#my young royals fic

[lucidpantone]

So a couple years back I wrote this fanfic that was sorta of hit for another fandom(wtfock or belgium skam). I’ve been wanting to write something for young royals for awhile but I knew I wanted to do it in that similar style of that past fic because people seemed to LOVE that parallel puzzle piece timeline style. Anyways so surprise surprise gonna be dropping chapter 1 soon but here is a preview. Oh, and one last thing:

Fic Rules

If its in italics its the past

If its not in Italics its the present (particular scenes from the last year)

Into The Blues

We’re all just journeymen in catacombs of the earth’s womb.

Riding life like a log down a stream burrowing through artificial portholes that men sowed into the roots of the city as an act of defiance; when travel above the waterline did not suffice.So instead we defiled her core from the inside out.

Yet, here we find him.The interloper standing shoulder to shoulder in a cigar shaped transport vessel amongst the everyman attempting to blend into a world he no longer belongs too. Sporting garments perfectly hand crafted by french artisans for his physique and leather bound shoes of italian origin.

The commuter populace sways as the ocean does in twilight. Mellow and familiar. Unobstructed and in uniformity.

The conductor breaks his mental surface.

“Mind the gap between the train and the platform. This is Green Park.”

He navigates the route towards an exit. He is late but he insisted on venturing into the world as the common folks do.

This isn’t his side of town and if given a choice he wouldn’t have hosted the Royals Arts Gala here but the honorees were swedish alums of The Royal Academy Art who were funded by the Swedish Royals Arts Foundation so a marriage of both Swedish and British houses had to be decided and London seemed to appeal to a wider audience.

He scurries out of underground to street level when the harsh cold air hits him. A loving reminder he thinks to himself.

Reality gnaws at him when he sees it. The Ritz Hotel signage glowing back at him.

A wave of guilt washes over him from sins past and yet here he finds himself once again running towards his mistakes atop a pair of italian soles that would entice even the top ranks of the Bourgeoisie.

He picks up pace and jettisons towards the Grand Ballroom as tear drops begin to fall from the heavens.

You’d think after years of exposure to all this pomp and circumstance he’d be used to the classic french rococo style but it still feels so grandiose at times.  Banquet rooms adorned with gold leaf walls, gilded oak paneling richly embellished with C-scrolls and S-scrolls, sprigs of flowers, rocaille motifs and hand painted frescos. 18th century crystal chandeliers prevailing in their usage to light an avarice crowd of thespians devouring the fruits of France's champagne region like it was manna from heaven.

But he needn’t worry tonight because these throngs of acolytes were here to bear witness to his recital of one sacrosanct individual.

However, before he stood atop a podium for his song and dance routine he kept his interactions with the crowd wrapped up in an air of breviloquence and wit.

He’d be expected to frolic amongst the flock and express his gratuity for the copious amounts of flowers, gift baskets and condolences sent his way. Though arduous work, he had an inert sensibility when it came to working a room of uppercrust socialites after years of conditioning.

“Hello sir, this way please” a gala usher quickly takes his coat and escorts him to his table for the evening when an unfamiliar sensation reemerges from eons past. A fibrillation in his heart, one mimicking that of a  hummingbird in fast pursuit. He hadn’t had much time to ponder this strange occurrence when he noticed the guest at his table standing up to greet him.

Anders Olsson was the first to lock gaze with him. He greeted him with an overworked smile and spread out arms welcoming him into a fast embrace.

“Am so happy you came” Anders whispered in his ear softly as he pushed off from their hug.

Then Anders immediately went around the table introducing him to the director of the Royal Academy who gave him an assertive handshake, the other honorees who’s displays of dominance were absent and meekly greeted him,the gala’s main sponsors two Americans one of which was sat next to him and felt the need to remind him that she was a hugger and gave him a good squeeze before he could even object, and lastly the person sitting directly to his left the head of the Swedish Royals Arts Foundation.

