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.
Ooh. Ooh. Which ones would be most fun with a trademark Holly spin??? How about... 5, 6 or 30? Whichever sounds most fun for you!
Hi there, thank you so much for sending me a number from this list. This drabble had a mind of its own and I was just along for the ride. 😅 It's certainly...something. And possibly makes no sense. Oh well LOL (continued under the cut. Rated M. 938 words.)
---
Simon flips the last light switch and slowly climbs the dark staircase toward his bedroom, feeling beyond worn out and just venturing into grumpy territory.
He really needs to start putting his foot down on these house parties. They never end well. Specifically for him - the designated cleaner of mystery spills, guardian of the valuables, and guy in charge of making sure his roommates don’t make any dumb decisions (he’s rarely successful).
Said roommates called it a night a while ago, each being varying degrees of shitfaced, leaving Simon, who’d only indulged in one margarita early in the night, to deal with the stragglers.
Despite the one drink having worn off ages ago, there’s a buzz lingering under Simon’s skin. One of those jittery, uneasy feelings like something big and scary is about to happen. What exactly, he has no clue, but he does know why, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
Shaking it off, he shuffles his way down the narrow hallway, turning out the bathroom light and picking up a stray beer bottle along the way, before he opens his bedroom door.
His skin prickles with goosebumps as soon as he steps foot inside the room, the buzzy feeling coming back in full force as he shuts the door behind himself and slumps against the door.
It’s way too fucking late for this.
Following a beat of silence, he clears his throat.
“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”
Wille just looks at him. His dark eyes convey everything Simon already knows; an answer that doesn’t need to be spoken to be heard loud and clear.
Simon sighs, dropping his head into his hands to rub at his eyes, “We said we weren’t going to do this again, Wille.”
“No,” Wille says, his voice disarmingly soft like butter. “You said we weren’t going to do this again.”
“Exactly!” Simon replies, exasperated.
“And yet, you just proceeded to eye fuck me for four hours straight.”
“I did not!”
“Yeah, you kinda did.”
“Wille,” Simon groans, swallowing down the wayward giggle trying to claw its way up his throat. This is getting dangerously close to some cute banter and that is simply unacceptable.
“Simon,” is all Wille says in response and god, how does Wille do that? How does he manage to take a single word, and his name no less, and make it the most fucking loaded statement Simon’s ever heard?
“What?” Simon asks uneasily.
“Come here.”
“No.” Simon crosses his arms over his chest and bites his lip.
Wille gives him a look.
Simon tosses his arms out in frustration. They’ve had this conversation a million times. “Come on, Wille. We both know that—”
“—you want me?”
Maybe it’s the nonfunctioning, middle-of-the-night brain or just his body being a fucking traitor as per usual, but Simon isn’t quick enough to suppress a surprised laugh. Fuck!
Wille looks positively delighted.
“Come over here.”
Simon shakes his head, pointedly ignoring the growing heat in his lower belly. Wille nods slowly, and how can a fucking nod be so goddamn smug??
Simon snaps. “Wilhelm, we absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, ever in a million years, ever have sex again.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Why do you say so?”
“You know why.”
“Remind me.”
“Oh my fucking god.”
Wille smiles one of his wide toothy smiles, which unfortunately happens to be Simon’s kryptonite.
“I told you,” Simon says weakly, clinging to the doorknob to keep himself from crossing to the other side of the room where he would most certainly do something he’d regret.
Fine. If Wille is going to make him spell it out again, he’ll fucking spell it out again.
“I’m not fucking the king.”
Wille shifts a bit in the bed, lifting an arm to rest behind his head, showing off a gloriously toned bicep and a bizarrely lickable armpit, completely unbothered as he gives a tiny shrug, “Hasn’t stopped you before.”
Dropping his head back against the door, Simon lets out a groan, aimed not only at Wille, but at himself too. Mostly at himself if he’s being honest. Because he can feel his resolve running very, very thin.
