Their Biggest Fan (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

Around the halfway mark of the game, the midday sun shifted overhead, causing Delilah’s shadow to steadily flood the stadium, starting from the home team side and reaching the opposition in no time. The earlier hint of a giantess-shaped eclipse was now realized, though the stadium officials, having had this hulking patron to visit numerous times, merely switched on the floodlights and continued the game unimpeded. Too involved in the drama, Delilah didn’t notice her encroaching shadow at all. In subconscious response to the shade, however, she crept yet closer to the stadium, hiking up her skirt and shuffling her thighs forward. For a moment she gripped the edge of the stadium’s upper bulwarks, but quickly withdrew her fingers upon noticing the number of tiny heads turning to look at her. Nevertheless, her enthusiasm for the game continued ramping up. Her cries grew louder, her fist-pumps generated greater breeze, and her delighted encouragement turned into benign trash talk:

“Oh, did you see that?” she cheered at the opposition’s stands. “You had no chance there. No chance. Oh, it’s payback time. We’re crushing you all now. Did you hear me? We’re CRUSHING you!”

Chris cleared his throat, noticing the number of wide eyes and gaped mouths on his side of the stadium, but didn’t have the heart to remind Delilah what kinds of connotations she invited when a girl as soaring and strong as her used words like “crushing” and “you” in the same sentence. After all, she’d meant nothing by it.

Into the second half, the home team fans, and especially Delilah, remained vocal as ever. The giantess even forgot herself again, taking firm hold of the stadium until the color of her flesh paled from her digits hanging on so tightly. Her mouth remained open the majority of the time now, whooping and calling out every single event of the game with more speed and a hundredfold the bluster of the actual stadium announcer, who eventually just started giving up when his voice couldn’t be heard over the deific blonde.

Yet, despite all this support, the tide began to turn. The home team, still somewhat distracted by Delilah’s loud, sweetly oppressive presence, started making unforced errors. In response, the opposition, who’d come to feel like the major underdogs in a stadium with such an imbalance of support, rallied. Soon easy points were exchanged, and the home team lost the advantage by the highest margin yet. Stunned at first, the home team was briefly sobered in their wall of cheers. Even Delilah had to quiet herself for a moment at this setback, consciously loosening her grip on the edge of the complex round, only to absentmindedly clench it for dear life not a minute later. She didn’t intend to be the kind of fair-weather fan who couldn’t cheer for their side even when things were going sour. If anything, a magnanimous demonstration of her near-religious love for the team just might shift things back in their favor, she concluded.

Delilah closed her eyes. She sucked breath in slowly, letting her lungs fully inflate, tensing her every muscle. When she looked down on the pint-sized pitch again, a renewed flame glowed in her crystal-blue eyes. Her big smile narrowed to a battle-hardened sneer. Then Delilah let it rip.

“Don’t let them get to you! Shake it off! Come on, this is OUR game! OUR stadium! OUR house!” she chanted, clapping her hands so concussively that many fans’ drinks spilled on their laps. Delilah extended her hand back across the stadium, careful not to violate the actual arena space, but came as close as she could, with her finger held aloft like a battering ram to point at the away team’s side. “We’re coming for you guys, you hear? Nobody comes into our house and takes away a game like that. Don’t get too comfortable.”

The players continued their athletic dance on the field, though they’d lost the attention of the majority of the fans for a sustained pause. Nearly every face huddled in the stadium now turned skyward, listening to Delilah’s deafening cheers and jeers, watching her dominant body language, and the mighty thrust of that finger which had earlier oh-so-gently delivered a fan to his seat.

The opposition’s fans froze. They sunk into their chairs, fidgeting, feeling horribly exposed. Like a bunch of ants whose hill had just come into the unwanted focus of a crafty youth with a magnifying glass and harsh sunlight. Though Delilah had won over the majority of the home team’s side, who saw her indeed as the biggest possible fan they could want, even they had to recollect themselves following her direct address. Each side couldn’t help but let their minds wander after such a display, even though Delilah had meant no harm by it.

What if there was no comeback, they worried? What if the game kept tipping against the home team? What if they lost? Yes, this was the benevolent guardian of the city, but it became tough to stay rational when there was such a combative, monumental creature just outside the stadium who seemed so emotionally and physically invested in the outcome of the match. Players, too, from both the home and away teams fell victim to sneaking fears. The away team, once fired-up to win in spite of this brobdinagian loudmouth, now felt themselves questioning whether they were better off not playing quite so well; conversely, the home team, previously inspired by such solid backing from their titanic fan, trembled to imagine what it might be like to severely disappoint a girl-shaped force of cataclysmic nature like Delilah.

“Hey. Um, Delilah?” Chris muttered into his earpiece. “Can you hear me? You might want to tone it down just a little. I think some people are getting nervous. Hey, are you there?”

His monolithic friend, in fact, could not hear him, as she was too busy roaring her heart out in support of the home team’s offense, who’d only just retaken control and were going in for a score. The rumble of her voice quaked the foundations of the stadium, enough that those nearest the ground deeply felt Delilah haunting the arena, even if they had the most distorted view of her from below. Out of instinct, the girl moved to pound the earth with her fists in time with the home team’s tiny sprinting legs, but caught herself and dulled the blow in the nick of time to avoid punching the ground with the equal strength of a carpet-bombing. Instead, she blunted the force of her fists by clapping them against her knees, though this still generated considerable clamor.