“Prince Wilhelm, this is Simon Bancroft-Erikksen, Tomas’s husband” Anders confirms.

“Hey”, Wilhelm states softly as he embraces Simon’s handshake with a dual hand handshake creating an over-under type of shelter for Simon’s touch.

Simon’s notices Wilhelm linger and slides his hand back slowly.

“Hi” Simon says softly as he musters his best subdued smile for his highness.

As Simon takes a seat he notices a few patrons looking directly at him as they cover their mouths and about his recent life updates. Forgetting for a moment that he is “that” guy now.

Simon Bancroft-Erikksen, a swedish born singer/composer, recent widower to the late Tomas Åström Bancroft and now sole heir to the Bancroft banking fortune. A fortune worth more than some countries GDP.

It was like looking through a lens but fish eyed, distorted and misshapen.

Lacking distinction, and depth, an exam based on muscle memory and repetition. A performance of sorts.

“Simon, how are you?”, They asked with a worry in their voice that had become oh so familiar.

“Am good”

“Simon, are you getting enough sleep?” This was definitely somewhere in the top 3 questions as of late.

*Shrugs*

“Are you eating?” and this question? This one usually led to a non sequitur from him.

“Oh pardon me. I see a colleague, I must run to say hello too.” This was Simon’s cue to beeline it back to his table and avoid the thickets of bullshit he had to spatter.

Simon plopped himself back down on his seat and took a deep exhale.

“I brought reinforcements,” Simon heard him say.

Wilhelm shot him a sweet smile as he picked out a small plastic bag from his blazer.

Simon’s eyes widened and for the first time tonight and he genuinely smiled.

Simon couldn’t decide which one to choose from so he went for his usual sweet and salty licorice. Swedish candy had become Simon’s main food source throughout this period in his life. It was one of the only things he could stomach to keep down. That and mandarins.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I had an inclination that you may need backup.”

Simon shook his head in agreement.

“You’re doing great,by the way” Wilhelm encouraged Simon somewhat gingerly.

The ballroom lights dimmed and the ceremony got underway.

Notable honorees received their totems of recognition from high society.

And then a darkness befell them and he felt the room surround him and suddenly there he was in full technicolor. Tomas and Anders discussing the inspiration for what would become Tomas’s final commissioned symphony.

It was a strange sensation for Simon. In many ways he thought he had become infallible to public displays of sorrow. He’d numbed himself to a point of no return, gone full scorched earth, become some sort of cultural philistine with a match in his hand walking on gas ready to ignite the pain away.

Pay no credence to his grief.

Yet, The chinks in his armor began to chime through the air like a siren’s song.

Without notice Simon’s body began to react badly. His hands began to shake as Tomas’s voice filled the room. He hid his hands underneath the table but the shaking only worsened and as Simon was about to deploy his metaphorical airbag and abort this mission. Wilhelm tethered him back down to earth. Threw him a safety line and kept him at bay and from floating away. Wilhelm took a hold of Simon’s hand and interlaced his fingers into Simons.

Simon was fully prepared to shoot Wilhelm a rather terse glance when suddenly the lights went up and the crowd stood up for a standing ovation. Wilhelm pulled Simon up with the crowd and let go of his hand to indulge in the clapping.

Ander’s walked over to him and before he knew it they were walking in the direction of the podium. Simon wasn’t taken aback by this gesture if anything he expected. He had written a speech and all but it was all happening so fast. The spotlight flashed atop of him and he stood there looking out at a sea of onlookers.

He pulled the mic towards him and reached into his blazer pocket to read from a cue card.

“Firstly, I would like to say thank you for the beautiful in memoriam segment and to everyone who has sent their condolences to my family throughout the last year.

My husband Tomas was a kind and thoughtful soul who truly inspired me and many others. When he began this consortium project he felt a great responsibility to represent the cultural richness of the great landmarks of Sweden. His music was merely a vehicle to explore what he felt in his heart was an undeniably beautiful landscape filled with everlasting summers and a wonderful winter wonderland. Except for those 4 months in the dead of winter which we don’t talk about.”

