hi! for the drabble thing, 42. “I swear it was an accident.” and wilmon, please 💜
Thanks @malinowaj! This one was harder to write than I would have anticipated, and ended up more angsty than I intended... sorry? Maybe partly because I originally started it as a fluffy romp through one of them giving the other a DIY hair trim at home, and accidentally taking out a chunk or otherwise messing it up – horrors! Short hair on the ex-Crown Prince! Or true horrors, RIP Simon’s curls! – but then that same day my youngest decided their hair was flopping in their eyes and took matters into their own hands, so the original conceit of the story felt too, shall we say, close to home. All is well on the homefront… just channeling Edvin in Hunger Games. I’m still taking prompts from this list if anyone would like a little hit of Wilmon.
42. “I swear it was an accident” + Wilmon
“Hej!” Wilhelm is so startled by Simon’s breezy greeting, tossed off right behind him, that he fumbles his phone. Thankfully it only drops and slides across the soft sofa cushion, coming to rest against his thigh.
Simon continues to chatter as he hustles into the apartment, backpack sagging heavily off one shoulder and a tote bag bursting with groceries drooping from his other hand. He plops them on the floor behind the sofa so he can toe off his sneakers.
Their apartment is stuffy with the first truly sweltering day of the season, despite all the windows being open. Even after four years, Wille still hasn’t totally adjusted to the way summer heat here doesn’t have the cool underpinnings of the Swedish archipelago. So with the oscillating fan strategically directed at his face, Wille clearly had missed the sound of keys in the door.
Well, that and he had been a little distracted.
Simon seems to catch on to the embarrassed flush that Wille knows is surely creeping up his neck.
“You okay?” Simon asks him in English.
Wille swiftly locks his phone. “Yeah, yes.” He clears his throat. “Want me to unpack everything?”
“Sure.” Simon shrugs easily. “Just figured I’d grab what we needed on my way. I was thinking we could make that cold noodle dish tonight?”
“Sounds good.”
Simon comes around the sofa to face Wille, his expression scrutinizing. “Why are you acting weird?”
“I’m not,” Wille says, but it sounds like a question.
“Wille. What’s up?”
Wille wants to groan that Simon knows him so well. Or cry. Because being known so well can be a pain in the ass, but also makes him want to cry with how good it feels.
“Just in a mood.”
Simon makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat. Blinks. Waits.
When it’s clear Wilhelm isn’t going to offer more, but also isn’t fleeing the conversation to busy himself with putting away groceries, Simon steps closer.
On instinct, Wille opens his legs so Simon can come to stand between them. One of the delights of living somewhere slightly less temperate is getting Simon in shorts, and he can feel the slightly sweaty hair on Simon’s calves brushing against his own shins.
Taking a deep breath in, Wilhelm wraps his arms around Simon’s waist, tugging him a step closer.
“I’m all sweaty from hauling that shit home,” Simon warns as Wille rests his face against Simon’s stomach.
“Mhm,” Wille mumbles happily as he rolls his forehead side to side, letting his nose press just shy of too hard into Simon.
Simon runs a comforting hand down Wille’s back, coming up to rest in his hair. He pulls at the long, fine hairs there, encouraging Wille to tilt his head back and look up at him. “What’s got you all up in your head?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Not if it has you on edge like this.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.” Simon’s voice is so gentle Wille feels even more stupid, and also silly for getting in his head about this. How many years has he been working on quieting the part of him that needles over and over a thought, worrying it in his mind, even if most of him knows it’s not rational?
Wille isn’t sure he can shape this into a coherent explanation, so he pulls back enough to grab his phone and navigates back to what he’d been looking at. He tilts the screen up towards Simon.
“Wille,” Simon’s voice is incredulous. “What?”
“I swear it was an accident,” Wille cringes at his petulant tone and forces himself to take a deep breath.
“An accident?” Simon sputters. “Wille, you had to have been looking for this. I just….” Simon stops himself.
Wilhelm looks down at the phone screen. “I told you it was stupid.”
“It’s not. But just… why?” Simon reaches out again to rest a hand soothingly on the back of Wille’s neck, pressing with the pad of his thumb into the flushed skin there.
Wille still isn’t really sure himself. He grimaces at the photo.
Simon looks beautiful in it, shirtless and glowing with the heady comfort of Swedish midsummer, curls spiraling damp after a swim, sprawled in the grass with the water blurring the horizon, curtained by lushly green trees. Empty glasses and the remnants of picnic fixings were strewn on a blanket beside him. And behind him, Jakub. Chin hooked over Simon’s shoulder, a hand splayed possessively across his stomach. Jakub was grinning at whomever was behind the camera, probably Felicia or one of their other friends from university, but Simon was turning to look down at Jakub, his face slightly blurred from the captured motion, but the expression of warmth unmistakable.
“I was looking for that picture Sara took of us, after Pride?” Wille starts. “When she came to visit last summer.” As he speaks, he’s trying to unravel the fraying edge of why this bothers him so much anyway.
“At Wannsee?” Simon’s face softens with the memory. “Yeah, I remember.”
“But you know how the phone offers similar photos from previous years…”
Simon frowns. “But why do you have this one? I mean, I don’t even have it.”
Wille traces the arc of Simon’s hip bone with his thumb. “I guess I must have saved it, back then.”
“Wille,” Simon sighs, scritching his fingers along Wille’s hairline.
“I honestly don’t remember.”
“That was, what, three years ago? A long time ago.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know it doesn’t now. But… it did then.”
Simon huffs. “You know it wasn’t the same.”
“I know, and it’s not like I think… or, I thought… you were doing anything wrong. You weren’t. Obviously.”
Simon nods. He knows Wille doesn’t need him to say anything. Just need to hear himself say it out loud.
