no one asked for it, but i have another art inspired ficlet to share. because sometimes you have an actual visceral reaction to something you see and your brain turns it into this. (again, ignore typos and the total lack of editing)
819 words; post-canon, established relationship
…
Simon finds Wille standing in front of a frame hanging on the wall in the hallway. The bed was empty when he woke up and it took him longer than he’d like to admit to wander the corridors of the palace in search of his boyfriend. Now that Simon’s finally found him, Wille doesn’t seem to notice Simon approaching him, engrossed as he is in the picture he’s looking at.
When he reaches Wille, Simon wraps his arms around his middle and hooks his chin over his shoulder. For a second Wille tenses, but then his hands come to rest over Simon’s and he melts into the touch. Simon presses a kiss into the hinge of his jaw and then looks up, curious to find out what painting he’s so eagerly studying.
Only, when Simon fixes his eyes what is inside the frame, he’s met with a black glass-covered canvas reflecting back their image. There is no painting; there is nothing.
Simon can’t help but frown. “What are we looking at?” he asks, keeping his voice soft and low.
For a moment Wille doesn’t answer. Then he sighs and leans into Simon’s touch. “That’s where my portrait was supposed to go.”
Simon takes in the elaborate decorations and the sheer size of the gilded frame around nothing. He has several questions, but before he can decide which one to ask first, Wille speaks.
“There was supposed to be a portrait of the new crown prince, unveiled on my 18th birthday. It would’ve been displayed next to Erik’s,” he says quietly. Simon tightens his hold.
“Sometimes I come here to look at… this,” Wille continues, his eyes never leaving the blank dark canvas.
“What do you see? When you look at,” Simon nods towards the frame.
“I see different things on different days,” Wille says after a moment, “Some days I see the son who isn’t enough. The son who tried to do the right thing, but can never live up to Erik. Sometimes I see a boy who’s too much, who no one wants to deal with.”
Simon hears the vulnerability in his tone, how this must be something he hasn’t said out loud to anyone else, at least not in a long time.
“There are times when I see the person who did what he needed to do and who’s happy and trying and failing and who doesn’t know who he really is. Who tries to do what’s right and figure it all out but isn’t sure he’s succeeding,” Wille mumbles quietly, like he’s only now admitting this to himself. Simon brushes his nose along his jawline and pauses to leave a lingering kiss under his ear. He hears Wille sigh.
Simon moves to rest his chin on Wille’s shoulder again so he can see their reflection in the glass. He takes in the slightly distorted image of his boyfriend.
“Do you want to know what I see?” he asks.
Hesitating for a second, Wille nods, the movement small but clearly there.
“I see someone who’s brave. Someone who made a huge decision, knowing the impact it would have and stuck to it.”
Wille’s fingers intertwine with his and Simon squeezes them gently before continuing, “I see someone who’s impulsive and stubborn.” Wille huffs and Simon’s mouth curves into a smile. “Someone who would benefit thinking twice sometimes, but who only acts fast because he cares.”
In the glass, Simon can see the corners of Wille’s mouth start to tug upwards. “I see a boy who cares so much it sometimes hurts. I see a boy who loves so deeply and who’ll do everything for the people he loves. And I see someone who is so lucky to receive that love. I see someone who matters more than anything else in this world, someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“The rest of your life?” Wille asks, a little breathlessly, pressing even closer to Simon.
Simon holds his gaze in the glass. “Yes. Because I see someone who is willing to make the effort and learn and share and understand and who has more courage than anyone else I know. And I want to see what becomes of you, I want see you see yourself here as someone who is loved and cherished and never too much and always enough as you are.”
Simon’s words are followed by a silence. Wille turns around in his hold, facing away from the empty frame. Simon can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, how Wille seems to be processing everything he just said.
“I want that too,” he finally says, resting his forehead against Simon’s.
“Good,” Simon replies and leans in to kiss him. “It’s what you deserve to see when you look at yourself.”
Next time Simon visits the palace the empty frame is gone from the wall, nothing indicating it ever was there.
sophie calle (french, b. 1953): what do you see? (2013)
Wille stepped around the corner, tall and tousled and pink-cheeked, shrugging off his long wool coat and hanging it on a row of communal hooks. Simon wondered how much it cost. Wille was facing the wall, checking his phone. He slid it into his back pocket, ran a hand through his short hair, and took a deep enough breath that Simon saw his shoulders rise and fall from across the bar.
He turned, and Simon clenched his jaw, looking away and feeling jittery.
thank you to @earlgrey-lateatnight for tagging me in this 🫶
as a bit of a contrast to yesterday's lamb wille the last thing I worked on is what we've come to lovingly call "beach wille" and it's actually a look into the future of @alltoowille's beautiful wonderful tattoo wilmon / Sanguine Labyrinth (tattoo AU). so here's to hope, for wilmon and wille and just in general 💜
(a little e-rated towards the end)
Now, as Wille stirs, the first thing he notices is warmth. It's a tingly, soft, feather-light warmth, stretching across his shoulders, down his spine, the back of his thighs, his calves, cocooning him entirely.