The crowd broke out in laughter. 

“Thank you for honoring Tomas’s legacy and to the Swedish Royals Arts Foundation for recognizing his accomplishments, To the Royal Academy for their constant support and to the Bancroft foundation for their relentless advocacy in forestry conservation.”

Applause raptured around the ballroom.

As Simon stepped back from the mic his heart rate adjusted and he looked out into the crowd for a tether back into the normal world. The one where he once felt he belonged to, had a home in, fell in love in and felt like he could operate within without fear or reservations.

As Simon walked off stage he felt a tug, a reel, a life line leading him to a sanctuary where he could be caught and released out of these predatory waters. This wildlife was foreign to him now. He needed to live in a habitat where the aquamarine life was curated and made out of plastic.

He needed everything to be fake, to go to a place where he could be inoculated from his reality. Where none of the people were real and just made out of metal.

There was only one exception to this rule.

As he took his seat again and looked to his left; it was all gut, an unfathomable feeling, a pavlovian response as he reached out underneath the table and took hold of Wilhelm’s hand and thought to himself.

This, and only this, he needed to be real.

[kisstheloststars]

special spinoff episode where we see the quartet on a road trip together, painting each other's nails, getting matching tattoos, and being free

[gulliblelemon]

Like That

“What happened last Friday…” Simon feels Wille tense beside him. “It was— I just—“

“Maybe we could do that again.” 

Wille has gone pink with his outburst. Simon watches the blush disappear into his collar. Swallowing, Simon nods, trying to bite down his smile.

— 

Later, they lie tangled in Wille’s bed; content, giddy and a little bashful.

“I wondered if you would shut me down,” Simon says, vulnerable in his happiness. “Say you weren’t like that.”

“Oh, I’m definitely like that.”

Simon giggles. “I can see.” He takes a breath. “But maybe we should try again. Just to be sure.”

Thanks, @youngroyals-events!

[thingsthatcometomymindwheniwrite]

father forgive me for the type of fictional characters I say “he just like me fr” about

[books-books-smolderinglooks]

"He hadn’t realised how grey his life had been until Simon had come tumbling in in full technicolour, making everything feel brighter." ❤️ From Anywhere With You by @gulliblelemon. 💜

[hergrandplan]

Wilmon + "I can sleep on the couch tonight"

Hi anon! sorry this is so late, I hope you'll still see this somehow <3 I've been having a bit of a writer's block for a few weeks, but this particular story would not let me go, and it was actually really helpful in beating the brain demons. I hope you'll enjoy it 💜 (fair warning it's 1k words idk what happened here)

“I can sleep on the couch tonight,” Wille announces once the movie credits start rolling. He gets up from under Simon and from the couch, then stretches, shirt lifting up to show a sliver of alabaster skin that Simon wants to feel, to touch, to experience.

And maybe he would have, if he wasn’t so stunned about Wille’s announcement, given Simon has spent the better part of the evening cuddled up on said couch with Wille, lying in his arms as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, as if they hadn’t met mere hours before.

Simon tries to swallow his disappointment down. “Oh,” he says, mouth quirking up into a smile that feels so fake that he’s sure even the people at home will be able to tell. “That’s sweet of you.”

He’s usually better about getting his hopes up. He had thought that, especially for a TV show like this one, two strangers being locked in the same house for the entire weekend, he would have been more on guard. More careful about getting close to Wille, given all of Sweden was watching. But that was the entire point of the show, wasn’t it? To see if two strangers could fall in love within just a few days.

And they’ve known each other for even less than a day, so Simon really shouldn’t have expected Wille to want to share the bed with him. He definitely shouldn’t have hoped for it. And yet, here he is – hopes absolutely squandered.