“But I think…” Wille stops himself, choosing his words. “Having the photo come up just took me back in that feeling, then, when I was here. I’d go out and walk for hours, listening to music, and my mind would just be free-floating, lost in the flow of the city. Being in a place where no one knew me. No one knew or cared who I was.
Wille swallows. “And then I’d go out dancing with people and I couldn’t think beyond the pulse of the music, and the lights, that feeling of being in my body. But then I’d get home at 4am and shower and crawl into bed and feel so content and full and spent, in the best ways, but also so… lonely.”
“And it was the right thing then, for me to come here. I needed it. And it was the right thing for you to stay,” he looks up at Simon to see his confirmation reflected back. “But I think I was so desperate for you… when we weren’t talking, at first… that I’d search for glimpses of you anywhere I could find them.”
“You mean stalking my friends’ instas,” Simon deadpans, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Your friends, your boyfriend… I’ve never had the best impulse control, you know that,” Wille levels back.
“Jakub – it wasn’t serious, Wille, you know that.”
“But it’s okay if it was,” Wille cuts him off. “You're allowed... Just because I realized pretty quickly.…” he lets that thought trail off, not wanting to invoke his own unsatisfying attempts at ‘experiencing other people’ or ‘moving on.’
“Okay.” Simon’s expression is thoughtful, all teasing gone. “But. It was different.”
Wille leans his face back into Simon and feels Simon’s arms wrap around his shoulders without hesitation, holding him close.
“This is different,” Simon says again.
Wille nuzzles against his belly. “It is.”
“And we’re here, now.” Simon leans over Wille’s back so he can ruck up his shirt, running his hands up along his spine.
Wille inhales deeply the smell of Simon, taking over all his senses, welcome despite the damp heat cloying their skin.
“Should we get started on dinner?” he finally asks, voice rumbling against Simon’s body.
“Yeah,” Simon says, straightening. “But first, we’re deleting that fucking photo.”
“Even though you look really hot in it?” Wille finds it in himself to wheelde, realizing that the gloomy weight has seeped out of him, shed by Simon’s comforting steadiness.
Simon snorts. “Well, guess we’ll just have to take a new one for you to remember me by.” He fiddles with Wille’s phone and then tosses it back on the sofa.
“Mhm… is that a promise?” Wille tilts his face up.
Simon leans down readily to grant him the kiss, tender and searching. “Promise.”
For the Wilmon ficlet...
What about number 35: “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”
Thank you💜
Thank you for the prompt! 💜 And sorry for the delay. I was trying to force a bit of smut for this one, but I just couldn't make it work - my brain was determined to take it in an angsty direction instead. So have a very angsty one instead, and if you were really hoping for something more fluffy/smutty/fun, @almostlake, let me know and I'll write another one!
35. "You heard me. Take. It. Off." 891 words, content warning for Erik grief and Wilmon arguing.
~
Simon’s trying to be okay with staying in the palace more often. He’s put it off as much as he can, but sometimes it’s unavoidable if he wants to ever actually see his boyfriend. Especially since the move to Göteborg. He can’t always expect Wille to come across country to him.
So Simon puts up with the weirdness, and the awkwardness, and the vague, nagging sense that the very building itself objects to his presence. If it does, well, screw it. That only makes him more determined to stamp his presence here every way he can.
What’s harder to put up with is the cold. Ancient plumbing and high ceilings are apparently no match for a particularly chilly Swedish winter. Wille and his parents seem oblivious, wandering around in regular clothing when Simon’s so cold he’s half-convinced he can see his own breath when he speaks.
He only brought one proper jumper with him, and it appears to have vanished somewhere, possibly collected by an over-zealous maid collecting the prince’s laundry. So while Simon was waiting for Wille to finish his shower, he’d raided his wardrobe for a replacement, finding a thick, warm hoodie that’s several sizes too big for him. He can’t remember ever seeing Wille wear it before, but it’s absolutely perfect to wrap himself up in while he tucks his cold legs under the duvet and waits for his boyfriend to return.
“Take it off.”
Simon looks up from his phone in surprise. He hadn’t heard Wille come in. Then his automatic flirty response dies on his lips at the sight of Wille’s face.
“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”
“What?” says Simon, half-laughing in shock. He hasn’t seen Wille’s anger like that in months. Not directed at him, anyway.
“Now,” snaps Wille through gritted teeth. He looks like a different person to the one who’d left Simon alone in bed not twenty minutes ago, loving and attentive and carefree.
Silent, disbelieving, Simon pulls off the hoodie and throws it over with bad grace. Wille picks it up slowly, almost reverently, stroking the worn fabric with trembling fingers. He sits down on the edge of the bed, back to Simon, and begins to fold the sweater into a neat square.
“Seriously, Wille. What the fuck?” He’s laughing again, a nervous reaction, because it’s either that or pack up his stuff and leave. All the old anxieties he thought they’d left in the past had flooded back at Wille’s words, reaching down somewhere deep inside and flipping painful switches.
There’s a pause before Wille replies, still not turning round. “It was Erik’s. I took it from his room after…” He trails off, takes in a shuddering breath. “Before the funeral.”
Well, it’s an explanation at least, if not an excuse. Simon exhales, heart rate beginning to settle back down and no longer two seconds away from fleeing the room. He’s still hurt and confused, but he can hear the hurt in Wille’s voice too now. It’s that which makes him slide across the bed to sit next to him, their feet dangling over the edge.
Simon doesn’t get too close though, keeping a careful distance between them as he waits.
“I’m sorry,” says Wille after a pause, and that’s something. He never used to apologise for his outbursts. “I shouldn’t have shouted. You didn’t know.”
Simon looks at his own hands, clasped together in front of him to stop himself from reaching out too soon. “No, I didn’t,” he says eventually, before raising his gaze to Wille’s pale face, seeing the tears in his eyes. “You really scared me there.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry, just…” Simon sighs. “Explain it to me. Please.”
