your dashboard is supposed to be at LEAST halfway full of shit you have no context for and fandoms you're not involved in. it is the natural way of the universe
this is brought to you by glorious summer rain. no one asked for it, but i felt like writing a bit more magical wilmon in the same universe as this ficlet.
🌧️
”You know, it could be much worse.”
Wille doesn’t want to think about all the ways the situation could be worse. He’s soaked to the bone, his clothes sticking to his skin uncomfortably and there is a puddle in the middle of his living room. It’s going to take days for the rug to be properly dry again.
“It’s raining inside the house, I don’t know how it could be much worse,” Wille grumbles. Looking down at his feet, he wonders if the floor can be salvaged or if it’s suffered too much after an explosion and a flood.
Somehow Simon seems to be mostly dry, the water not touching him as if he were standing under an umbrella. Only the cuffs of his sweater are a little damp. “I may have thought about a thunderstorm,” he says bashfully.
“Simon!”
The other shrugs, droplets bouncing off from his shoulders.
“In my defence, I didn’t mean to turn it into a spell. It’s just so hot and humid here right now and I remembered the day we met and…” Another shrug accompanied by a fond smile.
Wille remembers that day too. How he’d seen Simon do something no one else had ever done, how he’d immediately known he’d not only found someone like him but also someone who’d made his heart beat unlike before. The surprised look on Simon’s face, the instant connection they’d shared while the rain beat down on them. Wille even had later half-jokingly asked if Simon had been casting a love spell that day only to be lectured on how unethical those were.
All that doesn’t change the fact that Wille is standing ankle-deep in a cold puddle of water that should not exist anywhere inside the walls of his house.
“Please tell me you know a very good draining spell,” he asks instead despite being pretty certain of what the answer will be.
Simon shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. I could turn it all into ice but that probably doesn’t make it any better.”
With a resigned sigh Wille peels off his shirt. It’s not going to help soak up any of the water, but he might as well feel at least a bit more comfortable while cleaning this mess. As he begins to unbutton his trousers, he practically feels Simon’s hungry eyes on him.
“Nope, not happening,” he declares as he takes in the way Simon’s eyes travel up and down his body. “Don’t even think about it.”
Simon whines, his hand reaching out and making the water spray in different directions.
“And will you please stop thinking about the rain, otherwise we’ll be spending all evening cleaning up this mess.”
Simon’s lips turn down in an exaggerated frown, but his eyes are sparkling. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the rain stops.
“If I find a spell that makes all the water disappear without us having to mop it, can I help take the rest of your clothes off?” His face has the look of innocence, but his tone makes his intention clear.
And fuck, Wille loves that tone. It’s what makes him say, even at the risk of his living room becoming completely unusable within the next hour, “You have ten minutes to figure that out.”
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.
alright I've got to do some quick math to explain attitudes towards AI to my boss.
we're looking to create an AI policy, and when we were talking about this, my boss (older millennial) was genuinely shocked to hear that younger people do not (seem) to view AI positively (a la the recent commencement speakers being booed)
please rb for larger sample size!
Question 1/3
What is your age, and do you feel AI is a net positive or net negative in our lives today?
Hi! If you are open to more drabble inspiration how about #7 "I almost lost you" + Wilmon 💜
Hi! Thanks for sending a prompt! (Still happy to take any from this list if you don't mind potentially waiting several days).
I had a grand total of 40 minutes free in this whole day. And this is what I chose to do with it. I hope you enjoy!
(Rated G, 900 words)
-
Exhaustion weighs down Simon's limbs as he trudges through the hosipital corridors – bustling despite the late hour. It took several hours for them all to be seen, especially because they needed to wait for a second opinion on Ayub's eye. Luckily the agreement was that the stitches would be enough, there was no debris in there, the swelling would go down over the next couple of days and it would likely heal up just fine.
Between the two of them they'd been lucky. Nothing broken, no concussion. A few nasty scrapes, a horrible bruise on Simon's knee, and three stitches on Ayub's eyebrow.
It could have been much worse.
Simon is gutted that his favourite jeans are ruined though.
