I know there's only a few readers left in the YR fandom, but this story is very important to me and I hope it finds some love!
Born with a broken heart
Chapter 6 out!
When he opened the door, Wille was sitting in his chair, back to him in front of the big mirror, busying himself with putting on his make up with slow and deliberate moves. It didnāt appear like he was slow from lack of experience ā more like he was thoroughly enjoying his work and putting a lot of care into each layer. It was still quiet in the big room, but it wouldnāt take long until the other artists would flock in and disturb the peace. Awkwardly, Simon hovered on the doorstep. He didnāt really know what he had expected ā and even less what to do now. He hadnāt thought about anything when he had pushed the door open, and now he was standing there, lost and feeling stupid. Maybe he had secretly hoped that Wille wasnāt really in. That he could just go and take a glance at his clothes, his costume, run his fingers over his belongings that would give him a better understanding of the person he was. Sneak around a little. Which of course he wouldnāt. Because thatās not what normal people did. Simon would never! Only if there happened to be stuff lying around everywhere ā that could hardly be his fault. Unfortunately, the room was not empty, and a voice pulled him out of his stupor. Wilhelmās voice.
āCan I help you with anything, or are you happy staring?ā Through the mirror, Simon caught Willeās raised eyebrow. āThis is the artistsā dressing room.ā
Simon opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but there was no sound, and he could feel his skin blazing. What the fuck? He knew the room very well, hello? This club was HIS territory. The newbie could shut up with his arrogant demeanor and milky skin and perfect mouth and ā duh, Simon hadnāt just thought this, had he? But then the corners of Wilhelmās āperfectā mouth twitched, and he bit his lip to force down the grin that wanted to take over his complexion. And suddenly, Simonās skin felt even warmer, and his grip on the door handle relaxed.
āI donāt see any artists āround hereā, he smirked. āJust a bloke who canāt dance with too much color on his face.ā
Wilhelm huffed but didnāt really seem affected by his halfhearted tease.
āJust wait and seeā, he mumbled loud enough for Simon to hear, and Simon was already sorry for having bullied him.
āBut as youāre here ā how about you help me with something?ā, Wille asked.
So Simon finally let go of the door handle and stepped into the room. He walked over to Wilhelm, who had gotten up and was just wrapping a red and black top around his bare chest, that looked a bit like an armor.Ā
āCan you hook this up for me? I can do it alone, but itās easier if someone else does it.ā
And now Simon understood that the thick fabric was in fact a corset made from a beautiful shiny fabric with strong side parts to keep everything in shape. Not that Wilhelm needed to shape anything. His chest was lean with a fine layer of muscles, belly tight and a beautiful long waist. And Simon actually needed a moment to swallow some saliva before he grabbed the piece of clothing Wilhelm was holding against his chest and looked for the right way to fulfill his task. He wasnāt completely inexperienced with womenās clothes, being a son and a brother, who was used to stepping into the breach whenever there were zippers to pull, buttons to close or bows to be tied. Simon could do exceptionally pretty bows if he might say so.Ā
But this top hit different. The weight alone was peculiar. It didnāt look cheap like most stage clothes, but costly, with an actual embroidery along the middle. What Wilhelm asked him to do was basically to close the five thousand small hooks in the back that would lock him in, constrict his chest and give him the silhouette of a dame. So Simon pulled the back parts together and put a hook into a loop one by one to fasten the girdle around Willeās body. The awe the beautiful piece ignited in his mind made Simon work carefully. That much he understood, that Wilhelm wasnāt doing sloppy work with his metamorphosis. So Simon took care not to skip a single hook or use the wrong one and with it ruin the artwork that was about to be created. And the further he advanced down Willeās back, the tighter the fabric wrapped around his torso, the slower Simonās fingers worked. Because for some reason his hands were starting to sweat, and he had to fight the urge to run his palms along the sides of the top, feel it up, and dig his fingertips into the intriguing hips underneath.
When he pulled the lower parts tighter to make the top fit and fix the last hooks, his eyes found Wilhelmās, gazing at him through the mirror. His chest was heaving a little ā which wasnāt surprising with the girdle caging him in, and Simon found his own breath quicken in affinity. When he swallowed, he realized that his mouth had gone bone dry ā and maybe he was standing a little too close for casualty. He could almost put his chin onto Wilhelmās shoulder, rub his cheek against his neck and call him beautiful.
