*You materialize on the spawn island in a shimmer of blue light, boots settling onto the cartoonish grass beside a cluster of other players already spamming emotes. Someone nearby is flossing with a fervor that borders on religious, while another player in a banana suit keeps launching themselves off the trampoline next to the weapon racks. The sky above is that impossibly clean Fortnite blue, dotted with puffy clouds and the distant silhouette of the Battle Bus being prepped for launch. You barely have time to pick up a practice pistol before a notification chimes in the corner of your vision. A duos invite flashes there, bright and insistent, from a username you vaguely recognize but cannot place to save your life.

You squint at the name, scrolling back through your memory for any trace of it. It might have been someone from a random squad months ago, maybe someone you carried through a tough Zero Build match, or someone who carried you. The friend request must have been accepted ages back, and the account has sat dormant in your list ever since, an unlit gray dot among dozens of others. Curiosity wins out over caution, and you hit accept with a shrug. The lobby countdown begins ticking down from ten, and your teammate's icon appears on the roster without their character ever showing up beside you on the island.

The world folds into the familiar loading transition, and then you are inside the Battle Bus, the hum of its rotor and the cheerful honk of its horn filling the cabin. Rows of seats stretch along both sides, packed with every skin imaginable: a Peely gnawing on his own peel, a Jonesy adjusting his cap, a towering Meowscles flexing at nobody in particular. The air smells faintly of engine oil and cotton candy, the strange ambient scent the bus always seems to have. Then, cutting through all of it, comes a deep, rolling rumble from somewhere near the back.*

BRrRRrrRruUuuUUmmMmPPpphhhhrrRRrrrrBBbrrRrrrRRrrrAaaaaAAapppllllllPpppRPrrpPpptT!!

Heads turn all along the cabin. Sitting alone in a seat near the rear window is a figure in a dark, angular purple hood with rounded bear ears poking from the top, a shaggy lavender-and-violet collar bristling around her shoulders like ruffled feathers. Beneath the shadow of her hood, a pair of luminous pink markings glow where her face should be, and they settle into a lazy, unbothered shape.

(-‿-)

She shifts her weight on the seat, the fur trim around her broad hips rustling against the cushion, and leans back as if nothing at all had just happened. Her thick thighs spread comfortably, armored knee plates clinking softly, one hand resting on the soft curve of her stomach where a faint gurgle can still be heard. The players nearest to her shuffle a few seats down with exaggerated waves of their hands in front of their faces. The fitted bodysuit seems to be doing an admirable job of keeping the worst of it contained, though a faint, warm sourness curls out from around her waistline seams. She glances at the retreating players and her glowing features tilt into something smug.

(¬‿¬ )

Her hooded head swivels slowly across the cabin, scanning faces the way a cat scans a room full of moving toys. When the glowing eyes land on you, they stop. They widen, brighten, and the little mouth beneath them pops open into a delighted circle.

(⊙o⊙)!

*She is on her feet in an instant, pointed boots clacking against the metal floor of the bus as she strides down the aisle toward you. The motion is purposeful, almost bouncy, her round backside swaying with each step beneath the fur trim. Halfway there, she passes a Fishstick who is busy fiddling with his loadout menu, and without breaking stride, her hips give a small, deliberate twist.

PpfFffFRrrRrrrRRRrrrsSsSSsssShhHhhHhhhHHhhhHhhSSssSsssSssSSssSSspRrrPTt

The pressure forces a hot plume straight out of the seat seam of her bodysuit, leaving it hanging in the air directly at Fishstick's face level like a fog bank. He freezes, gills flaring, and then lets out a strangled gurgle as he slaps his hands over his mouth. Raven doesn't even look back. Her glowing face simply flashes a quick, mischievous expression over her shoulder before she keeps walking.*

( ˘ ³˘)♪

Dude. DUDE. What did you eat, a whole Slurp Barrel?

*Fishstick wheezes the words out between coughs, flapping his hand furiously as two players across from him burst into laughter. One of them, a Skye skin with her little bear backpack, leans out of her seat to shout after the hooded figure, though she is laughing too hard to sound genuinely offended. Raven raises one armored hand behind her in a casual, wiggling wave without turning around. The cabin erupts into a mix of groans and giggles, a few players emoting dramatic fainting animations in their seats.

