#(tbh i haven't thought about it much but jon probably enjoys the contrast of being in the middle)

[scoops-aboy86]

Everyone in the Party makes a cameo in this one, because it's the holidays and over the holidays you spend time with the found family that you defeated an unspeakable evil with. ❤️

🔞 Seven Christmases pt. 6

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The Byers-Hoppers (2569 words)

rated: T | cw: none | tags: chubby eddie, established relationship, weight gain, belly kink, stuffing, steve has a praise kink, fluff, they’re in love, robin/vickie, marijuana, chubby argyle, jargyle, argyle/jonathan/nancy, byler, button popping

When Eddie first came up with this Christmas plan, he’d thought it would feel good. All of his indulging ever since his near death and the recovery had suggested as much, and from the way Steve’s pupils had instantly blown wide at the initial suggestion… He’d been wrong, though. 

It feels fantastic. He’s so full, so fucking big that he’s aching with it, a dull throb that’s forged a direct connection between his tight, heavy belly and his dick. It’s an orgasm denied to him all fucking day, edging himself every time another meal comes to a close and he still has space for more. It’s a harness cinched tight around his middle and all down his legs, restraints that are leaving marks to trace over later in awe. Waiting for just the right thread or button to strain just enough that it finally gives, and it will fall away to reveal him in all his hedonistic glory, the luxury of excess spilling off his frame in every direction and stretch marks that he chose painted over the scars he didn’t. 

And he has to have more. He needs it. That’s his Christmas present to himself. 

Jonathan and Argyle are already loitering out front in the driveway when Steve pulls up, and Eddie rolls his window down with a chuckle. “You two wouldn’t happen to be lying in wait for us, would you?”

“Of course, bro,” Argyle says at the same time Jonathan shakes his head. “You dudes have the munchies express, what’s Christmas without that?”

Eddie fakes a swoon. “A man after my own heart. Look out, Stevie, you might have some competition for my affections here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve throws the car in park and rests a hand on the keys in the ignition. “Roll up your window, snookums.”

Snookums, Eddie mouths exaggeratedly, but he fondly does as he’s told so Steve can cut the engine. When he opens his door, he doesn’t miss Jonathan’s glance and little nod at Steve—appreciation, or solidarity or whatever, as he stands in the driveway with an open bag of red and green tortilla chips angled Argyle’s way. 

Not that the Californian has Eddie beat in any category besides hair length, but he too has gotten heftier since settling in Hawkins. Which is nice, because… Eddie had, maybe, for about five seconds, gotten a little worried when he first heard through the Party grapevine that Jonathan came out as bi. It was one more thing the elder Byers boy and Steve had in common, and what if they bonded too much over that? But then Eddie met Argyle, clocked the way Jonathan always seemed to hover in his orbit, and just as quickly relaxed. He doesn’t pretend to understand whatever arrangement that still keeps Nancy in the equation too, but Jonathan and Steve really do have a lot in common. 

They smoke up quickly before heading inside, Eddie already munching on a handful of chips that Argyle graciously shared in return for the complimentary weed. He can feel Steve watching him—feels the way he crowds against him too on their way inside the house. 

It’s a good thing they’re at the back of the slight bottleneck at the front door, because Steve is practically grinding against his ass. God, if there’s one thing he never gets tired of in this life it’ll be the way he can drive his man wild just by following the whims of his appetite, indulging in the impulse for more. He’s not even hungry again yet, but the crunch is nice as he settles into his high. 

Because the turkey is still in the oven after a late start defrosting and the kids are practically vibrating, Eddie is able to relax into some light snacking while they do presents. The bowl of white chocolate-covered chex mix and M&Ms only needs to be refilled twice, and Steve sits close enough with an arm around him that he can provide some amount of subtle belly rubs, low at the curve of it where his hand is hidden from view by the arm of the couch. There’s a seemingly unending supply of hot apple cider that keeps turning up in his cup, refilled seemingly whenever he isn’t paying attention, which is amazing, but—

Eddie turns his head to rest his chin on Steve’s shoulder and murmurs “I gotta move” in Steve’s ear.

Steve glances at him. “Yeah?”

He nods and then gives a little pout. “Yeah. Bathroom… for real, this time. Just need a little help getting up.”

