Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 41: Cheeks of Destiny

The skies of Milforia sparkled like they’d just witnessed a divine birth—and in a way, they had. Clouds shaped like thighs parted above the Grand Cathedral as Henry, now officially the Squishcendent, floated down like a sacred dumpling returning to its sauce.

His cheeks glowed with gentle radiance.

His aura? Dumb and divine.

His pants? Nonexistent.

Moistessa whispered with awe, "His glutes are casting shadows. Actual shadows."

Climaxa wiped a tear. "He’s perfect. Like if enlightenment had a six-pack and forgot how to button a shirt."

Henry landed softly on the cathedral floor, which had mostly crumbled into ruins, flower petals, and one statue that was still moaning softly in the corner. He blinked a few times and asked the most Henry question possible:

"...Did I pee a little?"

Seraphina caught him in a hug, immediately wrapping her arms around his glowing torso. "You passed out mid-deity battle. You’re allowed a little moist leak."

Moistessa nodded solemnly. "I once wet myself during a sneeze and an orgy. You’re fine."

Clitoriya descended next, her phoenix now perched calmly beside the altar, casually licking a chapstick made of honeyed desire. "Come, my little sponge cake. You need rest, recovery... and cheeks kneaded in your honor."

Henry blinked. "Cheeks kneaded?"

She smiled.

Thrustina cracked her knuckles. "You’ll see."

---

(because nothing says sacred recovery like a harem spa day)

Steam filled the air like sinful fog as Henry soaked in a royal marble tub the size of a koi pond. The water glistened with herbs, bath oils, and just a hint of questionable glitter. A duck floated by, looking entirely overwhelmed.

Henry sighed deeply, cheeks barely above the water.

Seraphina sat behind him in the tub, running her fingers through his hair like she was searching for secrets. "You almost died, you idiot."

"I know," he murmured. "But I had to do it. Milforia needed cheeks it could believe in."

"You’re such a moron," she muttered.

Moistessa appeared on the other side of the tub, gently scrubbing his back with something that looked suspiciously like a loofah shaped like a tentacle. "Your thighlight nearly vaporized my earrings. They were blessed by the Wet Nuns of Moistburg."

Climaxa sat on a golden stool beside the tub, sipping a drink made entirely of sparkles and suggestion. "Your recovery will take time, Henry. The Sacred Squish isn’t just power. It’s a lifestyle."

Thrustina walked in last, shirtless, in cargo shorts, carrying a tray of oils. "Alright. Who’s ready for Cheek Therapy?"

Henry raised one finger. "Is that... like physical therapy but thirstier?"

"Oh, much," Thrustina grinned. "The Royal Ass Tuning is a sacred tradition. Every Moist Monarch must have their glutes realigned by hand to ensure balance between chaos and cheek."

Seraphina rolled her eyes but didn’t stop shampooing Henry’s hair. "It’s stupid. But it’s tradition."

Henry slowly slid further into the tub until only his nose stuck out.

"...I accept."

---

(yes, that’s a real location in the Moist Palace)

Henry lay face-down on a plush massage table, his body oiled, relaxed, and stupidly glowing. The walls were draped in silk. The air smelled like lavender, cocoa, and mistakes.

A harp played softly in the background—no one was playing it. The harp just... vibed.

Thrustina stood over him, oiled hands ready.

"So just... relax. Let me realign the sacred peach."

Henry mumbled, "Please use respectful words for my butt."

Thrustina placed both hands on his cheeks. "Sorry. Let me honor the Divine Dumptruck."

She began to knead.

Henry made a noise somewhere between a groan and a confession.

"O-oh my squish..."

Moistessa peeked in from the doorway. "You guys done yet?"

Thrustina yelled without looking, "We’re only on the left hemisphere!"

Moistessa entered, holding a tray. "I brought hydrating jelly shots and this towel that says ’Thighs Before Lies.’"

Climaxa followed her in, holding a clipboard. "After the fluffing, Henry needs a 2-hour nap, 12 kisses, and at least one moment of wholesome affection to restore his braincells."

