Summary: You’d grown up with Will Dempsey, but haven’t seen him in years. On a short visit home, you learn that he’s divorced, and might still be a mess about it. But he wants to love again, and he wants it to be with you. (~2.5)
Contents: fluff, addiction talk, Abby divorced him in this au
*****
“Holy shit,” you freeze, getting out of a taxi in front of your house. “Will?”
The last thing you expected was to see Will Dempsey sitting on his parents’ front steps, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a beard down past the collar of his t-shirt.
His overly-wide, red eyes look around, then at you. Blank at first, but he smiles when he recognizes you.
“Oh wow, look at you. Ten years. Hey, you have any weed?” He says with some difficulty.
You’d grown up next to the Dempsey family, their parents’ house next to your parents’ house. Holidays spent together, BBQs, almost like communal living. You'd lost touch with Will, though, after you'd moved away for work right after college.
But, your parents had decided to spend a few months out in California with your brother and you were house sitting for them back in New York.
Your mom said Will had moved back in with his parents. She’d also told you not to expect to run into him. He’d been depressed since last year, when his wife had left him. She'd run off to Europe with some big-shot writer, hadn’t even shown up in person to sign the divorce papers.
Will points to you, a big fake smile on his face. “I can tell that someone told you about my life,” he says in an almost sing-song voice. “That’s okay.” He shrugs. “Someone has to be the shitty guy who makes everyone else feel superior. Someone’s life has to be bad, right? So other people feel like their lives are good in comparison.”
The front door opens. Will’s mom appears.
“Hi, Linda,” you say, trying not to sound as awkward as you feel.
She smiles at you tightly. “It’s so good to see you. I’m sorry about Will.” She taps his shoulder. “Honey, come inside, don’t bother her.”
“Yeah,” Will says, fumbling to stand up, “wouldn’t want to ruin her life by coming into contact with it.”
“That’s not what I meant, honey,” Linda says.
“You know my wife left me?” Will says to you, loudly. “Ah, you wouldn’t care.”
Linda looks at you apologetically.
“It’s okay,” you tell her. “We can catch up later.”
Will nods. “My mom was right. I shoulda married you. But love, right? I thought I was in love. You probably don’t even smoke anymore. It’s legal now.”
He stumbles back inside and you turn to the taxi driver. He’s taken your bags out of the trunk and has been standing there, watching.
“That guy’s real fucked up,” he says.
“He didn’t used to be,” you say, taking out your wallet and giving the guy a big tip.
He smiles at you in thank you. “Word of advice? Don’t try to fix him.”
You look at him, startled. “What? Why would you even say that?”
“I got a nose for people. You seem nice. He seems broken.”
*****
It takes you three tries to get Linda to invite you over for dinner.
Heartbreaking in a way, because she and Irwin are like your second set of parents. But you know they don’t want you to see Will like this.
Although, when Linda finally caves and asks you over and Will answers the door, he looks fairly cleaned up. Sober and beard mostly gone. He looks older than he should, though. His big, brown eyes are incredibly apologetic.
“My mom told me I was an asshole when you got here a few days ago,” Will says, running a hand through his curly hair. “I don’t really remember because I’m an alcoholic and an addict. In case you couldn’t tell.”
He almost smiles and you reach out and hug him.
“It’s good to see you, Will.”
His body relaxes against yours and he hugs you back. He was always a great hugger. He kisses your cheek.
“Thanks for saying that,” he says, a touch of sadness in his voice. “It’s nice to hear.”
You squeeze him tightly, then let him go. “Well, I mean it. But you look like a hot pile of garbage. I mean that too.”
Will half-smiles. “At least I’m still hot.”
You laugh.
“You bring those for my mom?” He asks, pointing at the flowers you’re holding.
“Yeah. I was going to bring wine, but…”
“You were afraid I’d drink it all before we got to dinner? Fair,” Will says. He loops his arm around your shoulder and walks you into the house. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
He looks toward the kitchen, then takes your hand and leads you into his father’s office.
“I’m sorry for how I was before,” Will says earnestly, shutting the door for privacy. “I thought I was over her. Abby. My ex-wife. I can say ‘ex-wife’ without feeling like my insides are being stirred with a fork, but a lot of the bad feelings are still there. Anyway, again, I’m sorry for making a scene. It’s not the way you deserve to be welcomed home.”
“Thank you for apologizing. Your parents used to go on and on about you two. I’m sorry that it didn’t work out.”
Will leans back against the closed door. His face is sad, but relaxed. “They loved her, but honestly, they never thought she was exactly right for me. You know me, though. Once I set my mind on something, you can’t talk me out of it. I was convinced she was the love of my life. The kind of love that you only read about in stories and see in movies.”
Your eyebrows pull together in concern.
“My therapist always says I put Abby up on a pedestal. I liked her up there, away from me,” Will says quietly, sounding lost. “Anyway, she’s happier now. And I live with my parents.” He laughs at himself.
Your heart squeezes. Will never used to have a shred of bitterness in him. He was one of the most hopeful people you knew.
You’d been the cynic. He’d been the romantic.
“I’m next door if you ever need a change of scenery. It’ll be like when we were teenagers. Except no booze this time,” you say.