For the visions of scales, wings, fins and fangs. The red tread tying them together, the expanded friendships and found families.
Thank you for holding their hand while you are sending them up in space, igniting the spark of magic, encouraging their speeches as teachers, politicians or rowdy teenagers.
For never giving up, for bringing the insomnia, the meet-cute and libraries full of all possible outcomes (and kissing nooks).
Thank you for solving the crimes or creating the murder scene, for giving the pop star and the rocker a world tour and the best social media mistakes.
Thank you, for lending us your stories.
With a deep breath, Wilhelm forced some air into his lungs. He knew how to do this. Heād had enough training on that one. Wilhelm closed his eyes and when he spoke ā despite his glowing cheeks and pounding heart ā his voice was clear and steady.
āLukeās duck likes lakes. Luke Luck likes lakes. Lukeās duck licks lakes. Duck takes licks in lakes Luke Luck likes.ā
When he opened his eyes, Simon was staring at him with a blank expression. He blinked. And blinked again before he opened his mouth.
āLukeās dick likes WHAT?ā
āDUCK. Lukeās duck! Likes lakes.ā
āYou said ālicksā.ā
āYes. Likes and licks.ā
āLukeās duck licks dicks?ā
Wilhelm rolled his eyes. āLicks lakes.ā
Simon frowned. āWhy?ā
āBecause itās a duck?ā
āDick.ā
āDUCK!ā
āThis doesnāt make any sense.ā
āItās a tongue twister. Itās not supposed to make sense. Itās just ā¦ difficultā, Wilhelm shrugged.
Simon kept deadpanning him. āSay it again.ā
So Wilhelm repeated, quicker this time. No hesitation, no stutter, no flaw.
āLukeās duck likes lakes, Luke Luck likes lakes, Lukeās duck licks lakes. Duck takes licks in lakes Luke Luck likes.ā
āOkayyyā, Simon said slowly, āI donāt really know if I should be impressed or scared of you now. Why the hell did you learn that?ā
Wilhelm gave him a lopsided smile. āLonely childhood?ā
It came out more like a question than an actual answer. But despite his joking tone, it was closer to the truth than Wille liked to admit. But there was more. Because ā yes, heād always been drawn to every kind of melodious poetry and word play. And he had sat in his boy room more often than he was out with the other kids, memorizing long-ass ballads from dead and buried nineteenth century English poets, because ā like Erik liked to put it ā deep in his heart his little brother was a hundred-year-old man.
Wilhelm didnāt care. Heād had fun with the pieces. Even more ā they had helped him keep his sanity in the long lonely hours when sleep had refused to wrap its merciful cloak around him and left the boy staring at the shadows that were dancing across the walls of his far too big bedroom all horrified. The poems were as dark as his boy-room at night. But the words he had found between the thick covers of old books from his parentās library that no one ever touched because they were only on display for ornamental reasons, had taught Wille to call the shadows by their names ā and thus rob them from their terrors. To this day, he could still recite āThe Ravenā, āOde to a Nightingaleā and āLa Belle Dame sans Merciā without missing a beat, if anyone cared to listen. Which no one did. Ever. Still, Wilhelm kept the songs close to his heart and still found solace in them when needed.
The tongue twisters however were a completely different story. He hadnāt learned those for fun. It was something his mom had made him do to improve his pronunciation and āget a grip on that unworthy stammeringā. He could do them all, from Betty who bought the butter to the woodchuck who wouldnāt chuck wood. Wille had memorized and repeated them over and over until his tongue had felt fuzzy in his mouth. Because he had known the moment would come in the middle of breakfast maybe, when his mom would command him to recite one. And he couldnāt swallow the bite in his mouth quick enough before her palm would slap down on the table top to set a merciless rhythm with her tapping.
āRepeat!ā, sheād snap when he was too hesitant.
āRepeat!ā, when he tripped over his tongue.
āRepeat!ā, when he stuttered.
āRepeat!ā, when he slurred.
āRepeat!ā, when his voice choked on the tears.
āYouāre a Lundbergā, she used to say. āEverybody must listen when you speak!ā
Wilhelm never wanted anyone to hear him speak. He didnāt feel like he had anything clever to say in the first place. But this was no reason to hold one's tongue in his parentsā business. So he had repeated until heād finally gotten it right ā or his mom had grown tired of him and dismissed him with an affronted sigh.