He’s fearful for a moment that Wille won’t answer, his jaw set and face unmoving. Every instinct Simon has longs to close that gap between them anyway, to take Wille’s hands in his and to forgive and forget. But he waits instead while Wille finds the words.
“I’m scared.”
“Scared?”
“Of forgetting.” He turns to face Simon with a watery, twisted smile. “Because I keep forgetting all the time now. Like this morning, I woke up with you and everything was perfect and I didn’t think about him once. And that’s most mornings now. And then when I do remember, I feel so fucking guilty.”
“He’d have wanted you to be happy,” says Simon, firm but cautious. He can feel himself edging out over a thin sheet of ice, knowing the wrong movement could break the fragile surface at any moment.
They almost never talk about Erik. Considering what happened the last time they tried to have a serious conversation about him, Simon has never been brave enough to raise the subject again. Perhaps that was a mistake, on both their parts.
“He loved you. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be stuck in grief forever.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” says Wille, staring at the hoodie on his lap. Gently, he smooths out the fabric with long fingers.
Simon inches closer, cutting the gap between them in half. “You never talk about him,” he says, greatly daring, and Wille looks up in surprise. “You can, you know. If you want to. You could tell me about him, what he was like. If it helps you to remember.”
“I’d like that,” Wille whispers. As his tears start to fall in earnest, Simon finally pulls him close, pouring as much love and comfort into the hug as he can.
How many times have I rewatched Young Royals episode 1 and new things strike me each time.
I know Wilhelm's discomfort in his role is established from the jump, but I sometimes forget just how much. Literally within the first two minutes of the show: "Why can't I decide how the hell I want to live?"
And on a far less serious note, at the dinner table with Sara, Ayub, and Simon, for the first time I noticed Linda steps away, apologizing "I forgot to buy more napkins," and when she comes back she plunks a roll of toilet paper in the center of the table. I love all these little particular details that add such texture to these characters and their worlds.
Hello!! Prompt 41: “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” for Wilmon if you're still doing these 💜
I'm so excited to see what you do with this. I can't imagine either of them saying something like this!
Erm... this got entirely out of hand. Either I'm sorry or you're welcome, depending on what you actually wanted for this. Continued below the cut because... erm...
An alternate universe within an alternate universe... hopefully it'll make sense soon. Rated G, 3k (!!!) words. Oops.
-
“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”
They were the last two left after the rest of the rowing teams had gone, and they had somehow found themselves ambling down the grassy slope to the bus stop together. Wille couldn’t remember exactly why he’d decided to head this way, but now he was here and he felt the need to point out the soft smile Simon had just sent his way.
“Wille, what are you talking about?”
Now, Simon had an incredulous expression on his face. That was one that Wille was used to. Usually accompanied by some scathing comment or other, followed by jeers from the rest of Simon’s rowing team. The competition between the two houses had got even more heated recently, the jabs and taunts increasing in frequency and potency to the point that they mostly just made Wille feel uncomfortable.
“Wait.” Wille’s brain was just catching up with what Simon had said. “Did… you just call me Wille?”
The incredulity on Simon’s face deepened. “Er… what else am I supposed to call you?”
“I— You usually call me Wilhelm. Or… well. Any number of names. But not Wille.”
Simon gaped at Wille and then shook his head. “Wille… what are you talking about? I haven’t called you Wilhelm since… I don’t even know if I ever called you that when I first met you. Maybe right at the start, but—“
“You called me Wilhelm about an hour ago,” Wille argued. “When you were mocking my stroke.”
Simon spluttered and turned an alarming shade of red. It was cute. No. Not cute. Nothing about Simon Eriksson was cute. He was dangerous. And for more reasons that just his rowing team. Dangerous specifically to Wille. He swallowed hard.
Then, Simon did something that made Wille almost choke. He stopped walking and took a step towards him. Wille’s breath caught in his throat.
“What’ve I told you about talking like that at school?”
Simon was so close that Wille would be able to count his eyelashes if he wanted to. But he couldn’t concentrate on that. All he could do was try not be too obvious as he breathed Simon in.
He was also utterly confused. Simon had never been this close to him in his life. And why wasn’t his hair wet? They’d all just showered after the competition. Why wasn’t—
The kiss took Wille by so much surprise that he didn’t move for several seconds. Several seconds in which Simon Eriksson’s soft lips were pressed against his own. And Wille remained frozen in place, unable to do anything until, with a frown on his face, Simon took a step back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, dark brown eyes darting between Wille’s.
“I—“ There were literally no words that Wille could think of to explain how he was feeling. Other than: “What the fuck?”
“What?” Simon looked a little defensive now. “I know we were trying to rein it in a bit at school. But there’s no one here. And besides, everyone knows now and—“
“Knows what?”
Simon’s face did something strange. He looked confused, and maybe a little hurt. “Knows… about us.”
“What about us?”
Nothing was making any sort of sense. Why had Simon just kissed him? Why was he talking like they knew each other? Why didn’t Simon look like he was coming from rowing? In fact, where was Simon’s bag? And how had Wille ended up here with him? He remembered finishing the competition. He remembered trying to drown himself in the showers after their defeat whilst also trying exceptionally hard not to think about the very eyes that were now scanning his face almost frantically. Then everything seemed kind of a blur. In fact, he couldn’t even remember getting out of the shower, never mind getting dressed and all the way out here.
What the fuck was going on?
“Wille. What’s going on? Why are you— Did August say something?”
“August? Why would August—“
“Because I don’t want him even talking to me. Or you. And if he asks me about Sara one more time—“
“Sara? Who’s Sara?”
“Who’s— Wille. You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
Panic had started to spread quickly in Wille’s chest. What the fuck was going on? Why was Simon reaching out for him? Wille took a hasty step back and almost stumbled. Simon’s hand dropped and there was a wounded look on his face.