Thin enough that there’s a solid chance he’s about to march across his room and slap the shit out of Wille. Or stick a tongue down his throat. Could be both. TBD.
“What do you want from me, Wille?”
The impulsive and frustrated question is rhetorical and Simon really wishes he would’ve used his useless brain before he’d asked it out loud. Because he knows Wille is going to answer it, and Wille might be quick to banter or tease and he’ll definitely use every trick in the book to get Simon into bed, but he’s never shy or insincere when it comes to stating what he wants.
Wille pulls back a corner of the duvet, revealing several more inches of tempting, pale torso, then without a shred of hesitation or uncertainty, he says, “I want you in this bed with me.”
The room stands still, but every drop of blood in Simon's body pulses in reply.
“Preferably naked.”
God, Simon is so completely and utterly fucked.
And he’s about to be completely and utterly fucked.
By the king.
Again.
With a resigned huff, Simon tugs off his shirt and unbuttons his jeans. “Fine, but this is the last time.”
Wille just smiles and scoots over, leaving a perfectly Simon-sized, warm-looking space open next to him. Simon can’t quite bite back his own fond smile, rolling his eyes before he crosses the room in two long strides to capture Wille’s lips in a fierce kiss.
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.
I did a thing and had some thoughts. Let's see if this goes anywhere...
"Look me in the eyes."
"What? What have I ever done to you?"
"No. Look me in the eyes," Wille said again, and suddenly his hands were reaching towards Simon and pulling the sun glasses off his face and placing them on top of his head. Then Simon was faced with the dreadful reality of staring into Wille's eyes. Wille's wonderful amber eyes. Because he wasn't going to not. For whatever reason, Wille was set on believing that Simon was the imposter, and Simon wasn't going to lose. What was Wille going to find, anyway?
Despite Simon's determination to keep a straight face (because Wille was right; Simon was the imposter), he also had to fight a sure flush from covering his face. Because Simon had a big fat crush on his damn-near best friend (Rosh and Ayub would always be his best friends). And Wille could not know. It would also surely blow his cover, and, as previously mentioned, Simon did not want to lose.
Wille had lovely eyes, though. Ones that Simon had a hard time not staring at recently. Eyes in-and-of-themselves were already so interesting and intricate. But Wille's eyes. Warm and inviting and oh-so pretty. They were such a lovely shade of brown with streaks of green and---
"You're the imposter."
"What?"
"It's in the eyes. You can always tell."
"What?"
"You're lying. You're the imposter."
"I am not!" Simon had no idea how Wille could have come to that conclusion. He had a damn good poker face. Or, at least, right now he did. He had kept his face perfectly straight while Wille stared at him, not a flush to be seen. Or, at least, he thought he did. "What do you even see, anyway?" Simon asked, because he could not believe that Wille's accusation was founded in anything other than his sudden need to get Simon out.
"The eyes are the window to the soul, Simon," Wille said, and wasn't that a scary phrase? "You're the imposter. I can just tell."
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 right now 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!
inspired by this poll by @young-royals-confessions
Simon woke up with a jolt and, as he laid there in the darkness, he catalogued his current, recently awoken, state: rapid heartbeat, erratic breathing, his skin tight with gooseflesh and soaked with sweat.
"Simon?" Wilhelm asked with a sleepy grumble. "What's wrong?"
"I..." Simon cleared his throat. It was sore from, presumably, screaming in his sleep. "I just had the weirdest dream...?"
Wilhelm hummed, listening, though Simon did note that his boyfriend of near a decade did not bother shifting from his comfortable position of rest.
"It was when we had our first kiss," continued Simon. "Only Boris was there, too? With a couple of cats and I swear maybe three dogs? Four? There were so many animals..." Simon huffed out a laugh. "J-O was there."
"He hates it when you call him that."
Simon kicked Wilhelm lightly under the covers. "He fell into a hole and it's not like we're ever going to see him again."
"Just say he retired five years ago..."