Will runs a hand through his hair, keeps talking as if he didn’t hear you, like he feels like he doesn’t deserve to have heard.
“The day you got here would’ve been our wedding anniversary. I’d been sober for a year before that. But I’m back to 3 days, which is better than none. I'm trying. Maybe that's not enough.” He smiles and opens the office door again before you can tell him any different. “I’m glad you’re here. My mom said you’re a landscape designer?”
He wants to move on, you can tell, so you let him.
“Half landscape, half interior. My biggest client right now is a chain of luxury hotels. I do their rooftop bars and courtyards, try to make their lobbies look less corporate and more like boutique hotels. They have one not far from here. You should come for dinner or a non-alcoholic cocktail sometime.”
Again, Will doesn’t acknowledge the invitation, but he keeps his hand on the small of your back as he walks you into the living room and toward the kitchen.
“Look who I found wandering the streets of New York,” Will says.
You hug Linda and Irwin in turn and it’s like you never left. Irwin shows you a book of bird photographs that he knew you’d love. Linda tells about her yoga class, and even though it’s for the over 60 crowd, that you should come because she can tell you’ve done yoga before. The way you move or something.
“Mom,” Will says as he sets the table, “stop talking about her body like that.”
“She knows what I mean,” Linda says, waving her hand at him. “It’s a compliment. Besides, I know you like women with a little meat on their bones.”
“MOM!” Will says with an exasperated laugh.
Irwin pats you on the back. “Welcome home, kid.”
He pulls out your chair and you sit down. Will sits in the chair next to you.
“Are my ears red?” He leans over and whispers.
You don’t even have to look to know that they are, some things never change. “Yes.”
*****
Will shows up for the booze free cocktail a few days later.
And the next week, movie nights at your house.
You do yoga with Linda in her backyard and you swear, you see Will’s face peeking out from behind the curtain.
After savasana, you realize how much you’d missed the sound of the city. This street in particular. You’ve always had trouble clearing your mind and settling into yourself. Turns out you’d just needed the right background noise.
Linda invites you in for iced tea.
“I lived in Savannah for a hot sec and they almost ran me out of town for asking for this unsweetened,” you tell her as you sip your tea.
“You always were sweet enough,” she smiles at you, “and diabetes is more diagnosed in the south.”
“And there’s my mom, always with a depressing fact.” Will comes in, leaning on the doorway.
“But damn good beverages,” you say, toasting Linda.
Her eyes flit back and forth between you and Will. She leaves abruptly, laying a hand on Will’s shoulder.
“Okay,” you eyeball him, “for her not to have said a single word on her way out, you must have something serious going on.”
He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the fabric of his blue t-shirt shifts under his muscles as he half-shrugs. “Kinda. You want to sit down for a sec?”
Will runs a hand through his dark curls. He walks to the dining room table and pulls out a chair for you, his eyes friendly, but a little nervous.
When you sit down, he wipes a hand down his face, like he’s psyching himself up.
“When Abby left me, I couldn’t cope. I coped in the wrong ways,” he barrels ahead of himself. “Hell, I wasn't going to start with that part. Let me start again. Fuck.”
You smile at him reassuringly.
“I want to ask you out,” he says, then visibly winces. “Fuck. That’s not how I wanted to start this either.”
He leans back in the dining room chair, laughing at himself.
As awkward as he feels, you don’t. Not at all.
Compared to the impression you’d got from him, weeks ago now, Will’s so much more himself in this moment. Not confident exactly, but he’d never been a cocky guy. More like, he walks like he knows where he’s going. Speaks like he means what he says.
And adorable now, when he’s trying to sort out how to not ask you on a date.
If he asks you out, you know it’s a big deal. For both of you.
“I get why you’re not sure about it, with everything you’ve been through. If you were to ask me out, though, I’d say yes,” you say honestly.
“That’s kind of the problem.” He scratches the back of his head. “I can’t ask you out yet.”
Your eyes drift upstairs, where you hear the creak of floorboards. “Did your mom say ‘no’ or something?” You joke.
He knocks his foot into yours. “Please. She’d be wedding dress shopping at Kleinfeld’s tomorrow if I so much as held your hand. No,” he shakes his head, “it’s me. I really need to be sober the right way this time. I need to do it for myself, but also for anyone I’m with in the future.”
“Which might be me?” You ask him, your heart beating faster.
“I’m not asking you to wait for me,” he looks down at his hands. It makes him look 14 again.
“I’ll wait.”
Will wipes his eyes, but not before you see the sheen of tears in them. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready. They say a year, but-“
“It’s okay, Will,” you reach out and hold his hand, squeeze it. “I have a house in Oregon and a job with a lot of travel. I wouldn’t be ready to settle back down in New York for at least a year anyway.”
He looks relieved, can look you in the eyes again.
“We can still talk, though. If you’re comfortable,” you say.
Will’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, open and exposed. You’d defended him a lot for it growing up.
That he can still be that way, even after the heartbreak and pain he’s gone through, it makes you want to do more than just root for him. You want to love him.
“Long distance friendship,” Will muses. He looks up at you with his big, brown eyes. Hopeful and warm, a look that makes you feel the same.