“Where’s your gym bag?” It wasn’t exactly what Wille wanted to say, but for some reason that was the sentence that came out of his mouth.
“My— I don’t have my gym bag today.”
“But… the rowing competition.”
“What rowing competition? Wille…”
Wille shook his head, taking another step back. “The rowing competition we just had. Forest Ridge versus Sprucewood. You beat us.”
“We— Wille. You’re not making any sense. Are you okay? There was no rowing competition today. I quit the rowing team, remember? And Sprucewood beat us last—“
“Us? But you’re in Sprucewood.”
“What? No I’m not. I’m in Forest Ridge. Or… as in Forest Ridge as non-res students can be. Wille… Are you messing with me? Because it’s not funny.”
“No!” Wille cried. “I’m not! I—“
Terror started grabbing at him, his breaths coming in in sharp gasps. He reached up into his hair and tugged at it. It was short. Why was his hair short? It felt like Erik’s. He’d always stubbornly worn his longer. Why was it—
“Fuck. Wille. Are you okay?” Simon had taken another step closer and this time Wille let him. Let him place steady hands on his shoulders, let him take deep, calm breaths for Wille to mirror, let him mutter soothing things that Wille could barely comprehend. But they sounded nice. This felt nice. It felt… normal. It didn’t feel like it should feel to have Simon Eriksson talking to him like this. It felt like this was something they’d done before.
But they hadn’t.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Wille said quietly after a minute or two. “I think I might be losing my mind.” He chuckled but it came out wobbly.
Despite everything so far suggesting that Simon thought Wille was being ridiculous, right now what he did was give Wille’s shoulders another squeeze and say, “Tell me.”
As he did, the first drops of rain started to fall from the sky. They moved sideways a little to shelter under a tree, Simon’s hands not leaving Wille. They were a comfort even though Wille was sure they weren’t not supposed to be. Or maybe they were. It certainly looked like Simon felt comfortable.
“I— I feel like… I’m missing something,” Wille said. “I… You’re talking to me like… you know me. Like… you like me.”
Simon let out a delicate laugh. “I do like you, Wille. I— I love you, you know that.”
The words hit Wille right in the middle of his chest. Because… what? That made even less sense than everything else so far on this very backwards afternoon.
“No you don’t,” Wille rebutted. “You hate me.” The rain drops grew more persistent, breaking through the cover of leaves above them and dripping onto their heads.
The fond expression slipped off Simon’s face and made way for horror. “What? No I don’t! I could never hate you. I mean… I even tried.” This laugh was a little awkward and maybe sad too.
“Simon. This isn’t helping. What do you mean? And what did you mean when you said you were in Forest Ridge.”
“I am in Forest Ridge.”
“You’re in Sprucewood.”
“Wille… I’ve never been in Sprucewood. I— We’re in the same house. We eat… lunch together.”
Wille shook his head. His hair was getting wet. “Simon, I’ve never eaten lunch with you.”
The look of concern came back with a vengeance. “Wille. Are you okay? I think I need to get someo—“
Despite everything in Wille’s memory telling him otherwise, something else told him that, for some bizarre reason, Simon Eriksson was safe. Luckily, Simon listened and stopped trying to leave. He pulled his hood up and looked at Wille unsurely.
“Tell me,” Wille said. “Tell me… how we know each other.”
Nervousness fluttered under Wille’s sternum. He was terrified that what Simon said might confirm that he was losing his mind. And the first words out of Simon’s mouth didn’t help anything at all.
“We’re… together. Like… boyfriends. And— You really don’t remember? Have you— Did you hit your head or something? Is it, like, temporary amnesia? That’s bad. You should really—“
“Just… keep going,” Wille said. “And after, I promise I’ll go and get checked out.” Maybe he had hit his head. But he wanted to hear Simon’s story. Suddenly, it was all he wanted.
“We… We met about six months ago. You came to Hillerska after that fight.”
Wille remembered all that. That was good.
“And… we…” Simon’s cheeks went a little pink. “We got together a few weeks later. Or— Well.” He let out an awkward laugh. “We never really agree on exactly when it was.”
And that was where Wille was lost. When he got to Hillerska, it was weeks before he met Simon properly. And even then, it was only in passing and mostly with hostility. They were in barely any classes together and were on competing rowing teams. Sure, Wille had heard Simon sing and had developed a strange sort of infatuation with him. But… what Simon was saying made no sense.
Regardless, he let Simon continue. Because, despite it being complete fantasy, the story was bringing Wille a strange sense of peace and contentment. Warmth was spreading through his whole chest as if, perhaps, he were actually in love.
“We’ve… uhm. It’s been a bit of a rough ride. I— Are you sure you want to—“
“Yes,” Wille interrupted, trying to ignore the increasingly heavy rain. “Yes. Please. Tell me.”
“Well… when Erik died, you—“
“Wait. What?” It was as though Wille had been doused with a bucket of cold water. All the warm feeling had gone away to be replaced with an icy dread. “What did you just say?”
“When Erik—“
“Erik’s dead? He— No he’s not. I— What are you saying? I talked to him yesterday. When did—“
“Last year. He— Wille… you’re really scaring me now. Do you not remember?”
“No!” Tears were pressing at the back of Wille’s eyes and it was becoming difficult to breathe again. “No! I don’t remember because that’s not true. It can’t be true! Erik can’t be—“
Lightning ripped across the sky followed by a low rumble of thunder.
“We should get inside,” Simon said. “Head to your room and—“
“No!” Wille cried. “I need to know! I need to— What happened to Erik?”
“He…” Simon looked terrified, but he determinedly shook his wet hair out of his face and ploughed on. “He died in a car accident. A few weeks before Christmas. It… was awful. And you—“
“I’m crown prince.”