He's slowly growing aware of the weight and pressure and solidity of his body. And of the other sensations around it. There's the damp towel pressed against his chest, the sweat pooling in his knee pits and in the creases of his folded arms, his swim trunks sticking to the skin of his ass.
He feels gross, and there's something exhilarating about it. He gets to be gross and sticky and entirely unpresentable today.
Wille doesn't remember the last time he fell asleep while sunbathing, isn't sure it's ever happened. And he just barely remembers the last time he woke up to something like a sense of relief. Of freedom, maybe. It's an oddly unfamiliar feeling, this realization that he doesn't have places to be and things to get done. That there's nothing else he is supposed to be doing right now.
Slowly, hesitantly, he opens his eyes, only gradually letting the blinding light in. Some small, irrational part of Wille is scared that the sand sticking in between his toes and the faint rush of waves hitting the shore could slip away. Like if he's not careful, and looks too hard, and moves too quickly, it'll end up being a mirage after all.
But thankfully it's all still here. Real and tangible and so bright that it hurts Wille's bleary eyes. He pats around for his sunglasses with sleep-addled movement. Once his squinting eyes are shielded, he looks around.
Next to him, Simon's chair is deserted, the only trace of his boyfriend being the haphazardly crumpled up white towel he stole from the apartment this morning. Wille enjoyed watching him earlier, when he slowly dragged the towel over his wet tan inked skin after coming back from his swim.
(...)
Wille's fingers itch with the urge to touch him and feel his skin and rub his fingers over the bumpy raised lines on his thigh. Simon has been more than generous with his touches over the past days of their holiday. But somewhere deep in Wille's chest there's a kind of hunger for it that feels impossible to satisfy and claws its way to the surface whenever he doesn't have Simon's hands on him.
(...)
Earlier this morning, Simon fingered him.
He set a torturously slow pace and did it so, so thoroughly. He took his time teasing Wille, dragged it out for a while, even longer than he normally does. Dragged it out until Wille couldn't help but whine for more, a sleep-rasped and pathetic plea for Simon to stretch him open again. Wille's cheeks burned when he asked, his voice cracked, his own words made him want to hide his face in the pillow and with it all the rest of his begging.
Simon only smiled and then kept going, softly shushing Wille.
Simon's voice was gentle and condescending and sweet and steady when he told Wille to be patient, to let Simon have a little fun with his hole first. He said he wanted to see how much of this Wille could take, said that Wille had been so brave so far, so good, made Simon so so proud.
And with every desperate sound out of Wille's mouth, every broken more and please, Simon further slowed his movements, made Wille take more by giving him less.
Wille squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus, and he can feel it, the memory that has seared itself into his flesh. Wille can still feel Simon's thumb rubbing over his hole with a taunting casualness that nearly brought him to tears.
(...)
Wille shivers, bites his lip, suppresses the urge to grind his cock into the towel. He wishes Simon was here right now, Simon's hands on his body, soothing the nagging needy little feeling.
I'm tagging my wilmon co-conspirator @alltoowille, maybe there's some more tattoo wilmon for us to see? 🤩🫶
From a little something I’ve been working on for far too long, but so close to being done.
---
“And what will you do for me in return?” Simon hears himself ask, his own eyes going wide when he realizes what he’s said. Where did that even come from and why the fuck did it sound so flirty?
Wille cocks an eyebrow and watches him in silence for a moment. A very long moment in which Simon considers beating himself over the head with this frying pan. When Wille speaks, the exact same flirty tone Simon inadvertently used is evident in his voice, “What do you want me to do in return?”
An image flashes through Simon’s head of Wille stepping forward and backing him into the counter, dropping to his knees, unzipping his jeans. A blowjob in return for a grilled cheese? Seems like a fair trade.
Wait. What the fucking fuck, Eriksson???
Simon swallows around his suddenly bone-dry throat and panic-answers with the first thing that comes to mind, “You can clean the shower tomorrow.”
Another dangerous image flits through his brain. This time it’s Wille bent over scrubbing the shower, shirtless, clouded with steam, water streaming down his back, his toned arms, his bare ass. You know, because people often clean the shower in the nude.
“Done,” Wille agrees easily, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, looking very pleased with himself, then he adds with a laugh, “Wasn’t it my turn to clean the bathroom anyway?”
Oh fuck. That’s true. Dammit. Should’ve gone for the BJ after all.
Mentally shaking himself by the shoulders, Simon turns back to the stove, grateful for the distraction of cooking Wille a grilled cheese.
Drabble for week 28 of the weekly drabble challenge initiated by malinowaj💜
| 100 words | Prompt: Season(s) | R: Gen | Tags: three years of Sara's birthday |
Divider by @/pixopix
Sara wished for a horse when she was gonna turn 11.
“That’s too demanding, you’re too young to realise it. Think of the horse.”
She read all the books under the 636.1 DDC.
Sara wished for a horse when she was gonna turn 12.
