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scoops-aboy86 · 20 hours

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lurker here♠️♥️ had another idea?!? you know sometimes you have those random dreams; Eddie (or Steve! but I do love chunky eddie) has a weird dream where some fairy offers to grant his deepest desire and him being a shithead says "I wish I was happy and fat like Santa claus" or something about him just being fat and she grants it and in the dream he actually becomes fat. He wakes up thinking "what a weird dream" but realizes all the weight he gained in the dream was real and the man wakes up with 50+ pounds padded onto his waist

Love it, dream sequences are so fun! There’s so much room for strange and possibly unsettling or confusing things to happen without anyone blinking an eye.

(also on ao3)

Eddie is in his and Wayne’s old trailer, only it looks more like the inside of their new, government payout funded bungalow and the fleshy hole in the roof admits a rope-slash-staircase that leads up into Steven’s house from the basement.

This is perfectly normal.

He climbs the stairs and emerges into the living room (not where those stairs actually lead, but it’s fine). It’s crowded with people because Steve is throwing a party, but the music is at least good; it’s the mix tape he made for Steve last week and hasn’t given to him yet.

There’s a girl in the crowd that he keeps noticing out of the corners of his eye. She’s a dead ringer for Chrissy Cunningham, but that’s probably just a coincidence. Still, she makes him uneasy, so he retreats to the upstairs landing and smokes a joint over the throng of dancing, drinking teenagers outside of Steve’s room. (He wanted to go in, but the door was locked. He’s contemplating crawling out the bathroom window onto the roof and around to Steve’s window, get in that way.)

“Hey Eddie,” Not-Chrissy says behind him. He wheels around, clutching a hand to his chest with the joint still clamped between his lips. “I wanted to ask you something.”

He frowns. “You do?”

Nodding, she smiles. “Yeah, because I owe you one.” (There are streaks of dried blood down her cheeks, her eyes sunken, skin veined unnaturally with black. For a second, it looks like she has the skeletal wings of the demon bats that almost ate him alive last year.) “And being queen of the Upside Down comes with a lot better perks than Hawkins High. What, Eddie Munson, is your deepest desire?”

He takes a long hit that he can’t really taste and blows it out in a wispy, billowing cloud. “To grow fat and happy with my boyfriend, live happily ever after and all that shit. Why?”

She tilts her head to one side. “Huh. I was expecting the rockstar thing, but yeah, I can do that.” Then she reaches out and touches his hand, and her fingers are ice cold. “He’s downstairs, in the kitchen. You should go find him.”

Eddie nods and heads downstairs, relieved for the excuse to get away. The girl seems sweet and all but there’s something about her that sets the hairs in the back of his neck on end. Something about the way her limbs bend, or all the vines.

The music downstairs has changed from the mix tape to something mellow, low. Most of the guests have cleared out, just a few still hanging around—Robin, of course, talking to that girl she likes that Eddie hasn’t met yet. They look so happy, he doesn’t want to disturb them.

In the kitchen, Steve has clearly been hard at work. There’s food on every available surface and he’s just pulling an entire cheesecake out of the oven.

“Eddie,” he calls, beaming as soon as he notices him. “Come here, I made a few things for you. Gotta eat up before you get hungry—that’s the sort of thing that’ll eat you alive.”

Eddie is about to ask what Steve means, but something takes off from his shoulder with a beating of fleshy wings and suddenly he’s starving. The nearest plate is piled with delicate pastries that look like something out of a magazine he flipped through at a checkout stand once. His mouth waters; he takes one.

It’s heaven on his tongue. Before he’s even finished chewing he’s reaching for another. Steve comes to stand beside him, kissing his cheek and nuzzles into his hair the way Eddie loves, whispering encouragement into his ear.

Eddie clears the plate and moves on to the next dish, spaghetti in a red meat sauce, and by the time he realizes there’s no fork in sight he’s already reaching for the bowl. He dips his fingers in, brings a clump of pasta to his mouth , and moans at the taste—rich and savory and good. The ends of the spaghetti dangle down his chin, leaving trails of sauce that drip down onto his shirt. Aware that simply slurping them up will leave more sauce on his lips than on his taste buds, he opens wide and shoves the rest of it in with his hands with a muffled moan.

It doesn’t take long to finish the bowl, drinking greedily between bites from a cup of milk that seems thicker than usual, rich and creamy sliding down his throat in a way that sends a tingle through his entire body. Next is a plate of garlic bread, clearly an entire loaf; it’s gone before he can even try to register how much he’s eaten already.

Eddie glances at Steve, but his boyfriend nods encouragingly and refills his glass. “Eat up. I made it all for you, baby.”

So he does. Powers through the garlic bread, then a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that’s practically oozing with raspberry jam (his favorite), then mashed potatoes with a puddle of melted butter on top, then fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, ambrosia salad, chicken parm… He loses track after that, too much variety but it’s all so good. He’s humming appreciatively through mouthfuls while chewing and swallowing as fast as he can so he can have more, blown away by the tastes and the textures and the love that he can taste in everything Steve has prepared. Steve alternates between refilling his glass, taking the empty dishes away so he can place full ones nearby, and rubbing soothingly, encouragingly at Eddie’s shoulders and belly.