Simon nodded. Another flash of lightning illuminated the sky and the rain grew even heavier, the cover of the trees barely keeping anything off them. If they didn’t move soon, they were going to be soaked to the bone.
“Wille… We really need to go and get someone. This isn’t right. You’re scaring me.”
Wille was numb. He could barely feel the icy raindrops dripping down the back of his neck. The sensation of Simon’s warm hand slipping into his own didn’t really register, neither did the fact that his feet started moving across the lawn, Simon tugging him gently along.
Erik. Erik was dead. Erik was— But no. He couldn’t be. Wille had spoken to him just yesterday. He’d told Wille to stop stressing so much about the rowing thing and to go and get laid. Wille had rolled his eyes and told him to fuck off. Erik had laughed as he’d hung up. That was yesterday. It felt so real. It had to be. It had to—
Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky and suddenly, as though waking from a nightmare, Wille was looking up at the bright lights on the ceiling in the showers.
“What the fuck?”
He whipped around. The room was deserted. No sounds except for his own shower. With trembling hands, Wille reached out and turned the shower off. His hair was dripping into his eyes, but it was warm shower water, not cold rain water.
What. The fuck.
Towel wrapped securely round him, Wille padded to the changing room. Also empty. Everyone else must have left. That was how it usually went after a defeat.
Wille’s hands fumbled as he reached into his bag and pulled out his phone. Barely thinking, he navigated to Erik’s contact and hit call. After two rings, the call connected, “Hey, little brother. Did you win?”
A great wave of relief crashed over Wille so suddenly that he had to sit down. A soundless laugh that was halfway to a sob made it out of his mouth.
“Wilhelm?” Erik’s voice sounded more concerned now. “Are you there? Was it bad?”
This time, the laugh made a noise. And then a louder one. And then, before he knew it, Wille had tears coursing down his face and his whole body was shaking.
“Er…” Erik said. “Does that mean you won?”
“No,” Wille choked out. “No. We were completely obliterated. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Now it was Erik’s turn to laugh. “Who are you and what did you do with my brother?”
Wille’s laughter died out and he sat for a moment with the phone pressed to his ear. Then, with a shaky breath, he said, “I love you, Erik.”
Erik scoffed. “What the fuck is up with you?”
“Nothing,” Wille lied. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Of course I know, you idiot. I love you too.”
Wille took a moment to just let those words soak in before he said, “I’ve got to go, Erik.”
“What? But you just—“
“Bye.”
Unceremoniously, he hung up the phone and started pulling on his clothes as fast as he could. The buses weren’t that frequent. If he was quick, he could probably catch him.
Without tying his shoes, Wille barrelled out of the gym door, tugging his t-shirt over his head as he went.
“Wille!” someone called from a distance away. It was probably August. “Where are you going!” Wille waved him off and kept running.
The bus stop was still out of sight. Wille’s lungs burned with the effort, his body still exhausted after the race. Then, as if out of a dream, it materialised, and standing just inside it, eyes glued to his phone, was—
“Simon.” It came out more like a pant than anything else.
Simon’s head lifted and a frown appeared between his eyes almost immediately. “Yes?” His tone was wary, but not, as Wille would have expected, cold.
“I—“ Wille stopped and bent over, planting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Simon shift a little and pocket his phone. “I—“ Nope. There still wasn’t enough oxygen making it into his lungs.
“Are… you okay?” Simon asked. “Do I need to go and get someone?”
Wille lifted a hand and shook his head. “No,” he gasped. “Just… give me a sec.”
Wille counted to five in his head, then carefully straightened up and counted to five more. Simon was watching him carefully. His hair was wet and there was a gym bag slung over his shoulder. And he was so breathtakingly beautiful that Wille wasn’t sure how he’d survived all these months without speaking to him.
“Hi,” Wille said, after pulling in a shaky breath. “I’m Wille.”
There was a moment where Simon just gaped at him, and then the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” Then, after another moment’s pause added, “Simon.”
Wille nodded, chest feeling tight. “Hi, Simon.”
“Hi.”
The guarded expression on Simon’s face slowly melted away and Wille’s heart picked up speed. Perhaps he had a chance. Perhaps this Simon would also like him, just like the other Simon had.
There was only one thing for it.
Without stopping to think that this was the most ridiculous idea he’d ever had in his life, Wille took two long strides and stopped immediately in front of Simon. The fact that Simon didn’t step back, and the fact that he heard Simon’s breath hitch as he tilted his face up to look at Wille gave him the confidence to slowly, carefully lean down.
When their lips met, it felt like everything slotting into place. A rush of warmth flooded Wille’s whole body as Simon carefully pressed back – cautious, and unsure, but definitely there.
After nowhere near enough seconds, Wille pulled away. Simon’s eyelashes fluttered and he gazed up at Wille with wide eyes. Then, like the sun chasing away the clouds, a bright smile spread on his lips. It was all Wille could do to mirror it, giddy glee flooding his veins and making him want to jump and screech into the sky.
What he did instead was say, “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”
Simon reached up to lightly shove his shoulder. “Shut up,” he said, before curling his hand around Wille’s nape, pulling him down, and pressing their smiling lips together once more.
Two degrees of separation from Young Royals (almost have a bingo with Swedish + Omar connection + queer) but: Anyone else watched Trion?
Putting a break to avoid spoilers:
I'm not sure yet whether the series is going to land for me, but I do admire (genuine) a piece of media that tells you within the first 2 minutes of episode 1 that one of the three main characters – who you're about to watch the other two characters be/fall in love with; someone who (in theory) you as the viewer are about to fall in love with – died 20 years before the present-day narrative.
