Alf had chosen Cluster One—the Human world.
Compared to the other stars he had flown through, this one pulsed with an energy all its own. The 21st-century Earth was a chaotic patchwork of technology, culture, and curious magic—the kind that came not from wands or wings, but from screens, soundwaves, and sugary confections. Fairies, of course, were naturally drawn to sweet things. And Alf, being Alf, was especially vulnerable to temptation.
As he soared down through the cluster’s glittering ether He veered toward the edge of the continent and quickly honed in on the golden sprawl of California—a land of dreams, excess, and sunshine.
Alf darted lower, wings buzzing like a hummingbird’s. The scents were stronger now—blooming from every bakery, backyard, and breeze. But there was one smell in particular that made his stomach twist with fairy delight. Something sweet. Something rich. Something baked and buttery.
His nose twitched, and without another thought, he followed the aroma downward, weaving through the branches of a residential neighborhood lined with palm trees and picket fences. The scent grew stronger as he approached a cozy single-story ranch house tucked in a quiet suburban subdivision. A glistening blue pool sparkled in the backyard, and an open window let out warm air thick with the smell of cinnamon, vanilla, and something almost sinful.
Alf zipped through the open window and into the house, barely making a sound.
Inside, sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting golden light across a plush carpet and oversized furniture. And there—right in the heart of the living room—sat two very large someones.
Alf’s wings froze mid-beat.
Before him were two enormous human women, reclining comfortably on a wide sectional couch that seemed barely capable of holding their combined weight. They were chatting, laughing, and occasionally reaching into a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls that sat steaming on the coffee table.
Alf blinked, utterly spellbound—not just by their sheer size, but by their presence. These women were not like any humans he had seen before. They were grand, towering, voluptuous, and soft in a way that seemed to radiate warmth. Their skin glowed in the golden light, their bodies full and rich with curves that spilled and folded with elegant weight. To Alf—no larger than a pinecone—they were like walking, talking mountains of plush luxury.
He hovered silently, taking in the scene, curiosity rising alongside his mischief.
Alf hovered just inside the living room, wings flitting silently as his eyes scanned the scene before him.
He’d been in many human homes before—some chaotic, some pristine—but this one radiated softness. Pastel walls, floral curtains, the faint glow of scented candles flickering across walls lined with whimsical art. A tray of cinnamon rolls steamed gently atop a wide ottoman, their sugary scent curling through the air like a beckoning spell.
Two massive women, lounging like queens in their own personal court. Each occupied an entire section of the plush sectional couch—no, claimed it. Alf blinked. He had seen towering ogres, massive forest trolls, and even a wind elemental made entirely of clouds, but he had never seen humans quite like this.
The first to catch his eye was a woman swaddled in a blooming floral sundress. She was vast and soft, her curvaceous form rippling with motion even when she was still. Her name, he would soon learn, was Maribelle “Mari” Rosewater.
Mari sat deep in her cushioned throne, the couch groaning softly beneath her generous weight. Her immense belly lay across her lap like a mountain of living dough, layered in plush, gently folding rolls that rose and fell with her breath. Her arms were pillowy and thick, her movements slow and syrupy as she reached for another cinnamon roll. Alf watched as her fingers—tipped with pink-polished nails—gently pinched the treat and brought it to her lips.
Her face was cherubic, framed by strawberry-blonde waves that brushed her shoulders. Her cheeks were full and dusted with a permanent rose-blush, lips curved in a faint smile, and a pair of heart-shaped glasses perched on her soft nose. Her green eyes twinkled behind the lenses, almost as if she knew she was being watched.
Then came the second woman—Delilah “Deli” Claymore—a statuesque goddess wrapped in a deep violet lounging set that shimmered against her dark, smooth skin. If Mari was sunlight and pastry, Delilah was midnight and wine.
She sat like a queen, her thick braid cascading over her shoulder, golden beads catching the light like stars. Her belly, grand and pendulous, rested low and heavy on her lap, pressing into her thighs as she shifted with a creaking sigh from the couch. Alf’s eyes widened as he took in her curves—every inch of her wide frame was soft and immense, her thighs spread wide and powerful beneath her, her hips and backside visibly spilling over the couch’s edges like a mountain pressing outward.
Her chest was broad and full, rising and falling under the stretch of her golden-trimmed top, barely contained by the reinforced fabric. Her arms, adorned with bangles and rings, moved with a slow, commanding grace as she gestured during conversation.