By the time it’s almost all gone, Eddie feels heavy. His hands are still occupied, unwilling to let his mouth go empty for more than a second or two at a time if at all, so it’s Steve who reaches down and wrestles with the button on his jeans, pulling on the fabric just hard enough over his taut belly that Eddie moans, and then free—rounded gut making quick work of pushing the zipper down, and Steve reverently lifting his belly with both hands to ease it out to spread over his lap (when did he sit down?). It makes Eddie giggle through a full mouth of food, so much that his cheeks are bulging and he’s breathing heavily through his nose. But he doesn’t feel full, just… There’s pressure, a warm tingling in his skin that keeps rolling over him in waves. It stops whenever he’s not chewing or swallowing, so he keeps going, needing more.

He isn’t sure when Steve started moving dishes from the counter to the floor for him, doesn’t care. Partygoers wander through occasionally, but he doesn’t really notice beyond a vague awareness that Steve snaps at anyone who tries to touch the food, that’s for Eddie, jesus, if you can’t follow the house rules then get out. Robin drifts by, asks Steve how it’s going and Steve answers to the tune of really well Robs and gives Eddie’s belly a proprietary pat where it’s peeking out of his shirt so far that his navel is exposed. The touch, the praise, and the warmth in his voice makes Eddie glow from the inside out, makes him want to eat more to show Steve just how good he can be. Focusing isn’t usually his strong point, outside of guitar or DnD, but it’s like everything else in the world has dropped away.

And then his reaching hands find nothing. All the plates are empty, and suddenly awareness hits him like a shock of electricity.

He’s so stuffed he can barely breathe. Every exhale is a grown or a soft oh has his hands caressed over his tight, round belly, trying to ease that intoxicating ache. Any second, he thinks, he might explode… and isn’t that what he deserves? For eating so much, for overindulging, for chasing the satisfaction of pushing the limit until he could pop? For getting off on it? His dick is even harder than his packed gut, and still he tries to search out more with a desperate whine.

Because he still wants. He's out of control, has no idea how long he’s been eating. With every move, every breath, every swallow, he feels his skin stretching. But he needs to keep going. Needs more. Can’t stand to let this feeling end—and probably can’t stand anymore, either.

Steve stands over him, but Eddie’s eyes are fixed longingly on the edge of the counter, beyond which hides his heaven on earth. “What is it, baby?”

“Full,” he whimpers. “Need more.”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, crouching to cup Eddie’s slightly sticky cheek. “I’ve got more, baby. You want it?”

“Need it,” Eddie whines again, and barely a few seconds later Steve sets the cheesecake he’d made down right in front of Eddie.

All of it. Right there on the floor in front of him, just far away enough that he could…

Grunting, Eddie lurches hard enough (on the second try) to lean forward, land on his hands, and roll onto his knees and just. Lick up a big dollop of the glistening, sticky-red cherry topping with a groan of relief.

So good to have his mouth full again, even if it had only been a minute at most.

He drops onto his elbows and dives right in, face-first and ravenous, heedless of the way Steve hastily reaches down and gather his long hair up into a messy bun before it can become caked in cake. He doesn’t care, because this is the fastest way, so close to his outer limit and getting closer with each messy gulp, he needs it. Panting between bites but never quite stopping to fill his lungs because he can’t stop. Doesn’t want to. Would never.

Pleasure is building up within him like the hum before a lightning storm, and he’s aware of Steve’s warm palms roving over his sides, squeezing, jiggling, testing where he’s grown more sensitive. Sometimes the graze of fingertips over his bare, stretched skin makes him shiver, makes him moan right into his dessert without pausing—speeding up, even. Building higher and higher and he feels so tight, ready to pop, holding himself together at the seams just long enough to finish, and—

His breathing is ragged as he licks the last smears and crumbs off the serving dish, crying out when Steve abruptly tugs him back onto his ass by the back of his shirt and a hand on his tied up hair, and holds a carton to his lips. Gulping it down without hesitation or question, Eddie brings his shaking hands up to feel the container, big enough to hold an entire gallon but it’s near empty, the last rush of it trickling down his chin and throat and settling into the last gaps inside his heaving belly, so swollen and streaked with red lines.

(It’s only a trick of the light that some of them briefly flicker and wriggle and seem edged with black; and anyway, he can’t know that, even though he pictures it clearly enough, because his eyes have fallen closed. Also in the absolute certainty that comes with dreams, he now knows it’s not milk but heavy cream.)

He breaks away with a wet, muffled burp, gotta have more of that. It feels like he’s gained fifty pounds in one sitting—which is impossible, but.

“Fuu-uck,” Eddie groans, wraps his arms around his widest point as best he can, belly thrumming with an exquisite ache. His boyfriend’s arms join his, kneeling next to him from the side, speckling his face and neck with little kisses, tasting the mess he’s made of himself. “God, Steve, ‘s so good. Full. Big…” Then he squeezes, rocking his hips weakly up into his own overspilling bulk, and busts a nut so hard his brain fizzles, toes curl, mouth opens in a wail so loud it echoes all the way through to the other dimension beneath Hawkins, Indiana.

