#friends n cousins

[feyhunter78]

Since you did Buck could you do Eddie Diaz??

I definitely can! This one is a bit sweeter than Buck's

Three Times Eddie Wanted to Sleep with You (and the One Time He Kissed You)

Description: Three times Eddie had to hold himself back and the one time he tried something a little different.

Eddie knows it’s not smart, falling for you, wanting you. You’re Buck’s girlfriend’s cousin, and he’s never seen someone so protective in his life. She’ll skin him alive if she catches him, but he can’t help it, he’s a sucker for pretty eyes, and you’ve got the prettiest he’s ever seen. So, he tries to distance himself, tries to stay friendly and think about anything but how pretty you are, how perfect and kind you are to everyone you meet. Luckily, he’s got a lot of practice pushing his emotions aside for the good of others. Unluckily, you’re far more tempting than he thought you’d be.

One: It starts with a pool day, and he’s focused on keeping his eyes at respectful levels. Everyone is having fun, Chris is in the shallow end with Harry, and someone’s just brought him a drink, Bobby is at the grill, and Eddie thinks he’s doing pretty good. Then he sees you. You’re in a bikini because of course you are, he can’t catch a break. It’s cherry red with gold ties, it’s aesthetic apparently, but he just sees it as the bane of his self-control.

His mouth goes dry when you make your way over to him with a bottle of sunscreen in your hand. “Eddie? Do you mind helping me?”

He thinks he says yes, he must’ve said yes because you sit with your back to him, gathering your hair in one hand, sweeping it away from your neck. He takes the sunscreen from you, and starts applying it, apologizing when you hiss from the change in temperature.

You both sit quietly as he rubs the sunscreen in, making sure there’s no white cast, his large hands smoothing over your back, and shoulders, taking care to get every inch while trying to remain as respectful as possible.

“I have to—do you mind—?” He lifts the strips of fabric that keep your bathing suit top tied together ever so slightly, waiting for you to nod, or pull away.

“No, no, you’re good, I’ll just…” You hold your top to your body with one hand just in case as Eddie rubs the sunscreen in, much quicker than before.

“Okay, I think you’re all good.” He says, snapping the cap back on the bottle, and setting it aside.

You turn to face him hand still pressed to your top, your breasts are right there, in his face, slightly pushed up by your hand, and you smile at him. “Thanks!”

He wants to grab you, feel the soft flesh beneath his hands, see what sounds you make, what sounds he can get you to make. “Yeah, no problem, it’s a nice suit.”

You toy with the strings of your bikini bottoms. “Thanks, it’s part of the new line I did a shoot for, the designer said I wore it so well she wanted me to keep it”

His mind plies him with a montage of you undoing those strings and letting him feast, suffocating him with your soft thighs, his hand over your mouth to keep the others from hearing your moans.

“She was right.” He says breathlessly, because you’re a model, an actual model who’s sitting next to him in a bathing suit that’s probably worth more than he wants to know, and you’re smiling at him again, brighter, and happier than before.

You squeeze his bicep gratefully, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. “You’re always so sweet to me, Eddie.”

“It’s uh, it’s easy to be sweet to you.” His heart is tripping over itself in his chest as your fingertips dance down to trace the lines of his tattoo.

You smile at him again, and he tries to focus on the sounds of the pool rather than the way his skin tingles under your touch.

Two: You’re in front of him with your cousin, who’s gently teasing you about your inability to pick a nail color, so you ask him what he thinks.

“Don’t you usually decide that at the salon?” He asks, trying to remember the last time someone asked him what color they should get for anything.

“Usually, but it goes a bit faster if you already know what you want.” You say, smiling when you see the color bloom across your cousin’s cheeks as Buck leans closer to her, one arm around her waist.

“Get whatever you want, sweetheart, you know what I like.” He says, in a low, seductive tone.

She clicks her tongue but smiles, “scoundrel.”

“So, which colors were you thinking about?” Eddie asks, drawing your attention back to him.

You push out your bottom lip in a pout, “I don’t know, I really can’t decide.”

Eddie takes one of your hands in his own and tries not to audibly react to the fact that they’re so much smaller and more delicate than his own. “Maybe a light blue or a green? That could look nice.”