"What he won't know won't hurt him," Simon insisted.
Wilhelm grunted and nudged Simon back. "Tell me more about these cats."
"And the five dogs."
"No," said Wilhelm, and this time he turned his entire body to sprawl himself across Simon's back--as a sort of big spoon to Simon's now trapped little spoon. "I want to hear about cats."
Simon laughed. "So the dogs were pomeranians..."
Wilhelm retaliated by lovingly invading Simon's personal space even more. "Cats, Simon. Our first kiss was invaded by cats?"
His not long but not short either hair tickled Simon's sensitive neck; he could almost picture their tangled form from a bird's eye perspective, with Wilhelm's sunkissed blond hair mixing shamelessly next to his dark curls.
"And Boris and J-O," Simon added. "But that's not the weird part!"
"Oh?"
"You got a call and you picked up, which," Simon verbally shrugged, "first of all: rude. But it was August on the phone and he told you he was abdicating."
"A strange way to celebrate his coronation jubilee, but okay."
"He also said that your mamma was making a cake to celebrate."
"As if my mamma knows how to turn an oven on."
Simon laughed. "And then you hung up and went back to kissing me, except this time you had a cat's face!"
"Bet I licked you all over."
"Wille!"
"If I was suddenly a cat," Wilhelm said, nonchalant given the conversation, "I'd totally lick you. Your hands. Your hair. I'd.... hmm, what do you call it when cats make each other pretty?"
Simon sighed, but cuddled closer into Wilhelm's embrace. "Just go back to sleep, Wille."
Wilhelm hummed a soft "I love you," already falling back asleep.
"Love you, too," said Simon. "My ridiculous octopus cat, you."
A small, angsty, but also soft ficlet for @sobadbad, inspired by their beautiful sad Wille gifs that you can find here.
Wille has never been small. Ever since the night they first spoke at that stupid fucking party, Wille has taken up space in his life. Physical space. Emotional space. Space in his heart. This is a Wille he doesn’t recognise. This is a Wille who is tiny, defeated, curled up on the very edge of his oversized bed, sinking slowly into a mattress that probably cost more than everything Simon owns.
He hovers by the doorway for a few moments, not really knowing what to do, before he climbs onto the bed as well. He sits up against the headboard, reaching out gently to touch Wille’s shoulder, “Do,” his voice catches, his lower lip trembling as he tries so hard not to start crying again, “do you want me to hold you?”
Wille sniffles, barely nodding in response. Simon stretches out behind him, carefully winding one arm around his waist until he remembers, and then he moves it higher, high enough to press his palm against Wille’s chest.
Wille lets out a shaky exhale. He covers Simon’s hand with his own, giving his fingers a little squeeze, “I’m really sorry.”
Simon doesn’t know what to say. Even Wille’s voice sounds small, now. Small and strained, and Simon doesn’t like thinking about why. “I think you needed to say it,” is all he manages, “they needed to hear it.”
“Mmm,” Wille doesn’t sound convinced, “maybe, but I don’t just mean today.” He sighs, slowly rubbing his thumb across Simon’s knuckles, “I know it’s shit, being with me. I know you’re not happy.”
“Wille…”
“I get it. I’m just sorry. About all of it.”
Simon hugs him tighter. He kisses the spot beneath Wille’s ear, brushing his soft skin with his nose and then his lips, “You’re not making me unhappy.”
“I said I could do both. That I could be Crown Prince and your boyfriend, but I don’t…” Another sob wracks his body, twisting him in on himself, away from Simon.
“Ssshh,” Simon gently pulls him back, nuzzles his face and his hair and kisses him there, too, “You don’t have to do both.” He rubs Wille’s chest, his voice gentle and calm and quiet and firm, “You don’t have to do both.”
Reblog this if you want readers to come into your ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines.
Or, send in a ⭐star⭐ to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!