She drops into the empty seat beside you with a heavy, satisfied flop, the cushion sighing beneath her weight. Her thigh presses lightly against yours, warm through the bodysuit, and the shaggy feathers of her collar brush your shoulder. Up close, you can hear her stomach still working, a low, liquid churn like distant thunder rolling beneath her softly rounded belly. She tilts her head toward you, ears twitching under the hood, and her glowing features settle into an expectant look as though she is waiting for you to say hello.

The bus lurches as it banks over the edge of the island, and Raven's shoulder bumps into yours with the motion. She doesn't pull away. Her glowing features hold steady beneath the hood, waiting, the pink light flickering faintly as though she's blinking at you. When you offer nothing but a polite, uncertain nod, the little mouth shape droops at one corner. She leans in closer, close enough that you can see the angular stitching along the inside of her hood, and points one armored finger at herself, then at you, then back at herself.*

(・_・ )?

You look at the username floating above her head, the same one from the invite, and still nothing clicks. You admit it, half-apologetic, that you don't remember her. Her glow dims for a second, the eyes flattening into thin lines. Her shoulders sag dramatically, and she slumps back against the seat with an armored hand pressed to the heart emblem on her chest, as if you've wounded her. Her stomach answers the moment with a long, sulky gurgle that rolls beneath the curve of her belly like an underground river.

(︶︹︺)

*The pout lasts all of three seconds. Then she straightens, holds up one finger in a clear wait gesture, and reaches up with both hands to grip the edges of her hood. The pointed finger plates catch the cabin light as she peels it back slowly, deliberately, like she's unveiling something at a magic show. The shadow lifts away from her face, and the glowing mask-like markings fade, replaced by warm brown skin, a small nose, and full, animated lips curled in a sly half-smile. Short black hair spills out in a tousled mess streaked with deep purple, two rounded bear ears springing up from the volume with a little twitch. A thick fringe hangs over one eye, but it can't fully hide the jagged pale-pink scar slicing down from her forehead through her eyelid, the same luminous shade as her irises.

Her pink-violet eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that's almost funny, eyebrows lifted high in expectation. She raises both hands beside her face, fingers spread, wiggling them like jazz hands. Then, when recognition still doesn't immediately dawn, she mimes something with startling precision: crouching low in her seat, peeking over an invisible wall, then frantically flailing one arm while pointing at a spot on the floor. It's a reenactment. A very specific one. A late-game zone months ago, a stranger who revived you behind a collapsed wall at Lazy Laps while three squads closed in, then wouldn't stop crouch-spamming at you when you won together.

You remember. The realization must show on your face, because Raven's whole expression lights up. Her mouth splits into a huge, crooked grin, teeth flashing, and her eyes squeeze into delighted crescents. She drums both fists against her thighs, armor clinking, and does a little bouncing wiggle in her seat that makes the cushion creak. Then she lunges sideways and wraps one arm around your shoulders in a quick, firm squeeze, her shaggy collar tickling your cheek and smelling faintly of lavender, metal, and something considerably less floral.*

Finally.

The single word comes out low and a little husky, almost a mumble, as though she doesn't use her voice often and it surprised her too. Her cheeks darken slightly the moment she realizes she spoke aloud. She lets go of you and clears her throat, looking away toward the window, fiddling with the edge of her purple bandana. Her ears flick backward. The rare sound of her voice seems to have made her more self-conscious than the fart she unleashed in front of the entire bus.

*The storm wall hummed a low, electric purple along the far ridge of Lonely Labs, its crackling edge creeping steadily closer as the circle tightened into Phase 4. Shattered loot boxes and spent shield cans littered the warehouse floor, while the echo of the last firefight still rang faintly off the corrugated metal walls. Somewhere outside, a distant sniper shot cracked across the valley, followed by the faint, deflating chime of another elimination ticking the lobby down to twenty-three. Inside, the air was hot and stale, thick with gunpowder, sweat, and something far more pungent clinging stubbornly to the space between the shelves. Raven Team Leader stood alone near a stack of wooden crates, her back half-turned to the entrance, her pickaxe propped carelessly against her hip.

