hello :) !!

may you always be full and sated <3 melle, 26, she/they, heras_rest on ao3

[apolloswaitinglist]

Looked at @medrawawi’s fat Shane art on twitter and was pleasantly surprised to see the amount of likes! Then look at the replies and realised a ton of people assumed he was still pregnant in those. No babes, he’s just fat and you can find that hot dw 😭

[medrawawi]

fat shane hollander!!!

[medrawawi]

i can't remember who the op was but i read a fat shane post where he ran and ilya watched and i thought yes!! then i lost the post🙇

[chubbyshanehollander]

woke up today with thoughts about shane gaining weight in the rose landry era (thanks in the main to @raspberry-kittykat)…

it starts because one time at dinner rose says something like “god going out with an athlete is so nice, i’m used to all these LA guys who are even pickier with food than i am and it always makes me feel so insecure about what i’m eating, but i can always rely on you to be eating plenty!”

and like she hasn’t noticed shane actually has a v restrictive diet and he was looking at the menu of this place thinking he was going to have to ask them for some hellish alteration of like a plain, sauceless burger patty with no bun and maybe a side of rice rather than fries, but suddenly he’s panicking because the only impulse stronger than the diet is to be Good At Being Straight and it feels like rose is saying good boyfriends eat a lot to help their girlfriends feel less weird about food

and thus starts the cycle of whenever they eat together Shane will take his cue from rose and be sure to get more than she does, but she gets into the habit of ordering big pasta dishes or a bunch of appetisers knowing she won’t eat it all but feeling relaxed because she can always push whatever she doesn’t want onto Shane and not feel guilty about getting it

then bonus for shane I think there’s one day they go out and he’s eaten a LOT (if you want to play with show canon, there’s that photo set with the cake, maybe it’s that night and shane ends up having three slices on top of dinner because he has one, notices rose is still picking at hers so asks for another to see if it helps her feel able to eat, but when he’s done she says “i can’t finish this, want the rest?) and when they get home he’s still slightly breathless and obviously full and rose rubs a hand over his swollen stomach like “aw babe did you eat too much? you’re probably too full to have sex after all that cake right?” and Shane’s like…….. “right, yeah, so sorry” and she’s like “noooo it’s no big deal, the cake was so good I don’t blame you!” so now Shane has ANOTHER reason to overeat when they’re out together and then pat his (ever so slightly rounder and softer) belly afterwards like “man I overdid it, I need to go lie down, sorry” and get out of the sex he definitely, 100% wants to be having, if only he wasn’t so full

anyway here are all the ingredients for chubby shane hollander rocking up in tampa to get his man and Ilya pretty much having an aneurysm when he sees Shane lying by that pool in too-tight swimming trunks with his tummy out for anyone to see, and I think after the tender feelings confessions in the hotel room Ilya orders a fuckton of room service and Shane’s like “what are you doing?” and Ilya looks at him with the kind of intense, borderline predatory look that makes Shane’s whole body shiver, and says “so you’ll let her feed you but not me, hm?”

[raspberry-kittykat]

"Fuck, why don't you get on your knees and show me how much you love to stuff your face?"

Shane moaned into his mouth involuntarily. The words stung, mean but true. He pulled himself out of Ilyas grasp to look at him. A hurt expression settled on his face, and he tugged his sweatshirt down more.

"What, you think it's a secret? Your little girlfriend fattening you up?" Ilya said, amused, trying to sneak his hand under Shane's sweatshirt. Shane smacked his hand away.

"Oh come onnn, Hollander. I've been dying to see you myself. The paparazzi photos are driving me fucking crazy." Ilya crowds Shane closer to the wall.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Shane says meekly.

"Really?" Ilya goes to slip his hand under his sweatshirt again, teasing the hem of it. Shane looks away. Ilya slides his hand under and glides it across the soft fat sitting below his belly button, barely resting over his waistband. Shane whimpers at the touch, his knees buckling.

"Oh fuck.." Ilya mumbles low and airy.