I've been working for ages on a very long, very plotty 'Erik comes back from the dead' fic that's about to go on pause while I do my gift for the exchange, so thought I'd drop a snippet to prove I have been writing, mum, honest. It's a hard fic to take a snippet from without context though! So have this bit:
Every morning for as long as Simon can remember – well, no, not every morning, they’re not that co-dependent – but very nearly every morning that they’ve shared the same bed over the last twenty years or so, they’ve always woken up in the same way. Once the alarm has blared them into life, one of them – usually Wille – will roll over to sling an arm around the other and cuddle them close, exchanging whispered good mornings and how did you sleeps. It’s a familiar, comforting ritual going back to when they were barely more than kids.
Even when they’re in the middle of a blazing row about something or other – and there’s been more than a few of them over the years – it never changes. The good mornings might have a bit more passive-aggressive venom to them and the cuddle is distinctly shorter, but neither of them has ever triggered the nuclear option of withdrawing it altogether.
The alarm hasn’t gone off yet this morning, but Simon is more than sure Wille isn’t asleep. He’s been awake himself since the room was pitch-black. Now, with the grey light of dawn sneaking past the curtains, he risks a whispered, “Good morning,” and holds his breath.
The silence drags on. Probably no more than a second in reality, but a terrifying eternity in Simon’s head before Wille sighs, rolls over, and pulls him close.
“Good morning.”
Simon breathes again, almost weak with relief.
“How did you sleep?”
“Better than you, I think. Did you get any sleep at all?”
Wille hums into the back of his neck, not answering the question. That’s a no, then.
“It is him,” he says eventually, so quiet that Simon has to strain to hear him. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s him. It’s Erik.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that--”
“If it was Sara, you’d know,” Wille interrupts firmly. “However impossible it was…you’d know. Without a doubt.”
Micke sees Marcus pulling up at the bunk for petrol. His gut instinct is to get into the idiot's face and shout at him for what he said online.
But Marcus is a kid; a reckless teenager (just like Simon was, just like Micke definitely was).
Marcus sees him through the glass doors. He freezes.
Micke stares him down. This might be his only chance to say something. He walks out of the convenience store and toward Marcus.
Marcus is struggling to remove the pump from the car's tank. Micke stops a few feet from him and sighs, "I'm not going to hit you."
Marcus pauses. His face is pale. Good.
"I am thinking about it, though," he says mildly.
Marcus coughs. "Look. Micke. I didn't think… I mean, I blurted some nonsense, and the media ran with it--"
"Save it," Micke sighs. "Just stay away from him."
"I don't want him!" Marcus snaps. "He cheated on me! Then he tried to apologize--"
He falters when Micke scowls.
"I spoke to Sara," Micke states. "And Linda. You don't come out of it clean, Marcus."
"Look, I--"
"It's so easy to interpret things in all the wrong ways," Micke continues. "You can be upset about the whole thing. But you pushed Simon as well. So don't go around playing the victim when the story can change at any time."
Marcus fidgets with the fuel pump.
"You never thought about how he got back together with the prince so fast?" Marcus mutters.
Micke narrows his eyes. "I don't go around thinking about people I don't have business with."
"But--"
"Have a good day, Marcus. Watch yourself."
Micke forces his feet to walk away. He would have liked to dress him down properly, but it's no longer his place. He leaves with his bread, lingonberry jam, cheese, and deodorant, thinking about the six-pack he did not touch on the shelf, the cigarettes he didn't even turn to, and the hundred things he would have liked to tell Marcus, the media, the world, and especially to his family. Some things are better left alone.
Would anyone like to hear the amateur sociology theory I have brewing in my head, about how the Young Royals fandom is actually 2-3 coexisting fandoms or subfandoms?
—which is actually a sort of an interesting feature of the fandom, because a lot of big fandoms I’ve been part of in the past, like Les Mis and Doctor Who, have had smaller fandoms or subfandoms inside of it. But I never thought of it as being a small fandom thing! Anyway. Time to go run for the bus.
