Chapters: ½
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov
Additional Tags: Weight Gain, Chubby Shane Hollander, Fat Shane Hollander, Feeder Ilya Rozanov, Power Exchange, Shane gives control of his eating to Ilya, Retired Hockey Player Shane Hollander, public stuffing, Belly Kink, Stuffing, Feeding Kink, Wank and Tell | Creator is Open to Comments about Masturbating to This Work
Series: Part 2 of tumblr cross posts
Summary:
Retired Shane who has every intention of going off his diet and relaxing and loosening up all his tight restrictions, but 6 months into retirement he just hasn’t been able to fully let go. So he goes to Ilya, and they come up with a plan - put Ilya in control of Shane’s eating.
re:lrb... shane/bood feeder friendship where bood teaches shane how to cook 😋 he recognizes the heated look shane gives his husband while ilya destroys plate after plate of chicken from the way bood himself looks at cassie working her way through a rack of ribs. they never actually talk about it beyond vague chirps... this'll fill that boy of yours up, makes enough for four but cassie hates leftovers... give me two guys bonding over loving on their partners thru cooking!!!
Shane and Bood are instant friends much to Ilya’s confusion. Zane comes in and starts talking to Shane like he’s been on the team for years. He tells Shane about the vacation he and Cassie went on and that he liked the photos Ilya had sent from their honeymoon. After their showers, Bood asks Shane what he thought of the AHL call ups at camp, particularly the defenseman from Edmonton who seems particularly promising. Shane doesn’t seem uncomfortable, so Ilya stays out of these structured conversations Zane is creating for them, and is pleased to hear Shane talk about him to Yuna over dinner that weekend.
By the next week, Shane is chatting with Zane as much as Ilya during practice, coming up with drills for the team to run through and nagging him about the way his left skate turns out when he’s shooting. Ilya is genuinely pleased even through his surprise when Shane mentions that they are going to babysit for Bood the next Tuesday so he can take Cassie out for a date night. Apparently they had worked it out at lunch. Wyatt had offered, but Lisa was working a double and would appreciate him home and paying attention to her that night, so Shane had suggested that he and Ilya do it.
Wyatt had worked his way into this dynamic at some point, gravitating over to Zane and Shane in the locker room for casual conversation and logistical discussions. Shane didn’t really know anything about superheroes, but Wyatt was totally cool with that and happy to explain, so Shane didn’t mind the detailed explanations about heroes and powers and comic books.
Ilya floats around, comfortably social as Captain once more without a secret life beyond hockey. He had hovered around Shane slightly the first week, but more often than not finds himself with Troy and Luca, only glancing at Shane for an occasional visual check in. Shane doesn’t like Troy yet and he hasn’t figured out how to talk to Luca without feeling like he’s gonna be asked for an autograph, so he waits for Ilya to break off and check on him throughout the day. When they get in the car to go home, Ilya gives Shane the full run down of everything that happened that day as Shane fills in any gaps he can.
They eat dinner on the couch with their legs tangled together. They suck each other off in the kitchen washing dishes. They shower together with Ilya’s lavender scented body wash. Shane reads in bed with Ilya’s head in his lap. They turn off the lamp and set an alarm. They fall asleep, one arm thrown across the other man’s hip. They’re in the same bed. In the same city. On the same team. And Shane is friends with Zane Boodram like they’ve played together for years.
loving the idea of shane getting fat from nutrient-dense but calorie-rich foods… he’s happily eating huge amounts of delicious dry-roasted almonds and creamy avocados and sweet fruits and thick coconut cream, and his body soon grows as plump as his favorite ripened plums, all of those healthy fats rounding out his tummy and hips and thighs with a thick cushiony padding that jiggles when he walks, his hair shiny and skin glowing, always a slight pink to his cheeks that deepens whenever ilya stops him in the hallway to worship his radiantly plump frame (which of course is near constant…)
Because I thought it needed more bodyyyyy but didn’t know how to continue it but this is exactly the thing. This is everything to me. So much vitality he’s overflowing. Fuck yeah
went back and read all of your greedy Shane fics today, they are exquisite. also you have such a way with words... I literally can't stop thinking the phrase "constantly topped up" 🥵 it's just so indulgent
anyway... wondering if you have any thoughts lately on him whining for more food... he's full but something tastes/smells really good, and he wants it, Ilya, please, he needs it... 🥺 (-@chaiwg)
Oh boy, @chaiwg, do I… I think about this a lot. Like, nightly, and also during the day. And I want to write about it but get distracted and… well. And then all the ideas I do manage to write down don’t fit the prompt exactly so now I’ve got a bunch of fat stuffed Shane’s floating around in my documents. This is obviously not a bad thing, mind, but they’re all unfinished. So.