[hollanderscafe]

I’ve been feeling shitty about my art lately so while I originally had a longer comic, for now, pls accept this very brief moment of Ilya wanting to pounce on his man instead of going to a boring party 🫱🏼‍🫲🏻

thank u @thinkingplump , this was one of ur ideas

[tummysmoocher]

Bf was next to me in the kitchen getting a nice big slice of chocolate cake and went “oh something happened today that’s gonna make you go crazy” and then pulled his shirt up to show me that his shorts were unbuttoned and went “these fit me last year, I could barely get them on today.” And it felt like electricity was running under my skin

[lavenderprose]

Ottawa wins the Cup, wins it in LA, and due to the proximity to stardom and the several actual celebrities who make a point to come out and celebrate with the Centaurs, there are approximately seven hundred angles of the festivities on every social media by the following morning.

One of these is your classic TMZ highly invasive round-the-corner spy shot of Shane and Ilya--like, waiting for an Uber, is what it looks like, and the bass from inside the club is pounding and you can barely hear what they're saying except that the guy standing next to them is also TMZ and he's got a directional mic sticking out of his pocket pointed at them and when he gets into position you can hear Shane Hollander, like, fucking giggle.

"I'm sorry," Shane says, and his arms are around Ilya's neck. "I got--I'm a little drunk."

"It's okay," Ilya says, and he brushes a hand through Shane's hair. "Did you have fun?"

"Ye-s-s-s," Shane says, nodding his head decisively. "We won the Cu-p."

"Yes we did. I am proud of you."

"I'm proud of you!" Shane cups a hand around the back of Ilya's neck and giggles again into his shoulder. "Why aren't you drunk? I drank the same things as you--"

"I'm drunk," Ilya chuckles. "But I have twenty pounds on you and I am Russian, so."

"That's not a thing. That's not really a thing." Shane sighs and goes a bit boneless against Ilya's body and says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, uh--"

"Shh. You said you had fun, and this is all that matters. My beautiful winner." He kisses the side of Shane's face, loudly and repeatedly.

Shane makes a sound that Twitter, TikTok and Instagram comment sections will all agree is a purr.

There are also, by the following morning, about a hundred discrete comments on various platforms that all say some version of Oh I just know he talks him through it.

[chubstilinski]

I'm glad you also saw that post with Ilya taking shots off of Shane because 😳😳😳 all I can think about now is the exact same scenario with a chubby or fat Shane 👀👀👀

Anon I know I have been sitting on this for a long time but I wanted to do it justice because it’s Very Important To Me. This is not exactly like that fic but hopefully it’s in the spirit. along with being my first foray into the extended F(r)at Bros Cinematic Universe 

Hollander slides up to Ilya. He presses his soft body into his arm so he can get close enough to be heard over the pulsing music. Hot beer-scented breath warms the already overheated skin of Ilya’s ear. It takes everything not to react to it. 

“Have you ever done that?” Hollander nods towards the table where there’s a sorority girl with her shirt stripped off, sprawled over the table they’d been using for beer pong earlier. It’s still littered with solo cups and crumpled cans and wet spots of spilled drinks. Someone pours liquor into the hollow dip of the girl’s stomach. 

Ilya says, “Bodyshots? Yes.”

“Oh.”

Ilya risks a glance at Hollander’s face, his beautiful profile in the low, blinking lights. He’s chewing at the inside of his mouth, eyes on the spectacle in front of them. Ilya has had the thought before, but he wonders again. What would it be like to see Hollander with his pretty pink mouth on a girl? It would be hot, he thinks, probably. It makes him want to bite down on something. Someone. Flesh between his teeth. 

Ilya says, “If you want to try, I’m sure any one of these girls would be happy to have Shane Hollander lick tequila off of them.”

“Yeah. Sure. But I was actually thinking, like…” Hollander trails off, covers it badly by chugging the rest of his beer and crushing the can between his fingers. “I dunno, whatever. Forget it.”

“What, Hollander?”

