kissingpractice on ao3🍒🔞

kirsche - ao3 writer - MDNI (doesn't follow from this blog)

[kissingpractise]

ao3 - kissingpractice

ao3 link

hey there! my name is kirsche, i write fic when the adhd isn't kicking my ass. tummy enthusiast, accidentally includes body worship in every fic.

currently into heated rivalry after season 5 of stranger things embarrassed me like that. my ask box is always open for anyone who wants to send me a (nice or interesting) message! I am always open to discuss fics and theories.

MINORS DNI.

before you get any further - this is an 🔞 blog. if you are uncomfortable with that or you are a minor, exit now. I also post spicy byler.

while I'm here, fictional characters are not real people. I believe in separating fiction from reality and I am anti harassment and anti censorship so please just block me if that's an issue. Don't like don't interact.

pro 🇵🇸 always

fic masterlist (so far) (needs updating)

hey, I'm kirsche and I write fanfiction. i have a few fandoms so it wont all be the same stuff!

As I said above, 18+ only. yes even if you think you're mature for your age.

this is also a sideblog so follows will not show up from this username! I prefer to keep my main private, though

I will post explicit content both here and on ao3. i write kink sometimes, which i usually publish under a pseud to keep it separate. Some of it is on anon, i dont mind people knowing it's me and have linked to it in my masterlist post, but I keep it off my ao3 profile due to people being weird. Some of the ones I'm more proud of are on my main though lol.

I'm also aware that this fandom can be insane so if you like my stuff and want to send me a message or an ask without anon but don't want me to share your username then just let me know, I'm not a cop

I do not write or share dead dove or underage content because of personal preference and comfort, but I am anti censorship in fiction and anti purity culture. Which means I'm not interested in discourse and drama over whether things are okay in fiction. If it's not real and nobody is harmed, it's not a real problem. (We had a handle on this ten years ago I'm not sure what changed). That said if you post a lot of content about something I'm uncomfortable with I might block you. It's not personal, it's just curating my space.

All my posts will be tagged appropriately unless they're ao3 posts in which case the tags are on the work itself (i will still warn if its E rated though) Do not get mad at me if you willingly ignore the tags and it upsets you.

I have a twitter account with the same username but it isn't used much and I mostly post K-pop there now so you probably dont want to follow lol

also, this is a sideblog, but i will not be sharing my main due to the generally unhinged state of a lot of stranger things fans. if you somehow work out what my main is please don't spread it. my follows and likes will not show up from this username because of this, so please dont be upset if it seems like i dont follow you back, maybe I do

[kissingpractise]

Happy birthday!

thank you!!!!! <3

[dragon-in-a-fez]

I love when people whose first languages have grammatical gender use the wrong pronoun in English. "this river is so green because he is fed by glaciers" aw the river is Just A Little Guy. your version of my language is better

[kissingpractise]

hello chubby shane inc i am writing a chubby shane fic. writers block broken by shanetummy.

[kissingpractise]

im giving that boy italian food. let shane have tiramisu 2026

[kissingpractise]

hello chubby shane inc i am writing a chubby shane fic. writers block broken by shanetummy.

[gayhockeyshow]

Can I say something

If Shane “leaks like a fountain” so does Jane

She’s taking a shower at night putting on a fresh pair of underwear and in the morning she’s waking up and having to change again. She’s wearing liners to the game bc she fucking hates the feeling of the extra wetness down there. She’s sweating everywhere else, which is fine. She’s changing the liner at halftime. How embarrassing. Her team probably thinks she has a weak bladder. Better than the truth. She hates it so much. Lilya does not

[lizzybennets]

"Oh, hush. Not all of us can afford to be romantic."

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005) Dir. Joe Wright

[mostmagical]

I truly truly believe that the most important thing you can do in fandom is be a cheerleader. comment on fics. reblog art and rave in the tags. support the people making the things you want to see. this is how you keep a fandom alive. this is how you get more of what you want. you never know: that person could have decided to make more just because you liked it.