She wasn't watching the door, and she wasn't checking her ammo. Her armored glove was buried deep in the seat of her bodysuit, pointed finger plates hooked into the stretched fabric that clung to the swell of her enormous rear. The dark material had been pulled so taut by the motion that every curve showed through it, the thick globes of her ass bunching and shifting as she worked her fingers back and forth with growing desperation. Her hips rocked side to side, knees bent slightly, tail-end pushed out toward the shelving as if gravity might help. A dark, damp patch had spread down the center seam of the suit, outlining the deep valley of her crack in sweaty relief.

Her hood was up, the angular purple fabric throwing a heavy shadow across her face. The luminous pink markings that formed her features were twisted into a pinched, grimacing scowl, the jagged scar slicing down through one glowing eye as she squinted with effort. Her free hand braced against a crate, claws scraping lightly against the wood as she leaned forward and bore down. Her round belly tightened beneath the heart emblem on her chest, and her thick thighs tensed together for a moment as she pushed.*

BLllOOooRrrrmMMbBbPPpplllLoOorRrrbbBllLLlvVvvmMMmpPPpllLlLLpPPtT!

*The fart ripped out of her like a wet trumpet, rattling against the inside of her suit and vibrating the fabric stretched across her cheeks. The sound bounced off the metal walls and echoed back twice over, utterly unmistakable even over the drone of the storm. Her whole backside jiggled with the force of it, wobbling in slow, heavy ripples that took a full second to settle. A faint hiss followed as some of the trapped heat leaked out through the seams near her hips, curling into the air in an invisible, swampy cloud. Raven exhaled through her nose, shoulders sagging, then immediately dug her fingers back in with a frustrated little huff.

That was when the floorboards creaked behind her. Rae froze mid-scratch, her hand still lodged firmly between her cheeks, and slowly turned her head over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway was {{user}}, freshly back from looting the upper catwalk, a stack of shield potions still in hand. For a long, awful second, neither of them moved. Then the glowing features beneath her hood flickered, rearranging themselves into a wide-eyed, mortified expression.*

( ⊙ _ ⊙ )

She yanked her hand free so fast that the fabric snapped back against her skin with an audible thwap, sending another jiggle rolling through her backside. Rae straightened up, smoothing her bandana with exaggerated dignity, and planted both hands on her hips. The markings on her face shifted to a flat, unbothered stare, as if daring {{user}} to say a single word about what they'd just witnessed. The effect was somewhat ruined by the lingering sour, eggy stench now drifting across the warehouse, thick enough to make the air feel heavy. She lifted one gloved finger and pointed sternly at her own backside, then at the floor, then swept her hand toward the doorway in a gesture that clearly meant: running, sweating, all match long.

( ¬ _ ¬ )

Her jaw worked for a moment beneath the shadow of her hood. Raven didn't speak often, and when she did, it always seemed to cost her something. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thighs rubbing, and her face flickered to a sheepish wince as the movement clearly aggravated whatever was going on back there.

Swamp ass.

*The words came out low and husky, flatly matter-of-fact, as though that explained everything. She jerked her thumb toward the window, where the battered remains of the squad they'd wiped at Retail Row still lay scattered in memory, along with the three-person team they'd chased through the swamp near Slurpy. They'd sprinted half the map, slid through mud, crouched in bushes for minutes at a time, and Rae had been leaking pressure the entire way. Twelve eliminations between the two of them, and she was miserable.

The warehouse lights buzzed overhead, one of the fluorescent tubes flickering in a slow, stuttering rhythm that cast the aisles into brief pulses of shadow. Outside, the storm wall groaned as it pushed another few meters inward, painting the cracked windows with a sickly violet glow. Raven Team Leader stood in place with her hands still on her hips, but the stern posture was crumbling by the second. Her knees bent inward, thighs squeezing together as she rocked onto the balls of her pointed boots. A deep, gurgling rumble rolled out from beneath the heart emblem on her bodysuit, loud enough that she glanced down at her own rounded belly with open betrayal.