“You’d really settle for that?” He asks.
You lay a hand on his forearm. “Nothing about you is settling, Will.”
“Stop,” he says lightly, clearing his throat, “before you make me believe in romantic gestures again.”
You squeeze his arm, then let him go.
“I do have a few good ones planned, for eventually,” he says with a grin.
“Of course you do,” you say, rolling your eyes and laughing. “But what I really want, is for you to focus on yourself.”
“Yeah,” he nods, “I think I can get my head on straight this time. And if it takes longer for you to give me a chance than a year or two, then I can wait.”
Will picks up your hand in his, brushes his fingers over the back, then lifts it to his lips, kissing it gently. A long press that makes your heart flutter.
“I always hated that I never had the guts to ask you out in high school,” he says.
“You wanted to ask me out?” You say, a little shaky.
“Yeah, but Mike down at the end of the block asked you first and then you dated for like, a year. Used to watch him pick you up for dates.” Will glances out the window, like he can see the past, then looks back at you. “It’s taken me a long time to get here. Which is ironic because it looks like, living with my folks, I haven’t gotten anywhere. Inside, I mean, I feel different. Good.”
“I know,” you reassure him. “It took you longer to find your footing than you thought it would. Better late than never, right?”
“A good description of us,” Will says. Then, his smile brightens. “Hey, forgot to tell you. I started listening to Sleater-Kinney again.”
You groan in ecstasy. “Forget waiting. I want to marry you right now.”
He laughs. “I have to talk to you about their newer stuff, though. Want to know what you think. Bring your tea. We’ll go sit out on the front steps.”
Will lets go of your hand as you follow him outside. He seems lighter, more confident. This is the Will Dempsey you know and love. Eager to share and talk, hang out for hours with absolutely no purpose other than spending time together.
Someone who, hopefully, realizes he doesn’t have to fit his love into some kind of box, to be presented to the other person in the form that they need.
That love isn't about doing whatever the other person wants, however they want. It's a partnership. Two people changing for the better.
Someday, you want to give Will the love he deserves. All heart, open and unafraid. Like he used to be. And like you know he will be again.
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As you all know I hate Will for no real reason, this is my peace offering to a fictional character, lol.
Word count. 2K
Summary. You love babying him.
Kinktober masterlist.
Pregnancy was becoming unbearable at times; you felt heavy, your feet ached even after just a few steps around the house, and sleeping at night was turning into a daily battle. Fortunately, there was no doubt in your mind that you had chosen the right life partner.
The only thing keeping you sane right now was Will and how he went out of his way to make you happy and make this whole thing more bearable.
You always joked with him, saying that anyway, all of this was his fault, so the least he could do for you was to fulfill your cravings and massage your shoulders until you fell asleep.
Oh, and that pillow with a hole in the center that allowed you to lie face down.
"I miss my pillow," you murmured in a low tone as you remembered it. You closed the door behind you slowly.
Will's room was just as he had left it several years ago when he left home for college, where he met you. Nonetheless, you wandered around with curiosity, looking at his movie posters that perhaps only he had seen, and the occasional Lego figure that you doubted he would let his future child touch someday.
"I told you we could come up with some excuse."
"Every time you suggest we make up an excuse, it has to do with pretending that one of us died," you rolled your eyes. "Your parents are not believing it for more than two times in a row." When you had 4 walls around you for privacy, your hands went to the hem of your shirt, getting rid of it, clearly tired of wearing any type of clothing.
Will watched you from the bed, as if you were giving him a personal show. His eyes roaming over your bare skin, always lingering a few extra seconds on your breasts before looking up again and pretending that the lack of sex wasn't killing him.
You were both too introverted to simply ask at gynecologist appointments, “Hey, is it wise to have uncontrolled sex against some furniture at this point in pregnancy?” so you just assumed the answer was no.
“Did you do something to your hair?”
You frowned at his question.
"What?"
“I'm serious, I notice something different about you.”
One of his pillows landed right in his face, making him laugh. You already knew that joke too well.
“Yes, idiot, I'm pregnant.” The mattress squeaked as you lay down, only wearing your loose pants and the sports bra that had become your best friend a few days ago because it turns out that your normal bras decided they didn't want to close anymore eventually.
That was the only piece of fabric that kept your tits in place, tight and comfortable. It was also a headache for Will.
The changes that pregnancy had made in your body never ceased to amaze him even though he had analyzed each one for hours as the months passed. There was the obvious, that completely new sparkle in your eyes, your cheeks flushed 24/7 and your skin seemed to be glowing more than ever.
But on the other hand there were the things that made him fantasize about the nights he stayed on the couch fucking his own hand to try to control the impulses that attacked him more times than he would like lately. Your hips became wider, your thighs were softer but oh, his favorite part was definitely your breasts.
Round, full, hard, delicious.
You were complaining about pain recently and he didn't know if that was a sign that he should help you in some way or just not touch you and wait patiently for the pain to go away in a few weeks when the baby was born.
“Did you know…” He murmured, taking his eyes off his phone for a few seconds to look at you. You did the same.
Lying together to chat or just watch stupid videos on your phones had become routine when the pain in your back kept you from sleeping or when you took too many naps throughout the day and all your energy was reserved for the night.
