Heya, I’m Del, and I’m finally making a side blog for my heated rivalry weight gain kink shenanigans
I have carried my passion for making my favorite characters fat across many fandoms, and I’m so delighted to see so much love and community here. I’m hoping to eventually post some wg fics and other fun things here, but in the meantime will mainly be adding things to my chubby scrapbook
I like and follow from my main blog, @delsicle (which is also where I post most of my fandom content and other fics)
"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.
Ilya cut him off, his hand sliding under the hem to squeeze Shane's plump tummy. “Fuck Hollander. What is she feeding you?"
Shane groaned, his hips jolting forward instinctively at the touch. "Ilya, she's not—"
The words died on his tongue. She's not my girlfriend, and she isn't feeding me. He rubbed a hand over his face, desperately trying to regain his composure as Ilya took a step back to look him up and down.
Shane wanted to dissolve into mush right there on the floor. He could only imagine what Ilya was thinking. He knew exactly what he looked like: thicker thighs padded with fat, rounded hips testing the structural integrity of his denim seams, and a soft, heavy belly pushing against his sweatshirt. His cheeks were rounder, too. He’d read the headlines, and they weren't kind. He knew exactly what the world thought of him.
"She's not my girlfriend," Shane muttered, looking away. "We only went on two dates. We're just friends."
Ilya's face remained unreadable. Shane braced himself for the inevitable onslaught. Why did you let yourself go? What is wrong with you? And to be fair, something probably was wrong with him. He stuffed himself until his belly was swollen and aching at every opportunity because it was the only thing that filled the void.
But it was more than comfort—it turned him on. A lot. Watching his body expand, despite how taboo it was, kept him constantly worked up. Even the mean things the tabloids wrote about him only turned him on impossibly more. But there was no universe in which he could admit that to Ilya.
Ilya’s lips curled into a smirk. "So, you got this big all by yourself?"
Shane's hand flew down to cup his throbbing cock, trying to will the friction to stop. He scowled, but his breath was short and his head spun from how hard he was.
"Oh, are you going to come for me? I haven't even done anything yet." Ilya’s smirk faded into a heavy, dark stare. "At least take your sweatshirt off. I want to see what you've done to yourself."
With a low groan, Shane gripped the hem of his fleece. Ilya was being an absolute asshole, which only made Shane want him more. He pulled the fabric up slowly.
Ilya let out a low moan, stepping back into Shane's space. He pressed his thumb deliberately into a lone, pink stretch mark zinging up from Shane's lower belly.
"God, you're driving me crazy. You eat so much your poor body can't even keep up?" Ilya smoothed his palms down the sides of Shane's waist, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. "Growing so fast your skin can't adjust. Fuck, I always knew you were greedy, Shane, but this?"
Shane desperately gripped Ilya's wrists, his head tilting back. "Please, please, I need—I'm going to—"
"Going to what? Come just from me touching your fat belly?"
Shane gasped, his brows furrowing as his knees gave out. With a choked, shocked cry, he came hard right into his jeans.
something something ilya being obsessed with shane’s tummy continued:
ilya is absolutely infatuated with shane’s stomach. shane is an avid moisturizer thanks to yuna, so he’s soft all over, but the skin on his stomach is especially smooth. ilya is obsessed with rubbing and kissing it during sex obviously, but it’s more than that.
anytime they’re cuddling, ilya’s hand is up shane’s shirt. he’s scrolling on his phone, rubbing a hand firmly up and down shane’s stummy. sometimes he’ll shove his head under shane’s shirt so he can lay on his stomach. shane gets nervous and takes the shirt off when ilya’s been under there for too long because he doesn’t want him to suffocate.
when shane’s making dinner, ilya is constantly yelling at him to take off his shirt. if shane refuses, he comes over and does it himself, planting a kiss on his belly.
he loves his hard abs in the morning, but also how his stomach distends a little after dinner. he loves that he can hear shane breathe and his organs work to digest when he lays his ear on his tummy.
he especially loves watching shane workout shirtless in their basement gym, hot and sweaty and panting. watching his breath go in and out behind his bellybutton makes him feel mushy inside in a way he can’t put into words. he watches as it goes from in and out and in and out to a more slow in out as shane cools down.
years after they retire, naturally shane gains some weight and doesn’t keep up with his grooming as much as he did when he was constantly naked in the locker room and doing photoshoots all the time. and ilya dieeeesss. he loves the little trail of hair up from his groin and the softer give to his stomach. the skin is still just as soft and still makes a good pillow.
shane wakes up for the 1000th time with his shirt pushed way up around his neck, ilya’s hand protectively splayed over his bellybutton.