Also I shouldn't care because I didn't even find Young Royals until the show had already ended, but I still mourn the Netflix dump model. YR would have been so well served by a one- or two-episode-a-week release model, (like Trion) or Hacks or any number of other shows that deserve to be savored and lingered over and discussed as the narrative unfolds.
thanks for the prompt 💜 i'm not entirely sure what happened, but have 570 words of some witchcraft!wilmon. i'm still very much accepting prompts from this list if you'd like a bit of wilmon.
“You lied to me.”
It’s the first thing Wille manages to utter out when the white smoke dissipates enough for him to see Simon again. Simon, who is lying on his back next to him, his curls sticking into all possible directions and are those tiny holes burnt onto his shirt?
“No, I didn’t,” Simon says as he scoots to sit up.
“Simon, when I asked you if you know how to cast explosive spells, you said no.” Wille can’t help the exasperation creeping into his voice. There is currently a very large circle of black soot decorating his living room. It’s such a pain to get out of the rug.
“Yes, because I don’t know how to cast them!” Simon exclaims as he inspects the state of his shirt, poking a finger through one of the holes. There’s a displeased look on his face as if something that can be easily mended is the biggest of his worries.
Wille can’t help it: he honest to god groans out loud. He gestures towards what less than two minutes ago was a very cozy reading nook. He thinks one of the windows might be cracked. “What do you call this then?”
“An attempt? Practice?” The displeased look is replaced by a sheepish smile when Simon meets Wille’s eyes.
“You decided to practice explosive spells by destroying my coffee table?” Said table is now nothing but a heap of timber, faint smoke still lingering over it. At least it smells nice, Wille thinks, surprisingly fresh for something that is half-burnt.
Simon scoffs and shakes his head. “No, I was going for the apple.”
They both turn to look at the perfectly intact apple gleaming red in the midst of the blackened rubble that used to be one of Wille’s favourite pieces of furniture. It’s actually quite impressive, how Simon managed to save the one thing he was trying to blow into smithereens.
“Guess my aim was a little off,” Simon concedes with a shrug, staring at his hands with a crease between his eyebrows,” Maybe if I moved my hand more this way—”
Wille grabs hold of his wrists before Simon can flick his hands again and do more damage. Wille doesn’t want to be scrubbing the ceiling as well, getting the floors and walls clean again is going to be more than enough work. “No more explosive spell attempts indoors.”
Simon’s eyes turn pleading as he tilts his head to the side, much like the puppy across the street often does. “But I need to learn them! You said it’s important I have the full range of spells, that we need to be prepared.”
Wille uses his hold on Simon’s arms to pull him closer, only releasing him when he cups Simon’s cheek and presses a kiss to his lips. “I did, and it is. However, I also really like my house, so we’ll practice outdoors until you’ve mastered these spells, okay?”
Simon nods, his fingers tangling into Wille’s hair. The sensation is weirdly tingly. “First we need to fix this mess though,” Wille says with a sigh as he presses his forehead against Simon’s. He throws a sideways glance towards the corner that resembles a minor war zone. “You can use the repairing spell on that table. I remember you saying you’re good with those.”
The smile on Simon’s lips turns more bashful as he says, “Yeah, so, about that…”
How about 25 for the drabble challenge, for Wilmon?
- oneofthosebells
thanks for the prompt @oneofthosebells! (You can still send me a number from this list and a pairing if you want)
25. “I can’t believe you talked me into this” + Wilmon
Simon’s knees creak as he presses up to stand, almost stumbling after crouching for so long. Dust particles sparkle in the air, illuminated by the sunshine streaming through the uncovered windows after so many days of relentless rain.
He surveys the chaos impassively. Tools scattered about, balled up paper towels and rags. Paint brushes and rollers propped up over buckets, waiting or drying. Wilhelm’s 80s What a Time 2 be Alive (even though we weren’t) playlist blaring from the tinny bluetooth speaker. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Wilhelm grins, his face still boyish, even after all these years, beneath the plaster dust freckling his skin and hair. “I thought you wanted this to be ours.”
“I do.”
“Well?”
“I meant more along the lines of let’s not spend above our means and we are absolutely not involving anyone from your family or the court.”
“And we haven’t.”
“No. But I didn’t mean we had to do everything ourselves.”
“Rosh and Ayub helped.”
Simon snorts. “Did they?”
“Your words, not mine.”
Simon stretches his arms above his head, clasping his wrist with the opposite hand, reaching side to side. When he lets his shoulders drop a moment later, he grumbles, “I didn’t really have, you know, watching Belgian DIY Youtube videos of how to install drywall in mind.”
“In all fairness, I’ve been the one watching those, no?” Wilhelm's smile broadens. He squints up when Simon doesn’t reply. “Why don’t you head home, make yourself something to eat and take a break.”
Simon juts his chin out. “And let you stay here and keep working?”
Wille scrubs his palms on his jeans. “I want to finish this. I’m right in the middle.”
“Then I’ll stay too,” Simon insists.
“You deserve a break,” Wilhelm tries again. “We’ve been here all weekend.”
“Exactly.” Simon sets his jaw. “So. What should I do now?”
Wilhelm studies him. He knows that set. "Hm... Keep me company?”
“Wille.”
“Look pretty?”
“Wille.” Simon rolls his eyes. “Why don’t I work on prying out the rest of the bath tile, yeah? I’m feeling like a little blunt force might preemptively combat my annoyance at the situation I know I’ll be walking into at work tomorrow.”
Wilhelm chuckles and nods, tilts his face up towards Simon.
Simon obliges, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips. “But I’m taking the speaker with me,” he warns.
Later, when it is darkness instead of light pouring in through the bare windows and the dust in the air looks like mist in the glare of the intense work lamp Wilhelm bought to be able to see to continue painting late into the evenings after work, Simon comes up behind Wilhelm, where he’s scrubbing his forearms and hands at the kitchen sink, and wraps his arms around Wille’s waist.
Wilhelm stops the water and dries his hands with a paper towel before turning in Simon’s arms to return the embrace. “We’re filthy,” Wille observes, but doesn’t pull back.