Yes, Will stayed up with you each and every one of those times.
"Did I know what?"
“Did you know that there are freaks who like milk?”
You frowned.
“I like milk, what's so strange about it?”
He rolled his eyes with a small smile.
“Breast milk, I mean.”
“Oh…” Needless to say, you already knew that the father of your future baby was… peculiar. He had perfectly mastered the act of bringing up the strangest topics of conversation lately. You shrugged. “It doesn't seem that strange to me.”
"No?" If your gaze hadn't returned to your phone you would have noticed the mischievous glint on his eyes.
You had taken the bait.
“No, I mean.” There you went, to reason with the madman, always engrossed in his midnight talks. “You used to suck on my boobs all the time, do you mean you wouldn't do it anymore if there was milk involved? Not to mention that you are addicted to eating me out, it wouldn't be the first time you drink some liquid from my body.”
“Mhm.” He pretended to consider your response before nodding slowly, agreeing with you. The truth is that Will had considered the possibility since he had noticed the circular stains that suddenly began to appear on your shirts. “You have a point.”
"See?" You felt triumphant to think that you had changed his way of thinking. Your gaze returned to your phone and you took the topic for granted.
“Though I don't understand how anyone could be sexually attracted to that.”
You looked up again.
“Are you kidding?”
“Of course not, don't you think it's strange?”
You rolled your eyes, finally lowering your phone and placing it on the cabinet next to you so you could face him.
"Do you want to try?"
"What?" He played dumb and you fell into his trap again.
"Do you want to try? I will show you that there is nothing strange about it.”
He again pretended to consider your proposal and with his lower lip trapped between his teeth he nodded slowly.
"Good." He also put his phone aside, sitting up in bed as if considering which position was best to settle into. His pupils dilated when he saw you take off your top.
He had been trying for a long time not to stare at your completely naked breasts or else we wasn't going to be able to control himself anymore. Your nipples were always hard, occasionally with a drop or two of milk running through them, so sensitive and delicious.
You looked at him, clearing your throat to get his attention.
"Take off your shirt." Your voice sounded like an order.
He obediently did so. His tanned skin making your mouth water and making your cheeks blush even more than usual. You were a hormonal mess a long time ago.
“How should I…?”
“Just lay your head here.” You pointed to the hill where your pregnant belly began, just below your breasts.
“But, I don't want to hurt-”
“You're not going to hurt me, Will.” Your voice came out in frustration as you gave two small taps to the area you had pointed out before. He hesitated a little before taking his place there, the weight of his head and part of his body was not uncomfortable, on the contrary, his body heat felt stupidly good.
Skin to skin contact was something you wouldn't trade for a million dollars.
“You look so pretty like this.” You whispered in a low, loving voice. A dopey smile on your face when you had the chance to see him from a completely new angle.
His huge eyes were fixed on you, he had to look up so he could fix his gaze on you while you looked down. Your fingers gently ran through his hair, a while ago you had noticed that his curls became more noticeable when his hair was a little longer than usual.
“Go on.” You cooed while he licked his lips.
You didn't have to ask twice, Will settled into his spot and took part of your breast into his mouth, pressing his tongue against your hard, sensitive nipple.
A shiver ran down your spine, resulting in a wave of pleasure directly between your legs. A delicious heat pooling on your lower abdomen.
He for his part moaned against your skin. You tasted so sweet.
“T-That's it.” You encouraged him with blushing cheeks. “Just like that, baby.”
It didn't take him long to pick up the pace he wanted, you could hear him gulp and suck, over and over again while your trembling hands ran through his hair slowly, comforting him.
You knew how much he was enjoying it when you saw him close his eyes. A couple of drops running down the edge of his lips.
“You taste so fucking good.” It was the only thing he stammered before going back to his job. He rested the weight of his body on you a little more and you didn't complain, you missed having him on you so much, caging you against any surface that he found and his body.
He raised a hand, his fingers squeezing your breast as if he wanted to squeeze out every last drop. His cock twitched under his baggy pants and you at the same time squeezed your legs together, your slick already making your underwear wet and sticky.
“Do you like it, baby?” Your voice was breathy.
It was incredible how your bodies began to react as if you were a pair of desperate teenagers, seeking relief in any friction you might have with each other.
“Help me with t-the other one, yeah? Please?" You begged when you could finally feel some kind of relief on your tit, it was no longer hard and swollen. All this time you had only needed this? If you had known before.
He looked up with dilated pupils, licking his lips with heavy breathing.
"Please." You whispered once more, your fingers giving his hair a light tug that snapped him out of the spell you seemed to have placed on him with just a few gulps of warm milk.
You gave him a push with your hand and he obeyed, tracing exactly four circles around your right nipple before leaning down again and taking it into his mouth. Now that he was almost face down to reach the other side his hips began a slow rocking motion against the bed.
You, meanwhile, squeezed your legs together, your soft thighs giving you a bit of relief that made you whimper.
“Such a good boy.” You closed your eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly, finding it impossible to calm the rhythm of your breathing. Eventually you understood that it wasn't just the sensitivity of your body, it was the situation.