The molten flash in Steven’s hazel eyes and the answering grope at his side is compensation enough for the fact that getting up is the only help Eddie is going to get. He ends up on his feet after a few rocks back and forth and Steve helping support his weight for a second, and then he’s wading through the ocean of torn wrapping paper and discarded bows. 

Aside from Steve (whose heavy gaze seems to follow him out of the room), no one pays him much attention. The younger boys are crowded around the new d&d books they’ve received, deeply intent on devouring every scrap of information contained in the pages as soon as possible. El sits with a smiling Hopper in the center of a slowly rotating hurricane of colorful cardboard shapes, holding one as they both scan intently over the fitted-together edge pieces of a massive jigsaw puzzle. Max in her wheelchair is holding Erica’s new skateboard and giving rapidfire tips, tilting and twisting the board in demonstration while the younger Sinclair listens with complete and utter focus. Joyce, Murray, and Argyle are in the kitchen, Nancy curled up against Jonathan on the loveseat while she chats avidly with Robin and Vickie about college life. The entire scene is cozy and domestic… and Eddie has never had a big family, but that’s what it feels like. 

Maybe it’s the weed, but his Christmas spirit and goodwill towards his fellow humans is at an all-time high right now. 

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind him, he runs both hands experimentally down his front to feel the full extent of how swollen he currently is—very, and then some. His sweater is stretched as tight as it will go without pulling up. His fingers circle the dip of his belly button and slide lower, until they encounter a sliver of bare skin where his undershirt finally started coming untucked while he was struggling on from the couch. And his pants… Eddie bites his lip as he feels how the button is straining to hold on, gasps softly as he realizes that the zipper has already undone itself at some point when he wasn’t paying attention. His stomach sits heavy in his hands wherever he touches, not so much as a jiggle while it’s still so tightly constrained. 

For a moment, he lets himself fantasize about popping that button at the dinner table midway through his sixth meal of the day. 

Not gonna happen though, not after all the cider here and the nog at the Buckleys. He’s willing to risk ripping his pants with an audience, but he draws the line at wetting them in a room full of people. So, with a sigh of dreams deferred, he paws his waistband to pull it down over the swell of his underbelly and love handles, because the button is pulled way too tight too—

Ping!

“Oh god,” he moans under his breath, unprepared for the sudden release of his gut from its prison. His belly surges out, practically bouncing, the tender underside still caught in the V of the stretched out fly, air cool on the now exposed, reddened skin… Oh, Steve will be so sad he missed this. Eddie leans back against the bathroom door and loses himself in exploring for a moment, grabbing, jiggling, pressing his fingers in as deep as he can even with how stuffed he is, until his bladder reminds him why he’s here. 

When he’s finished relieving himself, it’s a whole new ordeal to get the pants back on over his well-padded ass. Even then, he realizes with rapidly reddening cheeks, he’s exposed. His belly drops over the front of the pants, disguising the fact that they’re hopelessly open, unable to contain the sheer size that he’s glutted himself to—an observation that makes him rub his thick thighs together where he’s taking a breather on the closed toilet seat, hands smoothing over his belly again, back arching slightly to give the illusion of more that he still wants, a desire he’s more unsure by the day if he’ll ever see the end of. Fuck, maybe he could get off like this and no one would ever know, his own body would cover up the evidence even standing, and without the added constriction he can eat so much more—

A knock on the door shakes him out of those vivid thoughts, though he’s still hopelessly turned on and unlikely to cool off any time soon without either getting off or being full enough to pop actual stitches. Both preferred, of course. 

“Hey, dude?” Argyle says through the door. “Dinner’s on, and Steve said you were in here so I brought you something that just might come in handy.”

“Yeah?” Eddie replies, and knows that he wasn’t quite successful in keeping the breathy strain out of his voice. It gets him a knowing chuckle through the door. 

“Yeah, it’s an apron, my dude. Don’t want to waste any tasty food dropping it on that nice sweater, right?”

Eddie’s head drops back in amazed relief. “Argyle, have I told you lately that you’re a literal angel?”

“Never a bad thing to say it again. I’ll hang it on the door handle out here, ‘kay? For when you’re ready.”

Steve had some idea of what he was in for. How could he not, at the end of a day like this? But it’s a damn good thing he’s already seated at the table by the time Eddie returns from the bathroom, because just the sight of him is enough to send all the blood in his body straight to his dick. 