“Like an army green?” You ask him, giving him a stunning, playful smile.

He looks up from your hand, shrugging, the corners of his lips quirking up. “It’s a good color.”

“Oh yeah?” You look up at him coyly, tilting your head to the side, and it makes all his blood rush south.

“I think so.” He says, managing to return your smile without dropping to his knees and begging you to let him feel your hands somewhere other than in his own.

“Y/N, let’s go, we can’t be late.” Your cousin calls, linking her arm with yours and dragging you away before you can respond.

Eddie’s phone buzzes in his pocket right as he unlocks the door to his apartment, luckily, he’s got some time to shower before Chris and Carla return from the movies.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and unlocking it, clicking on the text notification from you.

It’s an image, your hand flat on a white marble table with long almond shaped nails, and they’re green, army green with little white flowers.

Y/N: What do you think, Sergeant? Do I pass inspection?

Eddie: With flying colors

He sends the message then chucks his phone on his bed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, the darkness doing him no favors. Images of your hand splayed out on his chest, gripping his sheets, wrapped around his cock, all moving front and center now that there’s nothing else for him to focus on.

He groans and lets his hands fall to his sides, eyes opening just in time to see another text come in.

Y/N: Glad to hear it, wouldn’t want to disappoint my superior officer

You’re going to kill him, slowly and painfully, he thinks as he types back a safe neutral response then forces himself to leave his phone on the bed heading towards the shower. He’s going to need to take a cold one.

Three: You approach him anxiously, fiddling with your hands, dressed in a cream sundress, the sunlight framing you from behind, catching in your hair, giving you a halo. An angel, you look like an angel.

“So, Chris told me about the thing they’re doing at his school where the kids bring in their moms to talk about their jobs or what they do day to day...” You start, and guilt twists in his chest. “He said some of the other kids are bringing their aunts, or sisters, or grandmas, and he asked me if I would come and talk about my job.”

He sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Y/N I’m so sorry, I’ll talk to Chris when I get hom—”

“No, no, I want to go, I just wanted to check and see if it’s okay with you. I don’t want to overstep, I mean I adore Chris, and I’m honored he asked me, but I just want to…I don’t know, I don’t want to cause any problems, or accidentally cause him any trauma, I just want to do right by him.”

An angel, you’re an actual angel; he could kiss you, he wants to kiss you, so badly, but he can’t, not here, not now.

“If you’re comfortable with it, and Chris wants you to go then, yeah, I’d really appreciate it.” He says, giving you the smile that earned him the nickname Hollywood.

“And then Y/N told everyone about how she went to Paris four times last year for photoshoots, and how she’s been in a bunch of fashion shows, and how she’s been all over the world, and all the other moms looked super jealous.” Chris says, excitedly retelling the day’s events to Eddie when he comes to pick you both up at the end of the day.

You’re smiling a bit embarrassedly, but ruffle Chris’ hair. “I think they were just tired of everyone asking me questions.”

“No way, everyone thought you were the coolest.” Chris insists, begrudgingly letting Eddie take his backpack.

“That’s because I brought cupcakes from that designer bakery downtown.” You say, and Eddie’s eyes are drawn to the box resting on your hip, the gold embossed lettering, the ribbon hanging from the sides.

Then you lean towards him, lowering your voice. “Though one mom pulled me aside afterward to ask how I got my figure back in time for the 2011 fashion week, which was a slightly awkward conversation.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t necessarily think you and Chris look all that alike, so he’s not sure why anyone would mistake you for his mom, especially since other maternal type figures were supposed to be there. “She thought you were his mom?”

“I guess she wasn’t listening when Chris introduced me.” You shrug. “Anyways I told her I do coke and that’s how I got the weight off.”

He freezes dumbfounded staring at you, no way you do coke, he would’ve seen the signs, right?

You burst out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I told her I’m not his mom, so I never gained any pregnancy weight. But honestly, I should’ve said that, would’ve served her right for being nosy.”

He laughs breathily, relief washing over him. “You scared me for a second.”

You elbow him playfully, “come on Eddie, you know I work too hard to let drugs get the credit.”

“Of course, of course, I don’t know why I doubted you.”