Had Simon just misread everything up until this point? Is Wille simply not interested in him like that? Simon had been sure that something had been building up between them. They'd hit it off right from the moment Wille had walked in the door. Simon had been a bit nervous, and he suspected Wille had been too, but his radiant, carefree smile had been enough to calm Simon’s nerves. They've done nothing but talk and laugh for the past few hours, getting to know each other, and Simon had loved every minute of it. It didn't feel forced, even though it should have, or fake, even though they were on TV – it had just felt natural. And when they'd put on the movie, and Wille had opened his arms, an invitation for Simon to fall into them, Simon hadn't even thought twice, had let himself be held. Not at any point did he feel uncomfortable, or like he shouldn’t be doing this – like even their bodies fit together.

Once or twice during the movie he had even imagined leaning up a bit, wondering what it'd be like to kiss Wille, what his lips would feel like. 

But maybe all of Wille's touches, the hand he placed on Simon's arm for a second while they were cooking, jostling against him when they were doing the dishes after dinner, staying really close to Simon the whole while and the playful giggle Wille let out when Simon had splashed him — maybe it had all been friendly for Wille. 

An uncomfortable feeling settles in Simon’s stomach as he watches Wille clean up their mess, bring the cups and empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen – their kitchen, at least for the next 30 hours. It was the ease with which Wille shifted out from under him, that maybe hurt more than Wille saying he’ll sleep on the couch.

Simon’s not normally the guy to fall this fast. He hadn’t really expected anything to come out of joining this programme other than maybe finding a friend, but Wille had been so warm, and welcoming, and funny that it had just happened. And now, more than anything, he wished they’d met under normal circumstances, no cameras to see what they were doing.

“Are you okay?” Wille asks, when the table has been cleared, the dishwasher running.

Simon blinks up, back to reality, back to Wille, who has sat down next to him again. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies. He can’t say the truth, that he’s weirdly upset about Wille not wanting to share the bed with him. He’s sure people would make a meme out of him, his face plastered on every Swedish channel as yet another desperate guy.

Wille looks at Simon for a moment, a look on his face that Simon can’t quite decipher before his gaze softens. Then he does something that makes Simon’s heart burst in his chest, just a little: as if he has read Simon’s mind, he covers his mic with his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he says so softly that even Simon’s mic won’t be able to pick it up, only Simon himself.

“I had …” Simon starts, not sure how to continue. If it had been just him and Wille, he’d have asked him to come to bed with him in a heartbeat. Would probably have done more than they would do tonight, because he’s not doing any of that with the camera’s surrounding them, but he still would like to fall asleep next to him, maybe in his arms.

Simon covers his own mic to give himself a semblance of security, but he still feels too seen, too vulnerable, so when he speaks, he looks down to where Wille’s leg almost touches his. “I had kind of been hoping you maybe wanted to share the bed… tonight. But if you don’t want to that’s of course totally okay you know, no ha-”

“Simon.” Wille stops Simon’s rambling with a hand on his thigh. Simon looks up, just in time to see how Wille’s face completely lights up with a smile, almost relieved, and even the room around them feels brighter all of a sudden. “I’d like nothing more.”

There’s a twinkle in Wille’s eyes. It’s nothing sexual, nothing that conveys anything but pure joy, and Simon already can’t wait to find out what else will make that twinkle appear, hoping to see it so much more often in the future. Maybe if there weren’t any cameras around, this would have been the moment Simon would have leaned in and kissed him, but he’s not sure if he wants all of Sweden to see that. Still, smiling, Simon takes Wille’s hand and leads him to the bedroom.

Send me 'wilmon' + a sentence and get a ficlet!

[andthatisnotfake]

“Wait, you can hear me?”

Unexpected roommate

Simon watched the cute guy move into his apartment. Well, his. It hadn't actually been his for nearly ten years. He'd watched several people move in and out again.

New Guy was handsome: tall and slender, sharp jawline, cute nose, soft-looking brown hair. If Simon was forced to watch people live in his apartment for eternity, at least this one was attractive.