He swallows back a burp with a little grimace and slurs, “Nothing. I’m just gonna get another beer.”

Hollander does not need another beer. He’s been pounding them all night like his stomach is fucking bottomless, and he’s already swaying on his feet, skin seared with a hot flush, belly bloated and stretching at the fabric of his little white t-shirt. 

Hollander weaves through the crowd to get to the kiddie pool filled with half-melted ice and bottles and cans. Ilya sips at his own, rubs his thumb over the label until it crumbles off in wet clumps. Love handles and stomach and tits bounce with every one of Hollander’s clumsy movements. Ilya’s head swims. He takes his own lip between his teeth and bites down hard until he can feel the sharpness of them past the numbness. 

A girl drags Ilya to the table. He’d been talking to her earlier, he thinks, but he’d been too distracted to pursue anything, even though she’s pretty hot. She wants him, that much is obvious. He lets her push him back onto the table. There’s encouragement in the fevered shrieking all around him when he strips off his sweaty tank and throws it behind him. He’s grinning, skin tingling. It’s very nice to be appreciated. 

He lies back into the sticky mess and sucks in so she can pour a generous shot on his skin. It’s lukewarm, sluices over onto the table, the floor. Someone sprinkles salt in a line between his pecs and sticks a lime wedge in his mouth rind-first. 

Ilya props himself up on his elbows so he can watch her lick his chest and then dip down to catch the tequila in her mouth. It’s then that Ilya sees Shane. He’s standing off to the side, clutching his drink, face frozen. The view is suddenly blocked by the girl taking the lime wedge from between Ilya’s teeth and giggling in his face. When she moves back, Hollander has turned away, like he’s going to walk off again. 

Ilya says, “Hollander,” and then louder, “Hollander!”

He reaches a hand out when Hollander turns back around, beckons him closer. Hollander’s jaw tightens, he hesitates. Ilya says, “Come here, Hollander.”

He walks towards him, obedient, expression tight but not unreadable. Not to Ilya. It’s nerves layered with desire. The same look he gets on his face before Ilya talks him into eating his body weight in pizza. Hollander wants this, he’s read correctly. 

Ilya spreads his legs, grabs Hollander’s wrist when he gets close enough and tugs. “You wanted to try, right?”

“Um, yeah.”

His eyes are so fucking dark, his hair damp with sweat where it sticks haphazardly out from under his backwards Metros cap. He's so close, suddenly, hovering over Ilya. He's not nearly close enough.

Someone pours tequila over Ilya’s stomach again, salt on his chest, lime in his mouth. Hollander sets his beer down with a thunk and then climbs up onto the table with him, knee between Ilya’s thighs, thick arms braced on either side of his head. Dimly, Ilya recognizes cheers of encouragement from their little audience, but his heart is pumping so hard it drowns out every other sound in the room. Everything but this: Shane licking Ilya’s chest, all the way up his sternum, slow. His tongue is a little cool from the beer, strong and wet. 

Ilya has thought about this every fucking day since Shane showed up at his first mixer refusing every drink and every snack and every joint offered to him, the paragon of virtue, a student athlete with a strict diet and a tight ass in every sense of the word. Since then, Ilya had wanted nothing but Shane Hollander’s mouth, his tight ass, the appetite that had to be lurking under all of that rigid control. 

He’s found it now, finally, finally, and he has Shane between his thighs, plumped up from months of indulgence, licking at his skin. It doesn't matter that it’s a game, right now. Ilya will have Shane all to himself soon—tonight maybe, if he plays his cards right. 

Shane shifts down and slurps tequila from Ilya’s stomach. It’s inelegant, a little ticklish, and followed by long, thorough swipes of tongue like he’s making sure not to waste a single drop. Ilya’s abs tighten under his mouth, muscles shaking. If he didn’t have something between his lips already, Ilya might have said something catastrophic. Something like more, or do that again, or fuck, Shane. 

