B. he/him. hollanov get chubby now

mid 20s #transgender minors dni

[delicalif]

hello :) i have been observing the hollanov wg community from the sidelines and finally want to join in. i have not written in years and it may take some time to reactivate that side of my brain but i can't wait to get stuck in and add my rambling horny thoughts to the beautiful delicious melting pot u guys have created. i am also a big trans ilya + trans shane enthusiast yum.

[delicalif]

fat hairy trophy husband ilya

[delicalif]

i love the car as a space to explore weight gain-wise - so many delicious parameters. the innate crampedness of the small space, restrictions with the seatbelt and steering wheel, the privacy of it (secret snacking/drive thru sessions). as a few amazing writers on here already have already gone into, i like to imagine shane (or ilya - 6xlya getting stuck in his sports car is fused into my brain) squeezing himself into the seat and realising just how much more restrictive the space feels these days with all the excess fat his body has gained.

maybe he begins to resign himself to the comfort of the passenger seat on most journeys, belly squishing up to and spilling around the wheel to a point that it's just impractical, relishing instead in the opportunity to snack while ilya drives and getting off on the feeling of his entire plump body jiggling and rippling uncontrollably with the engine's rumble, mindlessly fondling the heavy belly sat in his lap, spliced in two by the seatbelt that he's going to need extended soon, thighs beginning to spread over the seat just a little, making a mental note to research car models with the roomiest cabins later as he opens a packet of peanut butter cups, ilya observing him indulgently from the corner of his eye - he's certainly not going to be getting any smaller anytime soon, so perhaps it's time for an upgrade?

[chaiwg]

ilya snacking all day. at all times. never without food in his mouth, always grinning and humming and shimmying as he putts around the house on pudgy feet with a snack and drink in hand. leaving snacks everywhere and shane doesn't put them away, because this way they're more convenient for ilya to pick back up when he's next in the living room or on the back patio or in the garage or in bed. eating one thing while he's cooking another. tossing popcorn into the air and catching it with his mouth. the treat drawer of his bedside table and shane's too, as backup in case ilya gets bored with his own. candy bars in shane's glove compartment for passenger princess ilya. shane walks in on ilya eating a cookie in the shower, crumbs falling onto his paunch just before the water washes them away.

[apolloswaitinglist]

I’m supposed to be sleeping but I could not rest until I got this out…

Retired!Hollanov going to a dinner party and Shane, since having indulged in a love for food and being full, having gained more weight than is socially acceptable, has to be all but rolled out of the house. He’s a little drunk and so full he’s almost waddling, still waving at Bood and Cassie as Ilya leads him to the car, and he undoes his pants the moment the car door closes before putting on the seatbelt because it’s way too much pressure on his poor, overfed belly otherwise. 

Ilya drives them off. It’s way past sunset and the radio is on low, a pleasant hum of background noise barely audible above the rumble of the engine and tires. Ilya is concentrating on the road, new glasses on because he needs them for driving now, a little tired but alert and more than capable of getting his fat husband and his own full ass home safe. 

Then Shane smacks his mouth. 

It’s innocuous by itself, but it’s accompanied by a little grunt and the brush of fabric against leather. Then the rustle of clothes, another grunt, and the quietest of taps of fingers against bare skin. 

“I was thinking you were full,” Ilya says, daring a quick glance at the passenger seat. He tears his eyes back less than a second after and tightens his hands on the steering wheel. “You said you could not eat another bite, lyubov.” 

Shane sighs deeply. He’s rubbing his gut in wide, slow circles because it feels good, and Ilya’s hands are cruelly unavailable. It’s true that he’s really very full, of course—but there’s nothing quite like a craving. 

“I want a burger,” Shane says. He shakes the expanse of his belly just a little, just enough to watch his fat ripple in the muted glow of the control panel, and unsuccessfully stifles a burp in his collar. “And a shake.” 

Ilya’s silent. 

“I need it,” Shane adds. He’s always needed it, being full, but never acted upon it. Years ago, he’d have repressed it easily. But Shane’s a little drunk, and stuffed full, and he didn’t get this big by resisting. “Ilya. Ilya, I need it.” 