Seraphina strolled in last, holding a pillow shaped like Henry’s face.

"Where did you even get that?" Henry mumbled, face still buried in massage bliss.

"I ordered it," she said calmly. "I’m emotionally unstable."

---

Henry was tucked in.

Yes, tucked—by three women with varying levels of aggression.

Thrustina: "Stop moving or I’ll tie you down."

Moistessa: "Oh no, don’t threaten him with a good time."

Seraphina: "I swear, if you flirt while I’m fluffing his blanket, I will stab you both."

Henry, now swaddled like a dessert roll, blinked up at them. "Y’all... I feel like a dumpling made of lust and trauma."

Climaxa peeked in. "Perfect. That’s how every monarch should feel before the Cheek Worship Ceremony tomorrow."

Henry’s eye twitched. "What now?

He couldn’t sleep.

Too many thoughts.

Too many thighs.

Too much pressure on the soul... and also the mattress.

So he sat up, shirtless, glowing softly like a divine toaster.

A knock on the door.

Seraphina stepped in. She wore a silken robe that hung from her like regret from a bad decision. Her hair was slightly damp, her eyes oddly soft.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"...You okay?" she asked.

"Define okay."

She walked closer, then sat on the bed beside him. "You saved Milforia today. Again. You keep doing that. Like a dumb hero with emotional issues."

Henry exhaled. "I’m not trying to save the world. I just don’t want to die without knowing what love—or at least premium cuddles—feels like."

She stared at him.

Then leaned in and kissed his forehead.

"You’ll get both."

Henry blinked.

Then grinned.

"Wanna cuddle?"

"Only if you shut up."

She climbed into bed beside him, throwing a leg over his.

He chuckled softly. "Your foot is cold."

"I’ll kill you."

Henry chuckled again, curling into the warm chaos of Seraphina’s limbs. "Noted. Murder by cold foot. Very romantic."

She didn’t reply.

Instead, she tucked her face into the crook of his neck like she was trying to suffocate her feelings. Or maybe just enjoy his post-divine-squish scent. He smelled like sandalwood, lightning, and poor decisions.

"...You’re warm," she mumbled.

Henry smiled to himself. "That’s ’cause I’m the last man on Earth. We’re known for our insulation."

She poked his side hard.

"Okay, okay! I’m sorry. My sacred meat suit is just trying to survive."

The bed creaked softly as they shifted, wrapping around each other like two emotionally unstable pretzels. The silk sheets whispered against their skin, and somewhere in the room, a candle flickered in sync with Henry’s mildly horny heartbeat.

For a while, they just laid there.

No flirting. No chaos. No magical thigh beams.

Just breath, skin, and comfort.

Until—

"Hey," Henry whispered, lips close to her forehead. "Seraphina?"

"Hm?"

"If we survive tomorrow’s Cheek Worship Ceremony... will you finally go on a date with me?"

She pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether or not your cheeks survive the Bounce Trial."

Henry paled. "The what now—"

She yawned dramatically and rolled over, pressing her back against his chest. "Goodnight."

"WAIT NO WHAT’S A BOUNCE TRIAL—"

---

(also known as "Tuesday" in Milforia)

The sun rose like a tease, casting golden light over the Moist Palace. Trumpets made of forbidden horn vibrated through the halls.

"GOOD MORNING, SQUISHCENDENT," yelled a trio of towel girls in unison as they flung open Henry’s bedroom doors.

Henry yelped, jolting up from bed, the sheets clinging to him like needy lovers.

"AHH—PUT THE SUN BACK!"

Seraphina, still in bed, didn’t flinch. She simply pulled the blanket over her head like a dramatic corpse. "If I get up before noon, I explode. It’s law."

Moistessa sauntered in behind the trumpet girls, holding a breakfast tray featuring pancakes shaped like Henry’s face and a juice labeled Thighdrate+.