“Damn, you're hot!” Simon said out loud, since he wouldn't be able to hear him anyway.

But New Guy turned, eyes wide, the box he'd been carrying falling from his hands.

Simon frowned. “Wait, you can hear me?”

Written for YRDC2024 @youngroyals-events

[groenendaelfic]

One day Simon will start uni*, only to realize that he's surrounded by people who think HE is the posh, privileged kid with no clue how the real world works, and that day will be hilariously glorious.

* or be conscripted—super unlikely, but a fic writer can dream

[justfriendsbestthings]

they’re boyfriends you know

[skibasyndrome]

🎃 Simon's kinktober fic masterpost 🍁

Soooo... since, despite all the factors slowing me down, I plan on pushing through with doing all the prompts I thought I should make a post to keep track of everything in one place

Day 1: Sit back and watch (I'm gonna dance for you) (masturbation & spit) “Have you never thought about it?” he asks, and Simon is about to chide him for avoiding a question with a follow-up-question, but Wille is pushing on.“I’m just curious,” he says, pointedly casual about it (Simon doesn’t buy it, Wille seldom feels ‘just’ anything, he’s a thinker, that man, sometimes to a fault). “I’ve never seen you do it.” And, as if he’s sensing the protest that’s about to come out of Simon’s mouth: “Without me fucking you, I mean.”

Day 2: Sharpen your teeth, sink into me (marks & biting) “Please,” is all he can muster, eyes squeezed shut against the threat of tears, of overwhelm, of having everything he tried to hold in come spilling out. Not now, he thinks, not yet. He needs more, needs Simon’s mouth and hands and body to coax the raw emotion out of him. Needs to feel it all before he can truly let go. Fingers digging into the skin of Simon’s back, into the straining muscles of his shoulder blades, he swallows again, forces his voice to form the words, broken fragments scattered for Simon to put back together. “Simon,” he breathes. ”Need you, please.”

Day 3: In silence, I'm yours (sound/staying quiet, hands & 69) “Shit,” he whispers, moves to pull away, but is stopped. Simon’s fingers quickly wrap around his wrist, keep it in place, keep it right there, right where it’s firmly pressed over Simon’s mouth. Wille just looks at his palm, then into Simon’s eyes. They’re wide, staring back up at Wille, glinting dangerously. And, for a moment, neither of them moves. It’s Simon who makes the first move, who now, after all, tugs Wille’s palm away from his face. His eyes are still intently boring into Wille’s and, god, Wille feels himself twitch inside of Simon at the sudden charge of the air around them. “Wanna try to make me?” Simon whispers, almost breathless now.

Day 4: Love the shape of your mouth (and the back of your head) (makeup, praise kink, oral sex, deepthroating and light dacryphilia) “You can’t keep saying that,” is all she says as she drops her head down and onto Simon’s stomach. He hears her let out a frustrated little noise into the fabric of his dress shirt, and he laughs, pointedly ignoring the way her proximity to his crotch is making him feel.She's laughing, too, that same carefree laugh that Simon’s been thinking about all evening. He puts a hand on the back of her head, stroking over her hair for a moment.“I mean it, though, Wille” he says, because he’s not going to let her deflect again. “You look stunning.”

Day 5: I've never met arms like yours (cockwarming & spooning) “You're hard,” Simon mumbles into Wille's forearm. Wille lets out a small laugh. “Yeah,” he admits apologetically, kissing the mole on the back of Simon's neck. A little begrudgingly, he removes his other arm from around Simon's middle to get it between them, so he can rearrange himself in his sweatpants. “Sorry.” But Simon's hand shoots up, keeping Wille's arm around him in place. “It's fine,” Simon says, then wiggles backwards a little until Wille is firmly lodged between Simon's body and the back of the couch. “Feels nice,” Simon hums and leans into him some more, pressing his ass against Wille’s erection.