Scared. Simon should be scared of him. Definitely this one.
Scene: Simon has to put a mic-pack on Wilhelm, and they both have no fun. Simon makes a discovery.
When Simon brushed his fingers along the neckline of his dress, Wilhelm shivered so hard that he could feel the ripples in his muscles up and down his spine.
āCan you stand still for a moment?ā, Simon groused, as he was tugging on his clothes in an unfriendly manner. āI need to fix this.ā
Wilhelm leaned back and ended up in an awkward half-bent position so Simon could reach up. It was stupid and uncomfortable. And all those conflicting feelings were straining his nerves. Wille wasnāt good with handling feelings, his own or anyone elses ā not even on a good day. And they were hot and cold, highly confusing feelings on top of it. Fuck it, he really didnāt want them.
āSorryā, Wille snapped back, āIām tall. Want a ladder or something?ā
An angry grunt was the sole reply. But Simon let go of him, and Wille straightened up with a sigh when the sound guy grabbed the mic-pack from his table.
āI need to attach the holder to your dress. Mostly we use these pins for thatā, he said and pulled out a set of huge, scary looking safety pins, that would easily go not only through Willeās dress but through his skin and muscle as well.
Honestly, those pins were big enough to hook the mic-pack directly to his ass cheeks. At the sight of the shiny metal, Wille felt a good deal of his blood leaving his face to pool somewhere in his belly. Was this the right time to tell cable boy that he was having a problem with needles? Like, not the āI donāt particularly support needles the size of a pinky finger in my near proximity, but Iāll take it like a manā-kind of way, unless more the dizzy-head, nausea-inducing, fainting problem?
āIs that okay?ā, Wille heard the other one say through a light fog that had crept over his perception.
No, it was not okay. Wille was not okay. Neither his dress, that would certainly be ruined by these barbaric meat hooks, nor his psyche wanted these murder-pins close. And even his ass cheeks were scared now and clenched tight all by themselves. But the microphone was mandatory ā and how else should they attach it to his body? Wille made a mental note to sow a little pocket onto his stage dresses for the pack to go in in the future. But for now ā stainless steel murder pins it was.
Wille tried to stand still when Simon pushed the first of the pointy metal through the fabric of his dress, eyes pressed shut in anticipation of the sting, the blood, the drama that was about to unfold. But there was no sting. And instead of working on his dress, the other boy was just staring down at the small of his back with a furrowed brow. Wille had opened his eyes after Simon had breached the light fabric and faltered. Now Wille realized heād probably hit the firm surface of the corset that was lying below.
āWhat the hell are you wearing? Is this an armor or what?ā
Well, that wasnāt too far from the truth.
āCorset.ā
I'm super fond of prickly Drag Queen Wille (that's why he'll suffer neverending pain from my hands, but really, I love him!). ā¤ļø Let me know what you think abt this trope, bc it's very special and a bit exotic.
Simon would never admit that heās short ā because heās not and he has the statistics to prove it, thank you very much. He will, however, concede (at least to himself) that he rather enjoys being shorter than his boyfriend. For one thing, he is the perfect height to tuck his face into the crook of Willeās neck when theyāre hugging, and breathe in his scent thatās so wonderfully concentrated there. And, sue him, he does find it hot that Wille can and will pick him up and carry him when the mood strikes. Or pin him against the wall, Simonās legs wrapped around his waist. Whatās not to like about that?
But most of all, he loves how safe he feels when Wille holds him. Thereās something primal and instinctive about it, he supposes, the feeling of safety that can only come from being held by someone bigger than you who loves you more than anything, someone who makes you feel like they can protect you from all danger regardless of whether itās true or not. No matter how bad things are, when Wille wraps him in his arms and holds him close to his chest, itās impossible not to believe theyāll get better again.Ā
So the only times Simon wishes he was taller is when he wants to give the same visceral feeling of absolute safety back to Wille. Sure, Simon can hold him, he can be the big spoon, he can have him scoot down on the bed and lay his head on Simonās chest, he can even have him sit curled up in Simonās lap, but none of that makes Simon big enough to be able to wrap Wille up in that perfect cocoon of comfort and protection. And thatās just so unfair, because Wille deserves that feeling.