“I don’t either, oh no, don’t look.” You grab onto his bicep and duck behind him.

He doesn’t see anyone, just Chris’ teacher. “Y/N?”

“Um, Chris’ teacher might definitely have a crush on you, and she did not like hearing him talk about how cool it is that his dad’s best friend is a model and how much time I spend with you guys.” You explain, looking covertly over his shoulder, your breasts pressed against his arm.

He tries not to look, tries not to think, he’s at his kid’s school for goodness sakes, he needs to get control of himself. Seriously, seriously, needs to get control of himself.

The one time: It’s his birthday, his family sends him well wishes, the 118 throw him a little party but it’s the sight that greets him when he gets home that stirs something within him. He can hear giggles and shushing, the lights are off, and he flicks them on, to be greeted with two cheers of “surprise!”

You, and Chris, are holding a cake with way too many candles. The icing is messy, there’s ten different types of sprinkles on it, and when he spots the flour on your neck and the icing staining the end of Chris’s sleeve, he realizes what you two have done for him.

He moves to the table in a blur, shedding his coat and keys, happiness making his steps light.

“Come on Dad, you have to taste it, we spent hours making it.” Chris urges, dragging out the word hours in a perfect mimicry of you. How had he not noticed you’ve spent so together much time together that his son was starting to sound like you?

You hand him a piece of cake, waiting until Chris wasn’t looking to go up on your toes, and press a fleeting kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday Eddie.”

“Thank you for this.” He says quietly.

You bump your shoulder into his lightly. “How can I say no to my favorite boys?”

Your favorite, he and his son are your favorites. You took time out of your busy schedule to make a cake with his son for him. He thinks he might be in love with you, and he watches as you help Chris carry out a neatly wrapped gift, smiling brightly as Chris bounces around excitedly.

It’s a scrapbook filled with pictures of him and Chris, even ones he didn’t know you’d taken. Each photo has dates and details written below in your handwriting, with little blurbs and commentary added in by Christopher on bright blue stickers.

He takes a bite of the cake to keep from tearing up. It’s decent, not the best, a little lumpy, but it’s homemade and the smile on Chris’s face makes it taste better than anything he’s ever eaten before.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Chris says suddenly, taking off back towards his room.

He’s alone with you, and he brushes the flour from your neck, a sudden urge to taste your skin striking him. His bent finger is at his lips before he can even think, flour and something sweeter underneath on his tongue.

Your eyes widen, but you lean closer to him, tilting your head ever so slightly exposing more of your throat to him, inviting him to have another taste. His hands settle on your hips, and he scans your face, finding nothing but acceptance and anticipation. He strokes the side of your throat with the same bent finger, breath catching when you shiver under his touch.

“Y/N, you couldn’t have given me a better gift.” He breathes, dipping his head down, lips ghosting over yours.

You tilt your head up, hands resting on his chest, “I know. I know you, Eddie.”

He’s nearly bowled over by his desire, wanting desperately to feel this way forever, wanted, loved, seen. He needs Chris to stay in his room for the next few hours or so. Give him enough time for him to get on his knees and thank you properly before taking you on the couch, until he can’t remember a time when desire, and you weren’t intertwined.

You smile softly, eyes on his lips. “Oh, you have a sprinkle on your lip.”

And now he needs Chris to come back before he dies of embarrassment, he moves to pull away to wipe at his mouth, but your hands fist in his shirt and pull him down to meet you. Your lips are warm against his, sweet, like the insane amount of sugar on his birthday cake, and when the tip of your tongue flicks out, he groans softly, tightening his grip on you.

“Got it,” you whisper against his lips, a shiver running down his spine at the barely restrained longing in your voice.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his hands moving, one splayed out on your lower back, the other remaining at your hip, adjusting his grip, keeping you close. “I think you might have missed it.”

“I think you’re right, let me try again.” Your hand finds its way up, manicured fingernails carding through his hair, as you close the gap between you two, the taste of sugar on his tongue.