By request of the people (according to my notes, @andyouloveme, @sflow-er, @almostlake, @margotdanslebois, @scottishgremlin, @zarogz, @exakttt, @simonsapelsin, @dayagold, @randomowlscreeching, @mydignityisinflames, @youcancallmewhatyoulike, @princess-wilhelmine) let me talk about subfandoms! I’ll start by defining what I mean when I say subfandom.
Most fans approach a canon through a particular lens. This lens can influence what about a canon they tend to center in their fanworks and analysis, how they approach filling in the gaps in canon, and what texts they see as comparable to canon.
A lens isn’t the same thing as what I’m calling a subfandom. Instead, a subfandom is the loose community that comes together when people have similar lenses for their approach to canon, and when their ideas start to influence one another. Bigger fandoms, especially ones based on expansive canons with a lot of characters or a lot of different variations on characters, naturally lend themselves to subfandoms. Les Misérables has a subfandom for Les Amis and another one for Valvert and another for Fantine. Doctor Who fans might organize themselves into fans of different eras. And so on and so forth.
It might be tempting to view subfandoms as factions of a fandom in competition with one another—especially in the case of fandoms with ship wars, where they can end up that way—but I don’t think this is the way subfandoms always play out. Subfandoms can instead be kind of… permeable? You can occupy more than one subfandom at once, and may move back and forth between them without even thinking about it too much, just as you might have different lenses you use to examine a movie, book, or TV show. But subfandoms can also be kind of invisible to a person, and you might not realize that someone else is in a different subfandom than you until you really start digging deeper re: how they interact with canon and how that’s different from you.
Young Royals fandom is small, so I didn’t expect there to be much in the way of subfandoms for the show when I first joined it. At present, after being in the fandom for half a decade now, I think I can identify three subfandoms operating within the larger Young Royals whole. Let me put them behind a readmore as I continue…
The Wilmon subfandom: This is an approach to Young Royals that centers Wilhelm and Simon’s romantic relationship, as well as Wilhelm and Simon as characters. A central tenet of this lens is that Wilhelm and Simon will be in love in any universe, so one of the features of this subfandom is that you can remove Wilhelm and Simon from their existing universe and rewrite them in any number of alternate universes. This allows for a lot of flexibility in fic writing when it comes to setting and worldbuilding, giving writers opportunities to rescue wilmon from the show’s relentless teen angst, or throw them into more grown up angst in a new situation. Members of the wilmon subfandom are most likely to see YR as in conversation with other romance stories like Heated Rivalry. In my experience, they are the most likely of the subfandoms to draw on elements in the existing body of fanfic, as well as of Omar and Edvin’s stage personas, to flesh out Wilhelm and Simon when they appear in fics, headcanons, or analysis.
The Hillerska subfandom: This is an approach to Young Royals that centers the ensemble of teenage characters and their coming of age, often as shaped by Hillerska’s boarding school environment. Hillerska subfans may enjoy some combination of Felice, Sara, August, Vincent, Nils, Stella, Fredrika, Maddie, Alexander, Walter, Henry, Rosh, Ayub, or Marcus, although not necessarily all of them at once. (Apologies to Rosh and Ayub and Marcus for putting them under the Hillerska banner, but we’re being approximate here.) Hillerska fans may also like Wilhelm and Simon but do not center them or their romance as exclsively in their fanworks or analysis. One feature of this Hillerska lens is that it gives you a variety of characters to play with so you don’t get bored; this is balanced out by a drawback where you don’t have *as* much flexibility with AUs because the character-setting interaction is part of the point. Members of the Hillerska subfandom are more likely to see YR as in conversation with other school stories and teen dramas like SKAM. They are likely to supplement canon by researching aspects of real boarding schools, or by drawing on comments from cast interviews about what such-and-such secondary character is up to when we don’t see them.