Shane comes up, gasping for air, eyes glazed and mouth wet. He dives for Ilya’s face, fits one big, warm hand over Ilya’s cheek like he’s going in for a kiss and takes the lime between his teeth, biting it while it’s still in Ilya’s mouth, letting the juices run down so he can taste it too. Shane smells like sweat in the best way, body hot like a fucking furnace. 

A big grin lights up Shane’s face when he sits back on his knees and spits out the lime, swaying, breathing hard. His belly shakes on a drunken hiccup. Ilya shoots up from the table, flipping Shane over so he's the one with his back in the sticky leftover beer. Shane says, “What?”

Ilya says, “Your turn, Hollander.”

His eyes go wide. “What? No.”

Ilya sticks a lime wedge in his mouth. “Is only fair.” He pats Shane’s thick thigh. “Take off your shirt.”

Shane huffs, but he sits up enough to strip off his shirt. It lands in a puddle of beer. His gaze is hard, flinty—as much as it can be when he’s so fucking wasted. 

Ilya has seen Shane shirtless before, at events, pool parties, whatever, but it’s different like this, so close. There are miles of smooth, tan skin under him. A line of salt between two perfect tits. Love handles spilling to the side. Belly arched, swollen with beer and whatever he’d been snacking on. It’s so round.

Ilya picks up the bottle. Shane looks down at his belly, giving himself a cute little double chin, and says, “Rozanov, I don’t think—” 

He pours tequila into Shane’s belly button. Shane hisses, like it’s cold. It’s just deep enough, maybe not for a full shot, but Ilya doesn’t need a full shot, he’s already dizzy and everything in the room blurs into a hazy swirl except for Shane fucking Hollander. 

He leans down to lick salt from between his breasts, feels the plushness of them press into either side of his face as he drags his tongue over salty skin. Ilya shuffles down again, braces both hands on either side of Shane’s belly, lets them sink into it for just a second before diving into Shane’s belly button and slurping tequila from it. When the liquid is gone, he keeps his tongue there, licks into it, again and again. There’s incredible softness against his face, gripped tight in his hands. Shane’s thighs squeeze tighter around his shoulders. He feels the vibrations of his own moans in that soft skin, on his lips and tongue.

Shane pulls him back with a rough tug to the hair. It shoots tingles down Ilya's spine. His eyes roll so far back in his head he worries for a second that he’s blacked out. 

The cacophony of the party suddenly filters through the haze. Someone wolf-whistles. Fuck. Shane’s probably pissed. Ilya blinks open his eyes, props himself up unsteadily on his hands, and takes in Shane’s face. It’s dazed and red, eyes dilated black. Ilya drops down on instinct to bite down on the lime wedge, keeping his face close like Shane had done. Shane still doesn’t push him away. 

Ilya retreats on his own, hopping off the table, resisting the urge to hold out his hand for Shane to take, watches him stumble to his feet instead. When they make it to the other end of the room, away from the table, Shane grips Ilya’s arm to stop him and then squeezes, absently, like he’s enjoying the feeling of it. He leans in close again, eyes bright, lets his molten-hot tequila-soaked lips touch Ilya’s earlobe as he says, “My room is on the third floor. Second door on the right.” 

He slips away from Ilya, who’s left stunned, grinning helplessly, watching Shane shove his way through the crowd, still fucking shirtless.

[apolloswaitinglist]

Ok ok chewing on (fat) Shane deciding not to eat because he’s read that’s better for prepping, but while they’re kissing his stomach growls and Ilya’s like, you did not eat? And Shane goes, uh no. And Ilya’s like, ugh Hollander you are so silly. I will order food for you. You need energy for buttfucking. So he orders a pizza, and Shane has to eat the whole thing while Ilya fingers him and then while Ilya fucks him. Eventually Shane ends up riding him and it’s hard because he’s so fucking full and he hasn’t done proper cardio in ages, prefers strength training these days, and he’s so much heavier than he used to be. He’s panting, sweating, jiggling and so fucking slow whenever he has to lift himself up. Ilya goes cross-eyed he comes so hard when Shane admits it, calls Shane his lazy pretty fat boy when bringing Shane to an orgasm, and then feeds Shane pastries after they’ve cleaned up ♥️

[snugshane]

Thinking about Shane getting a small “81” tattoo on his pelvis sometime after him and Ilya are married. As Shane starts gaining weight at first the numbers start to stretch out with him as he grows. Eventually, it becomes hidden by flab and rolls as he gets bigger and bigger. Ilya of course loves to push back Shane’s fat to give it some attention and check in how the number has grown along with him.