[shrimpbat]

[some of] nellie's family :)

[pansylair]

hiii your flowerbeasts are amazing!! i looove the way you use colours and shapes, and their designs are so special. are there any specific flowers you were inspired by? also i am in no way comparing you to other artists, your art style is unique, i just wanted to tell you in the best way possible that your flowerbeasts somehow reminded me of the animals in paintings by Maria Prymachenko. she was a ukrainian folk art painter, you should check out her works, i’m sure you’ll like it!

aww thank you!!!

i’d say there was light influence from pansies with their rounded edges and robust colour/pattern variations, i’ve always really loved them since childhood alongside their queer history.

my first flowerbeast art was a pansybeast as well so seemed the most logical step for these guys, you can find it under the flowerbeast tag! (my username is also pansybeast on twitter and would have been the same on here but it’s stuck to a dead account 😔)

i’ve seen prymachenko’s art before and really love it, i need to do a good deep dive sometimes.

i don’t mind you mentioning my work reminds you of hers at all, I’m happy to know as I’m quite influenced by eastern european folk art with my paternal side being hungarian! :)

[aleeyenn]

GOIKYS AND DRAGONSSSSSSSSSS

[astrobei]

byler 22 for the touch prompts??

22 for touch prompts: falling asleep on the other's shoulder (+ bonus mini soundtrack that i listened to on repeat while writing this)

“Remind me again,” Mike says, as Will climbs into the passenger side of the car, “why we have to go to this thing today?”

Will gives him a look. Or his best attempt at a look anyway. He’s ninety percent sure they fall too flat to ever be effective, or Mike would have stopped saying stupid shit years ago. “This thing?” He struggles with the seatbelt for a moment before it finally clicks into place. “You mean your sister’s wedding? To my brother?”

Mike pulls a face. “If you want to get into the semantics,” he mumbles, adjusting the rearview mirror, and Will laughs.

“You’re ridiculous. It’s their wedding, Mike.”

“Rude to get married on a Saturday night,” Mike says, as if every wedding in the history of the world ever hasn’t taken place on a Saturday night. “Maybe some of us had things to do.”

“Yeah? What did you have going on?” Will asks, smoothing down the lapel of his suit. This jacket is a lint magnet like nothing he’s ever seen before, and he plucks a little piece of it away. “Hot date?”

Mike wiggles his eyebrows, and Will realizes immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. “Yeah,” Mike chirps, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You.”

Despite himself, Will feels his cheeks turn red. It’s stupid, because he quite literally handed Mike the opportunity to say this on a silver platter, and it’s more dumb than any sort of flirtatious, except the unfortunate truth of dating Mike Wheeler is that he doesn’t even have to try and actually flirt to get Will blushing like a teenage girl. “I had that coming,” he admits, and Mike grins even harder than before. “And we didn’t have a date tonight.”

“We did! We were going to–”

“We can order pizza and watch TV when we get back, Mike,” Will chides, and, when Mike’s lower lip turns downward in something reminiscent of a pout, “this is Nancy’s wedding.”

“I was never Nancy’s favorite sibling,” Mike says noncommittally, releasing the parking brake, “she won’t even notice if I’m not there,” which one, is not true because Mike makes up about a third of Nancy’s bridal party so she will most definitely notice if he goes AWOL. And second, this is also not true because Will knows that Holly is currently in the throes of teenage angst, and Mike is still working on the angst but he’s moved on from the teenager part, at least, which is definitely earning him some points in Nancy’s book. So at worst, he’s tied with Holly. At least for the next couple of years.

And Will knows he’s not being serious anyway. For all of the fuss he’s kicking up, he knows Mike is happy for them. Will checks the backseat to make sure he put the presents in the car earlier that afternoon, and says, laughing, “Cold feet? It’s not even your wedding, Mike.”

“I know,” Mike moans, falling forward until his forehead hits the top of the steering wheel. “And it’s exciting! I’m happy for them! And your brother too, and I know your mom and Hop are so pumped, and– it’s just that I’m not so pumped about spending the evening with my family.”

Will suddenly feels very, very stupid. Jesus, he hadn’t even thought about that– about Mike’s parents being there, and his nana, the one that his mom had totally guilted Nancy into inviting because she might not live long enough to see Mike and Holly get married, Nancy, just let her have this. Which was kind of a depressing enough thought on its own, Will thinks, even without the entire conversation that had followed, the one he’d overheard Mike have on the phone in the living room, loud and frustrated before he’d slammed the phone down on the receiver hard enough for Will to hear it from their bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, then rests a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to them, okay, Mike? Just– hang out with us instead. I know Dustin’s been dying to break out his new dance moves.”