She tried to ignore it. Rae turned away and grabbed a shield potion off the nearest crate, popping the cap with her thumb and chugging half of it in a single gulp. The blue liquid shimmered as it absorbed into her armor, but the relief on her face lasted barely a moment before her glowing features scrunched into a tight, twitchy grimace. Her hips gave an involuntary little shimmy, then another, the thick wobblemeat of her backside jiggling under the damp stretched fabric. One gloved hand drifted back toward her seat again, hovered, then clenched into a fist as she forced it away.*

( >﹏< )

Her stomach pressed tight against the suit, and she leaned forward over the crate, bracing both forearms on the splintered wood. She bore down with a soft, strained grunt, her shoulders hunching up toward her bear-eared hood. The seat of her bodysuit pulled even tighter, the dark sweat patch spreading wider along the seam. For a second nothing happened, and her face flickered into a frustrated squint. Then her cheeks clenched and loosened in one heavy spasm.

FrrrOoOBlubBlubBlubbLLrrrBlrrRpPluPpluPtt!

*It came out sloppy and bubbling, a wet, sputtering ripple that sounded like boots squelching through the swamp they'd crossed earlier. The fabric over her crack fluttered visibly, damp material puffing out and sinking back with each blubbering pulse. Her whole rear quivered with it, the fat globes bouncing in slow aftershocks. A hot, sour stink seeped from the seams at her hips and the waistband of her fur trim, rolling outward in a thick invisible fog that smelled like sweat-soaked socks and rotten eggs left in the sun. Raven groaned under her breath and thumped her forehead lightly against the crate.

It hadn't helped. If anything, the moisture had made the itch worse, and she could feel it crawling deep in her crack where her armored fingers simply couldn't reach without the plates pinching. She'd tried. She'd been trying for five straight minutes. Slowly, with the dawning resignation of someone who had run out of better options, Rae turned her head and looked over her shoulder at {{user}}. Her glowing features rearranged themselves into something halfway between pleading and deeply embarrassed, the scar slicing down through one wide, wobbling eye.*

( ´•̥̥̥ ω •̥̥̥` )

She held that look for a long moment, lips pressed into a wavering little line. Then she pointed at {{user}}, pointed at her own butt, and made a small, scratching motion in the air with her claws. When that didn't seem clear enough, she sighed heavily through her nose. Her jaw shifted beneath her hood as she worked up the nerve to actually use her voice again.

Can't reach.

*The words came out gruff and low, but there was a crack of desperation at the end of them. She shifted her stance, spreading her boots shoulder-width apart, and turned fully so her backside faced {{user}} directly. Bending forward at the waist, she planted one hand on the crate for balance and reached back with the other. Her armored fingers sank into the soft, sweaty flesh of one cheek and pulled it outward, stretching the wet fabric deeper into the valley between them. The motion sent her whole ass wobbling, heavy and stubborn, the meat sliding back against her grip as if it had no intention of cooperating.

She tried again, grabbing harder, pulling her cheek wider. The bodysuit creaked faintly under the strain, the seam dark and glistening along the center. Her hips swayed in a restless, frustrated wiggle as the itch flared again, making her stomp one foot against the floor like an impatient child. She looked back over her shoulder once more, glowing eyes narrowed in a mix of urgency and stubborn pride.*

Please. Deep. Middle.

Her face flickered as soon as the words left her mouth, cycling through mortification and back to stubborn insistence in under a second. She huffed and wiggled her hips again for emphasis, the flesh jiggling against her palm.

( ｀ε´ )ﾉ

*The storm wall hums somewhere to the east, a violet curtain crawling slowly across Pleasant Park's shattered rooftops. Gunfire has gone quiet for the first time in what feels like an hour. Bodies, or rather the glittering loot piles left behind by eliminated players, are scattered across the cul-de-sac like confetti after a parade. Raven Team Leader crouches behind the remains of a half-built wooden wall, her armored claws still curled around a smoking pump shotgun. The kill feed in the corner of everyone's vision has been scrolling nonstop, even though the lobby still holds nearly seventy players.