āBut you do make me feel like that, donāt you know?ā Wille says incredulously when Simon brings it up one gloomy evening. Simon had a shit day at uni, followed by a frustrating phone call with his father, and then he got caught in the rain waiting for a bus that wouldnāt come. Nothing too bad, but he still appreciates being able to curl up in Willeās arms about it. Wille canāt erase the less than appreciative words Simonās professor had to say about his work, or make him feel like less of an idiot for giving his dad yet another chance, or take away his headache. But he can make all of it matter a little less simply by being a warm, solid body Simon can tuck himself against and be safe.
āYouāve made me feel like that since that day you found me on the football field,ā Wille whispers into Simonās hair, his arms tightening around Simonās shoulders. Instinctively, Simon burrows closer into Willeās chest. āIt doesnāt matter whoās bigger. I feel your heartbeat, I feel your skin, I breathe you inā¦ and everything else justā¦ fades away.ā
Of course Simon knows that. He knows his touch makes Wille relax, knows Wille finds comfort in Simonās closeness. But thatās not quite it.
āItās not the same,ā Simon says, frustrated at not being able to explain what he means.
Wille shrugs, as much as he can when theyāre lying in bed holding each other. āMaybe not. But I donāt think itās possible to feel safer than I do when weāre like this.ā He kisses the top of Simonās head. āBesides, I know how protective you can get. Iāll never forget that time you made August literally back into a corner just by glaring at him.ā
The memory of their altercation at Ludvigās birthday party makes Simonās hackles rise. āHe had no business talking to you like that.ā Simon still wishes heād punched him.
āSee? Short or not, youāre still my protector.ā
Simon kicks his shin. āIām not short.ā
Wille just giggles, but Simon canāt even be mad at him. Not when heās tilting Simonās head up to brush their noses and lips together.Ā
āNo, youāre not,ā Wille says then, in that earnest way of his that makes it quite impossible for Simon to feel anything besides stupidly in love with him. āYouāre just right. Just right to fit with me.ā
Simon tucks his face into the crook of Willeās neck. He canāt argue with that.
"Holy fuck", [Wille] said now. "Why the fuck does anyone like this?"
Honestly. right at that moment, Simon couldn't have told him either. His entire body was still trembling, fingers clutching Wille's hand where it had been resting on his knee. He'd subconsciously moved closer during the jumpscare, it seemed, the outer edge of his propped up foot grazing Wille's. Which, now that the first immediate panic was starting to ebb away, was kind of nice, actually. Wille's body was radiating heat next to Simon, the back of his hand soft and smooth and warm against his fingers. It was almost like the warmth was seeping into Simon's skin, filling his chest and stomach and sending a wave of butterflies through him. Wait āĀ Butterflies? Weren't those supposed to be for, like, being in love? That was what all the songs and books and movies said, right? Then why was he feeling them withĀ Wille?!
Just at that moment, he felt Wille's arm shifting, his hand turning beneath Simon's until it lay with its palm up, fingers sliding between Simon's. AndĀ oh. Okay. One wave of butterflies could've been a trick of his imagination, but the tingles he could feel shooting from where Wille's hand now clasped his all the way down his spine? Those were definitely real.Ā
Oh, 14 yo Simon, you still have so much ahead of you š Chapter 4 out now on AO3 :)
The dressing room was supposed to be somewhere on the left. But the first door he had found had been locked. The next one heād tried was a toilet. He was surely not expected to change in there, so where the fuck was this goddamn changing room? He was short on time, for even though he had packed all the stuff heād wanted to bring already the day before, he had panicked last minute and ransacked his whole bag for last minute changes. Now he was almost late.
Perfect.
Not that he was being part of the variety. But he was supposed to give a taste of his performance before the doors opened, show his style and his songs and maybe snatch a spot on that stage for a few nights. This was a chance heād been waiting for forever. For his art to get recognition and his style admirers. If only he could find the fucking dressing room, because right now he had nothing to show but a pair of blue jeans, some beat up white sneakers and a face that was far too boyish and unappealing to get him anywhere.
In random despair, Wille tumbled through another door on the other side of the corridor, only to find it being a storage room.
āOh no, fuck, NO!ā
The whine he let out was pathetic, and he shut the door with an angry bang.
āCan I help you with something?ā
The unexpected voice made Wille jump, and when he turned, someone was standing in his way. It was a boy, roughly his own age, with a curly head, two big brown boba eyes and the plushest of lips he had ever seen. Wille couldnāt help but stare. Those were the kind of lips he didnāt even manage to paint onto himself with all the gels and products that were lining his beauty case. And instantly he wondered, how those lips would feel against his own, his throat, his stomach. How they felt when they were real and not just an optical illusion.