“Eds, baby, Eddie, wake up—”

Eddie jerks awake with a snort, a cry still half on his lips. He’s overheated, wrapped up uncomfortably in the sheets, and he’s surprised by how much of a struggle it is to sit up. As he grunts with the effort of trying, Steve is already reaching over to help.

“Hang on, let me… Are you okay? You were screaming.”

They’ve been sharing a bed and helping each other through the aftermath of nightmares for longer than they’ve been together—and it’s not as though Eddie hasn't had a wet dream about Steve before, but not usually at the same time. Eddie feels his face heat. Wisps of the best orgasm he’s ever had still cling to him, dulling his embarrassment a bit, but his boxers are already clinging uncomfortably and the squelch of cooling come in there doesn’t add anything positive to the sensation. “Not exactly a nightmare, Steve…”

But Steve is distracted by something, shifting in his position of spooning Eddie to propping himself up on one elbow to look, even though the room is still dark.

“Did you get an extra pillow or something?” he mumbles, still half asleep and sounding it now that he’s registered Eddie’s lack of panic. (He doesn’t wake up gracefully, Eddie’s Steve, for all that he seems to during an emergency. The guy could leap out of bed, club a demodog to death with his bat full of nails, and then be back to snoring under the blankets within minutes of washing his hands of it.)

For a second, Eddie stupidly just thinks, did I? But he can feel Steve’s hand on his skin, which… seems to have more give than he’s used to.

Wait.

With a wiggle and a grunt, Eddie brings his own hands into the equation, feeling over himself. FInds the familiar soft fabric of one of the worn-holey shirts he typically wears to bed stretched tight, his boxers straining, and realizes that it’s not the sheets he feels strangle-held by. His belly swells out in front of him, and the way Steve is pawing at it in drowsy confusion is making him wobble. He has love handles. It’s… everything he’s ever wanted, but never had the budget or the luxury of being able to achieve.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. Just like in his dream, it’s like he’s suddenly gained fifty pounds or something.

Steve’s questing fingers find his navel, a few of them dipping clumsily into his suddenly very sensitive belly button, and Eddie moans. He can feel the press of Steve’s rousing cock against his now plush ass and automatically rocks back against it, eliciting an answering moan. “Eds, fuck, you’re—”

“Bigger,” Eddie finishes, still rocking, still feeling himself all over, whimpering a little when he gets to where the tortured elastic of his boxers has rolled down to accommodate his swollen gut. Not even full, just fucking huge. He’s just like this now, apparently, which should be concerning but for now it’s just winding him up to come all over again as he feels over stretch marks and giddily jiggles himself. “I had the strangest dream…”

“If it’s the one where you ate everything in the house during a party, I had that one too.” Steve removes his fingers only to slap at Eddie’s belly, warming the skin and then squeezing, testing the give, panting in his ear. “I made so much food for you and you took it all so good, baby. Everyone saw, got to show off how well I take care of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie pants back, his entire body lighting up at the words and treatment, something he’s never been able to explore outside of fantasies before.

Tomorrow, when he’s thinking more clearly—when they both are, they’ll worry about comparing details and realizing that they both had the same dream, that they both saw Chrissy and answered honestly when asked their deepest desire. It’ll spark new concerns about the Upside Down and whether things are really over, if Chrissy can be saved somehow, if the other victims are alive too. The troops will have to mobilize, at least, to check one more time that Vecna is thoroughly dead and dusted.

But for now, Steve takes care of him. Clambers up and rolls Eddie onto his back, too-tight shirt pushed up to his armpits so Steve can suck on his one remaining nipple, kiss down his soft chest and belly, shove the swell of new fat up and out of the way to drag straining boxers off and take Eddie’s hard cock down his throat. Puts those swimmer’s lungs to the test between soft thighs as Eddie whines and pants and fucks into his mouth, guides pudgy fingers to grip his sleep-mussed hair, gropes Eddie’s plush ass—which, when he comes up briefly for air, he whines about how he can’t wait to bury his face there too—

‘Being queen of the Upside Down comes with a lot better perks than Hawkins High. What, Eddie Munson, is your deepest desire?’

‘To grow fat and happy with my boyfriend, live happily ever after and all that shit.’

Eddie comes with a drawn-out cry, back arching as best he can under his new bulk and trembling all over, panting and utterly spent after. Steve clambers up to kiss him, dragging Eddie’s palm to the front of his shorts to show off his own wet spot from coming untouched, just from sucking Eddie over the edge.

And that’s a pretty good start to living happily ever after, isn’t it?

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie

#wg steddie #chubby eddie munson #magical weight gain #feedee eddie munson #feeder steve harrington #chrissy MIGHT be alive??#idk that's sort of background plot and this is 99% pwp #♠️♥️ anon #ask #scoops words #slowly making my way through these prompts and having so much fun

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