Ilya swallows audibly. “If you eat it in the car, you won’t be able to get out.” 

“Yes I will,” Shane slurs, petulant. He could barely get up from the dining chair earlier, but that’s before. He can eat again and still get out of the car. “I can.” 

There’s a moment of silence between them. Then Ilya turns on the blinker and merges, confidently, to use the next exit leading to a fast food restaurant. 

He orders Shane a meal. Burger with two patties and lots of cheese, a large fry, a banana milkshake. Onion rings too, which he claims is for himself but Shane knows, from his head, through his full belly, down to his toes, will be for Shane instead. 

“As long as you can still get out of the car,” Ilya says, when he hands Shane the bag. It smells mouth-wateringly good, but he refuses to let go when Shane takes it. “Promise.” 

“Promise,” Shane says breathily, and Ilya finally lets the bag go. 

Shane eats the remainder of the drive. The burger first, juicy and hot and greasy, the bun tacking to his teeth. There’s onion and ketchup and something softer, as if to mellow it all out. He gets it down in a haze of food and enjoyment, boxers tight, vision blurring outside of the food. 

He gives Ilya an onion ring and eats the rest. He feeds Ilya a handful of fries but stuffs the rest into his mouth, chewing laboriously, hiccuping through every swallow. He’s taking his first sip of the milkshake when the car comes to a halt, and when Shane sluggishly blinks enough to gain some awareness, he sees they’re home. He’s painfully overfull, rather than just almost unpleasantly stuffed. 

“Can still get out of the car?” Ilya asks, tone a bit mean, but he doesn’t wait for an answer and exists the vehicle instead. 

Shane takes another sip of his milkshake before readying himself to open the door, but it’s opened for him by Ilya instead. He stands tall, face unreadable, and it takes him less than a second to tsk and lean down to undo Shane’s seatbelt. 

“Useless at everything but eating, hm?” He says lightly. 

Shane shakes his head. Ilya steals the milkshake from his hand, takes a sip, and straightens back up. 

“Show me.” 

Shane lifts his legs out of the car. His belly has gone unbelievably taut and firm, itchy now, but it’s heavy enough in his lap that he allows himself to uselessly adjust the weight of it to fall more into the dip of his big thighs. He braces himself on the frame. Tenses his legs. Tries to lift himself up. 

He falls back on his seat. The car rocks. A whimper rises from his throat at the movement, hands back on the mass of his gut, trying to soothe. 

“Hm,” says Ilya. 

Shane tries again. He has to be able to; he promised. He wants the rest of his milkshake and lie in bed and get his belly rubbed. He can’t do that if he’s stuck in the car. 

He fails again. 

His vision blurs again, wet this time, and he looks up at his husband. He doesn’t know why he’s begging. 

“Doesn’t work?” Ilya asks. 

“No,” Shane says, and he sounds pitiful before he has to burp. “Sorry.” 

Ilya takes pity on him. Shane tries for a third time, and Ilya’s hand wraps around Shane’s bicep to pull him up further. When he’s finally standing his back curves under the heft of his overtaxed stomach: Ilya hands him his milkshake and kisses him, slow and sweet, fondling the soft, gelatinous overhang that’s bare and exposed to the elements. 

They walk inside. Shane finishes his milkshake somehow, and is so full he’s sitting up in bed and panting. Ilya curls around him, gentle, petting him and pressing a tums on Shane’s tongue. 

And he can’t wait for breakfast. 

[delicalif]

love thinking about feeder / enabler ilya leaning into shane's arousal around overeating and gaining and one day having a kinda Oh Shit How Far Are We Gonna Take This moment. maybe shane's been steadily gaining for a year or two, nearly one hundred extra pounds sitting heavily in front of him on his belly and thickening his thighs and ass til they're bursting out of all of his pants, wardrobe fully replaced, and it's all fun and games until one day shane fucking breaks a chair at david and yuna's. he's mortified, of course, red as a tomato and spluttering apologies and excuses, and ilya has a sobering moment wondering whether maybe this is it: game over, the jig's up, it's gone too far, and shane will realise he finally wants to lose some weight. cut to them getting home and shane is hornier than he's ever been, all over ilya as soon as they're through the door, placing ilya's hands on his distended belly for him to grope and smack, begging to be hand-fed the entire cake they've got waiting in the fridge, desperate for ilya to humiliate him for breaking the solid oakwood dining chair with his burgeoning weight and gluttony, hard as a rock and babbling helplessly about how he wants to be bigger, fatter, break more, ilya, please, make me fucking bigger... ilya in slight shock that this hasn't deterred shane but instead seems to have spurred him on even further. how far are they going to take this?, he wonders as he gropes shane's fat belly, letting him whine desperately in his ear. will it ever be enough?