There's a yelp and a clatter and suddenly Simon has been enveloped into Wille's arms.
"Ouch," he mumbles against Wille's collarbone.
"Fuck! Sorry!" Wille stumbles back and holds Simon at arm's length, red-ringed eyes darting feverishly around Simon's face. "Sorry. That was stupid of me. I— How are you? What— Are you okay? Is anything— No, of course not. What—"
"Wille," Simon interrupts. "I'm fine." It's a slight lie. Everything hurts, he's really fucking tired, and he feels bad that Ayub's moped is likely wrecked beyond repair. Really, what he wants is to go home and curl up in his boyfriend's arms and sleep. For several days.
"You're not fine!" Wille cries. It draws the attention of some curious people sitting in the waiting room. He lowers his voice and tugs Simon over to the side. "That was really fucking scary, Simon. It was— When Sara managed to get hold of me… I'm so sorry I didn't answer when you called. It…" Tears are welling up in Wille's eyes and, before Simon can stop them, they tumble over his lashes and down his cheeks. "I almost lost you," he whispers, voice raspy and choked up.
Heat floods Simon's face. Partly from embarrassment and partly from fondness.
"No you didn't," he argues. "It was fine— It was just—"
"It wasn't just," Wille retorts. "They sent an ambluance. For all I knew you could have—"
"Wille." Simon reaches up and places both of his palms on Wille's cheeks. "I'm fine. I was fine the whole time. I was fine enough to call. You didn't have to leave the—"
"Yes I did," Wille fumes. "Of course I did, Simon. You are so much more important than some stupid meeting with—"
"With the prime minister," Simon interrupts with a raised eyebrow.
"You could have died."
"No I couldn't. He wasn't even going that fast. If the motorist hadn't—"
"It was a car?" Wille looks horrified. "Simon— You could have— It could have—" No more words make it out of Wille's mouth as the tears start falling with renewed vigour.
Before Simon can protest, Wille has pulled him into a slightly more gentle but no less desperate hug. "Simon," Wille sobs into his shoulder. "Simon. I don't know— What if…" More cut off sentences tumble over each other as Wille's body shakes against his own.
Helpless, Simon strokes Wille's back and quietly wishes that they could at least be sitting down. His whole body aches.
"I don't know what I'd have done if— What if— I can't lose you, Simon. I can't— You're everything. I can't imagine my life—" Suddenly, Wille stands straight again, cheeks gllistening with tears but an alarmingly determined expression on his face. "Simon." His voice is much steadier than it was, and Simon isn't sure whether to be concerned about the fire in his eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Marry me."
A noise of some kind gets stuck in Simon's throat on the way up and he coughs and splutters for a moment before choking out, "I'm sorry, what?"
"Marry me," Wille repeats as if that isn't the most fucking ridiculous thing anyone has ever said in the history of the world.
"Wille…"
"I mean it. I— I never want to be without you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Why not start that now?"
"Because we're seventeen years old, Wille."
"So?" A bit of petulance has crept into the defiance. "It doesn't mean I don't know. You're it for me, Simon."
"I know," Simon rushes out. "And you're it for me. But that doesn't mean—"
"Why not? Why can't it?"
"Wille… Come on. It's late, and I'm tired, and you've been here for… how long? Have you even eaten anything? You're still in your suit. Let's go home."
Wille looks at him for a long moment and then deflates a little. "You're right," he says. "Sorry. Fuck. Of course. Let's get you home. Do you have a bag or anything?"
Whilst Wille fusses over getting them to the waiting car (Simon has no fight left in him to protest too much), Simon thinks about what Wille said.
It's not like he doesn't want to marry Wille, quite the opposite, but… He still stands by his point that they're seventeen years old. And, sure, they've been through a lot together, but he still knows getting married at seventeen is a really fucking bad idea.
Still, as they're driving home, rain running down the windows, hands clasped firmly together on the middle seat, Simon can't help but let the giddiness fill his whole chest. He rests his head on Wille's shoulder and smiles as Wille drops a kiss to his hair.
Wille might be an impulsive, over-dramatic romantic. But it is nice to feel this loved.
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