[apolloswaitinglist]

Sort of a lightly mutual WG, non-athlete AU where they’re roommates attending the same university, involving the internationally renowned freshman fifteen. 

They’re both still hockey players, but in the recreational sense: both of them, almost simultaneously but an ocean away, suffered a career-ending injury before their careers even began. They share a two bedroom apartment found by Yuna Hollander because her son is peculiar and particular in everything he does and prefers to not be around many people, and because Ilya was desperate to have a place to stay and can somehow afford it. 

To Ilya, Shane’s a cute, uptight guy who’s amusingly easy to piss off, and who pretends he’s still a jock and as such wakes the whole building up with his fuckass blender at five in the fucking morning. To Shane, Ilya’s a hot, overly flirty, mysterious, seemingly broody guy who eats and drinks and smokes to excess and has a gaggle of loud friends who come over sporadically to eat junk and play video games, though he’s pretty tidy. 

The arrangement works. Mostly because they’re both big hockey nerds and like to watch games together—even if Shane always roots for Montreal and Ilya has probably picked out Boston to support just to be annoying (which is true, but it’s also because Svetlana’s father used to play for Boston and because Cliff, the first friend Ilya made in North America, is a Boston boy through and through)—but also because they both sort of keep to themselves. Shane’s got noise cancelling headphones for when Ilya and his guests get too loud, and Ilya gets used to the morning blender pretty quickly. They’re also horribly attracted to each other. 

It’s one of the first things Shane notices about Ilya Rozanov—that he’s hot. Intense eyes, sharp features, wide shoulders, and a very… European way of dressing himself, low-rise tight jeans and sweats that accentuate his thick thighs and ass and love handles, silk shirts with weird patterns and obnoxiously branded t-shirts that all kind of show off that firm, rounded belly and huge biceps. He’s big, hockey player big in a chubby way, and Shane (who’s pretty sure he’s gay, according to Rose) wants to lick him all over. 

But from Shane’s perspective, Rozanov doesn’t seem to share that sentiment. The stream of hookups remains consistent. He never stares for longer than a second or two, never lets his gaze linger. Shane does not want to slut himself out just for a longer look: he’s too mature for that. He looks good anyway, lean muscle and nice skin, and a face that’s really not bad at all. Rozanov probably just isn’t attracted to him. 

And then Shane himself gains the famed freshman fifteen. Or twenty actually, but he’d rather not think about that number. His pants are a bit tight and his stomach’s gone soft, all but droops over the waistband. He doesn’t know how it happened (it’s skipping workouts to study, eating quicker meals, needing a pick-me-up after the library for his overworked brain, sleeping less, going out for drinks with Rose and JJ and Hayden and then for kebabs after). But what he does know is that the one time he wears a short shirt and has to go up on tippy toes to reach for a bowl in an upper cabinet in the kitchen, Ilya is there. And he’s looking at Shane’s midriff. And his eyes are molten. 

Something clicks. 

Shane spends a feverish, sleepless night fondling his new, soft belly. It’s flat when he lays down. Rozanov’s probably isn’t, he thinks. It’s probably rounder because he’s always full when he goes to bed. It has to be, with how much he must drink on nights out and how much he eats in the evenings. And Shane’s is still flat. He wonders all night if Rozanov wouldn’t have been able to help himself from touching if Shane’s belly had been bigger. 

When he gets up the next morning, his big beautiful mind has invented a brand new concept. It’s totally unique. Never been done before. 