Your sweet voice praising him, listening to the way he swallowed and the way he whimpered desperately just from the pleasure that sucking on your tit gave him.
You were no longer hiding the clumsy movements of your hips, nor was he the way he pretended to be fucking the mattress. His sensitive cock throbing every time he rubbed against his favorite blanket.
The friction was giving delicious warmth to his needy erection and your milk was doing the same to his entire body. Warm and delicious running through his throat.
Your thrusts were making the mattress creak under your bodies although you didn't last more than a couple of seconds longer. Abstinence was your best excuse to explain why something like this had led you to have one of the most delicious orgasms of your entire relationship.
It was definitely not what you had done per se, right?
When he pushed himself up so he could kiss you you could taste the milk and his saliva combined. You understood well why the taste had driven him crazy.
“See?” You whispered against his lips. “Not weird at all.”
— Paring; Will Dempsey x male reader. Fandom; Life Itself
Tristful [ trist-fuhl ]: (adj.) full of sadness; sorrowful
Quote; “6.9, why that number? Are you trying to be clever?”
Description; Will’s sulking on a bus stop bench and suddenly someone interesting sits next to him and brightens up a little more than just his day. Disclaimer; Liquor. Breaking down. Melancholy. Description of depression. Greif. Intoxication. Reader is a lawyer. Sadness? Angst? Immature jokes. Will sucks at flirting. No use of “Y/N”
Word Count: 1.4k
Life Itself Masterlist, Oscar Isaac Masterlist
Will sat at the bus stop bench. He has a brown bag with whatever cheap liquor he could get his hands on resting between his legs, his hand loosely wrapped around the neck on the bottle. His entire body leaning against the bus stop enclosure. The enclosure used to stop people from getting wet when it rains. He was already tipsy despite it being pretty early in the day. His eyes were tired and had a dead-like look in them.
A man sat next to him on the bench. Not so close to where they were touching, but the bench wasn’t that big so he wasn’t that far away from Will either. The man tugged his coat closed over his suit. He looked like a very well put together man, He dressed fancy. His hair was done. He crossed his leg over the other and gently bounced the one over the other as he waited.
The man’s appearance slightly shocked Will. He sat up a little straighter and moved the bottle of liquor to the other side of him, outside of the man’s view if he were to look over at Will. He momentarily forgot about his life and his disheveled appearance. He looked at the man. “Hey.” He could see his breath in the cold air and it made him feel like a giddy kid, thinking the smoke was cool.
He shook his head to get his head straight. “Are you waiting for the bus?” If he was sober, he would have slapped himself for the stupid question. He hated when people asked stupid obvious questions, yet here he was, at a bus stop, asking if this man was waiting for the bus.
The man could smell the alcohol off of Will, but said nothing about it. He didn’t think it was his business to point it out. “Yes, sir. I am,” He said, politely.
Will noticed that the man’s nose and ears were red from the cold air. He found it endearing for just a split second. He looked at the ground and he seemed like he was on the verge of just breaking down. Right then and there. He swallowed hard and spoke up again. “Where ya headed?”
The man smiled politely at Will. “Work.”
“Oh, what do you do for work?” Will seemed to take a little interest in what he had to say, wiping his eyes and putting a hand to his mouth as he covered it, trying his hardest not to sob.
"I have an office job." He said in a softer voice. He could tell Will was on the verge of tears. He didn't mention that, to avoid embarrassing him by chance, so he just spoke in a more gentle tone.
Will chuckled lightly. It was ironic that he had found himself in this circumstance, talking to someone so proper yet here he is. “What kind of office job? Accountant? Salesman?” Will tried his hardest to focus on the small talk with this proper man, rather than his life problems.
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Cool.” Will was starting to crack. Tears welled up in his eyes as he tried so hard to hide his pain. His voice sounded shaky, even more so because he desperately tried to cover it up. His voice cracked as he barely managed to say more words. “I’m a screenwriter.”
The man looked at him with a shocked expression, his eyebrows raised in interest. “Really?”
The stranger’s interest seemed to be the only thing to keep Will from breaking. He managed to look up at him and meet his gaze. His eyes were red and puffy from all the sadness, but he was doing his best to look happy. He managed a small smile. “Yeah, I write scripts and such.”
“Scripts and such?” The man repeated with a chuckle. “Is that a job or a hobby?”
Will paused. “A- a hobby,” Will said in a shaky voice. He tried his best to sound confident but he was failing. He coughed a bit and then spoke once more. “What kind of lawyer are you? Corporate, criminal, business?” Will was desperately trying to focus on something other than his grief, anything to keep his mind off of the pain he felt deep inside his soul.
“Criminal.”
“What’s it like? Like what do you do? Go to court and represent people and try to get them either the worst or best outcome, or something like that?” Will asked. He was still trying to figure out what life was like past his own misery. He couldn’t imagine doing anything other than what he used to do before life got dark, before the storm clouds came and life felt like a hopeless cause.
“Yeah, something like that.” He said with a laugh.
“Wow, that’s gotta be stressful. I can’t even imagine. Do you like your job?” Will said with a blank expression.
The man paused. “Um, to- to an extent.”