"Time to prep your buns, Majesty. The worshipers are already gathering in the Temple of Bounce."

Henry groaned. "I thought it was just a title! Why are my cheeks legally obligated for public display?!"

Moistessa plopped down at the foot of the bed. "Because you accidentally absorbed the Divine Squish. Your butt is now spiritually linked to Milforia’s fertility levels."

"I hate this country," he mumbled, chewing a pancake version of his own nose.

Thrustina burst in through the window.

Yes, the window.

She landed in a superhero pose, shirtless as always, and holding a sacred scroll.

"The Bounce Trial awaits, my Liege. You must bounce your cheeks upon the Cushion of Judgment before an audience of High Priestesses and approximately six thousand thirsty citizens."

Henry nearly choked. "Six THOUSAND?!"

"Seven, now," Moistessa added. "We accidentally invited the nuns of Jiggladesh."

Henry looked to Seraphina for help.

She was asleep again.

Mumbling something about taxes and betrayal.

---

The temple was ancient, sacred, and stupid.

Columns shaped like legs held up a domed ceiling painted with scenes of cheek-based miracles—one mural even depicted a man farting a rainbow that healed an entire village.

A golden stage sat in the center, and upon it... the Cushion of Judgment.

Massive.

Velvety.

Slightly pulsating.

Henry stared at it from behind the curtain, fully dressed in a ceremonial robe that exposed everything but his thighs.

"Why is this open in the worst places?" he whispered.

Thrustina handed him a bottle. "Oiling required. It’s tradition."

Henry looked at the label. It read: Divine Lube of Gluteal Destiny™.

"I hate this place."

Moistessa slapped his back. "You got this, Your Dumpness."

A voice boomed across the temple.

"LET THE WORSHIP COMMENCE."

The curtain pulled open.

Henry froze.

The entire kingdom was packed into the temple like sardines in heat. Women cheered. Some wept. One passed out. The scent of moist devotion filled the air.

Seraphina stood at the altar, dressed in high priestess robes that looked like they’d been designed by a pervert and a fashion icon in a blender.

She raised her hands.

"Citizens of Milforia! Behold... the cheeks that saved us all!"

The crowd roared.

Henry shuffled onto the stage like a reluctant stripper at a funeral.

Thrustina stood beside the cushion. "Place your glutes, center mass. Bounce with intent. Think of the people. The nation. The thighs that got us here."

Henry whispered, "Do I flex?"

"ALWAYS flex."

He turned, bent slightly, and—

Bounced.

The cushion absorbed the squish with a holy fwomp.

The temple fell silent.

Then—

BWWAAAM.

A shockwave rippled outward. The murals on the ceiling vibrated. One priestess fell to her knees, sobbing. The harp back in the Fluff Room spontaneously played a single, tragic note.

Henry turned slowly. "Did I just... cause a spiritual orgasm?"

Climaxa’s voice echoed from the balcony. "THE TRIAL HAS BEEN PASSED."

The crowd erupted.

Women threw roses, panties, scrolls of marriage, and one live raccoon wearing lingerie.

Seraphina walked toward him, pride in her eyes.

"You did it, Dumpling. You made history. Again."

Henry blinked.

"Can I go back to bed now?"

---

Henry lay across a velvet chaise, utterly drained, wearing only a towel and a dumb smile.

Seraphina sat beside him, feeding him grapes.

Climaxa scribbled on a clipboard.

"Bounce Pressure: 800. Moist Level: 96%. Emotional Recovery: Debatable."

Henry muttered, "If one more person touches my butt, I swear I’ll become a monk."

Moistessa walked in, holding a scroll.

"You’ve got seventeen marriage proposals. One includes land and unlimited foot rubs."

Henry groaned into a pillow. "Why does everyone want to touch my sacred squish?!"

Thrustina shrugged. "Because you’re divine now. And hot. And very, very squishy."

Seraphina leaned over and kissed his cheek.

The face one.

"You’re ours, Squishcendent. And you love it."

He sighed dramatically.

"...I really do."