Mike cracks a tentative smile, then turns his face slightly so that one side of it is illuminated by the glow of the street lamps outside. “I’m scared he’s going to get driven away in a stretcher,” Mike admits, and Will grins. 

“Yeah, probably. It’ll be a good distraction, at least. I’ll tell him to take one for the team.”

Mike nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Will hesitates, then drops his hand to Mike’s and slots their fingers together. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

Mike looks up the rest of the way. He looks incredible tonight, which is something Will’s been thinking ever since they’d started getting ready an hour ago, and at least half of the reason it took him so long was because he’d been totally distracted the whole time. Maybe Will is just biased, which is a little true, sure, but Mike should definitely wear suits more– and he’s officially taking it upon himself to make sure that Mike wears suits more– because suddenly he’s tempted to take Mike up on his offer of becoming a runaway best man and going back inside and collapsing on the couch and kissing him stupid into the early hours of the morning.

“What?” Mike is saying, eyebrows twisting a little self-consciously. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You just look really nice,” Will says simply, and then, because that comes nowhere close to how good Mike looks in a tie, “no, actually, you look– wow.”

Mike’s lips twitch, but he looks a little pleased. “Wow? Really?”

“You’ve rendered me speechless,” Will nods rapidly, and Mike’s shy smile breaks into something more genuine. “You– look at you, I mean– I can’t even– wow.”

“Will,” Mike says, drawing out the single syllable until it feels big enough to fill up the whole car. “Okay, I look nice! You can stop playing it up now.” 

His cheeks are turning red, slowly, visible even in the dim lighting of the street lamps through the windows, because it’s early fall and it’s started to get dark ridiculously early in the day. It feels like a victory, getting Mike flustered, even after a year of dating. Will smiles to himself. 

“I’m not,” Will says, then leans in across the console. “Come here. I’ll prove it.”

“You’ll–” Mike gets out, eyes going wide in surprise, “–has anyone ever told you that you’re–”

Whatever it was that people may or may not have told Will is apparently a mystery that will die with the universe, because Will never finds out. He kisses Mike with one hand still holding his, threads a hand through his hair and cups his jaw. Soft. Slow. Unhurried, even though they should have left ten minutes ago and they’re going to be cutting it real close– Will can’t be bothered to rush.

Mike hums low in the back of his throat, pleased, and shifts closer. He’s pushing himself up over the console, a hand ghosting the side of Will’s neck, when–

Beeeeep.

“What–” Will jerks backwards, startled, and Mike immediately lets go of his hand. “Did you just–”

Mike rubs his elbow and moves further away from the wheel. “I got a little distracted,” he laughs, but the tension has ebbed from his shoulders a little and his eyes are creasing up at the corners, so Will considers this a mission success, thank you. “We should probably go?”

“Good idea,” Will says, then reaches over to smooth out a stray tuft of Mike’s hair that was– he thinks, a little proud of himself– definitely not out of place before. “And hey,” he adds, before Mike can take the car out of park. “Seriously. Ignore your parents. It’s not their wedding, okay, it’s Nancy’s. And Jonathan’s. And they both want us there. Together.”

Mike’s lips press together into a thin, determined line. “You’re right,” he nods, “I know, it’s just–”

“I know,” Will echoes, and Mike shoots him a grateful smile. “Now let’s go, or we really will miss the ceremony.”

—-

They don’t miss the ceremony, which is good, because having both the best man and the– whatever Mike was– would probably not be a good look for anyone involved.

“I can’t believe you cried,” Dustin says, after the toasts are done and the speeches are given and everyone’s been supplied with enough champagne to go a little loose and maybe a little tear-happy.

Mike scowls across the table at him. “I didn’t cry,” he insists, which is kind of pointless because Will had been watching him the whole time he’d been standing up there, shuffling his feet awkwardly in place at his designated spot in between Holly and Robin Buckley, and he’d definitely cried. Just a little, but he had.

“You did,” El chimes in primly, plucking at her shrimp cocktail. “I saw.”