“To an extent?” Will looked surprised. He looked like he was thinking about the possibility of having a job he didn’t like. “How much do you like it on a scale of — let's say -– 1 to 10?” He was curious.
“6.9.” He said rather quickly.
Will smirked at the number. “6.9, why that number? Are you trying to be clever?” He gave the stranger a playful wink as he let out a quick laugh.
The man chuckled in embarrassment. “No, no, that was unintentional.” He looked away.
Will let out a chuckle as his cheeks blushed. His eyes met the man’s and he had a warm smile as his eyes looked into the stranger’s. “Are you sure? I think it’s a pretty genius number, if I do say so myself.” He tilted his head to the side as he said this, his eyes twinkling and his cheeks blushed as the two men locked eyes. He was clearly flirting. He looked rather attractive as he did so, and was rather happy at this moment. He was distracted from his pain and grief.
Will was shocked with himself at this new act, but for some reason, he didn’t care. He hadn’t flirted with some since her, let alone has he flirted with a man who was a stranger— yet here he was.
The man laughed and covered his mouth. He was slightly disappointed in himself for laughing at such an immature joke, but something about the situation made him crack.
Will let out a genuine laugh. He liked that the stranger had a sense of humor. “I’m sure you love immature jokes.” He said in a flirtatious tone while glancing at the man’s lips. He was a hopeless flirt. He let out a playful laugh afterwards, his eyes twinkling as he did so. “So, do you just practice criminal or do you ever do family law or something like that?”
The man paused and looked at Will before falling into a pit of laughter. He covered his mouth and leaned forward, tears pricking his eyes as he found the situation funny. "Business, dirty joke, straight back to business."
Will’s laugh slowly came to an end. He wiped the tears from his eyes. Will took the time to collect himself, and after letting out one last chuckle, he spoke once more. “Are you always this friendly? Or am I just lucky enough that you sat next to me today?” He looked at the stranger with a wide grin. His eyes twinkled and his cheeks blushed as he said this. He couldn’t help but giggle at his own words. “That sounded pretty smooth, didn’t it?”
The man started laughing again and he leaned against the bench edge. "Stop, my stomach's starting to hurt.." The bus suddenly pulled up and the doors opened and the man stood. “I have to go. Thank you. This has been a nice addition to my day.”
Will sat up a little more. “No, not without giving me your number.”
The man paused and chuckled. He pulled out a business card and gave it to him. “Message me.” He said before stepping onto the bus.
Will stared at the business card, and— for once —he felt happy.
Tags & warnings. Yes, I did this only because I hate this man and I wanted to make him unhappy, lol.
Word count. 2.9k
Summary.
There is simply nothing worst than knowing how it ends.
He had his strengths, unfortunately, socializing wasn't part of that extensive list. So when you, a natural chatterbox, took a seat beside him, he knew he was condemned for the rest of the day.
Will didn't know that you were also terrible at making friends.
"I saw you in the literature class, you did great," you whispered with a smile, adhering to the library's rules, and he sighed, thinking that he only responded to teachers' questions because no one else did.
"Uh-huh."
A few seconds of silence, and you picked up on it. After having five people reject your friendship, you understood the message loud and clear. It seemed you would finish your university career without knowing a single friendly soul on campus.
Although, well, in this case, maybe it was your fault. He seemed a bit older than you. Perhaps the weariness of university life had already consumed his soul or something like that.
You didn't say anything more, you crossed your arms and buried your face in them, close to tears. It was only a few seconds before a tap on your shoulder made you turn.
Without looking at you, the curly-haired guy was pushing his coffee cup towards you, as an invitation.
Did you look that exhausted?
In silence, you took the cup and had a sip. Maybe not everything was so bad.
It became a routine; you didn't say anything when you arrived at his side at the same table that only the two of you shared.
You learned that the two free hours you had between classes were the same ones he seemed to have; you always found him in the same spot, writing as if his life depended on it. Many times, the only sound accompanying you was the noise of his old laptop, whose fan you compared to the engine of a broken-down car.
"I didn't see you in class today." It was the first time in a long time that he spoke to you as he pushed the remainder of his coffee towards you, as usual.
You drank it, trying to hide your surprise at his words.
"I overslept."
He scoffed. And you smiled when you discovered that he had more than just one facial expression.
You figured that the encounter for that day was over because he turned towards his backpack. However, instead of packing things, he seemed to be rummaging through it.
"I'll send you what we covered in class." He wrote on a post-it note before pushing it towards you; his email address was written on it.
Very formal, very him.
And you smiled even more, if that was possible.
With time, things became a bit of a frenzy for you two. Before you knew it, you were in Will's arms, already accustomed to his way of covering your eyes and hugging you from behind.
"Who am I?"
"Mhm, let me guess…" He always laughed when you pretended not to recognize him.
Slowly, he slid his hand from your eyes down your face and rested it on your neck. You knew there were people watching you, there were always people watching you at school.
Maybe everyone wondered what you had given to the quietest and most introverted guy in school to have him so enchanted with you.
Slowly, you turned around in his arms. He pressed you against his chest, and you smiled.
"Do you want to study together tonight?"
Study sessions one day turned into make-out sessions.