[mybloodstream-caffeine]

I could SO imagine an au where Ilya thinks Shane is playing like some 4D level mind fuck game with him when he comes over to shake his hand (twice) and compliment his playing, so instead of doing his cocky asshole schtick he earnestly takes the compliment and returns it in kind. And then Ilya goes in for the kill, expecting to call Shane's nice guy bluff by asking for his number. Ha. Bet you weren't expecting THAT, Hollander.

But then Hollander seems,,, weirdly pleased?? And,,, actually complies?? Before practically skipping off, like he got what he wanted?? What??

And then they're texting back and forth and Ilya still partly thinks this is some kind of long con, but then it's been weeks and then it's been longer and suddenly they're at the draft and Shane is looking around the room and when he spots Ilya his entire face lights up and he's making a beeline for Ilya and he's still smiling as he says "Ilya!" like he's happy to see him,,, because he IS happy to see him. Because they've been messaging basically constantly for months now and oh fuck oh shit Ilya is so so deeply screwed.

And so, instead of their canon rivals-with-benefits arrangement, we get the ten year slow burn best friends to lovers narrative.

[mybloodstream-caffeine]

@martelldoran COMING IN WITH THE STEEL CHAIR:

[trashytums-deactivated20240202]

[Sheepishly clears throat]

Characters who consume a large amount of liquid, or liquidy foods (like soup), to the point where their tummy makes little "glorp" noises whenever they move or hiccup... 🔥🔥🔥

they sheepishly cuddle up to their partner/friend, groaning through hiccups and small belches because they're just So Full, and the caretaker tries their best to hold their tummy still with a warm, gentle tummy hold so it doesn't slosh... ❤❤❤

[bigolbadblog]

i feel like something that's missing from some people's understanding of kink fiction and fantasy is, like... in fiction and fantasy, everything is in-scene.

when real people do kink in real life, you gotta do all that good out-of-scene stuff like discuss boundaries, set limits and expectations, check in with each other, do aftercare, et cetera et cetera et cetera... but in fiction, everything can be in-scene!

the people in that fanfic don't exist any more than, like, the make-believe sexy football star and make-believe sexy cheerleader in a couple's roleplay exist. that couple doesn't need to get into character and then pretend to be a sexy football star having an important consent conversation with a sexy cheerleader, because that's a conversation that's already happened out-of-scene and out-of-character. (i mean, if you're into in-character negotiations, chase your bliss.) when they're in that scene, they can just pretend to be a sexy football star having sex with a sexy cheerleader. that's okay.

so like. when fiction does kink in a way that would be unsafe or harmful irl... just keep in mind that you're not watching actual people neglecting check-ins or ignoring their set contract or genuinely harming each other. you're watching a scene without the behind-the-scenes bits, and that's okay.

[bigolbadblog]

this has gotten a couple replies along the lines of "yeah, you can just assume the characters worked all the important consent stuff out when you weren't looking!" which is true in some cases, but not the point i was trying to make, so please bear with me while i try to rephrase myself.

when i say in fiction, everything is in-scene, i mean that the fiction IS the scene.

if someone went up to their partner and said "hey, wouldn't it be sexy if we pretended you were manipulating and controlling me in an unethical way for sex reasons?", and then they talked through all the good and necessary consent and risk-awareness things, and then they played that scene out - that's a made-up scenario where pretend bad things happen, but no real-world people come to real-world harm, right?

now, if someone writes a story where one character manipulates and controls another in an unethical way for sex reasons... that, too, is a made-up scenario where pretend bad things happen, but no real-world people come to real-world harm.

kink fiction doesn't have to be about characters consciously and conscientiously Doing Kink. kink fiction can be stories where the kinky things people fantasize about or roleplay (but wouldn't want to happen in real life) do happen in the universe of that story. because the story is a scene.