What’s a bit of extra weight around his waist? 

[apolloswaitinglist]

I DO have some more ideas for this and I need to get these out. So, it’s really important to me that you know Ilya doesn’t notice Shane (…Hollander) is actively trying to gain weight, even though Hollander is visibly gaining.

He mostly assumes it just sort of happens accidentally, because Hollander’s still making his iced smoothie at five in the fucking morning and he’s still going out for ‘runs’ every day and his dinner is usually still all unsaturated fats and lots of fiber. He doesn’t drink much (but when he does and gets back drunk, he’s so easy to tease and get worked up), he disappears to presumably go to the gym with regularity, he still rolls his eyes when Ilya demolishes two large pizzas and a six pack of beer in one sitting and gets a little overfull. He still refuses bravely when Ilya offers him food to share, insisting that he shouldn’t. But he does get noticeably bigger over the weeks—Ilya, bless him, clocks this mostly through the tightness of Hollander’s clothes. 

Ilya’s been panting (full of dignity and with a lack of care, of course) been panting after Hollander for months. Ilya’s loud when he brings a hookup back to the apartment because he’s hoping Hollander is listening, turned on and jerking off and furious about it. Ilya has shamelessly wanted to swallow Shane Hollander whole since their first meeting (Hollander shook his hand twice), but the growing love handles and belly drooping further down make him genuinely salivate. Jeans and sweatpants cut into Hollanders hips and cling to his ass and thighs. Shirts keep stretching further along the slowly expanding width and size of his potbelly. On a rare occasion that they’re at the same party and Hollander drinks, Ilya spots him struggling to zip up his jacket because he’s so bloated and drunk, and gets hard so quickly he has to lean nonchalantly against a wall lest he get lightheaded. 

It gets torturous around the time that he figures out Hollander is eating to excess. It’s also, coincidentally, the greatest moment of Ilya’s life so far, because he’s in Hollander’s room and Hollander isn’t kicking him out of it. Hollander is eating, whimpering because he’s so full, in a pair of tight boxers and a pair of socks. He’s round and bloated and Ilya can see it, the empty containers stacked neatly on the nightstand, the open pizza box next to it, the basket chock full of candy bars on the floor at the base of it. 

Ilya asks if he needs some help. It comes out in a tone full of teasing and nonchalance and Ilya feels like he either needs to get his mouth on the puffy fat beneath Hollander’s belly button or slam his head against the wall. Hollander’s breath is coming out in little pants and he’s so, so stuffed and Hollander fucking nods. 

He’ll remember the moment for the rest of his fucking life. Hands on Shane Hollander’s overfull belly, massaging the cramps away, while Hollander eats the remainder of his meal at a snail’s pace and moans breathily whenever the meat of Ilya’s palm or the tips of his fingers hit a particularly tight spot. It’s incredible. It’s the start of their little dynamic: they eat whatever they like, and when Hollander needs encouragement or a hand to do exactly that, Ilya will be there to help. Help him get stuffed. It’s no wonder that in the middle of the second semester, Hollander’s about a large dog heavier than he’d been at the start of the academic year. 

Hollander starts having beers and junk food with him, provided there isn’t an audience. If Ilya refrains from getting too full the night ends with Hollander drunk and bloated and heavy between his legs, back to chest, Ilya rubbing the cramps away and Hollander hiccuping and burping into his sleeves. It’s all too easy to reach around the bloat and start massaging Hollander’s crotch too, and he’s always at least a little hard; and the nights start ending with Ilya jerking Hollander off as a fat ass is pressing back against his own crotch and Hollander whines against his jawline. 

Soon enough it starts happening without alcohol too, with finals week nearing. Ilya wants to fuck him. Hollander won’t let him yet. It’s okay—he’s started facing Ilya now, allowing him to take them both in hand. Hollander stress-eats and stress-stuffs and then climbs in Ilya’s lap asking for a belly rub with big wet eyes and a dual handjob by way of getting naked before. It’s also how they kiss for the first time, wet and messy and amazing. Ilya shoots off the second Hollander reconnects their mouths after pulling away for a moment. And it really just intensifies the following year :)

[gracieisgrowing]

A gif a day to help you through the night 🤭

Can you believe I haven’t even had dinner yet??