Day 6: And the mirrors gon' fog tonight (mirror, hands, a little bit of praise) “Is this-,” Wille’s voice is hoarse, deep, sounds like he’s overcome with something that Simon can’t place. “Is this okay?” Simon only nods, meeting his eyes through the mirror, feeling a pang to his groin at the way he is forced to look up at him from this position. There’s a noticeable shift in Wille, his shoulders seem to get less tense, he seems to stop straining his neck quite as much. “Yeah?” is what Wille pushes out. Then, clearing his throat: “Do you like this?”

Day 7: One, two, three (Not only you and me) (threesome, first time [having a threesome], lapdance) And, so, Wille finds himself exactly where Nils promised he could relax for once, have a good time, calm down after all that stress of the past few months or maybe years. As it happens, that promised space of escapism has quickly shrunk down to a small seat, in the booth with Simon. Simon who was excited to find two fellow Swedes in a random Swiss town, who's in Verbier because his sister's friend invited the two of them to her family's holiday chalet, who's here, specifically, because he didn't want to intrude on girls’ night and because they don't have these kinds of parties in his hometown. And because he doesn’t really go to them in Stockholm, either, where he's currently studying at university. Simon who's got the prettiest head of curls Wille has ever seen, and the funniest laugh and whose lips look so pillowy and soft that - not that he'd admit it - it hit him like a punch to the gut to watch Nils kiss them on the dance floor a few minutes ago. Wille goes to Verbier with his friend Nils. They end up meeting Simon at a party.

Day 8: Body language say you wanna (semi-public sex, cruising, roleplay) “What’s your name anyways,” Wille mumbles, mouthing his way back up to the guy’s ear while he lets his hand reach out and wrap around his hard length. Wille wonders if he got him to this point or if the other guy had anything to do with it. Wille sincerely hopes this is all his doing. The man gasps, then lets out a short laugh. “Does it matter?” he asks, and Wille bites his earlobe. “You tell me,” Wille whispers back, overtaken by a new kind of fervor, now that he’s got the man in front of him like this, naked, needy, hard. He jerks his fist over him a couple times, reveling in the way his breathing picks up, in the way he bucks into his hand. “Do you want me to use it when I fuck you?” he adds, stepping closer, trying to open his own pants with one hand while applying more pressure to the other man’s cock.

Day 9: On the tip of my tongue, on the top of your thighs (1/2) (wax play, thighs, marks) “Are you okay? Does it still feel good?” He asks, instead of letting the emotion take over. He trails his fingers up along the outside of Wille’s thigh, relishing in the way he jumps a little. When he looks up again, he sees Wille nodding, head rustling the linen it’s resting on top of. Simon waits, drawing small circles into the outside of Wille’s thigh. He knows this can’t be easy, feels a little out of it himself and he’s not even the one lying there. After another moment, he hears Wille clear his throat. “So good,” he pushes out, breathless, a little hoarse, sounding stunningly overwhelmed. Warmth spreads inside of Simon’s chest.

Day 10: And if I searched a thousand miles I'd be dying to find (2/2) (intercrural sex, thighs, marks, oral sex) If that’s okay, Simon thinks and is a little too overrun with lust to laugh, but he definitely scoffs at the ridiculous notion that it wouldn’t be okay, that he’d be anything but absolutely fucking enthusiastic to fuck Wille any way he wants. And he should tell him, really, let him know that anything he could ever want they can talk about and Simon will be really fucking glad to try with him. Instead though, he postpones that, for later, after, when he’s not busy trying to keep a remnant of a rational thought in his mind at the view in front of him, of Wille lying, waiting for him, beautiful and breathing heavily and, fuck, grinding his hips against the mattress in tiny movements.

Day 11: My skin on your skin, again and again (frottage, cum play, fingers) So, technically, it would be more than a little unwise to have sex in these conditions. But Simon’s never been known to make smart choices, has always had a knack for impulsive decisions. So of course he’s perched on top of his friend now, of course he’s rutting his cock against Wille’s, skin gliding together easily with sweat and spit and whatever else. Of course he’s got his hand wrapped around both of them, trying to keep up a steady rhythm, trying to make this good for them, while Wille is being difficult in this stupidly perfect way of his.

