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.)
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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.
Before you are two magic buttons.
Button A: you will never have to clean your kitchen again (dishes are automatically done; floor swept and mopped; etc).
Button B: you will never have to clean your bathroom again (toilet & sink & tub/shower cleaned and sanitized; etc)
Which button do you push?
HOLY SHIT GUYS, I WAS INSPIRED BY THIS POST TO TRY MAKE THE SONG AND YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT WHEN I DRAGGED THE TRAINING AUDIO OVER THE BACKING TRACK AND IT LINED UP PERFECTLY
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Even though it's technically not the anniversary of my fic yet, I just wanted to share this beautiful commission by @loren91 for my fic Running Back To You. Thank you for bringing my vision to life, I'm so happy with it and I hope it can bring some joy for this month of celebration 🥺
in all seriousness though a fandom doesn't die when there's no new episodes or games or "content" to play with and it doesn't die because people aren't as loud as the day it first came out either. if you're still creating then the fandom is alive. if your mutual who has since moved on still reblogs a post about it every four months then the fandom is alive. if there is even one person out there still engaging in, creating for, or just enjoying that show or that game or those characters, then the fandom is alive.
"fresh content" isn't the soul of a fandom. you are.
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."
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