“You don’t understand the time and work needed through the seasons.”
She took on early weekend shifts at the stable, volunteered, trod in mulch next to tracks while leading horses, cleaned and groomed.
Sara wished for a horse when she was gonna turn 13.
“You are old enough to know that we can’t afford that.”
The last thing I wrote, thank you for tagging me @malinowaj and @moonlightfrogsandkisses!
I haven't really worked on anything except gift exchange for a couple of months or more - no inspiration/energy/time - so technically the last thing I wrote other than my gift were the short prompt fills last month. But before that I was working on a secret project, so here you go, here's some of the most recent scene I wrote for that:
--
“Are you okay?”
“You think I’m still hung up on someone I sort of half-dated for a couple of weeks when we were sixteen?” Simon sounded light-hearted, but Wille still scanned his face, increasingly desperate for any tiny sign that he might be, actually.
“No,” said the man, matching the tone and the smile. “But to be fair, the guy who broke my heart when I was sixteen isn’t the most famous person in the country. In fact, none of the people I’ve ever dated have turned up on the news, though I think if they did it would be more along the lines of ‘a local man was charged in court today’ than shaking hands with presidents.”
Simon laughed, nudging his shoulder against the other man’s until they’re pressed together, both grinning. The casual, easy affection between them made Wille ache in a way he didn’t think he was capable of. “Is that better or worse?”
He snorts. “You tell me.”
(Not tagging anyone as I've been offline for a couple of days and no idea who has/hasn't done this already!)
As Wilhelm tries to build a new version of his swing, he also finds himself learning what it might mean to belong to the Robins. But Simon offers a different kind of belonging, where comfort, confession, and wanting are all getting dangerously tangled.
Read it here on ao3!
__________
also p.s. how do I get my tumblr to be more back on young royals / omar tumblr? For some reason I’m never seeing you guys’ posts, ficlets and gifs and stuff someone help pls haha :(
“Wille, what did you find?” Felice asks. If Simon’s not completely mistaken, she sounds a tiny bit worried.
“Sol, please play the audio I just rerouted to channel 2049.”
“Of course Wilhelm.”
At first there is nothing but static hum. Then the silence that’s fallen over the room is broken by a series of beeps. First three short ones, followed by three longer ones, before three short ones come in again. It’s quiet for a moment before the sequence starts again. And again. And again.
“No…” Madison mumbles, her hands gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turn white. Alexander sinks down on the bench.
“That frequency— It’s not possible— Is it?” Henry utters. His eyes are wide as saucers.
in which simon tries to understand his feelings and something wilhelm discovers might change everything.
read chapter 7 here on AO3. or start from the beginning.
“In sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee,” Simon sings under his breath. “How do— No, that’s not what comes next.” With a frown he scrolls to check the lyrics.
“What are you singing?” Wille asks, leaning against the doorframe with a smile on his face.
“It’s just this song about measuring a year.”
“And the best way to do that is… by counting the cups of coffee you have?” Wille’s tone is amused.
Simon crosses to where Wille’s standing, looping his arms around his neck. “No, it’s by love,” he says, nuzzling his nose against Wille’s before kissing him.
Last thing I wrote
- Thank you for the tag @gulliblelemon💜
I've been working on chapter 4 (Frozen stiff or The Popsicle ) for a wip I have on AO3, trying to get back to the easy going tone of it, but the characters keep acting up! What is that about really?
“And I don’t get it, have you actually tried to ask him out? Have you flirted with him? Or even talked with him about something serious? You fled him after the concert making me think that you had accidentally barfed in his closet after a failed hook up or something. So what did you really do there at the gym, huh Wille? Did you talk to him this time or did you let him take all the weight?”
Felice snorted.
“I did not mean that as a joke Felice! Seriously.”
Wilhelm knew that he would have to talk with Henry, alone, when they all had sobered up but as for now, Felice seemed more content again and Henry. Well Henry was bristling like a cat that had met a cucumber, a fresh kitten and a water tray at the same time. It was impossible to take him completely seriously.
“You know what Henry,” Felice held out her hand to him. “I will say this with all the love, but what Wille did or didn’t do that day of all the days. That isn’t anything that you, or I, or Simon for that matter are entitled to have a say about in this case.”
“Felice, really it’s fine.” Wilhelm tried to get in.
“Wille, no, that day… No I'm not gonna say it. We are both on your side,” Felice had almost as sharp of a dagger stare as Henry, thankfully aimed his way also. “And Henry, you have to just say yes, or no; Does Simon seem like he has aspirations to see Wille, our beloved friend with the allegedly massive sex appeal," She really couldn't wiggle her eyebrows, neither sober nor drunk. "Does he wanna see him sweat more in the gym type of way, or the allegedly type of way from what you have seen, and heard? Yes or no, simple as that.”
no pressure tags to @starvalisedham @moonlightfrogsandkisses @silvagrey @larrylover3000 @frabacc
theartofmadeline
gracieabrams
vaporwave
2087
romaincrisis