“Thanks, El,” Mike mutters, sinking back in his chair a little and crossing his arms. “It’s– the vows were very emotional, okay, you’d have to be made of total stone to not tear up!”

“I didn’t cry,” Lucas announces, which is a fucking lie, by the way. Will saw him dabbing at his eyes in the bathroom on the way here.

“I think it’s sweet,” he says, instead of throwing Lucas to the dogs like he maybe should have. He flashes Mike a grin, leans over in his chair to bridge the space between them and squeezes his hand, once. “They were very sappy vows, to be fair.”

Mike blinks up at him from where he’s slumped down to somewhere around shoulder height. “You didn’t cry.”

“Oh, I did,” Will assures him. “I just cried in the back with Jonathan while he was getting ready.”

“Really?” Mike perks right up. “You did?”

“Yes,” Will laughs, “and I can’t believe you’re happy about it,” and then Mike grins so wide that Will can’t help but lean in the rest of the way and press a quick kiss to Mike’s cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Lucas says, and he’s maybe one strike away from Will speaking up about the bathroom incident after all.

“Maybe so,” Mike relents, looking properly cheered up now. “What about it?”

Mike’s grip on Will’s hand never falters. Will feels himself turn warmer with every slow pass of Mike’s thumb over his knuckles, even with their hands tucked under the tablecloth and out of view. And it isn’t from the champagne. He’s had just the one glass with dinner, which is nothing, so it must be something else that’s making him feel like this. Something–

“You okay?” Mike murmurs as his thumb pauses, briefly, on the back of Will’s hand. “You got kind of quiet out of nowhere,” and yeah, there it is.

“I meant it,” Will says, lowering his voice so their friends can’t hear them from across the table. “What I said in the car, I mean. You look beautiful.”

It’s a little amusing just how fast Mike can turn such a violent shade of red. “You can’t just say that,” he splutters. “Give a guy some warning, Jesus, Will–”

“Mm, no,” Will decides smugly, watching the red creep down the collar of Mike’s carefully starched dress shirt. Then, because the soft lighting of the venue and the way Mike’s hair has started to fall free around his face is doing something funny to his chest and stomach, Will nods to the dance floor and says, “You wanna?”

Mike hesitates, looking over his shoulder. “Dance?”

Will shrugs, then looks over to where Jonathan and Nancy are trying– and failing, quite hilariously and miserably– at a dance of their own. “I mean, it’s a wedding, and people dance at weddings. Not that either of us are good at it, but it might be fun to try?”

Mike chews nervously at his lower lip and nudges Will’s foot with his own. “I don’t know,” he admits. “My mom was eyeing me earlier and I was totally avoiding her by hiding out over here but I feel like the dance floor is fair game for a–” he waves his hands around, “pseudo-confrontation. Nancy’s only three years older than you, blah, blah. When are you going to settle down, blah, blah. Even though I’m here with my boyfriend, which apparently doesn’t count for shit, and–” Mike sighs dejectedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down, it’s just– I was having such a good day, too.”

Will squeezes Mike’s leg, just above the knee. “You were having a good day? Really? Even though your hot date got canceled?”

“Well,” Mike rolls his eyes. “My sister got married, and now my hot date is all dressed up and sweet-talking me, so I think this is even better than pizza on the couch.” He pauses, contemplating. “Actually, scratch that. It’s not. But it’s a close second,” Mike adds, then grins and picks Will’s hand up again. “Dance– later, maybe? I’m really enjoying this for right now.”

“Of course. Anything you want,” Will smiles, as the music in the background softens into something more mellow. He pulls his chair up so that it’s flush with Mike’s, their thighs pressed up together in one line, and passes Mike a flute of champagne from the table. “You might want to drink this, though, because your mom looks like she might be heading over here any second.”

“Thanks,” Mike groans, then knocks the whole thing back in one go.

—-

Will knows that a big fancy flashy wedding isn’t really Jonathan’s style, and he didn’t think it was Nancy’s either. Which is why he was surprised to get an invite to an event at all, because he’d honestly sort of thought they’d make a courthouse affair of it and then have everyone over for dinner or something. They’d been engaged for, like, three years, because it was career stuff and then more career stuff and then a couple months of long distance while Jonathan was doing some photojournalism thing in London, and Will had figured at some point that they’d get so tired of being engaged that they’d show up the next day with papers from City Hall and that would be that.