Prompts below the cut

Prompts by the events blog:

Water

Desk

uniform/clothes/accessories

Mirror

Neck

Fireplace

marks/spots/freckles

Food

sound/staying quiet

Threesome

hands/feet

Oral sex

First time

Frottage

Worship

Toys

face-sitting/deep-throating

Masturbation

Multiple orgasms

Lap dance

Biting

(semi-)public sex

Anasyrma

Blindfold

ice/sensory play

Lingerie

Phone sex/sexting

Role-playing

Cum-play

thighs/intercrural

Dacryphilia

Edging

humiliation/praise kink

Wax play

bondage/handcuffs

Nipple clamps

dom/sub

choking/breathplay

Daddy kink

Spanking

Other prompts, sent in by tumblr users/anons:

Angry sex

Insecurity

inexperienced/experienced

Cozy

Praise

trying sth new

Toys

romantic get-away

[gulliblelemon]

Post-Match

“So.” 

Wille isn’t sure when he’s ever been more nervous. He’s supposed to be good at this; talking to new people.

“So,” Ayub says, looking at Wille with mild interest.

“How long have you known Simon?”

“Since school,” Ayub says. No further information.

Wille can see Simon in the distance, chatting to Rosh post-match. He smiles.

“You like him,” Ayub says, raising an eyebrow.

Wille splutters. Very regal. “I— uhm.”

“It’s fine,” Ayub says. “He likes you too.”

The warmth in Wille’s chest spreads to his ears.

“Just don’t hurt him,” Ayub says.

“I… I— I don’t want to.”

“Good.”

Thanks @youngroyals-events

[phneltwrites]

New fic! Ch 1

Sliding Doors Goodbye | Wilmon | 35k | Rated E

Wilhelm wakes up. It's the anniversary of his brother's death. Again.

A time loop fic.

link

[hergrandplan]

Wille Month 2024 (@youngroyals-events), Day 1: Sandwich

These days, their love lies in the simple things – going to bed a bit earlier than they have to, just so they can cuddle, Wille’s home in his arms, right where he belongs. It is laughing over coffee, delaying heading to work for as long as they possibly can because they don’t want to miss a single moment with each other. Saturday afternoon cleaning sessions, interrupted by stolen kisses, and late-night reruns of their favorite shows.

The grand gestures are things they have left behind in the days of their youth – they don’t need the big declarations anymore, school anthems rewritten and thrones abdicated. There is no need for it, when love lingers in every single touch.

It’s in the quiet moments, the whispered ‘I love yous’, that Wille feels his heart almost combust with overflowing love.

And today, it’s in Simon showing up to his work unannounced. It’s almost scary, the way Simon knows exactly what Wille needs even when he hasn’t said a thing.

Wille’s morning consists of an endless string of meetings, each more awful than the last. It doesn’t help that his boss is away this week, having handed all his unfinished tasks for Wille to deal with, as if Wille doesn’t have enough to do already. It fills his stomach with dread, the amount of unanswered e-mails in his inbox that he has to do something with, even if he has no idea what.

By 11 am, Wille is drained, and has no idea how he’ll get through the next 6 hours. On top of that, there’s a message from Simon on his phone sent about an hour ago that he hasn’t even opened yet.

A few minutes past noon, there’s a soft knock on his door.

Wille has no time to deal with any of his colleagues right now – barely has time to think, but he says “come in” anyways, because maybe it’s urgent. Everything always feels urgent, somehow.

But instead of Myriam from accounting asking a question about the budget, or Ron coming in with more reports he has to sign off on, it’s Simon, the love of his life, standing in the doorway to his office. Smiling and curls tousled by the wind.

Relief floods through his body immediately – even just seeing him is enough to ease the pressure on his chest a bit.