[chubbyshanehollander]

my kingdom for more frat au thoughts... i'm still thinking about it...... dealer's choice <3

ps pls say hi to your cat for me

hello hello hello!!!!

so because @apolloswaitinglist and @calcitefunk have been doing some STUNNING work with the college/frat aus of a mutual wg flavour, i'm going to lean into the body contrast version of my au where ilya just has the world's most miraculous metabolism and stays ripped whatever he eats, and i think this gives you some excellent shane insecurities to work with once he starts getting a little chubby:

he obviously gets so in his head about how ilya could possibly be into him, like maybe it would have made sense back when shane was in peak jock shape but now he's almost thirty pounds heavier (and tbh that number comes from weighing himself BEFORE going home for the christmas holidays when he proceeded to eat with such a vengeance he can hardly button the pants he bought when the semester just ended and he's going to have to spend his christmas money on new clothes) and it's literally going to take ilya saying "hollander i WANTED to get you fatter, i LIKE you like this" for it to finally click for shane that he doesn't need to worry.

incidentally once that's been made clear to shane? good boy praise kink mindset engaged, he's texting ilya every time he goes to the cafeteria like "what should i eat" and ilya's having to leave in the middle of class to jerk off about the fact that shane eats a burger and a pizza just like ilya told him too AND texts him a photo of his belly afterwards like "so full :)", and ilya thinks shane might actually be the death of him.

AND i think the body contrast gives you some good jealousy potential, like i think at one of the frat parties shane's talking to a couple of ilya's fellow seniors and one of them's like "so you and roz have been hanging out a bit, huh?" and then jokes about how he can tell shane's made the same mistake everyone does of thinking they can keep up with what ilya eats and drinks without packing it on, and all the guys are laughing and patting their guts ruefully and suddenly shane feels dizzy because he thought he and ilya had something special (they do he's being stupid) but suddenly he's wondering if he's just one in a vast array of people in ilya's orbit, overeating and drinking too much beer and getting too fat to pull their shirts down all the way

and ilya's going to have to fuck him SO nicely to disabuse shane of that particular notion hehehe

tysm for the ask!!!! the frat au has my whole heart

ps, salutations for mademoiselle 😻​ gratefully received, she is currently out in the garden soaking up some summer sunshine

[feltforever]

something i don’t see anyone talk about with the tuna meltdown is that ilya also wasn’t ready. like yea he thinks he can just casually introduce the concept of a relationship that’s more than sex but he has no desire to actually discuss feelings/what they are (hence the mixed signals that make shane freak) and in florida, once shane finally manages a real conversation, he tries to reject shane again but at this point shane has him figured out and keeps pressing cause he knows it’s what they both need

[shanehollanderstummy]

i can't stop thinking about fat Scott

Scott retires from playing hockey at about the same time Kip is in PhD Dissertation Hell (#MyKip works in a museum or gallery or is working on a PhD, not continuing to work at the Kingfisher like book Kip). yeah, guy's bodies change when they retire, but Scott has put on quite a bit of weight, which Kip swearssss he has Nothing to do with. but his friends know he likes bigger guys and our dear kipper is also a stress baker and writing your dissertation is stressful and who is he to not offer his boyfriend some of his baking. Scott could just say no to the baked goods he's being offered but he doesn't so really he's doing this to himself and it's not Kip's fault he's getting fat. Elena doesn't buy it

@slutforglut got a similar ask to this and I think answered it really well so I don’t have a lot to add but anon I love #YourKip give that man some ambition and his own career, he deserves it.

Scott is suddenly grazing on desserts nearly every day, banana bread at breakfast, snickerdoodle cookies at lunch, a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting at dinner. He’s not a fan of waste and Kip just keeps baking so he has to keep up and basically eat a whole cake basically by himself.