I’m definitely projecting but thinking 💭 so hard about Shane liking a little forced intox as a treat and ilya grabs his hair and tilts his head back and makes him smoke a joint or pushes a couple gummies past his lips and the real fun begins when Shane is nice and high and floaty and he gets the munchies and is so so hungry and obviously Ilya has to take advantage of it because Shane’s always worried about his stupid diet and any chance he gets to feed Shane real good he takes bc duh . So obviously he takes the opportunity to push treats past his lips and Shane is high and submissive and just lets Ilya feed him and by the time he’s full his brain is just like brrrr from the weed and the sugar and the fullness and then Ilya has his hands all over him and it all feels so good . He’s being Pavlov’d fr
(a) Ilya’s favourite way to tease Shane about his weight
(b) Connie’s favourite way to tease Big Hud about his weight
🙏🙏🙏🙏
Thank you for the penny, i eated it.
I think Shane is always pushing for meaner because he #needs it. I saw a post earlier talking about how shame and sex are the same thing for Shane, and I want everyone to know that is the ultimate truth for me. Idk why, but I was having a harder time writing Ilya and was possessed by Connie. Connie is a woman who knows what she wants, and what she wants is to be mean to poor Bighud, and Bighud is so desperate for it.
Ilya:
-"Look at how tight your belly is, hm? Your poor belly. You really don't know when to stop, do you? Just keep eating and eating until you physically can't have any more." Ilya has his fingers threaded through Shane's hair, gently pushing his head down so he can see his swollen gut.
-"Every time I turn my back, you have something in your mouth. You can't possibly be this hungry, you're much too big to be so hungry."
-"Those baggy sweaters aren't hiding anything, my love, sorry. Your little belly is always pressing right against the fabric, telling all your secrets."
Connie:
-"Can you save any for me? Jesus bunny, I haven't even had a bite."
-"Are you blushing because it hurts, or because you’re ashamed of how wide you've gotten? Good. You should be ashamed. Mommy is proud of you, though."
-"I love how pathetic you look right now. Stuffed completely full, breathing so shallow, and leaking through your underwear just because I’m calling you fat. Just for me. Mine."
-"Look at those deep red lines your belt left in your skin. You’re literally bursting out of your clothes because you can't say no to Mommy. It’s sad, really."
-"You look absolutely ridiculous. Squeezing into these tight pants just to come over and look nice for me, and then you eat enough for three people. Pathetic."
-"Stop trying to suck it in, it’s embarrassing. There is way too much of you to hide anymore. Just relax your big tummy so I can see exactly how greedy you were tonight."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/?
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander
Additional Tags: Weight Gain, Fat Ilya Rozanov, Fat Shaming, specifically from the media and reddit, not Shane (but he likes it), NBA fans will recognize this premise lol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Summary:
Ilya gets traded due to concerns about his conditioning. He has half a season to shape up… or to enjoy the time off. Shane knows which of those options he hopes Ilya will choose, but he’s not telling.
Also, the last scene in this chapter is inspired by this post that @thinkingplump wrote earlier today! The image of Ilya spreading his arms out to reveal the belly under his suit, simultaneously confident and insecure, is not gonna leave my mind for a little while. I wish I could draw…
I love everything about Shane being (consensually) mean and fat shamey to Ilya. Your writing was A+++.
Shane still feeling a little bit of a way about it but knowing how much Ilya was super into it enforcing they have a safe word moving forward in case anything he says actually tips from sexy to hurtful. It doesn't. Ilya eats it all up (after all he's good at eating anything clearly). But afterwards Shane is always extra caring and tender, giving Ilya's body extra attention showing him how much he really loves it. - @snugshane (anon since can't ask from sideblog)
thank you! ❤️ this sat in my inbox for a bit (sorry!), and then yesterday after reading @bighollanov 's incredible post about chubby Shane using reddit to humiliate himself, something clicked...
I think Ilya and Shane both figure out pretty quickly that they're into Shane fat-shaming Ilya, but you're right: whereas Ilya wants Shane to dive right into it, Shane needs some guardrails to ensure he's not actually going to hurt his boyfriend. Ilya's rolling his eyes but like, fine, if it'll get Shane to the point he needs to be quicker, then yes, kotik, we can have a safe word, can it be "Pike", and Shane is like "what the actual fuck, why would you suggest Hayden as a safe word!??!" and Ilya is all "because that is how you react ha ha ha"
Anyway they eventually decide on one (lawnmower) and Ilya is excited, thinking that Shane will now feel free to rib him a little about the size of his gut. Shane might even call him "fatass" again; Ilya has jerked off to the memory of that exchange a handful of times.