"Is this okay?" He leaned over your body to look at your laptop screen.
His body rose and fell with your breath, and you tried not to complain that he was crushing you with the weight of his body.
"Poor wording," he teased, and you realized it when he pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh, and you pushed him.
"I won't ask for your opinion ever again."
"I tell you for your own good." He rested a hand on the pillow next to your head, looking at you with that mocking smile that annoyed you so much.
"You always say that." You pouted.
He leaned further forward, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.
"And you keep asking me to review it," he whispered, his huge brown eyes fixed on you.
Your hand rose, and you gently caressed the light beard that began to grow every three days. The same one that tickled you whenever he rested his chin on your neck.
"You're a lousy tutor."
Seconds of silence before he pushed forward, his lips crashing against yours with desperation.
It seemed like Will had been waiting for this his whole life. He was devouring your mouth, claiming it as his own.
This became a habit, meeting every week to kiss until your lips hurt, him squeezing your hip until his fingers were imprinted on you.
All of this under the title of "best friends."
Your story had its ups and downs, needless to say, both of your characters were somewhat special. Because even though you worked perfectly together, you both had too much pride to acknowledge your feelings for each other.
You met his girlfriends; he met every idiot who tried to be with you without realizing that you were too good for losers like them.
You argued, gave each other the cold shoulder on multiple occasions, and reconciled just as many times.
And before you knew it, you were living with him.
Not only that, you had already had an established relationship for about two years.
"Are you going through a phase?" He slid his arms around your waist, and with little force, he pulled you close to his chest as your gaze remained fixed on your phone.
"Can't I listen to One Direction albums on repeat without you judging me?"
"No." Sometimes he was so good in his performances that you had no other choice but to elbow him to take the air out of his lungs.
Still, he laughed.
"Listen, it's a masterpiece." You turned slowly. You placed one of the earphones in his ear, and you kept the other in yours.
As the music played and you hummed along, Will just stared at you. He used to do that often, but he never told you that in the meantime, he was thinking about how lucky he was.
About how he prayed to heaven, to God, to fate, to whatever was listening that life would stay like this forever. With you in his arms and your horrible musical choices.
"It's awful."
You both burst into laughter, and he didn't even complain when you hit him again. Nor did you when he pushed you beneath him, kissing you like a hungry man.
Your shared closet was full of little colorful notes - yellow, pink, green, and orange - and you read each one carefully.
Behind you, Will was biting one of his nails, looking at you as if Jane Austen herself were judging his work.
Exactly 36 minutes passed as you finished your reading, and in the end, you turned to him with a smile that brought his soul back to life.
It turns out that Will had always dreamed of being a writer, and you, better than anyone, had known this since that disastrous afternoon when you first met. In fact, you were surprised that he didn't already have four novels completed, given the speed and desperation with which he always wrote.
"It's perfect, love!" Yeah, it was just a storyboard but you still jumped into his arms, and with the coordination of two people who were born to be together, he lifted you off the ground.
Of course, you supported his dream, even if it meant quitting his job to write full-time. You knew it would be tough, exhausting for you as the primary provider, but in your eyes, it would all be worth it when you saw him dedicate his first book to you.
That had been the deal. You would get the first copy, the first page would clarify how important you were to him (that part was his suggestion), and the book, adorned with his autograph, would be part of the house's decor.
"I can't wait to read it." Your forehead rested against his.
"I love you." He told you all the time, in fact, he had been saying it since you were best friends, but this time it was different.
Special, sincere, and intimate.
Will wanted to tear out his heart and leave it in your hands, like the dramatic writer he had been for years.
And you wanted to take care of it, to take care of his heart, to take care of him, until your time ran out.
"I can't take it anymore, Will." You sobbed in his arms as he gently rocked you back and forth.
The edge of his desk was digging into your ribs every time he leaned forward, but you didn't complain; you knew he was doing his best to console you.
He could only think that it wasn't fair; you were giving up your life to let him fulfill his dream.
It turned out that when you started taking extra shifts, your body began to succumb to physical and emotional exhaustion. You were utterly drained, and in recent days, your boss wasn't making it any easier for you.
"Quit," was the first thing that came to his mind.
And that made you sob even more because you were no longer a child.
Because even though he offered you the easiest way out, you knew when things were possible and when they weren't, and losing your job without a backup plan was by no means an option. That was probably the most frustrating part, not seeing a way out.
Your boyfriend's beard tickled your forehead, and when your breathing synchronized with his, you thought what you always thought. 'This will be worth it someday.'
Will was worth it. Will was worth even more than this, and you knew it. You would never have the strength to ask him to be unhappy again for a little more money.
"We should get married."
Will choked on his cereal, his gaze leaving his laptop for a few seconds.
It wasn't the first time you had made such comments, and although you thought Will was simply too dumb to understand hints, he had decided to start ignoring them.
And he wasn't even sure why. Maybe he had never been attracted to the idea of marriage, maybe part of it made him feel like his youth was slipping through his fingers.
But this time you were too direct to ignore.
"I don't know, love," he scratched his beard, finally pushing his laptop aside.
Lately, you didn't spend as much time together without him writing, without the sound of the keys resonating in your head.