A good few of the variants of the #MyShane who floats around in my brain (the ones from parallel universes that have one shared point of origin) have really enjoyed sinking into being lazy. A key component of Shane Hollander in general is that he isn’t lazy of course, but imo that’s because he doesn’t feel like he has the time to be. So what happens is that he starts making time to laze about and do little else but eat and read a book and have naps. Accidentally napping on the couch in the afternoon when he’s so full he’s all sleepy easily becomes one of his favorite activities (save for like, having sex with Ilya and analyzing hockey plays and being fed by hand while he rubs his belly), and he likes to spend a lot of his days off doing just that: stuffed and reclined on the couch, neck at an odd angle, book on his chest and ample belly spilling out of his shirt. Ilya always removes his glasses before Shane even starts to snore.
This inevitably results in them being like, okay, why not do this for multiple days in a row. Just a small handful of days where all Shane needs to do is to be overfull all the time and take naps and maybe make a decent dent in the mountain of books of varying topics he’s been collecting over the years. They don’t do it too often but at least twice a year, Shane and Ilya take two or three days just cramming a ton of delicious, homemade food and indulgent snacks into Shane whenever he’s got some space—like, wake up in the middle of the night to keep him topped up, kind of cramming.
They’re on the final hours of day three this time. It’s not their record, that’s when they got to three and a half days the year prior, but they’re running out of ingredients and Ilya doesn’t fancy leaving Shane alone with nothing to snack on but a jar of peanut butter and a box of crackers from ‘23 just so he can rush to the store.
So, the final stretch. Shane’s so full his brain’s full of cotton candy and television static, not really registering anything but Ilya and food and his stuffed, digesting belly. There was a moment of lucidity earlier, when he woke up from his food coma and waddled to the couch, but that’s gone now: all he has to do is open his mouth, chew, and swallow, and endure a belly rub later, and Shane’s always all too happy to drift back to that pleasant, floaty headspace that comes with doing what he’s been told.
The food is sweet and tart now. Some kind of pie with fruit, if his tongue can be trusted, with that fatty coating of lard in the crust and whipped cream on top. Shane doesn’t know what kind of pie it is—Ilya probably told him, but Shane was too preoccupied with getting to eat it to listen—but it’s good, goes down easy, despite how much he’s eaten. He accepts the bite, chews good, swallows, and opens his mouth, before it happens all over again. It’s an easy rhythm to follow, even with his stomach pushing up against his lungs.
But then nothing follows.
Shane blinks, frowning, and looks past the crest of his aching belly at the coffee table, where he can see Ilya cover something with foil.
“What?” He manages, slurring, and then he hiccups.
Ilya looks up from where he’s meticulously pressing the shiny aluminium around something round and pie-shaped. The fading sunlight filters through his bangs and catches on the curl of his eyelashes and the hockey-blunted edge of his nose. It’s like he’s glowing.
“I think you are done for now,” he says warmly. “The pie is gone. All in your belly.”
He pats it, careful not to jostle it too much, and Shane hiccups again. The awareness is pushing back to the forefront now that he’s not chewing and swallowing endlessly anymore, and just the brush of Ilya’s fingers on his lower tummy is making Shane keenly aware of how overfull he is.
And he says, through panting breaths, “What’s that?”
“Hm?” Ilya pushes his hair back and stands with creaky knees, the pie-shaped object wrapped in aluminium foil in one hand. “What is what, malysh?”
“That,” Shane says, and he points directly at the object.
Ilya stares at him for a few seconds, expression neutral. It’s almost dead-eyed. If Shane did not know Ilya well, he’d probably be nervous, but he does know Ilya well and can see a slowly forming smile from a mile away, so all he does is drop his hand back on top of his overfilled gut, rub his sides, and burp.
“It’s the pear tart,” Ilya says eventually. “The French one, yes? You sent me recipe last week. I made it this morning.”
Tarte tatin aux poires. With salted butter caramel. Shane did send his husband that recipe—had a slice of it the month before as dessert, at dinner with Rose. It’d been served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and tasted orgasmic.
“I do not know why I brought it out,” Ilya continues. “It’s for after dinner, in my plan.”
Shane smacks his mouth and tastes rhubarb and sugar, remnants of the pie he must’ve eaten. His fat belly, currently so big he can’t see his knees, feels tight up top, almost a little tingly, and he’s so painfully full he can’t draw in a full breath or (probably) even sit up straight.
“Can be before dinner,” he says, breathless, and he pats his gut hard enough to make it wobble. “It can fit.”
Ilya’s eyebrows do something crooked, but he’s smiling. “Puzik...”
“It can fit,” Shane repeats, and burps again. It’s small and a little wet. “Made space, see?”
“No,” Ilya says, still smiling. “Is a good try, though.”
“I want it,” Shane says, whiny. “I can fit it. I know I can.”
“It’s for dinner,” Ilya says again. “So, no.”
“Ilya.”
“Shane.”
His eyes get wet, suddenly. He squirms in place, hiccups again, and lets his bottom lip jut out and tremble.
“Oh!” Ilya’s eyes widen. Then he closes them. “No.”
“But—”
“No,” Ilya repeats firmly, and he turns on his heel to stride away. “You will not break me, Hollander. This is for dinner.”