“Too filthy for a celebratory treat?”
“I thought we agreed no blow jobs in the reno zone,” Wilhelm laughs.
Simon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I stand by that.” Simon extricates himself from Wille’s hold and walks over to the freezer, where he pulls out a box of ice cream bars. “But I think we’ve earned these.”
He pushes up to sit on the counter, and a moment later Wilhelm joins him, elbows brushing, hips touching. They make quick work of the wrappers.
“I don’t say it enough,” Simon says then, swinging his legs, heels bumping the cabinets below, “but thank you for this… for making this happen. Our way.”
Wille huffs. “Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Maybe. But you’re figuring it out. We’re figuring it out.”
“Skål,” Wilhelm says, his expression impossibly fond. He holds out his chocolate-coated bar to tap Simon’s.
“Skål,” Simon grins back.
And if years down the line, when some future owners of the little house decide to take down the half-wall between the kitchen and dining room, and discover behind the plaster two birchwood sticks, each with two hearts outlined on them and the letters S + W, they won’t know the whole story, but they will, undoubtedly, understand something of what it meant.
Thank you so much for making me feel seen in my struggles with anxiety and depression and for showing that there’s still love out there waiting for me. Thank you for making me feel seen in my queerness and for helping me to put words to the things that I couldn’t voice before. And thank you for helping me to find my way back to my creativity and to find new friends from all over the world–friends whom I would never had met without Young Royals.
I hope you’ve had a lovely birthday week, wherever you are.
hi! how about 21. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” and wilmon for a drabble? 💜
Hi! Thanks for sending me a number from this list! I had lots of fun writing it. (Still taking prompts). It... got out of hand (and is continued under the cut - rated G, 987 words).
-
The rain thundered on the top of the car, wipers working overtime to try to clear the windscreen. It was futile. Water covered the window like a sheet and it was almost impossible to see through except for the brief moments where lightning flashed across the dark sky and illuminated the whole road all the way to the horizon.
That was exactly why they’d stopped, Wille stating that he wanted the storm to subside a bit before they continued on to their destination. It was a decision that Simon thought was sensible, even though he really wished they could just be there by now.
Especially because Wille had just said the most ludicrous thing Simon had ever heard, and he just needed to make sure that he’d heard properly over the incessant drumming overhead.
“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”
“Yeah,” Wille confirmed, still looking at him with a fierce expression on his face, as if the previous moment they hadn’t been discussing how difficult it would be to find the key to the cabin in this weather.
“But… why?”
The fierceness slipped a little and Wille looked slightly unsure. “Because… I dunno. I just— It was always one of those things, you know? When we were kids. If it was ever raining, we always had hordes of people carting us from place to place and making sure we didn’t get wet. Can’t have a soggy prince.”
Wille’s laugh was almost uncertain, and he hastily followed it up with, “I don’t know. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“We’ll get wet,” Simon pointed out. Simon hated being wet. Why would they go out and get drenched when they could stay in the car until the rain passed and remain dry. And mostly warm. And not have to sit in damp clothes for the whole remainder of the drive. Which, according to the map, was still over an hour. That was a long time to be soggy.
“I know,” Wille said. “I— That’s kind of the point.”
“The point is to get wet?”
“Yeah. I— Remember the tattoo thing?”
Of course Simon remembered the tattoo thing. He’d caught Wille drawing a heart on his hand a few weeks earlier, and when he’d admitted it was to remind him of the one that Simon had drawn there, Simon’s heart almost melted.
“And the hair thing?”
Simon looked up at Wille’s hair. It had only been six weeks since he’d told his mother that he wanted to step out of the line of succession, but in that time his hair had grown enough that he now often had to sweep it off his forehead. It reminded Simon so painfully of the Wille that he met almost a year earlier that his whole chest constricted every time he saw it.
“Yeah?”
“Well… it’s kind of like that. We had all these expectations on us. And most were small, and inconsequential. But I always remembered looking at the other kids jumping in puddles and—“
“You’ve never jumped in a puddle?”
Wille shook his head. “No,” he said. “When would I have ever—“
Seized by an intense need to right one of the wrongs done to Wille in his childhood, Simon determinedly lifted his hood over his head and put his hand on the door handle.
“Wait!” Wille grabbed at Simon’s sleeve. “We don’t have to. It was just—“
Simon reached out and gripped Wille’s cheeks, hauling him in for a fierce kiss. “I want to,” he said when he let go. “I want you to be able to feel the rain.”
And without stopping to let Wille blink the dazedness out of his eyes, he pushed open the door and stepped out into the deluge.
A high-pitched screech behind him told him that Wille had done the same. Simon turned and could barely see through the darkness and the pouring rain. Wille let out a euphoric yelp and Simon saw him splashing his way over.
“It’s so wet!” Simon yelled over the cacophony. A clap of thunder joined the noise and Simon saw Wille flinch.
Simon giggled and grabbed Wille’s hand. It was very cold and very wet. Simon’s hoodie was already stuck to his shoulders, hanging heavy with the amount of water it had absorbed, and his hair was plastered to his forehead, curls dripping into his eyes and making it difficult to see.
“Come on!” Simon screamed and dragged Wille to the side of the road where there were several huge puddles. It wasn’t like they could get much wetter. And it was worth it if Wille felt even a little bit like he’d reclaimed something. “One, two, three!”
With simultaneous yelps of glee, they both jumped and landed ankle deep in the puddles, shoes completely flooded with the cold water. It was a detestable sensation, but, for once, Simon couldn’t care less. Beside him, Wille was jumping up and down, waves of water lapping the sides of the puddle and rushing back just as Wille’s feet landed again and again.
“We’re so wet!” Simon repeated with a laugh.
“I know!”