Apparently, though, in a not-so-surprising turn of events, Nancy Wheeler takes to event planning like a moth to flame, and Jonathan was immediately dragged along for the ride. He didn’t seem too upset about it, though, when Will had asked. “It’s Nancy,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. And maybe it did, because not too long after that, Will started dating Mike and everything immediately clicked.

Which is maybe the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. For anyone else, Will would not even entertain the thought of fussing over seating arrangements, and he’s certain he only knows, like, five types of flowers– if pink and red roses count as two different types. It’s Nancy, Jonathan had said, and Will hadn’t gotten it then but he does now.

Mike’s hand twitches on Will’s bicep, fingers clutching once at the fabric of his shirt. Will’s suit jacket lies abandoned on the chair behind them. Mike had leaned over maybe half an hour ago to rest his head on Will’s shoulder, as it got later in the night and guests started slowly trickling out of the room. And then, maybe fifteen or so minutes ago, his breathing had evened out, fingers slackening in their grip against his arm, and Will doesn’t know how the hell Mike can fall asleep in a room that’s filled with so much noise, but he can’t help but find it endearing– wholly, completely, embarrassingly endearing.

And he gets it, he does. It’s Mike, he thinks, chest flooding with warmth in a strange, hollowed-out way, like there’s nothing left inside him except this feeling. It’s Mike. It’s Mike. It’s–

“Hey, hon,” comes a voice behind him, and Will startles, just a little, then immediately relaxes.

“Oh, hey mom,” he whispers, and Mike’s hand twitches lightly against his arm again. Joyce gives him an amused look, glancing down at Mike, then back at Will.

“Did he fall asleep?” she asks, pulling up a chair next to them. “I’ll be quiet, don’t worry.”

Will feels himself smile before he actually realizes he’s doing it. “Yeah,” he snorts softly, “but I have no idea how.”

As if roused by some sixth sense, like he knew they were talking about him, Mike stirs, lifting his head off of Will’s shoulder and blinking blearily. “What–”

“Shh,” Will says, and Joyce bites back a smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mike says, and then yawns loud and conspicuously. “Shit– I’ve just been so tired this week, sorry, Will–”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, even though his shoulder and arm are starting to fall asleep, just a little. Will drops a kiss to the top of Mike’s head, and feels him start to smile into his shoulder before stiffening, a little self-consciously, and glancing up at Joyce.

“Um–”

“Oh,” his mom waves a hand, “don’t mind me. You two are so sweet. You remind me of Nancy and Jonathan after they started dating. Jonathan would turn so red, but maybe not as red as you’re turning right now, Will–”

“Mom!”

“Red?” Mike perks up, and then, “Oh you are turning red!”

“Shut up,” Will mumbles, but he’s sure it’s not convincing in the slightest. “Did you come over here just to embarrass me?”

Joyce puts two hands up in the air like hey, don’t look at me. “I was just going to let you know that Hop and I are taking off,” she says, eyes sparkling. “He has the early shift tomorrow, but Mike, now that I’ve caught you– your speech was wonderful. Really. Jim was tearing up and he told me to never let you find out but I figured you’d want to know.”

Mike blinks. He still looks a little out of it, still a little red from sleep or the champagne from earlier, but he smiles, sudden and pleased. “Really?”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Joyce grins conspiratorially. “But yes. It was very sweet.”

“Thanks Mrs. Byers,” Mike says, the words stretching into another yawn, quieter this time. He groans lightly, then pushes himself off of Will’s shoulder and sits back up.

Will peers over at him. “Are you tired? You want to head back?”

Mike rubs at his eyes with both hands, blinks a few times in rapid succession, then shakes his head like he’s trying to shake the sleep out of his body, like it’s a physical thing. “No,” he smiles, and it’s a little bit tired, but he looks happy. “No, not yet.”

“Okay,” Will whispers, and he’s probably grinning like an idiot, but he can’t help it. That’s the common denominator here, between every interaction he ever has with Mike– that he’s so happy that he just can’t help it. “You still want to get pizza on the way back?”