He couldn’t help it—Alf was mesmerized. Not just by their size, but by the way they filled the room. Not uncomfortably, but confidently. Radiantly. “So I get there,” Mari was saying between bites, her voice like warm caramel, “and this man—this man—has the nerve to tell me I’m ‘too much woman’ for him.”
Delilah cackled. “Girl, did he not see your profile photo? You literally said, ‘Built like a dream, heavy like a feast.’ That man was warned.”
Mari snorted “He showed up with diet soda. Diet.”
“Now that’s just disrespectful.”
They both broke into laughter again, the furniture creaking beneath their mirth. Alf watched the ripple of movement in their bodies—soft waves cascading through folds and curves with every giggle and shake. The energy in the room was warm, indulgent, and completely enchanting.
“I just want a man who gets it,” Mari said “Who doesn’t treat my size like some inconvenience or secret shame.”
Delilah nodded slowly, “Someone who loves all of me. Not just tolerates me. Not fetishizes. Just... sees me and says, ‘Yes, her.’”
they were utterly unaware of the little winged intruder who floated just inches from their crown molding.
“Well,” Mari sighed, leaning back and causing the couch to groan again. “At least I’ve got cinnamon rolls and Deli.”
“Damn right. No man required.”
But Alf wasn’t so sure. His wings fluttered thoughtfully.
Alf crept closer to the pastry plate, eyes locked on a plump, glossy pink morsel nestled between two cinnamon rolls. It wasglistening, and dusted with sugar—a mochi. Just a nibble, he thought, reaching out with tiny hands to drag it into the air. But before he could touch it—
“Ooooh, pink mochi!” Delilah cooed.
without warning, two thick fingers scooped Alf up along with the real treat, pinching him effortlessly like a snack. Before he could squeak out a protest, he was popped into her mouth.
SCHLOP.
Warmth. Darkness. And then—a squish.
“MMPH?!?”
Alf was instantly coated in sugary saliva and pressed between Delilah’s tongue and cheek. The inside of her mouth was cavernous, squishy, humid, and smelled strongly of vanilla and cinnamon. Delilah began to chew, slowly, rhythmically, mushing Alf like a piece of bubblegum.
Flattened him like dough, stretching his body into strange cartoon shapes—one moment a stringy spiral, the next a gooey blob.
“Mmm… this one’s got texture,” she said, voice muffled as she continued to chew, eyes on Mari. “Kinda minty.”
Alf, meanwhile, was internally screaming. At last, something inside her seemed to realize this “mochi” was... fighting back. Delilah suddenly paused, brows furrowing. She rolled Alf with her tongue, then pulled him forward—only to spit him out into her palm with a loud, wet “PLOP!”
There he sat, a tiny blob of pink goo with fairy wings stuck to the side of his face like stickers. His eyes were comically wide, and his limbs all bent the wrong way. He looked more like chewed bubblegum than a person.
Mari gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Delilah! That’s not mochi! That’s—that’s something else!”
Alf groaned in a squeaky, garbled voice. “I am not a snack...”
Then with a shimmer of sparkles, his sticky limbs snapped back into place, his wings unfurled with a pop, and his head—previously squished into a swirl—re-inflated to its usual sharp-featured self.
He stood upright in Delilah’s palm, dripping and grumpy, arms crossed. “Can’t a guy steal a treat without being eaten alive?”
The two women stared, open-mouthed.
“A fairy?” Mari gasped. “Like—like an actual fairy?”
Delilah’s jaw dropped. “Girl, I thought I chewed on a mystical marshmallow!”
Alf took off, wobbling in the air with a sticky splorp, aiming for the nearest window—but Delilah was quicker. With a practiced hand, she snatched him out of the air, her thick fingers wrapping around his tiny form like a living stress ball.
SQUISH.
Alf’s body contorted dramatically under the pressure. His torso compressed into a squishy oval, his arms and legs bulged outward like balloons, and his head inflated like a party toy. His bugged-out eyes blinked rapidly, and when he spoke—
“Lemme goooo, you’re gonna squish the glitter outta meeee!”
His voice was chipmunk-high and utterly helpless.
Delilah laughed, bouncing him in her grip. “Oh my stars, he’s squishable! Like a magical stress toy.”
“Deliiii,” Mari said, trying (and failing) not to laugh, “I think we should keep him.”
“What?!” Alf squeaked.
“Think about it!” Mari said. “A real fairy! He can fly, he talks, and he clearly can’t die from basic human interaction. We could learn so much about them—write”
Delilah grinned, still gently squeezing him in various directions to watch him puff, stretch, and pop back into shape. “Sorry, but you flew into the wrong house”
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