The Royal subfandom: This is an approach to Young Royals that centers Wilhelm’s experiences as a prince, as well as his relationships to his royal family members like Kristina, Erik, and August. This may also extend to Simon if they are writing a fanfic where Wilhelm and Simon are a royal couple. Someone in the Royal subfandom does not necessarily want Wilhelm to remain a prince in the future (some may, some may not) but they are probably the people most interested in how being a prince affects Wilhelm’s life, his mental health, etc. Members of this subfandom are more likely to see YR as in conversation with works of fiction featuring royal characters, such as The Crown, or the actual history of real life royals. They may use knowledge of these subjects to supplement their understanding of canon. This is the subfandom I feel like I know the least about, but it’s also one where I feel like lately I’m talking to more fans where the royalty aspects of the show are important to them. So if this is you and you want to chime in, please do!
Those are the subfandoms I’ve identified, but perhaps I’m missing one. Do you think there’s anything I missed? I kept trying to think if there was a subfandom that centered Simon more by himself, the way the Royal subfandom would center Wilhelm, but I wasn’t sure how it interacts with the fandom of Omar-the-real-life-person and if one was an extension of the other.
Of these three subfandoms, the Wilmon subfandom is the biggest, and the other two are smaller by far, and perhaps might be missed by people wandering into the fandom for the first time. Especially small are the groups who spend most of their time in the Hillerska or Royal subfandoms and don’t venture into the Wilmon one as much. That said, there are many people in the YR fandom who spend time in more than one subfandom, even if they might primarily “identify” with one subfandom’s mode of engagement. Also, much like with horoscopes, no description above is going to describe one individual perfectly. The point is observing tendencies in how a group behaves in this fandom space, how we reinforce one another’s behaviors and ideas, etc.
Which gets me back to something I brought up when I defined the concept of a subfandom: the notion of a community where individuals with similar lenses begin to influence one another. One way this comes up is in the creation of fanon—of course separate subfandoms are going to collectively adopt different brands of fanon. But I also think the subfandom you spend the most time in is going to affect how you answer certain questions, like: Is the show a romance, a coming of age drama, or a social commentary? Does it have one main character, or two main characters, or five? How much does the ensemble matter? Which characters are complex-and-capable-of-growth versus which characters are complex-but-irredeemable versus which characters have Never Done Anything Wrong In Their Lives? What is the purpose of fanfic, and how much does one value canon compliance where we get to see the characters continue navigating their existing world, versus AUs where they get to navigate new ones? What parts of season 3 were great versus which ones were terrible? How much do the actors inform our understanding of the characters?
It’s really tempting to view these questions as related to who interprets the text “correctly,” but I think it’s also important to consider how our primary subfandom influences how we answer those questions. For me, I’d say oh yes, of course the show is a coming of age drama with strong romantic themes, of course it has five main characters, of course the ensemble matters a lot to the storytelling—but of course I’d say that, I’m in the Hillerska subfandom, I’ve formed the closest friendships with people who see the show similarly. In this way fandom becomes about more than just venerating a canon. It’s also about how we interact as fans.
I’ve also reflected on how the relative sizes of the subfandoms and how they shape aspects of the fandom culture and traditions—what gets memed, what’s a symbol of the show (Simon’s fish) versus what isn’t (Vincent’s bubble tape.) Beltane as Wilmon Day, masterfully organized by our events community, has the backing of the relatively larger Wilmon subfandom. Meanwhile, even with brilliant organizers promoting it, I’m uncertain if an idea like declaring Lucia as Sara Eriksson Day is ever something that would gather a critical number of fans behind it to make it a “thing.” I suppose I shouldn’t rule it out—we’ve had things like Felice Friday take off—but even when the fandom was at its peak, it was difficult to organize people around non-wilmon events.
As the broader Young Royals fandom shrinks, I think what we’re seeing is people from different subfandoms brought more into proximity with one another, and recognizing the differences in how we perceive the show. It’s possible this will cause a shift in subfandom dynamics, or that it already has. My hope is always that we learn from one another and continue to enjoy ourselves.
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