“God, yes please,” Mike groans in relief. “Um. No offense, but wedding food is just– like what the hell, man, I’m starving. That was nothing.”

“Pizza it is,” Will agreed easily, mentally making a pros and cons list of getting a large and having leftovers or saving money and going for a medium. “Pepperoni?”

“Anything goes,” Mike is saying, and then Joyce clears her throat.

“Well,” she says, snapping her purse shut and smiling. “Hop and I are heading out but– oh, drive safe you two. Eat a slice for me, actually, I’ve been craving pizza all week.”

“Bye, mom,” Will smiles, craning his neck upwards as she plants a kiss on top of his head.

“You too,” she says to Mike, who barely has time to blink in surprise before his mom is dropping a kiss on his forehead. She rests a hand on his shoulder briefly as she smiles and says, “I’d welcome you to the family, Mike, but you’ve been a part of it for years already.”

“I– bye, Mrs. Byers,” Mike says faintly, eyes wide, as Joyce waves goodbye. He turns back to Will. “Part of the family? Really?”

“It’s what you get for dating your best friend,” Will murmurs, glancing out over the rapidly emptying room before tugging on Mike’s arm until he falls into him with a small, startled noise. “You get smothered by my mom.”

“I wouldn’t call it smothering,” Mike laughs, eyes darting down to Will’s mouth. He swallows, and says, softly, “Plus, I like your family. No complaints from me.”

Will hums, soft. “I’m sorry about– you know. How did that go?”

“Nancy said she survived mom and dad with minimal damage,” Mike laughs drily. “And nana too. And I managed to avoid them long enough that they didn’t have a chance to ambush me, so.”

“Good,” Will says, kissing Mike softly on the corner of his mouth, then again, right over the curve of his cupid’s bow. He’s a little warm, a little loose and pliant from sleep, and he moves easily, tucking a finger into the loop of Will’s tie and pulling him in closer. Their knees bump against each other under the tablecloth, chair legs scraping gently across the polished floor as Will leans forward. “I’m glad,” Will says into the kiss, and Mike smiles.

“Me too,” Mike whispers, tucking his hands into Will’s hair and pulling away, just barely. “Because now they’re gone and all of our annoying cursory invite relatives are gone and it’s just you and me– and Nancy, and Jonathan, and El and Lucas and– whatever. I think I owe you a dance.”

There’s something slow and melodic playing as Nancy and Jonathan make the last of their rounds, most of the tables empty and the dance floor cleared out. Will grins, kisses Mike one more time for good measure, then stands up. “Okay,” he agrees, “but I’m leading.”

“I don’t think it makes a difference, because neither of us can–”

“I’m leading,” Will says again, and Mike chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure. Lead the way, Will.”

[callilouv]

what makes people a friend to u

[makkie-is-screaming]

having a mutual you want to be friends with but knowing your the driest texter ever

[schnitzelsemmerl]

anne: i dont get all these ppl who go like "my body is a temple blah blah im so special n quirky"

anne: good for you bitch, my body is a rundown, abandoned corner shop (w/ possibly some ghosts and demons) they turned into a spirit halloween

lina: anne all jane asked was if you stayed up til 7 AM again

[qazastra]

this is going to sound like a joke but im serious when i say that in this trying time i really want to finalize my party megamix. you gotta party sometimes it's good for the soul

[louismygf]

just recently watched this is us with my college friends

[800-dick-pics]

m*m is a grimy ass grifter and has literally taken food out of black women and poor kids mouths so like i really hope they rot in hell for doin that shit. Lying to those who help you out and went to bat for you. EWWW

[rnaeborowski]

we need to start making diy weddings more common. whenever i see someone say they had a "cheap" wedding only to follow up with "it was only 5000$" i want to throw up

[oh-meow-swirls]

they should bring back that period of time back when yo-kai watch was fairly popular in america where you could get yo-kai watch stuff at dollar tree. that's where all my yo-kai watch figures n medals n stuff are from-

[makkie-is-screaming]

Invited D to a concert

[theseandi]

"Hello, sun in my face. Hello you who made the morning and spread it over the fields... Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness." ~ Mary Oliver