Mirio had picked it up during a jungle expedition with a merchant friend. A deep red blossom, thick petals, and an oddly sweet scent that clung to his fingers like syrup. He didn't think much of it—just tossed it on the windowsill when he got home, next to the sink.
Lily noticed.
Of course she did.
And by the time he came back with the groceries, she had already eaten it.
He dropped the bag as soon as he saw her.
Her body had shifted—her usual soft, blue-green jelly now tinted a shimmering pink-red. Her curves looked fuller, stickier, tighter against her translucent skin. Her chest rose and fell slowly, her raincoat practically liquefied from the heat radiating off her.
Her eyes locked on him like a hunter.
And she smiled.
"Lily?" he said carefully.
She didn't speak.
She pounced.
He yelped and darted out of the room just as her arms stretched toward him, her breasts bouncing like water balloons under pressure. Her tentacle hair lashed out behind her, coiling along the walls and floor like feelers scanning for prey.
"What did you eat?!" he cried, slipping on the tile as he bolted into the hall.
She slithered after him, moving faster than any slime should, hips swaying side to side, her body practically steaming with arousal. Her hands molded into heart shapes. Her nipples were visibly perked, poking through her mass with a slow pulse like her core was overheating.
He threw open the bedroom door and slammed it shut behind him, panting.
It didn't matter.
Her body seeped under the door crack in seconds.
She reformed right in front of him, her back arched, her hair-tentacles wiggling with wild energy. Her voice was breathy, strained—and then she said just one word:
"Mate."
His entire body went stiff.
She lunged.
He dove under the bed.
But she collapsed onto it instead, her slime spreading across the mattress like a puddle, her face flush, her breasts pressed into the sheets, leaking warm gel. Her body rippled and stretched downward, sliding under the frame to follow him like a predator made of syrup.
"Lily! Get a grip!"
She didn't listen. Her hand formed from the floor and grabbed his ankle, pulling him toward her with surprising strength. His legs slipped, and his face landed directly between her gooey thighs—soft, hot, sticky, and fully open.
"This is not normal flower behavior!" he shouted, flailing as her slime wrapped around his torso and dragged him out.
She pulled him onto the bed and straddled him.
Her body pulsed, her slime swelling around his hips, her thighs thick and tight as she leaned over him with flushed cheeks and glassy, half-lidded eyes. Her chest lowered until it enveloped his head completely, her nipples pressing to his temples.
She moaned softly.
Her feeler tapped his forehead, sharing a single flash of thought.
Must mate. Warm. Need. Love now.
"Lily, that was an aphrodisiac flower! You're not thinking straight!"
She hummed and ground her hips into his lap. His pants were soaked, his shirt clinging to him, her body pressing him down into the mattress like a living, moaning blanket.
Her tongue slid over his cheek—warm, gooey, scented like flowers and syrup.
He gasped.
Then she leaned down and kissed him.
Hard.
Her lips squished against his, her slime tongue slipping into his mouth with a hunger that made his toes curl. Her chest heaved against him, breasts wrapping around his head like soft weights, her hair-tentacles coiling tightly around his arms.
He couldn't move.
She was melting against him—physically, emotionally, sexually. Her entire mass shifted, surrounding his body like a heated embrace. He could feel her heart core pulsing against his chest, radiating pure need.
"L-Lily…" he gasped between kisses.
She whispered in his ear, voice husky and soaked with lust:
"Mine."
Then she moaned again—long, wet, and loud.
His ears rang from the sound.
She wasn't calming down.
If anything, she was getting more aggressive.
He reached for the nightstand and fumbled through the drawer.
Slime. Slime. More slime. Why was everything wet?!
Finally, he pulled out a cold bottle of spring water and popped it open.
She saw it.
Paused.
Stared.
Then lunged for the bottle like a kitten for a treat.
He dumped it over her head.
She froze.
Then shuddered violently as the water cooled her down. Her color started shifting—slowly—back to her natural hue. Her chest softened. Her nipples receded. Her breathing slowed.
She flopped forward on top of him, purring like a motorboat made of jelly.
And finally, she mumbled with a tiny smile:
"Love... mate... later."
Mirio exhaled.
"Later is fine," he whispered. "Just let me breathe."