[delicalif]

thinking about shane trying on one of his old compression shirts from a couple of years prior and feeling so triumphant (and puffed out) after managing to pull it all the way over his plump oversized belly, sucking in as much as he can and looking like overstuffed sausage casing, just to finally breathe out a little and have it rip right open at the seams, all soft fat and thick love handles spilling out like dough. definitely a what the fuck have i done to myself (in a horny way) moment

[delicalif]

shanepussy getting fatter #delicious

[delicalif]

the thought of shane hollander, world's number one busybody, super-elite athlete, a man who would wake at 6am and not stop moving until 10pm on the dot, keeping himself fastidiously trim to the point of obsession, allowing not one iota of self-serving pleasure (beyond the hookups every few months that stay buried, untouched, repressed in the depths of his psyche for nearly 10 years), all sharp angles and Control, slowly turned plump, soft and greedy post-retirement by being waited on hand and foot 24/7 by his adoring, gratuitously enabling partner, growing lazy and demanding and spilling out at the seams, the sofa permanently dipped from his growing mass, never going hungry again, spending his days in blissful fullness and comfort on the plush sofa, constantly snacking, playing with the fattened body he and ilya built together or demanding ilya massage his belly, taut from incessant overeating but now remaining perpetually a little soft even at his most stuffed from being cushioned in a thick layer of fat, ilya digging warm, lotioned fingers into the hefty, stretch-marked mass that now sits permanently, so heavily, on shane's torso, that covers every inch of his body from his fingers to his ankles to his neck with more of it packed on every day, weighing him down, ilya feeding his hedonism more and more by pushing one more chocolate between those plump lips, cooing praise in his ear and rubbing circles into his plump, growing belly, shane content in a way he never thought he'd feel in his life (but still hungry for a little something else...) ,,, my my it's a lovely thought!

[delicalif]

as fun as this is i do also like to think of #myshane as staying productive and engaged in the hockey world yk... in my universe fat post-retirement shane shifts to sports journalism and enjoys a fruitful passionate writing career from a wide, plush, heavy-duty desk chair (a laptop would Not fit in his lap my man needs a desktop setup) while being brought endless snacks and drinks by ilya

[delicalif]

the thought of shane hollander, world's number one busybody, super-elite athlete, a man who would wake at 6am and not stop moving until 10pm on the dot, keeping himself fastidiously trim to the point of obsession, allowing not one iota of self-serving pleasure (beyond the hookups every few months that stay buried, untouched, repressed in the depths of his psyche for nearly 10 years), all sharp angles and Control, slowly turned plump, soft and greedy post-retirement by being waited on hand and foot 24/7 by his adoring, gratuitously enabling partner, growing lazy and demanding and spilling out at the seams, the sofa permanently dipped from his growing mass, never going hungry again, spending his days in blissful fullness and comfort on the plush sofa, constantly snacking, playing with the fattened body he and ilya built together or demanding ilya massage his belly, taut from incessant overeating but now remaining perpetually a little soft even at his most stuffed from being cushioned in a thick layer of fat, ilya digging warm, lotioned fingers into the hefty, stretch-marked mass that now sits permanently, so heavily, on shane's torso, that covers every inch of his body from his fingers to his ankles to his neck with more of it packed on every day, weighing him down, ilya feeding his hedonism more and more by pushing one more chocolate between those plump lips, cooing praise in his ear and rubbing circles into his plump, growing belly, shane content in a way he never thought he'd feel in his life (but still hungry for a little something else...) ,,, my my it's a lovely thought!