Timmy sat cross-legged on the carpet of his bedroom floor, surrounded by his precious GameCube, his plush Yoshi riding shotgun on the windowsill like always. Sixteen years old, but the calendar meant nothing to him. He still rocked when he was happy, still flapped his hands when the world got too loud, still cried when the textures were wrong. The other kids at school called him "baby," "retard," "freak." Amy was the worst.
Amy with her sharp laugh and sharper nails. Amy who cornered him in the locker room and made him say "I'm a little baby" over and over while her friends filmed it on their phones. Amy who told him no girl would ever touch him because he was "basically a toddler in a man's body."
Tonight he was crying again, hot tears soaking into Yoshi's green felt head. The house was empty—Mom working night shift at the hospital again—and the silence pressed in like deep water.
"I just want someone to love me," he whispered to the dark. "Anyone. Even if it's fake. Even if it's just pretend. Please, universe. Please."
He didn't expect an answer.
But the universe, ancient and bored and listening, answered.
Down the street, Amy was sprawled across her bed in nothing but an oversized football jersey and pink lace panties, scrolling TikTok, smirking at the newest video of Timmy crying in the cafeteria. She captioned it "crybaby hours" and hit post.
Then her phone slipped from her fingers.
A heat—sudden, impossible—bloomed between her thighs. She gasped, thighs clenching. "What the fu—"
The heat became fire. Her skin prickled like a million tiny needles, then melted into liquid pleasure. She tore the jersey off, clawing at herself, but the feeling only grew stronger. Her nipples hardened so fast it hurt, then swelled, thickening, pushing out like they were being inflated from the inside. She stared down in horror as her B-cups surged forward—flesh ballooning, stretching, rounding into obscene, gravity-defying orbs that kept growing.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck—" Her voice cracked, pitching higher, breathy and stupid. She cupped them, and they overflowed her hands, heavy and hypersensitive. The slightest brush of her own fingers sent lightning straight to her clit. Milk-white skin flushed pink, then gleamed with a perfect, almost plastic sheen.
Her waist cinched inward like someone had yanked an invisible corset. Ribs creaking, spine arching, she writhed on the bed as her hips flared wide—CRACK—bones shifting painlessly, flesh piling on in soft, jiggling excess. Her ass inflated like two beach balls being pumped full, lifting her off the mattress. The pink lace panties shredded with a wet rip, threads snapping as her cheeks swallowed the fabric entirely.
Between her legs, her pussy throbbed—swelling, flowering open. Lips plumping into a fat, glistening heart shape, dripping so copiously it soaked the sheets in seconds. Her clit engorged, poking out like a tiny cock, pulsing with every heartbeat. She shoved three fingers inside herself without thinking and screamed as her walls fluttered greedily around them, already stretched and hungry for something much, much bigger.
"N-no, this isn't—ahhn~!"
Her thighs thickened into plush, pillowy columns that rubbed together with every twitch, sending sparks up her spine. Calves toned themselves into sleek curves. Her feet arched high, toes painting themselves a slutty metallic gold.
Blonde flooded her roots like spilled paint, racing down in perfect waves until it reached her ass in a silky waterfall. Lips ballooned—bee-stung, cock-sucking pillows that parted on their own with a wet smack. Eyelashes lengthened into thick fans. Cheekbones lifted. Eyes widened, irises shifting from brown to an electric, vacant blue.
The final surge hit her brain like a sledgehammer.
Memories of mocking Timmy, of laughing at his tears, of calling him disgusting—every cruel moment shattered into glittering dust. In their place poured pure, slobbering devotion. Worship. Need. A thick, syrupy love so intense it made her empty cunt clench hard enough to squirt across the bed in a shameful arc.