What the hell? Wille blinked. He wasnāt exactly the flirtatious type, so this kind of thought had come straight out of nowhere. Oh, heād had his share of hookups. Not because he craved the sex, but because thatās what people did, right? And there had been a time when he had thought that he was people. Turned out, he was not. Even if the girls and guys did not turn against him somewhere along the way and heād managed to have something like decent sex, Wille had never caught what the big deal was. The shot of adrenaline that pumped through his veins when he performed on stage felt so much better than any intimate experience so far. Sex was so uncomfortable ā with all the heat and the sweat and the mess, the weird noises and painful intimacy, crowned by some awkward half-hearted cuddling or an embarrassed walk of shame home with a sore throat and a sticky ass crack. No, Wilhelm had never clocked the appeal. And his sudden fascination for a random strangerās lips was clearly nothing but professional interest.
āAhm, actually Iām looking for the changing roomā, Wille blurted out, and the boy raised his eyebrows.
āWell, itās not in there. Unless you want to change into a broom.ā
His tone sounded way more annoyed than he wanted it to, but he wasnāt in for silly jokes. Time was ticking away in his neck.
āAre you going to do a show tonight?ā, his opposite asked under a furrowed brow.
Wille only brought forth a pained smile. Could they just cut the small talk and focus on him getting directions? Not only was he growing more stressed by the minute ā the boy he was talking to also radiated the pungent smell of too much perfume ā or whatever body spray he had used in tons and tons ā and it made Wille dizzy. He needed to get away.
āNot if I donāt get ready in timeā, he hissed.
And if he regretted his harsh tone the moment he had spit the words out, there was no way to capture them. And there was no time to care now. The curly boy put his hands up in defense.
āAlright, chill!ā, he mumbled and stepped aside, hand vaguely gesturing towards the far end of the corridor. āBack there on the right.ā
Wille frowned. āBut they said itās on the left?ā
āWell, then they were either lying, or youāre a bad listenerā, the boy groused. āYou can trust me with this or go and open another six doors and poke your pointy nose in. Do as you please. I gotta go work now.ā
With this, he angrily pushed past Wilhelm and stomped down the corridor in the direction, Wilhelm had come.
āMe too!ā, Wille yelled after him, a strange knot forming in his inners, a little fiery ball of embarrassment and anger.
Ughh, that one had gone bad. Hopefully, he would never see this guy again.
As AO3 is down and you can't read the old stuff, I give you a tiny little glimpse of the ongoing work. The amout of shit I put Wilhelm through in this one is really not fair, poor baby. But what can I do - boy was born to suffer.
āYouāre sad. Do you really think drinking makes it any better?ā
Wille smacked the glass onto the table top and looked up at Simon with a fierce stare.
āDonāt you dare judge me! Just stop critiquing my every move!ā
He pushed up from his seat, the legs of the chair screeching across the floor so loudly it made Simon wince. Wilhelmās eyes were wild when he started to shout into his face.
āLike I havenāt heard it all. āNo Wille, you canāt!ā āI will not let that pass!ā āWhat are you thinking?ā āHow dare you?ā āThatās not the way!ā And my all-time favorite: āGET YOUR GODDAMN SHIT TOGETHER!ā
Simon tumbled back a step, startled by Wilhelmās drunken outburst. And suddenly they stood close - very close - Wilhelm's chest heaving, bangs falling into his face and a hectic flush coloring his cheeks.
āI just thought ā¦ā, Simon stammered helplessly in the face of the tidal wave of wrath that was rolling over him.
āI donāt fucking care what you think!ā, Wilhelm shouted. āI donāt fucking care!ā
With this, he took another step forward, and Simon walked backwards until his back hit the wall.
āIāve spent my whole life caring about what people think. Itās in my essence, in my genes. Itās all that ever counted! But you know what? Iām done! Iām done with caring, because I canāt take it anymore!ā, Wilhelm yelled, breathing heavily, like every one of his words was a brick, and he was throwing them off his chest one by one.
His face was contorted into a snarl, and no matter how hard he tried to hold it in, there was no way Simon couldnāt see the tears that were being born in the corners of his eyes.