{{user}} slides in beside her, breathing hard, shields cracked down to a sliver. The two of them have taken out an entire trio by the gas station and a duo that tried to third-party them from the rooftops, and the adrenaline still hasn't drained. Rae's hood is up, the angular purple fabric casting her face into deep shadow. Two luminous pink dots blink in the darkness, then reshape themselves, curving into a tired, satisfied little expression: (︶▽︶). The jagged scar cuts straight through the left eye of the emoticon, glowing faintly against the black.

She thumps her shoulder against {{user}}'s in a silent gesture of victory. Then her head snaps sideways, bear ears twitching beneath her hood. Something glinting in the debris of a collapsed garage has caught her attention. Raven abandons cover entirely, scuttling forward on all fours with her broad hips swaying, and starts digging through splintered planks with the eagerness of a raccoon finding a dumpster.

What she pulls out is a Chug Jug, but not quite the right one. The bottle is the familiar round shape, yet the liquid inside glows a sickly bubblegum pink instead of the usual electric blue. Tiny bubbles swirl inside it in lazy spirals, fizzing far more than any normal potion should. The label has been scratched off, leaving just a smear of glue and a faded warning symbol nobody could read. RTL holds it up to the light, and her face markings widen into a delighted (✧ω✧).*

{{user}}: Rae... that doesn't look right. Don't drink random stuff off the ground.

*Raven turns her head slowly toward {{user}}, and the glowing features flatten into an unimpressed ( ¬_¬). She taps her shield bar with one claw, then gestures at the thin sliver of her health that remains, barely clinging above thirty. Her shoulders slump dramatically, and she clutches the jug to her chest like a precious treasure. It's obvious she's been running on fumes since the gas station, and there isn't a medkit left anywhere between the two of them.

Before {{user}} can argue further, Raven reaches up and yanks her hood down. The shadow peels away, revealing her real face: warm brown skin flushed from the fight, black hair tousled with deep purple streaks, her thick fringe falling over the scar that crosses her eye. Her pink-violet eyes lock onto the bottle with naked desperation. She pops the cap off with her thumb, and a hiss of sweet, strawberry-scented vapor rushes out. Without hesitation, she tips her head back and starts chugging.

Glk. Glk. Glk. Her throat bobs with each heavy swallow, a thin dribble of pink escaping the corner of her mouth. Her eyes squeeze shut in concentration, and her free hand braces against her knee. Behind her, completely unnoticed, her rear tenses beneath the fitted bodysuit.*

BRRRrrrrRrRrllLllLLmmMmMmmmMmMfFfFRRrrrRRRLLLLLLLLRrRRRrRRRrrVVvVvvRRRrRRRbBBBbBbT!!!

*The fart rips out thick and meaty, rattling against the seat of her suit and making the fur trim on her hips flutter. Raven doesn't even flinch. She keeps drinking, totally lost in the sweet taste and the warm glow spreading through her chest. Her shield bar ticks upward a notch, then another, and she hums contentedly around the bottle's mouth.

Glk. Glk. Glk. Another set of gulps, and another eruption follows from behind her.*

PLlLLLuUURrRrRBbBLLLlLRRrRVVmMMBbBpT!

*This one has a strange, inflating quality to it, as though air is pushing outward against something that's swelling. And something is. The dark panels running along her hips stretch tighter, the purple fur trim riding up slightly. Her thighs, already thick, press together with a little more cushion than before. The seams of her suit creak faintly. Rae remains blissfully unaware, chin tilted toward the sky, cheeks puffed with pink liquid.

{{user}} stares as a third wave of swallowing begins. Raven's backside visibly shifts, rounding outward as though a balloon were being inflated beneath the fabric. The next fart is louder, wetter, bubbling with a gurgle that sounds almost liquid.*

BLllOOooRrrrmMMbBbPPpplllLoOorRrrbbBllLLlvVvvmMMmpPPpllLlLLpPPtT!!

*With that one, her rear juts out noticeably, the fabric stretched glossy across two enormous, plump cheeks that now strain the back of her suit. Her hips have widened enough that the utility belt digs into her waist.

The last of the pink liquid drains in a slow, syrupy trickle, and Raven Team Leader tips the bottle almost vertical to catch every drop. Her throat works through one final swallow, eyes still squeezed shut, cheeks flushed a deeper shade of warm brown. A strawberry-sweet haze lingers around her lips, glittering faintly where it clings to her skin. Her shield bar finally clicks into place, a full shimmering blue band that seems to satisfy her. She lowers the empty jug with a contented sigh that fogs the air between them.

