Mirio groaned as he slumped onto the couch, his entire body sore from hauling barrels of enchanted fertilizer all morning. His back popped audibly when he rolled onto his side, arms limp, face buried in a pillow. The late afternoon sun drifted in through the window, warm and drowsy, but it didn't soothe the aching tension in his muscles.
Lily noticed.
She always noticed.
He barely heard her approach—just the quiet, wet schlup of her footsteps and the soft slither of her tentacle-hair trailing behind her like gentle ribbons. Her form today was loose and low to the ground, like a lazy river in slow motion. She flowed onto the couch beside him without a word.
"Rough day," he mumbled.
She nodded and patted his back—more like a puddle hugging him than a hand.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll survive. I just need to stretch or—"
The feeler on her head tapped his temple.
Images.
Clear, slow, and sweet.
A massage.
Her idea. Her body. No clothes. Just him, and her, and warm, full-body pressure. She wanted to help. To melt his stress away. To wrap around him like a hot towel and squeeze the pain out of every joint and muscle until he couldn't even remember why he was tense.
Mirio blinked. "You're serious?"
Lily nodded once.
Then she reformed.
Her body shifted upward, reshaping itself into a firmer, rounder form—her hips swelling slightly, her chest becoming full and heavy, her skin a deep, glossy blue with hints of aqua light rippling across her surface. Her raincoat dissolved into her torso as she leaned forward, letting her breasts gently press against his shoulders while her arms, half-liquid, slid around his waist.
He tensed. "L-Lily—what exactly kind of massage is this?"
She smiled.
Then poured herself onto him.
Her slime slid across his back in slow waves, her body soft and warm with just enough density to push against his muscles. Her texture shifted constantly—firm where he was knotted, smooth where he was tense. Her hair-tentacles slid beneath his arms and curled around his biceps, lifting them gently as her torso blanketed his back.
Her chest molded to his spine like a custom-fit cushion.
His shirt disappeared—absorbed into her mass—and her fluid hands began to knead his shoulders, flowing with each muscle as though reading him like a map.
Mirio gasped.
"Oh my gods…"
She hummed, the vibration pulsing through her entire form and into him. It wasn't just sound—it was touch, sensation, affection. Every ripple of her body worked his muscles deeper than fingers ever could. Her gel slipped between his joints, around his hips, under his ribs, gently cradling each vertebrae.
He was melting.
Then she turned him over.
Her hands flowed under him, lifting him like a gentle tide, and soon he was lying on his back—shirtless, breathless, and slowly being cocooned by her slime.
Her breasts settled on his chest—firm, warm, and jiggling slightly with every heartbeat. Her torso flattened out across his body like a weighted blanket made of silk. Her thighs molded around his waist, hugging him softly.
Her face hovered just above his.
Her eyes sparkled.
She kissed his forehead, then slid her tongue across his temple, slick and slow and hot. His whole body arched.
"L-Lily, th-this is… not a normal massage…"
She smirked.
Then her hands reformed at his chest, and she began to press downward—gliding over his abs, sliding under his waistband, almost touching more than she should—before shifting back up and curling around his shoulders.
Her slime pooled beneath his lower back and hips, lifting and rolling him gently, stretching each joint while her thighs squeezed tighter. The sensation was impossible to ignore—slippery, firm, invasive in the most tender way. She wasn't trying to tease. She just loved him.
And her way of loving him was everywhere.
His head lolled back.
He could feel her everywhere—inside his collar, across his arms, under his thighs, gently pulsing at his sides. She wasn't just giving a massage.
She was wearing him like a suit.
And loving every second of it.
Her breathing quickened, more out of excitement than effort. Her hands drifted across his chest again, trailing tiny ripples of pressure. Her breasts gently pulsed against his ribs, slime nipples poking faintly against his sternum.
Then her mouth kissed his lips—briefly, gently, with just enough pressure to leave a cooling tingle behind.
He groaned. "I'm not gonna survive this…"
She leaned in close and whispered, just above his ear:
"Mine."
Her chest pressed harder into him. Her hips swayed slowly, squishing against his pelvis in rolling waves. Her slime thickened slightly, adjusting its consistency to grip his muscles better. The massage deepened, becoming almost overwhelming. Her entire mass moved with purpose now, rolling him gently back and forth while her lips trailed soft kisses across his jaw and throat.
When she finally stopped—after what felt like hours—he was a mess.
His hair was soaked with her scent. His skin gleamed with moisture. His face was flushed and his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.
She cradled his head in her lap, slowly rubbing his scalp with two small tendrils.
He didn't say anything.
He couldn't.
She kissed his cheek and purred into his skin.
Best. Massage. Ever.