Anyway, his answer was enough to make you swallow hard.
It hurt that he doubted.
"I think we don't have enough money," he cleared his throat with the excuse.
You nodded silently.
That night you turned your back on him, and he unconsciously did the same. He didn't like it at all; in fact, he didn't want to repeat the experience ever again.
"How long are we going to keep this up?" Your voice was almost a cold whisper as you stared at your coffee cup.
Of course, Will had noticed for weeks that things weren't right between you, but by his own choice, he hadn't said anything.
He knew that talking would mean facing many things, maybe hearing from your own mouth everything he had been doing wrong. Losing you.
No scenario seemed tempting to him, so he chose the best way out of all this, pretending that everything was fine, playing dumb when you hinted in some way that things weren't going well. You see, perhaps Will's worst flaw was being selfish.
He could see you losing yourself over time, little by little, every day more, rather than letting you go. Letting you be happy somewhere else.
"Keep what up, love?"
Life was weighing you down. Your job, your relationship, feeling stuck in the same place. And on occasions like these, he reminded you that you weren't ready either.
You didn't have the strength to argue.
Your eyes were tired of the constant burning of tears.
You simply shook your head, and your boyfriend's heart returned to its normal rhythm.
He didn't know how long you would hold up like this, but at least for today, things would stay as they were.
You would sleep in his arms, and he would pretend that hugging you tighter was just an involuntary move and a way to silently comfort those sobs that you always thought would never wake him up.
Sometimes you felt like you were just exaggerating. That you, like all couples, were simply going through a rough patch.
Will was the same. He always was.
The one who made you laugh, the one who saved his last sip of coffee for you, and the one who promised to share his dream of a lifetime with you, which you confirmed on an ordinary Saturday.
He invited you to dinner and temporarily got rid of that beard that always scratched you when you kissed him. He took you to the movies and let you choose the film.
You made out in the last row of seats like teenagers with little time alone, and you laughed out loud when your lipstick ended up completely on his now swollen lips. And things only got better at home.
Yes, you were one of those ridiculous couples who had matching pajamas, and that night, after many, you wore them at the same time.
"I love you." Your stomach fluttered as it had the first time he said it to you, and you kissed his lips until you got tired.
Will watched you sleep, thinking about how lucky he was. He prayed with all his heart that the day would never come when you realized that he would never be worth it, and that unfortunately, living through those terrible ups and downs wouldn't be worth it someday either.
He prayed that you wouldn't notice how his face fell when you proposed the idea of starting a family, or how the excuse of an expensive wedding went to hell when you suggested something small with his family and yours.
Both of you slept on the couch, although the next day you woke up sore, you could ignore many things if Will held you that way with his arms.
Things came to an end exactly three months later when you realized that all the previous times you said, "I can't take it anymore" didn't compare to what it truly meant to not be able to take it anymore.
Will knew it; for a week, it could have been any day.
Still, no matter how much he prepared mentally, it felt like someone was ripping his stomach out when he woke up one day and found you sitting on the couch, a coffee cup in your hand, and your suitcases in front of you.
He thought it was ridiculous that you had to leave your own home, but to the very end, you were thinking of him.
"Don't go," was all he could say, and you looked at him.
You were exhausted.
"I can't stay, Will." You sounded so determined that he almost felt happy to hear you being yourself again. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he heard you speak so firmly.
He wished it hadn't been this way.
"Every morning…" Your voice broke, along with his heart. "Every morning, I feel like I have to put my hands on my chest and check to confirm that I'm alive."
This was precisely what Will had been trying to avoid for so long.
"Please, don't do it," he repeated softly. For a writer of some of the most dramatic stories you'd ever read, he didn't seem to have much else on his mind than this, repeating over and over not to leave.
"Promise me it will be different, and I'll try, Will."
He swallowed hard.
"Make me your wife, make me your everything," you begged through tears.
And he couldn't. He couldn't even walk behind you to stop you as you left, dragging your noisy suitcases.
He knew he would dream for the rest of his nights about that broken hug and painful kiss on the cheek you gave him to say goodbye. And although his ears played him a continuous ringing, something he had only seen in movies, he managed to hear that you said something about taking care of himself.
It tore his soul apart to think that even in the last minute, you were thinking of his well-being, something he had stopped doing a long time ago.
Will's life spiraled downhill, but that's something he had predicted a long time ago. He knew that everything in him depended on you to be okay.
His writings lost their meaning, his novel remained half-finished when he realized that maybe it wasn't worth completing if he wouldn't have someone to dedicate it to in the end.
He always believed that misfortune could bring out the potential in any artist, but unfortunately, he wasn't one of those cases.
He never listened to any songs he recognized from being on the same playlist you used to play on any occasion, and his bed started to feel colder and colder, even in the summer.
The only thing he sometimes liked was that period of time between lying down and falling asleep; he liked to remember.
Sometimes, he even laughed at all those times he begged not to lose you. He wished he had done more than just pray.
OSCAR ISAAC + Soft & Tender Moments 🥰
Michael | Won’t Back Down
Reeves | 10 Years
Mikael | The Promise
Kane | Annihilation
Abel | A Most Violent Year
Will | Life Itself
Poe | Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