āI can not be what they want me to be. I can not be what everybody expects. Trust me, Iāve tried. Iāve tried my whole fucking life! But I canāt be what they want. Only thing I can be is myself. My own useless, pathetic self. And that. Is never. Enough.ā
In search for a hold, Simonās hands clutched the wall behind. Wilhelm could feel his tense body under him, every muscle alert, ready to fight. Bur Wilhelm didn't have any power left to fight anymore, not after this all-consuming hell of a night. His breath came in stuttering puffs, tasting of booze and bitterness. Then his shoulders sagged, and Wilhelm sank his forehead against the wall, lips almost touching Simonās neck. His voice was hoarse from shouting when he whispered his desperate words against his shoulder.
āItās never enough.ā
Guys, I'm suffering from something like a writer's block rn, and it's getting on my nerves so badly bc I'm working on a really beautiful story with loads of heartbreak (Wille's going through it!) and pain, but it's building soooo slowly it makes me go crazy!
So I post a tiny snippet (can't do more bc spoilers) just to let you know I'm not dead. Hope I can tie the loose ends soon and give it to you.
New fic sneak peek
āWanna know something funny?ā the blond boy asked, and his eyes were so heavy with pain, his gaze tore right into Simonās heart. āThe corset actually helps me breathe. When a panic attack is closing in on me, the tightness of the fish bones helps me breathe more calmly. I know it sounds stupid. But it feels a bit like Iām being hugged, like someoneās holding me, and my heart canāt jump out of my chest.ā
Willeās voice trailed away, and Simon felt a hot sting in the back of his eyes at his honest words that were so small, so devastated. And he couldnāt even comprehend how lonely Wilhelm must feel, to an extent where he laced himself into a girdle to feel the pressure of SOMETHING against his body for comfort, when the weight of the world crashed down on him. So Simon swallowed the words he had just formed in his mind down and they cut through his gullet like a dry cracker. They didnāt make any sense now.
āIām sorryā, he said instead, because there really wasnāt anything else to say, and it was the truth.
He was sorry ā so sorry for Wilhelm. For the life he was leading, the pain he absorbed like a black hole for nothing to escape ā no emotion, no words, no joy. And his smile, that had seemed so ridiculously artificial to Simon that he had wanted to slap it off Wilhelmās face, suddenly made sense. It didnāt come from the heart ā the place where smiles should be born. It didnāt even come from the brain, like in those uncomfortable moments when you were required to smile without feeling it. Wilhelmās smile originated from the commanding mouths of those who had made it their purpose to kill his spark. His smile was an order, a task to fulfill, a command to execute.
And Simon wondered when the last time might have been when Wilhelm had really felt it, had laughed out loud with uncontrollable joy, laughed so hard that his tummy hurt.
And where exactly along the way this laughter had died.
I REALLY wanna publish this one soon. Got abt 40k words done. Only a few paragraphs to fit into the right places before I can put smth out for you. But mehhhhh, it's so HARD rn. Send candles.
Thank youš
š what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?
I don't use the notes app for fics anymore so it is something so mundane as the sum of how much money I needed to make sure was on a certain bank account. And a list called "Nystart" for things I sorta need and sorta wanna have.
āļø what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?
Wow. What a difficut question.
Right now I think I would love to read a non-canon au, with the change that when the time comes for Wille to renounce his title he has for some reason can't. Exactly why I don't know, maybe after something supernatural start to happen worldwide that just makes it to a not prioritized thing. Cause with his status he and Simon can go on a quest to help resolve what ever it might be. And I have several very vague head canons about Simon's ancestry carrying magic. So that is something that would play in to the story arc without us really knowing from the beginning.
As to who to write it.... Even more difficult. The Young Royals fandom don't really have that many authors that has dipped into that genre. We have some really good vampire ones thou, so maybe one of those. I think that @vvachillessongvv would create something really good. Or maybe @spennufall or @97ways that has written fantasy for us (I am sure that I am forgetting someone obvious here).
Hejo, I'm really intrigued by your WIPs and would want to know abt "Package", "French Fries" and "Front Desk". š
Hej! Thanks for asking š
"Package"
I haven't written a ton of this one but it's a roommates to lovers smutty one shot. Simon opens a package by mistake thinking it's for him, but it's actually for his brand new roommate (Wille) and the contents are rather...improper. āŗļø
"Front Desk"
Simon works the front desk of Wille's apartment building. Wille is in love with him, obviously, and makes a lot of excuses to visit the front desk. š
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