Shane watches his evil husband walk off with the tart, helpless and stuck on the couch, too full to follow or even sit up straight. His gut is heavy in his lap even when reclined, proof his gluttony, and now it’s the very thing in the way of it getting bigger.
Then Ilya’s voice rings out from the kitchen: “I’ll make you a shake, okay? To shore you over.”
“Tide,” Shane calls back, “It’s to tide me over,” and he hiccups once again, belly trembling.
boy who gained weight and got noticeably chubby but is embarrassed about it x childhood friend who knew him when he was skinny and can barely contain himself seeing his friend so soft and angelic
Shane who was chubby as a kid/teen and then work hard to lose the weight and that’s one of the reasons he is to strict about his diet, because he is afraid to gain the weight back, but he secret loves to watch Ilya eating all the types of food he forbid himself to eat, and he loves to see how much weight Ilya is gaining (maybe because gives him a sense of control, and is good to see that Ilya doesn’t care about control) and he even make some fat shaming jokes on Ilya to hide that he is into how soft Ilya body is right now, he loves to feels Ilya weight over him and to cuddle , and he can’t help it, he ends up rubbing Ilya’s belly and he feels so embarrassed because now Ilya is going to know for sure that Shane is into it
Ohh I love this, Shane's dark little secret is how obsessed he is with Ilya's loss of control, the proof that he's right to be afraid of eating these things because look at what's happening right in front of him? Every fat person knows that ex-fatties can be the cruelest, and this Shane definitely has an edge of that. He's so afraid of how much he likes Ilya's softer body, afraid that he's sacrificed so much in his life for no reason because Ilya seems perfectly happy like this.
Ilya shouldn't let him touch him, in Shane's opinion, after some of the things that he's said. Ilya would be totally right to tell Shane to fuck off, to stop running hot and cold like this, but from the moment Shane's trembling hand hit his belly, Ilya's just been reclined in the bed like a big lazy cat.
"I just...want to feel for myself how bad it's gotten," Shane says, voice husky and obviously aroused.
Ilya, who has been waiting for Shane to stop beating around the bush for a week, keeps watching him through heavy lidded eyes. "You feel as much as you like, Hollander."
okkkkk given how much i love an “ilya decides” d/s feeding set up, here is the vision that won’t leave my brain
At the cottage, Shane is reclining on a deckchair in the afternoon sun, dozing behind his sunglasses, happy and sated after an enormous lunch that Ilya made a few hours ago, when he feels his husband’s hands squeezing his shoulders, then running across his chest, down to rest on the curve of his stomach. Ilya makes a thoughtful noise.
“Yes,” he says. “I will get you a snack.”
“Ilya,” Shane says. “I’m still full from lunch.”
“No,” Ilya says. “You have room. I can feel it.”
Ilya pats Shane’s plump, round tummy at the top where it’s firmest - Shane really did eat an awful lot, plate after plate of chicken skewers Ilya had grilled on the barbecue, served with a side of home-made sweet potato wedges. But it’s like as soon as Ilya says it, Shane’s body responds, not with hunger exactly - but he wants to eat, he trusts Ilya to know what he needs.
So Ilya brings out something nice and filling like a big bowl of trail mix, and feeds it to Shane by hand until he’s as well-stuffed as he was when their last meal finished, and Ilya rubs his swollen belly, pleased with how it feels, and says, “There. Nice and full, malysh.”
And I like to think this continues to be their vibe for the whole summer as Ilya keeps Shane’s tummy as full as possible at all times and will sometimes randomly come over and poke it or squeeze it or tell Shane to lift up his shirt so Ilya can see whether or not he needs to eat, and Shane’s so happy and well-fed and well-cared for with nothing to do but lounge around and let his husband keep his growing belly topped up with food all day 🥰🥰🥰
Contains: Belly Kink, Weight Gain, Intoxication, Teasing, Chugging, Drunk Sex (full tags on AO3)
Rozanov was always a big guy, tall and broad, but he's firmly in the ex-jock category these days, muscles covered by a plush layer of fat. After three months apart, it makes Shane's mouth go a little dry to admire the swell of his chest and the shadow of his navel beneath a snug black shirt. He's not close enough to touch, but it would only take a step, maybe two for Shane to brush up against the swell of his belly.
"You and your brothers are so rude, Shane Hollander." Ilya pulls an exaggeratedly sad face. "Come to my party, drink my booze, and cannot even bother to say hello?"
People are looking at them, some more subtly than others. Ilya loves to spar with him in public, see how far he can push. Usually Shane loves it too, however much he denies it. There's a thrill to it, pushing back, knowing that everyone's watching but no one sees, they have no idea what's really going on between them.
But after a summer of unanswered texts, Shane feels like he's a confused outsider too, and the idea of dropping back into their usual banter sours in his stomach. "Fuck off, Rozanov."
Read it on AO3!
Thank you so much to everyone who interacted with WIP posts & lent your support and enthusiasm and all the members of CSH Inc - I hope you enjoy it!! I definitely intend to write more if folks want to see it!
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