But Shane takes his time. That night, they have normal fucking boring sex, even though Ilya tries to goad Shane into getting started - "I am very full," he says when he climbs on top of Shane, "maybe too heavy for you", and Shane just says, "Hmm, we don't have to fuck, then, you can just rest and digest". Ilya tries again: "You look beautiful, like real hockey player. Not fat, like me", and Shane replies, "You look fine, baby." ????
What Ilya doesn't see is that after they finish and flop side by side in bed, Shane is scrolling through subreddits gathering inspiration. Shane can be a dick, sure, but only up to a point. If he's gonna make Ilya feel really good, really intense, he needs to understand what the actually fatphobic assholes are out there saying.
The next morning, when Ilya stretches out in bed, his soft tummy melting onto the mattress next to him, and says, "I will go prepare breakfast," Shane says: "Jesus, slow down."
"Hm?"
"You've been awake for fifteen seconds and you're already thinking about food."
Ilya is half-hard quicker than he's ever been.
Shane peppers comments in throughout the day. Every time Ilya's cock softens again, Shane returns with an increasingly pointed barb, so that Ilya's whipped back and forth between horny and not until it all blends together into a constant state of arousal. First it's "you sure you should be eating all that?", and then it's "fuck, Rozanov, you've really let yourself go", and then, when Ilya pulls off his shirt to get into the shower, "ew, no one wants to see that!". Ilya is dying. He wants to bend Shane over this instant but it's also part of the game, the refusal to give in. In the shower, he gives his flabby belly an extra jiggle and watches Shane squirm.
They don't even make it all the way through the day. By the end of the shower, Ilya is so thoroughly worked up he can barely think, and he suspects Shane is too. He grabs Shane's wrist and tries to force him into bed, using his new mass to finally edge out the immense strength of his boyfriend, but Shane resists and says: "Not yet, tubby. Get in front of the mirror."
Ilya stands in front of the full-length mirror and is confronted with the reality of what he's done to himself: thick all over, beyond thick, everywhere soft and flabby. His leaking cock is prevented from rising to full mast, losing the fight for space against his hanging belly. He watches in the mirror as Shane's eyes rake slowly up and down his body.
"You used to look like me," Shane starts. "No. You used to be even leaner than me. I was jealous, you know."
Ilya gulps.
"And now - " Shane presses a large palm over one of Ilya's pecs. Fat spills out between his fingers and below his hand. "You've let your greed and gluttony win." He slides his hand down over the roll that bridges from under Ilya's moobs to his mid-back. "It's so apparent on your body, the fact that you can't control your appetite."
"Tell me - " Ilya begins to command, but Shane shushes him.
"I was getting to that part," he says crossly. "I was about to list out all the evidence: your squishy double chin, pudgy upper arms, drooping moobs, bloated gut, blubbery love handles, plump hips..."
"Wait," Ilya interrupts. "Did you look at... what is the word? Dictionary?"
Shane blushes so intensely that the confirmation is obvious before he even says, "It's called a thesaurus, and no."
"You DID!" Ilya's eyes widen in amusement. "Oh my god." He's laughing so hard his belly shakes. "Get in bed right now, fucking nerd. My turn."
shane is bulking and he’s got a tummy peeking out more so than he’s ever had before and ilya has him bent like a pretzel almost on his back and is fucking him deep and slow and puts a hand on shane’s lower stomach and is looking down so cocky “can you feel me here sweetheart? feel my cock in your tummy?” and shane is just groaning and nodding.
one must imagine 18 year old shane hollander the summer before he starts with montreal, following a trainer-recommended plan to put on a lot of muscle to keep up with the older guys, getting a little bulk belly for the first time and being both terrified that he’s doing something wrong and turned on by the way he likes it more than he knows he should…
#god i love a kink discovery moment#and this one is so good#baby rookie shane with his little bulk belly looking in the mirror borderline terrified to feel his feelings#hands on himself like a sensory toy#shane definitely wears tight clothes when he's home by himself during bulking seasons because he loves the feeling and look#he has a drawer in the back of his closet with these specific outfits#brain comes to screeching halt when he realizes ilya will be around for his bulking during their first off season together#up late googling how to tell his boyfriend that he likes gaining weight in the offseason and not in a 'oh no diet way'#but in a 'oh i kinda like being a bit chubby' way#shane doesn't have to worry tho because seeing shane actually eat without regard for his diet and actual put on weight breaks ilya's brain#bulking just got even better for shane#he didn't think that could happen
@thinkingplump I needed to keep these solid gold tags bc yessss
we need to start drawing more female characters fat. we need to be writing fanfiction about them gaining weight. we need to start hornyposting about about female characters who aren't fat in canon gaining weight and having big bellies and arms and you know what i can't finish this post because im about to pass out
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.