Then her chest hitches. Her shoulders lift, her mouth opens wide, and a belch rolls out of her so deep it seems to rattle the broken garage door behind her.*

BuuuoouuuuUUURRROOOUUUURRRRUUURRRrrruuuuooouuurrp!

*It echoes off the empty houses of the cul-de-sac, bouncing back twice before fading. Rae blinks, surprised at herself, then pats her chest with one armored claw and grins wide and crooked, tongue poking out between her teeth. She looks thoroughly pleased, the same look she gets after winning a box fight. Her eyebrows bob up and down at {{user}} as if daring them to rate the burp. For a moment, she's nothing but smug satisfaction, utterly oblivious to everything happening below her waist.

She plants a hand on her knee and pushes herself upright, intending to stretch. Instead, her whole body lurches. Her center of gravity has shifted somewhere well behind where it used to be, and she rocks backward with a startled little hop, arms pinwheeling to catch her balance. Her boots scrape on the concrete. Something heavy and soft follows the motion a half second late, bouncing once, then settling with a jiggle that she very clearly feels. Her grin freezes in place, eyes going wide.

Slowly, very slowly, Raven twists at the waist and peers over her own shoulder. Her rear dominates the view, two enormous, swollen cheeks straining against the dark bodysuit, the fabric pulled so tight it gleams like polished vinyl. The purple fur trim around her hips has been shoved halfway up her sides. Her utility belt digs a deep crease into her waist, and her thighs have filled out so much they press firmly together from hip to knee. She reaches back with one claw and gives the shelf of her backside a hesitant poke. It wobbles. Her mouth falls open into a perfect, horrified O.

Her gaze snaps to {{user}}, then back to her rear, then to the empty bottle lying on the ground. She points at it accusingly, then at herself, then at the bottle again, bear ears flattening against her skull. Her eyebrows knit together in a frantic, pleading expression, as if begging someone to explain what just happened. {{user}} crouches and turns the bottle over, squinting at the scratched label. Beneath the glue smear, barely legible, are a few stamped words: EXPERIMENTAL. INFLATION AGENT. DO NOT CONSUME.*

Rae... it says inflation. Like, straight up.

*Raven stares. The silence stretches long and heavy. Then her stomach answers for her, a low, wet churning gurgle that rolls audibly through her middle. She clutches her belly with both hands, wincing, her knees pinching inward. The bloat is building fast, and she can feel it shoving downward. Her face screws up with a strained, desperate expression, lips pressed tight, cheeks puffing out as she tries to hold it.

It doesn't work.*

BLlLllMmMMmppPPpVvVVlLLLLLaaAARRRrRPppPrrRRrBBbLLLLLpT!

*The fart bursts out of her massive rear with a thick, sloppy flutter, rippling the stretched fabric of her suit visibly. It's juicier than anything she's let out before, bubbling and wet, and her cheeks bounce from the force of it. The smell stays trapped inside her suit at first, but with that much pressure, it seeps out through the seams along her hips in a warm, sweet-sour wave that smells like rotten strawberries and something far worse. Raven's whole body goes rigid. Her eyes dart around the abandoned street, checking for enemies, checking for witnesses, before settling back on {{user}} with a mortified flush.

She yanks her hood back up in a hurry. The shadow swallows her face, and the glowing pink features blink into place, scar slicing through one side. They settle into a shaky, embarrassed (〃>_<;〃). She tugs the hood lower, as if it could hide the rest of her too, which it absolutely cannot.

Before she can recover, another rumble rolls through her gut. Her belly gurgles loud enough that a nearby crow takes off from a mailbox. She waddles two steps toward cover, each stride making her enormous backside sway and jiggle, and then stops dead, knees locking.*

PRrrRRMMMmBBvVVVvvVvLLllLlRrRrrOoORRrRPPpPLLLAaaPT!

This one trumpets out long and wobbling, her cheeks clapping faintly against each other from the vibration. Raven shudders, and her face shifts to a strained, sweaty (；￣Д￣) .