[kissingpractise]

liliya's version of ilya's horrible bear tattoo would be a tramp stamp I just know it

[catalpa-waltz]

ok i finally have a night where things arent on fire so time to speak my truth

hollanova infidelity scenario where jane is in a ltr with a very sweet, supportive guy who gives her space to prioritize her sport and who doesn’t pressure her into sex and who doesn’t call her out when she fakes orgasms halfheartedly and who gives her no reason to break up with him and who her parents fully expect her to marry someday when she’s ready but no rush at all honey you’ve always done things in your own time but he’s so good for you and makes you so happy and he’s already part of the family but no pressure we’re not putting any pressure on you

and she finds ways to avoid the accusations that get hurled around to the women in her sport, that theyre all man-hating dykes, *she’s* not like that, she wears her pearl earrings every game day, she dresses as classy and feminine as she needs to secure the approval of her sponsors. she’s not here for herself, to make waves, to make a statement, just to play and improve and be the best. and she likes her boyfriend.

and then lilya rozanova comes up to her in the locker room with a towel around her waist and her tits out and she doesn’t need to say anything she just has to follow rozanova’s instructions and open the door when she knocks and open her mouth when rozanova tells her to and she’s too busy actually inhabiting her own body for the first time to realize what she’s doing might hurt another person and it’s not enough to stop her from sprawling on her stomach between rozanova’s legs and drinking her down and making her cum and seeing how free and easy it’s possible to be with sex when you’re not just in your own head about not hurting the other person’s feelings

and then it keeps happening and lilya gives her the strap for the first time and the way it’s entirely different from any other way jane’s ever been fucked and it shouldnt be it’s silicone and nylon but it’s also lilya’s breath against her neck and her thumb against her clit and a grinding relentless rhythm she’s never had at home cause if she shook and sobbed and writhed like this her boyfriend would stop and shush her and apologize but lilya knows what waits on the other side for her and its like nothing she’s ever had, like no orgasm she’s ever been able to give herself

and she keeps telling herself that she’ll stop or she’ll confess or she’ll at least break things off with this guy but rozanova always wants to know if he fucks her like this if she gets it this good from him and it makes her so wild to be told no, no it’s not like this from him, no she’s never gotten this anywhere else and the months and years stretch on and nothing changes and no one even suspects the saintly jane hollander to be capable of something like this

and then one day the boyfriend, in the interest of full transparency and modern practicality asks her for her ring size

[piwonplaylist]

thinking about them

[shaneposting]

i’m so fucking tired of shitty articles getting published that reduce the success of heated rivalry to ‘the monolith known as “WOMEN” are OBSESSED with GAY SMUT’

as soon as something centres queerness and is enjoyed by women it gets devalued and made fun of and stripped of all its artistry. ‘only straight women like this. and they only like it because it’s basically porn. so scandalous! haha silly women and their porn. anyway because it’s porn that means these women are fetishising and therefore homophobic (despite the fact that they’re the ones enjoying it as a series/story/piece of art and we’re the ones insisting it’s porn. despite the fact that they appreciate the actors as experts trained in a craft and we’re the ones depicting them as empty hot bodies)’

i just wish fandom wasn’t treated like a fucking zoo exhibit man like it’s fun and silly and self deprecating when people within fandom spaces talk to their friends about fujoing out or playing with dolls or whatever. it’s just patronising when it’s done by mainstream media

[shaneposting]

this also applies to “”””“content creators””””” outside of fandom who decide to make content out of lifting up our rock to yell that ‘this fandom is insane’ when what they actually mean is that some shit has been done by some guy who isn’t even part of this particular bug colony

‘this fandom is insane. look what insane shit they did that only 5 people would’ve ever known about if i hadn’t made my video lmao. get em boys’

[chubstilinski]

if you're still doing the WIP game I would love to see a hollanov snippet 🙏🏻 word: "mouth" maybe?

coming right up 🫡🫡

it gains the more it gives (hollanov/chubby shane)

...

Lily: 😍

Shane's face heats up, anticipation reaching a boiling point. He's full now, pleasantly so, and something about it is nice, familiar, the kind of feeling he's beginning to associate with Rozanov.

On his way back to the cottage, he passes a couple of fast food joints. Shane hasn't eaten fast food in years, has barely even thought about it. He thinks about it now. Not enough to actually do it—he's not that far gone. Not that undisciplined. Not yet.

When he gets home, he makes a protein shake, instead. He fills the blender up all the way to the lid. He uses real milk, 2%. Chocolate and protein powder. Peanut butter and banana. It comes out thick and sweet, and he drinks it straight from the mouth of the blender. He doesn't even take the time to get a glass. Shane gulps it down like he's starving, aching for it, until his stomach cramps and he gasps for air, presses a hand to his belly and finds it bowed out, distended.