Simon makes his way over to Wille and wraps his arms around him, nudging his chin up to kiss him, soft and tender. Wille clutches the fabric of his shirt tight, pressing his face against Simon’s sternum, but it isn’t until Simon places a kiss to the crown on his head that Wille feels like he can actually breathe again.

“Hey,” Simon says then. Wille hears the smile in his voice, feels how Simon’s arms tighten around him just a little, the press of his chin on his head. They hold each other like that – Wille, sat on his desk chair, Simon standing upright – for a few minutes, until Simon moves away a little so he can look at Wille. He places his hand on Wille’s cheek, and Wille leans into his touch immediately. He takes another deep breath.

“What are you doing here?” Wille asks, now gazing up at Simon. And he’s so beautiful, Wille still doesn’t know how he ever got this lucky.

Simon pulls away a bit, but keeps one arm wrapped around Wille’s frame while his other reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a tiny parcel, wrapped in a purple napkin.

“I figured, since you didn’t answer my texts, that you were either busy or stressed, and that you probably figured you didn’t have time for lunch, and so – I brought you lunch.”

Simon sits down on his lap as Wille takes the package from him and unwraps it to find a sandwich. Wille can’t help but chuckle as he takes a grateful bite. Simon knows him well – Wille hadn’t even thought about lunch yet, let alone if he was going to have it or not. He lets out a satisfied sigh at the taste of hummus and cucumber and cheese, with a little bit of hot sauce – just how Wille likes it.

The sandwich isn’t quite a surprise. Sandwiches are quick and easy, especially when the man you love has gone out of his way to give it to you because he knows you wouldn’t have eaten anything otherwise. But it’s also a small declaration of his love for Wille, an I care about you. By not answering his texts, Simon somehow figured out that Wille needed him, and here he was now, fingers playing with his hair as Wille enjoys this rare moment of peace and quiet in the middle of a busy work day.

“I love you,” Wille says, once he’s finished the sandwich.

“You better, I saved you from starvation,” Simon responds, smirking. Then his smile softens, and he presses his lips against Wille’s forehead. “I love you too.”

Wille lays his head on Simon’s shoulder again, brings his arms up to hold him, just for one moment longer until Simon has to go. At least his thoughts have quieted now, and even his mailbox doesn’t seem as daunting. He’s not sure if it’s the food or the simply Simon’s presence, but that doesn’t really matter.

Simon stays just a bit longer than necessary, just until Wille manages to clean up his inbox and knows that he’ll make it through the day without a panic attack. When he leaves, he takes a cookie out of his pocket and puts it on Wille’s desk. “For when you get peckish at 4,” he says.

And then, with one last final kiss goodbye, he’s out the door again.

Will doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

[crownedwille]

Throw Me In The Pit of Your Fire [Explicit, 9k]

Simon was aware of two things:

He was absolutely terrified.

And Wilhelm looked really good in his suit.

– It's Wilhelm's public birthday celebration and Simon is attending it officially as the Crown Prince's boyfriend.

Or the birthday fix-it fic

Read here

[andthatisnotfake]

Introducing Simon

For the following days of @youngroyals-events' Wille's Month 2024:

Day 8 - Wedding/Engagement, Day 10 - Secret, Day 11 - Future and Day 12 - Social media.

Here on AO3

[dreamyelectronicmusic]

One Word From You (3/5)

“Simon!” Ayub called, his voice a little strained. “It’s for you!” Simon was on his feet before the words were fully out of Ayub’s mouth, his stomach swooping. Ayub didn’t call him Simon. He could count the number of times Ayub had done so on the fingers of one hand, and none of them had been good. His mind already coming up with dozens of unlikely but hair-raising scenarios that could have caused Ayub to act so out of character, Simon threw open his bedroom door, turned, and froze. In the doorway of his and Ayub’s shabby little apartment, flanked by two huge besuited men hovering ominously behind her, stood the Queen of Sweden.

Read chapter 3 or start from the beginning