, which trembled as she nearly kissed you—but stopped just short. She was shaking, not just with excitement but with restraint.
So from your perspective, you were engulfed by her hot, slightly sweet breath, the sight of her mouth, her plush pink lips, filling up your vision.
"I'm supposed to study you," she whispered, as if reminding herself. "Just observe. Record...b-but...I..."
She whimpered softly and turned away, carrying you across the room. Her thighs pressed together again with a slow, involuntary clench as she reached her desk. Each step was too careful, too deliberate, as if she were afraid any misstep would shatter what fragile control she still had.
She set you down on the padded cloth surface of her worktable, brushing your side with the pads of her fingertips longer than necessary. Her skin was hot to the touch, her breath ragged.
“I missed this. I missed you,” she murmured, more to herself than you, as she opened her notebook with shaking hands. The pages fluttered open to detailed diagrams, measurements, notes...and a few sketches that looked more intimate than clinical.
She stared at them for a long time, then back at you, conflicted.
"I’ll be good this time," she promised, voice paper-thin. "I’ll take notes. I'll...I'll behave. I just...I want to understand what’s happening. To both of us."
Her fingertips hovered just above your chest, trembling.
"You make me feel things I don’t know how to record yet," she added with a weak laugh, a hint of desperation in her voice. "I want to measure everything—every touch, every reaction, every sound—but I also...I want to feel it. I want to remember what it’s like when you twitch in my hand. When you gasp. When you shiver."
She bit her lip and sat down heavily in her chair, trembling from head to toe. She leaned over you, arms braced on either side, eyes locked onto you with that wide, overwhelmed, utterly captivated stare.
The room grew impossibly still, the faint tick of the wall clock like a heartbeat.
“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.
She continued, barely audible:
"But I really, really want to."
And with that, her hand moved again, more slowly this time, lowering toward you, trembling with excitement.
You reacted without thinking.
As her fingers hovered a breath away, you bolted. Tiny limbs kicked into motion, adrenaline taking over as you scrambled backward, breath caught in your throat. The textured cloth beneath you shifted with each movement, but you didn’t hesitate. You leapt.
The air rushed past you, your fall cushioned not by the hard floor—but by a soft, voluminous pile of fabric. You hit the mound hard, tumbling and rolling down its slope until you landed on something spongier, warmer than the rest. It yielded beneath you slightly, your tiny form sinking in.
It was soft. Slightly stretchy. And clinging to your skin in a way that sent a chill of realization through your spine.
You tried to push yourself up, hands sinking into the thick material, but you couldn’t get your footing. The surface stuck to you like it wanted to hold you there, its texture damp, the fibers glistening faintly with residual warmth. The scent hit you then—subtle, yet unmistakably intimate. It clung to the fabric. And to you.
Above, a sudden, trembling breath.
"Oh. Oh no..."
You turned your head, looking up toward the edge of the wicker basket you'd tumbled into. Sucrose stood there, peering down with wide, stunned eyes. Her face was flushed deep red, her glasses fogging slightly as her breath quickened.
Her voice cracked.
"T-that’s…that’s my...my underwear..."
You didn’t need her to say it, but hearing it aloud only deepened your embarrassment. And your fear. Because she didn’t sound horrified. She sounded shaken. Breathless. Fascinated.
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing visibly.
"I-it’s the one I wore last night…after...after my experiments."
Her eyes locked onto your tiny, squirming body, still tangled against the center of the soft, damp fabric. Her hand hovered in the air, trembling slightly, unsure whether to reach in or stay back.
"And you’re...stuck to it," she said again, her voice thinner now. Breathier.
You saw her shift slightly, her legs pressing together. One hand reached down to grip the side of the basket, fingers curling in. Her lip trembled before she bit it, her blush deepening impossibly.
Her next words were a whisper, heavy with heat and hesitation:
"Maybe...maybe this can be the next phase of the study..."
She knelt slowly beside the basket, eyes never leaving you, her breath now audible and uneven. Her hand came closer, hovering once more over the rim as she leaned in.
"S-skin contact...environmental absorption...reaction to worn materials..."
Her words were disjointed now, a flustered ramble half-masked as scientific reasoning. But you saw the glint in her eyes, the way her fingers twitched in anticipation.
You were completely at her mercy again.
And she knew it.
