What Are You Wearing Rn And Is It Representative Of Your Style

wdym stranger things is a big blockbuster franchise and not my niche little gay show

OH MY GOD

wip

oh the poetry of punks and their patches. this one is for the band that got me through 9th grade, this one’s is a matching one i didn’t realize the first boy i loved kept on his vest when we didn’t talk for years, this is a piece of lace i found on the ground, this is the backside of one of the first ones i made, this one my brother made me, this is a precious memory, this is a shared commitment, this is my heart on my sleeve. this is my soul that i wear around this is a tapestry of the ppl i’ve loved.

The only trans guy in the "girls, gays, and theys" club who also spent a majority of his transition self-censoring to make sure he was as small and non-threatening as he could possible be about to experience the biggest boner-euphoria combo of his life: Force masc? What's that?

GOD DAMN

Obviously I am a bowlcut defender. I will defend it how it looks now until my last breath...BUT I am also a "Will needs a shaggier bowlcut" supremacist.

Allow me to present my case.

Case closed. Thank you.

adhd

OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS CONCEPT

i’ve seen so many fics and threads and posts about virgin eddie who comes way too fast the first time he and steve do anything even slightly heavier than some light making out, which i LOVE — don’t get me wrong

but, consider:

virgin eddie who comes way too fast the first time he and steve do anything even slightly heavier than some light making out, who was so focused on trying (and failing) not to come too soon, who is so embarrassed in the aftermath of doing just that, that he doesn’t even realize that steve ended up beating him to the punch.

they’re on the couch in eddie’s trailer. wayne’s out so they have the whole place to themselves.

steve’s sitting with his spine pressed against the back of the couch, and he’s got a lapful of eddie. eddie’s knees are on either side of steve’s thighs, digging in high by the crease of his hip, and he’s poised above steve, holding himself up.

his arms are around steve’s neck, and steve’s are around his waist — low on his waist, as in, almost groping his ass low.

steve’s chin is tilted up and eddie’s is tilted down so their lips can meet in the middle in a heated kiss. a messy kiss. wet and hot and a little bitey at times and a lot overwhelming. steve’s mouth is something else. warm and velvety, sweet and sure. he knows how to use his tongue, and he’s not holding back with it.

eddie’s trying his hardest not to blow his load right then and there.

this is the furthest they’ve gone yet, this high intensity, borderline bump and grind makeout session — because that’s what it is. a borderline bump and grind. 

in this position, eddie’s dick is caught between them, still tucked away in his pants, but trapped between his own body and steve’s abdomen. every time steve shifts, his stomach brushes against the bulge in eddie’s pants, and eddie nearly whines from how good that ghost of a touch feels. he can’t help himself when he rocks forward, just a little, just enough, desperately seeking out that delicious friction. he can feel steve below him, too. the tent in his pants just grazing eddie’s ass every time he moves.

it’s driving him insane, and eddie is seconds away from exploding.

and then — oh, oh shit. fuckingfuckfuckfuck.

eddie explodes. 

far too soon. christ, steve didn’t even get a goddamned hand on him. his pants didn’t even come off — hell, the fly didn’t even get undone!

eddie breaks the kiss and buries his face into steve’s neck, breathing heavily against the soft skin there. hiding his embarrassment where steve can’t see it.

steve, for what it’s worth, doesn’t seem to notice. not at first, anyways. one of his hands slides up eddie’s back, his touch soothing, while the other stays against eddie’s hip. “shit, eddie,” steve breathes into his hair.

when eddie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move from steve’s neck — that’s when steve notices something’s up.

“eddie?” he asks. “hey, what’s wrong?”

eddie groans. shakes his head. doesn’t move.

“eddie,” steve repeats, drawing his hand back down eddie’s back. “talk to me, come on. what is it? did i do something?”

and jesus, no. steve didn’t do anything but be his perfect, sexy, stupid self.

well. time to face the music.

with another muffled groan, eddie pulls his face from steve’s neck. it’s burning, flaming, so red that he probably matches the blanket spread over the arm of the sofa.

“i fucking— i didn’t fucking last, okay? i shot off like a god damn fucking firecracker in, like, ten seconds flat,  jesus christ.”

he shoves his hands over his face then, not wanting steve to see how embarrassed he is. how fucking humiliated.

only, steve doesn’t laugh. doesn’t tease eddie. he doesn’t even try to console him, either. instead, he curls his fingers around eddie’s wrist and tugs at his hands until he can pull them away from his face. he drags one down to his own crotch. presses eddie’s palm against the front of his shorts and— oh. they’re wet. like he — like steve came in his pants too.

just as quickly as eddie.

oh.

“you know, if you made it ten seconds flat, i must’ve only made it five,” steve tells him, and the thing is — the thing is. he means it. he’s serious about it.

holy fuck.

“you—”

steve nods, before eddie can finish that thought. “yeah,” he says. “i fucking did. because of you. because you’re so fucking hot, eddie. and you were just— just moving that like, right in my lap, and that was just, fuck, way too much — in a good way. in the best way. i just— couldn’t handle it.” 

steve’s cheeks are rosy, like maybe he’s a little embarrassed about it too. but that sparkle in his eye, that smile stretching that pretty mouth of his — he looks pleased. delighted, even. like coming in his pants — eddie making him come in his pants — in less than thirty fucking seconds is the highlight of his god damn day.

what really gets eddie, is that it probably is.

“you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,” steve promises, reading eddie without him having to even say a thing. “i like it when you ‘shoot off like a god damn firecracker’,” he echoes eddie’s words back to him. “it’s hot. it makes me feel fucking good, eddie.”

“oh,” eddie breathes. he hadn’t considered that.

“besides,” steve says, letting go of eddie’s wrist so he can snake his arm back around his waist — so he can dip his hand back down to his ass. “we’ve got plenty of time to work on your stamina.” 

“yours too, apparently,” eddie shoots back, finding some of that confidence he usually carries in spades, letting a grin unfurl across his mouth.

steve barks out a laugh. “mine too,” he agrees. his hand slips into the back pocket of eddie’s jeans and cups his ass through the fabric. he gives it a squeeze and quirks an eyebrow. “race ya?”

eddie’s laugh is swallowed by steve’s mouth as he recaptures it into another searing kiss.

oh yeah, eddie thinks, nipping on steve’s bottom lip, giving his hips an experimental roll that pulls a groan out of steve, lets have some fun with this.

man hating will never be progressive. you can't take terf shit and slap a rainbow coat of paint on it and act like it's somehow now based and woke and pro queer rights. snap out of it.

this goes for emo guys too

whenever you feel like the ugliest girl on earth just wash your hair