For starters, Eddie is wearing an apron. A green one, decorated with slices of cake and pie and festive candies, all examples of things already eaten and being digested and slowly turning into more fat beneath it. It’s not even tied—maybe because the ties couldn’t reach far enough, Steve’s horny brain supplies as he blinks dazedly at the sight, mouth dropped open—and sways a little with every heavy step the man takes. It’s not in-your-face obvious that it’s to hide his bare belly where the sweater has crept up and the undershirt has completely given up the ghost, but Steve can tell that’s the case. 

Robin, seated on his left, takes one look at Eddie and one look at Steve’s face, and snorts. “Cool it, loverboy,” she mutters out of one side of her mouth, which at least gets Steve’s to snap shut. 

The chair to his right creaks as Eddie settles into it, huffing as he makes a vague effort to scoot it closer to the table. Which Steve leaps up to help with, of course, boner or not, because he is a good boyfriend and because the sight of Eddie’s stomach all bloated and spreading out as seen from above is a fucking sight to behold. 

“Thanks sweetheart,” Eddie says with a wink as Steve sits shakily back down, and he makes a subtle show of readjusting his belly in his lap. With all the activity, Steve can tell from the side, the hem of his sweater has ridden up almost to his belly button. 

“H-hi,” Steve replies dumbly, unable to stop staring. He distantly hears Robin snort at him again, but he’ll save his scathing comeback for the next time he catches her and Vickie making out in his and Eddie’s place during a movie night. 

Eddie leans a little closer, the chair giving another creak of protest as he shifts. He holds out a hand, gesturing for Steve to do the same, and then presses a circle of warm metal into his palm. At first Steve thinks it’s one of his rings, passing it off for safekeeping until it can be resized again, but when he checks surreptitiously under the table his breath catches in his throat. 

It’s the button from Eddie’s pants. 

His brain flatlines for a moment while the last of the food is brought in—a big enough spread for two Christmas dinners, almost. 

“I don’t know how this happens every time,” Joyce is saying as she sets the serving dish of mashed potatoes on the table with a sigh. “Every time! No matter what I do, they always end up runny somehow…”

“Mom, it’s fine,” Will insists. He sets a bowl of… something down next to it. 

Eddie leans forward curiously, trying to decipher the hot pocket-sized things that look like they’re wrapped in some sort of paper. “What’s that, burritos or something?”

“Tamales, my dude. Shredded chicken wrapped in cornmeal dough, wrapped in corn husks, and steamed to perfection,” Argyle explains from behind Will. “Beep beep little Byers, enchilada comin’ in hot!” He’s carrying a large flat dish with oven mitts. It’s probably a miracle that he doesn’t get his hair in it (or anything else) while setting it down. “Both made by yours truly, just like my abuela taught me.”

“Except it’s a casserole,” Jonathan says with a chuckle, setting bowls of green beans and guacamole on the table. 

“Nooo man, I had a brainwave while I was in the kitchen earlier today! It’s all the same flavors and cheesiness, but half the work… because instead of individually rolled tortillas, it’s flat.”

“Yeah�� like a casserole.”

“Whatever you call it,” Eddie interrupts with a grin, “it smells great. Grandma food is always the best.” 

Steve’s brain clicks back on enough to offer a fond wave of appreciation for the little wooden box in his kitchen that’s crammed full of his nonna’s recipes, painstakingly translated from the original Italian with Robin’s help. Some of the early translations had produced truly inedible results, but the finished versions had made substantial contributions to Eddie’s waistline. 

There’s a beat of quiet while everyone else finishes settling into their seats and Steve soaks in the wonder of being surrounded by the smells of good food and people who care, and then—

“Mike,” Will says, making direct eye contact with his mom’s runny mashed potatoes, “I think we should worry for our future kids.”

The delivery is so deadpan, so perfectly timed, and so unexpected that the entire patchwork family gathered at the table cracks up, even Joyce. Just full on, tears-in-their-eyes, can’t-believe-we’re-all-still-alive-and-now-this laughter at something that shouldn’t be funny, yet somehow is. Eddie clutches at a stitch in his side and he can barely get a breath in from shaking so hard (Steve couldn’t look away from him if he tried, god he loves him so much), but it’s worth it because against all the odds little Will Byers is sixteen now and he just gave up on defending his mom’s questionable cooking abilities in the most ridiculous way possible. It’s another two minutes before anyone even realizes that’s how Will and Mike are coming out as together, and the cacophony only intensifies from there.

Part 7, part 8