He jumps when his phone vibrates against the counter. Shane sets down the blender and struggles for breath like he's been in the gym for hours. He doubles over, braces himself against the kitchen island.

Lily: Are you at home now? Send me a picture

Jane: No.

Shane is too bloated to take the kind of picture Rozanov wants him to take. He'd drunk more than half the fucking shake in one go. Why? Why did he do that?

He takes another sip, and another, more and more, fuck, he wants more, so much more. Head tilted all the way back, he slurps up the last, grainy dregs of it, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and belches so loud it echoes off the high ceiling, sound reverberating back to him as if confronting him with his own enormous greed.

"Holy fucking shit."

Lily: 😢

Lily: So mean to me. And here I was going to give you something special.

Rozanov sends a photo of himself, a mirror selfie, shirtless with track pants low on his hips. No abs to be found, courtesy of that huge, greasy cheeseburger, but he still looks so fucking good. Solid and built, that damn happy trail curving over his stomach and leading towards his waistband. Shane is almost surprised that the sight of it doesn't make him hard, but he realizes that's only because he's already hard. Completely, not halfway, swollen in his chinos, pressed against the zipper. For how long? He doesn't remember getting there. Was it before Rozanov texted or after. It doesn't matter.

Jane: That's not going to work.

But Shane is already heading straight for the bathroom, for the big, well-lit mirror and the golden sunlight that filters through the frosted glass window in the late afternoon. He lifts up the hem of his shirt, his heart stops, and he smooths it back down. The glimpse of his stomach shocks him, sends something rattling in his brain. Fullness hits him with sudden, throbbing pressure. He burps again, and it helps, a little, takes the edge off the pain.

Shane can't take a picture like this. He lifts up his phone, opens his camera, points it towards the mirror at chest-height. He makes himself look pretty for Rozanov, like a photoshoot, like an ad campaign. He sucks in and flexes, making his arms strain against the short sleeves of his button-down. He looks good, he knows, really very good. Biceps bulging, lips pouting, the bloat in his belly sucked up into his lungs long enough to get the shot.

When he lets out his stomach, he gasps for breath. His belly isn't big enough to put strain on the buttons of his shirt, but it's big enough to suggest it. It's too tight for him, probably, but there's something about it. Shane runs a hand down the curve of it, solid and packed. On a whim, Shane takes another picture.

Good again. Fuck, really good. Is it vain to think so? Maybe. Is it fucked up to enjoy the stretch of his own stomach, the bulge of food and liquid, and how it looks—so round, so filled out? He looks big. He feels—he doesn't know.

Shane sends the picture.

Lily: Fuck

Lily: You make me so hard

Lily: Another, please

Lily: Take off your clothes, let me see

Jane: 🙄

Shane unbuttons his shirt, hands shaking, unsteady with adrenaline. He throws it into the sink, impatient, and admires his body—the swollen, rounded surface of his stomach. He runs his hands over it, feeling the ridges of muscle pushed out by everything that's filling it up. He hooks one thumb in the waistband of his pants, tugs it down until it shows a bit of trimmed, dark hair, and takes a picture. Another. Another.

Shane would have thought it'd be hard to tell how bloated he is from the front, but he's so full that his stomach spreads to the side, too, widening him just a little. Rozanov probably won't be able to tell, but Shane will know.

He pops the button of his pants, rolls the zipper down, and grips his dick over his underwear. He's leaking already, wet spot soaking through. Another picture. It's slutty—he's flushed pink all over, mouth open wide and shining with spit, like he's desperate for Rozanov's cock on his tongue. This one, he knows, will make Rozanov want to fuck him until he cries. He sends it.

Lily: You are killing me. I need to fuck you

Shane laughs, breathless, giddy. It hurts, a little, and forces another burp out of his mouth. He almost drops his phone on the hard tile of his bathroom floor when he gets a hand around himself.

Jane: Need you to

[ponyboyfaceshopping]

I have bad news. There’s Heated Rivalry themed delivery robots in West Hollywood for pride

[ponyboyfaceshopping]

Imagine you forgot lube for your Weho Pride airbnb and it comes in the fuckin Shanebot