Elena comes to visit over Christmas and she hasn’t seen Scott in a while, in this time the slight belly he sported the last time they saw each other is now a gut. He’s wearing a turtleneck sweater which clings to the thick roll at his sides and a double chin folds over the fabric of the turtleneck when he even slightly tilts his head down. She’s glancing at Kip from across the dinner table and he tries to look at nonchalant but in that moment he is slicing a hefty piece of cake for Scott so they are not being slick at all.

[apolloswaitinglist]

Sort of a lightly mutual WG, non-athlete AU where they’re roommates attending the same university, involving the internationally renowned freshman fifteen. 

They’re both still hockey players, but in the recreational sense: both of them, almost simultaneously but an ocean away, suffered a career-ending injury before their careers even began. They share a two bedroom apartment found by Yuna Hollander because her son is peculiar and particular in everything he does and prefers to not be around many people, and because Ilya was desperate to have a place to stay and can somehow afford it. 

To Ilya, Shane’s a cute, uptight guy who’s amusingly easy to piss off, and who pretends he’s still a jock and as such wakes the whole building up with his fuckass blender at five in the fucking morning. To Shane, Ilya’s a hot, overly flirty, mysterious, seemingly broody guy who eats and drinks and smokes to excess and has a gaggle of loud friends who come over sporadically to eat junk and play video games, though he’s pretty tidy. 

The arrangement works. Mostly because they’re both big hockey nerds and like to watch games together—even if Shane always roots for Montreal and Ilya has probably picked out Boston to support just to be annoying (which is true, but it’s also because Svetlana’s father used to play for Boston and because Cliff, the first friend Ilya made in North America, is a Boston boy through and through)—but also because they both sort of keep to themselves. Shane’s got noise cancelling headphones for when Ilya and his guests get too loud, and Ilya gets used to the morning blender pretty quickly. They’re also horribly attracted to each other. 

It’s one of the first things Shane notices about Ilya Rozanov—that he’s hot. Intense eyes, sharp features, wide shoulders, and a very… European way of dressing himself, low-rise tight jeans and sweats that accentuate his thick thighs and ass and love handles, silk shirts with weird patterns and obnoxiously branded t-shirts that all kind of show off that firm, rounded belly and huge biceps. He’s big, hockey player big in a chubby way, and Shane (who’s pretty sure he’s gay, according to Rose) wants to lick him all over. 

But from Shane’s perspective, Rozanov doesn’t seem to share that sentiment. The stream of hookups remains consistent. He never stares for longer than a second or two, never lets his gaze linger. Shane does not want to slut himself out just for a longer look: he’s too mature for that. He looks good anyway, lean muscle and nice skin, and a face that’s really not bad at all. Rozanov probably just isn’t attracted to him. 

And then Shane himself gains the famed freshman fifteen. Or twenty actually, but he’d rather not think about that number. His pants are a bit tight and his stomach’s gone soft, all but droops over the waistband. He doesn’t know how it happened (it’s skipping workouts to study, eating quicker meals, needing a pick-me-up after the library for his overworked brain, sleeping less, going out for drinks with Rose and JJ and Hayden and then for kebabs after). But what he does know is that the one time he wears a short shirt and has to go up on tippy toes to reach for a bowl in an upper cabinet in the kitchen, Ilya is there. And he’s looking at Shane’s midriff. And his eyes are molten. 

Something clicks. 

Shane spends a feverish, sleepless night fondling his new, soft belly. It’s flat when he lays down. Rozanov’s probably isn’t, he thinks. It’s probably rounder because he’s always full when he goes to bed. It has to be, with how much he must drink on nights out and how much he eats in the evenings. And Shane’s is still flat. He wonders all night if Rozanov wouldn’t have been able to help himself from touching if Shane’s belly had been bigger. 

When he gets up the next morning, his big beautiful mind has invented a brand new concept. It’s totally unique. Never been done before. 

What’s a bit of extra weight around his waist?