Never before has there been such pristine fluff.

White, thick, poofy, cute – the fluff that Fenrir is chasing after is far beyond any fluff that he has seen before. Not even his own fluff can compare to the fluff that he is pursuing.

It might even be fair to say that it is the fluff to end all fluff.

Could something even fluffer exist? Would reality be able to handle even more fluff?

Fenrir needs the fluff.

Like a ravenous wolf chasing down sheep for a meal… which is exactly what is happening depending on how one might view the situation, he runs at full speed to catch his targets.

“Just let me touch you!” Fenrir shouts.

If the ovine creatures didn’t look frightened before, they do now as they desperately flee.

Unfortunately for the creatures, they are not faster than the wolf pursuing them.

Fenrir catches up to the slowest one of their group.

The others look behind in sorrow, knowing what will happen, and unable to look at their about-to-be-fluffed companion.

But, for their own safety, they must continue running.

Fenrir reaches his arms out and grabs onto the creature! Only, when he tries to grab it by its sides, his hands end up sinking through so much fluffy, pure wool that his arms get lost in it up to his elbows.

His forearms are completely submerged within the fluff.

With a look of pure bliss on his face, Fenrir—

An angry hoof nails Fenrir right in the crotch, sending him to the ground in silent agony as he wishes he had never been born.

Even in a game where he has set it so that he only feels fifty percent of pain, getting kicked in the jewels by something with hard hooves is not an enjoyable sensation.

The creature looks down at Fenrir, and he discovers that it’s possible for sheep to look smug. It then runs off to rejoin the others it was fleeing with.

“You okay?” Cassiel asks, leaning over Fenrir.

Fenrir lets out a pained squeak as he holds his crotch and rolls around on his back.

It’s been so long since he’s last felt such pain, and that makes it even worse.

“Should we ask Cor for help?” Serra asks.

“I – I think we just need to let him lie down and get over it on his own,” Azalabulia says.

Fenrir doesn’t care about how pathetic he might look or sound right now. If letting out the occasional squeaks and grunts of pain is what will help him feel better as he holds his crotch and rolls around, then that is exactly what he will do.

“This is what happens when you try to do something stupid,” Cassiel says, tilting her head to the side and sighing.

“B-but fluff,” Fenrir grunts out.

“What is with you and fluff? You’re like an addict. Besides, I’ve never seen you just… run off like that before. You probably traumatized those sheep.”

“You – you… don’t… understand. He-heal me.”

“I’m not healing you.”

Fenrir looks up at Cassiel with wolf-turned-puppy eyes, but all he gets is a disapproving shake of her head.

“Would you have chased them if they were sheep girls?” Serra asks.

Fenrir snaps his head to stare up at Serra.

This… is a difficult question for him.

On one hand, fluffy sheep girls.

On the other hand, he would be a man already in a relationship with four girls chasing after fluffy sheep girls.

But… it’s not immoral if all he wants to do is fluff them, right?

It’s not cheating if he’s only fluffing their wool, right?

It’s not like he’d want to do anything sexual to them! He just wants to fluff them.

But, now that he’s thinking about it… are fluffjobs a thing? Wooljobs?

“All – all I’m saying is that if we do ever bring in another girlfriend… she should be a sheep girl in-game,” Fenrir says, all the pain from before mysteriously gone now.

“Deal,” Serra says.

“Can you two not make deals like this without at least talking to the rest of us first?” Cassiel asks.

“You make it sound like it will be allowed anyways as long as we talk to you first,” Serra says.

“I – I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

“Did… did – was it planned to look for somebody like me before?” Azalabulia asks.

“You just kind of happened,” Serra answers.

“I think only Nell was planned, kind of,” Cassiel adds on.

“So we do plan… future partners?” Azalabulia asks.

“I do,” Serra says. “The rest go along with me.”

“It was Fen who won Nell over, though,” Cassiel says.

“You’re making it difficult for me to sound like the ringleader,” Serra says, looking up at Cassiel and pouting.

“You’re the ringleader of being perverted. Not even Fen is as perverted as you, and Nell is only perverted in her fantasies.”

“I can live with this.”

“Hey,” Azalabulia says, “where – where did he go?”

Serra and Cassiel look down.

The once-pained Fenrir is no longer rolling around and whining.

When they look up, they see him in the distance running toward where the creatures were last seen, and he’s keeping his legs more spread out now as he runs.

“He looks funny,” Serra says.

“He’s… ridiculous,” Cassiel says. “Is he seriously this obsessed with… ‘fluff?’”

Azalabulia holds her hair in front of her face to look at it. It’s pretty poofy and there is enough hair to even rival his, but does it count as fluffy? Perhaps she should have focused less on making her in-game self boast sex appeal and focused more on being fluffy?

“Come on. Let’s go make sure he doesn’t get killed or castrated,” Cassiel says.

“Did you say castrated?” Serra asks, her expression far more serious now. “Not. Allowed.”

The three girls take off after Fenrir, each one with different reasons for wanting to catch him.

Cassiel just wants him to stop being weird and harassing sheep creatures.

Serra refuses to let anything else happen to the most important parts on his body.

Azalabulia… is just going with the flow and doesn’t want to be left out.

By the time they find Fenrir, they do not find a man who has been beaten, kicked, and castrated.

No.

Instead, they find a man who has somehow, away from their eyes, tamed the fluff.

“I did it!” Fenrir shouts over to his girlfriends, wide eyes full of excitement and happiness as he strokes his hands through the wool of one of the creatures.

His girlfriends take a moment to pause and think about just how cute he looks from being so excited about petting fluffy sheep.

“How?” Cassiel asks.

“Well, I caught up again, and I grabbed on to pet, and I got kicked so I feel like dying right now, but I didn’t let go this time and kept on petting until it realized that I’m friendly,” Fenrir explains, the pain in his voice now obvious to them.

The rest of the creatures are gathering around Fenrir to wait to be petted, too.

He’s petting two of their heads with his hands while using his tail to attempt petting a third sheep’s head.

“Fen, how much did they kick you?” Cassiel asks upon noticing just how bruised he looks.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Fenrir asks. “Just because my vision is almost all black doesn’t mean this wasn’t worth it. The pain is definitely worth it.”

“Is your dick safe?” Serra asks.

“I don’t know.”