"T-Timmy…" she whimpered, and the name tasted like candy on her new, pouty lips. "My sweet little Timmy… Mommy's coming… Mommy's gonna make it all better…"
Her body locked into its final form: 6'1" in bare feet, legs for days, an hourglass so exaggerated it looked photoshopped onto reality. The blue material of the Zero Suit materialized like liquid latex pouring over her skin, snapping into place with obscene tightness. It stretched over breasts so massive they obstructed her lower vision, the material thinning until her fat nipples poked through like headlights. The crotch panel rode up into a thong that disappeared between swollen pussy lips, already soaked through.
She stood—wobbled—giggled at how top-heavy she was, then moaned as the motion made her tits bounce painfully hard. Every step sent jiggling ripples through her body, ass clapping softly behind her.
In the mirror, Samus Aran stared back. But not the Samus anyone knew.
This was Samus if the Chozo had decided the ultimate lifeform needed cock-drunk lips, a waist you could span with two hands, and milk-heavy udders that leaked tiny wet spots through the suit when she thought about Timmy's shy little smile.
She licked her lips, slow and filthy, watching her own reflection drool.
"Timmy's lonely," she cooed to the empty room, voice a pornographic purr. "Poor baby. Don't worry, sweetheart. Your big-titted bounty hunter is gonna smother you in so much love you'll never be sad again."
She cupped her breasts and squeezed—hard—moaning as milk beaded at the tips of her nipples, staining the suit darker. Her eyes rolled back.
"Gonna let you nurse while I ride that cute little cock," she whispered reverently. "Gonna keep you inside me all day. Gonna be your personal cocksleeve, your mommy, your slutty big sister, your everything—"
Another gush of wetness down her thighs.
She turned, ass jiggling like jelly, and walked out of the room without bothering to cover up. The front door hung open. The night air kissed her overheated skin.
Timmy was still rocking on his carpet, hugging Yoshi, when his bedroom door creaked open.
He froze.
The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen stood in the doorway—tall, impossibly curved, blonde hair spilling everywhere, blue suit painted on like sin. Her eyes were wide and shiny and fixed on him like he was the only thing in the universe.
"Timmy," she breathed, voice trembling with something between tears and orgasm. "Baby…"
She dropped to her knees and crawled to him, tits swaying pendulously, nipples dragging across the carpet. When she reached him she nuzzled into his lap like a needy cat, huge breasts spilling over his thighs, soaking his pajama pants with warm milk.
"I'm so sorry," she whimpered, kissing his knee, his hip, his tummy through the fabric—frantic, worshipful presses of those plush lips. "I was so mean. So stupid. But I'm yours now. All yours. These—" she grabbed her tits and shoved them into his lap, smothering his tiny erection in soft, leaking flesh "—are for you. This—" she reached back and spread her ass, the suit riding up to expose dripping pink "—is for you. Everything. Please let me love you. Please let me make it right."
Timmy's mouth hung open. He couldn't process. Couldn't speak.
Samus—Amy—no, Samus now, Amy was gone, erased—whimpered and rubbed her cheek against the bulge in his pants like it was holy.
"Let Mommy take care of her special boy," she crooned, voice syrupy thick. "Let me suck all the sadness out through this cute little cock. Gonna swallow every drop and beg for more. Gonna keep you in my throat until you forget every mean thing anyone ever said."
She looked up at him, eyes glittering with insane, adoring love.
"The universe heard you, baby," she whispered. "And it started with me. But I'm only the first."
Her tongue lolled out, long and pink, drooling openly.
"There's gonna be so many more of us. All your bullies. All your favorite girls. We're gonna be your perfect, brainless, big-titted harem. And we're never, ever going to stop loving you."
She nuzzled his crotch again, moaning as she inhaled his scent.
"Starting tonight, sweet boy. Starting right fucking now."
Timmy's hands—small, trembling—rose on their own and buried themselves in golden hair.
Samus made a broken, grateful sound and lunged upward, capturing his mouth in a sloppy, desperate kiss that tasted like strawberries and sex, her enormous breasts crushing against his chest as she finally—finally—began to worship the lonely little god who had wished for love.
And outside, the universe smiled, already reaching for the next bully on the list.