Wille grabbed Simon’s hands again and whirled them around, feet splashing in the puddle and getting Simon’s jeans wet all the way up to his thighs. It didn’t matter though, the rain had almost soaked them through already.
After a few rotations, and them laughing and shouting and clinging on together, Wille stopped them turning and pulled Simon in. Their chests crashed together and Simon looked up into Wille’s face, rainwater running from the tips of his hair, over his cheeks and dripping off his chin.
“I love you,” Wille murmured.
Simon only just managed to get out, “I love you too,” when Wille’s lips had covered his own. They were cold and he tasted of rain.
hey! for the writing challenge, how about 13? or 41? or 31 hehe <3
Hey anon, thank you for the prompt! I'm going to assume you meant dealer's choice rather than all three at once - though that said, I do have some ideas for the other ones, so you might get all three eventually anyway. 😊
In the meantime, here's 13 - "Kiss me." 992 words, Wilmon AU first kiss, probably T-rated? (Not exactly smutty, but a bit of heavy making out in public.)
~
“Kiss me.”
Simon blinks, unsure he heard right over the loud music. But no, Wille is stepping up close, hands sliding around Simon’s waist in exactly the kind of intimate way that best friends don’t touch each other, and a wild, pleading look in his eye.
“Kiss me,” he repeats, intense and urgent, and Simon wonders if he banged his head at some point or if this is simply a dream. It’s not a bad dream if so. He’s had worse. “Please? Just…trust me.”
Simon nods, unable to deny his best friend anything he needs, even if it’s this. A request that 16-year-old Simon would have chewed off his own arm to receive, deep in the throes of an all-consuming crush – but that was years ago, before Erik’s death, before a string of ill-fated relationships for both of them, before all the ups and downs that had solidified a burgeoning friendship into the deepest and most important in Simon’s life. One he wouldn’t risk for anything. Certainly not for a long-forgotten, short-lived teenage infatuation.
Though maybe not that forgotten, he realises the moment Wille’s lips touch his a split-second later. Because oh. It’s soft, hesitant at first; a gentle brush of lips that still sends Simon’s whole nervous system into overdrive, goosebumps erupting all over his skin.
As Wille starts to pull away, it’s Simon who doesn’t let him go. Brain empty, moving on pure instinct, he slides one hand up the nape of Wille’s neck to rake into the short hair there – too short, he misses the floppy locks, not that he’d ever tell him that – and pull him back in. He opens his mouth, deepening the kiss, and feels rather than hears Wille’s gasp against his lips.
Lightheaded, he barely registers the way Wille grasps him tighter and walks him backwards until Simon’s back hits the slightly grimy wall of the club, pressing him against it. Simon clings to his shoulders with a touch of desperation, and tries to gulp some air into his lungs between kisses that are quickly turning intense and a little bit filthy. He’s very glad he has the wall at his back holding him up or else he thinks he could easily melt into a puddle on the floor as Wille tilts his head to just the right angle and presses closer. And as Simon does his very best not to moan out loud, he realises three things in quick succession:
One, his little teenage crush never went anywhere and he’s just been deluding himself for the last three years.
Two, he’s madly in love with his best friend.
Three, his best friend is an insanely good kisser and Simon kind of wants to go on kissing him for the rest of his life if Wille is also onboard with the idea.
But then Wille is pulling away again, taking a full step backwards as he runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, eyes wide and face rigid as if in shock. Simon is surprised to hear a pathetic whine fall from his own throat at the loss. He prays the music was loud enough to cover it.
“I, uh…” Wille clears his throat, back stiffening in that way he does when he’s trying to keep his cool, and Simon stares at him in confusion. “I think they’re gone now. The, uh…” He jerks a thumb behind him at the crowd, voice hoarse and eyes not meeting Simon’s. “They wouldn’t take a hint, so I thought maybe…if I showed them…and then they’d get the message.”
It’s a bucket of cold water thrown over Simon, leaving him shivering, exposed, and completely humiliated. Right. Wille hadn’t actually wanted to kiss him at all. He’d just wanted to get rid of the string of admirers and Royal-wannabes that plague him every time they step into a club like this, hoping to bag themselves a night or a lifetime with a Prince (delete according to personal preference).
Since Wille’s somewhat tentative and vague coming out in an interview earlier this year, hinting heavily that he might not be exactly straight, the hopefuls that buzzed around had only doubled in number and gender. Simon had watched from the sidelines as always, a strange feeling of pride and possessiveness swirling in his gut, safe in the knowledge that even if Wille does take one of them home for the night – and he rarely ever does – then it will still be Simon he’ll return to with a takeaway coffee and all the details in the morning, their bond untouched by any outsider.
God, Simon’s an idiot.
An idiot who would love it if the floor could open up and swallow him right now, please. Alas, no earthquakes in these parts. So instead, he manages, somehow, to sound like his entire world hasn’t shattered into pieces around him as he straightens up and says, “Glad I could help.”
He waits for Wille to laugh it off, to suggest they go back to the bar or the dancefloor or to get out of here altogether. But Wille isn’t moving. If anything, he’s inched closer again and is finally meeting Simon’s eyes with an intense stare.
“You kissed me back.”
Simon shrugs even as a shiver runs down his spine, embarrassment lending a touch of anger to the gesture. “Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly clear, were you?”
There’s an expression dawning on Wille’s face; a slack-jawed, disbelieving hope rising like the sun. And it’s that which gives Simon the courage to add,
“Next time you kiss me, you should ask nicely. And explain why.”
Wille steps forward again. This time he keeps his arms firmly by his sides, but there’s a delighted grin beginning to form.
“Simon?”
Simon keeps his face carefully neutral. “Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Because…?”
“Because I really, really want to.”
“Well, that’s okay then,” says Simon, and springs forward to kiss that smug look off his face.
~
Send me a prompt from this list and I'll write you a ficlet!
