#my young royals fic

[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

[phneltwrites]

Heyyyy so anyone want some canon divergence wilmon exes fake dating? They're very dramatic about it.

Land Between Our Bodies | rated T | probably ~50k

Chapter 1 here on ao3!

Snip:

Simon holds up his phone on his notes app. He’s been brainstorming. It reads: Hi, Wilhelm. Sorry to message you but I’m having a situation at school with some bullies that I could use your help with. I get if you don’t want to. Thanks.

“Wow, no emoji. So businesslike.” Rosh is so mean to him.

Simon groans. “It’s really hard! What am I supposed to say? Hey, remember how we had one last night together and we said goodbye and I never gave you a birthday present and then the school closed? Well. Can you pretend the breaking up part didn’t happen to get some assholes off my back?”

“Maybe the difficulty of writing the message should clue you in to the badness of the plan,” Rosh argues.

[wilhelmified]

i adore wilhelm and felice's best friendism, but I would've LOVED for wilhelm×felice×madison to become a trio, much like simon has ayub and rosh. I think they'd have a very funny and amusing dynamic and I feel so bitter that we never got to see much of it

[gulliblelemon]

Take a Punt - Chapter 1

Wilhelm has been shipped off to England for university and he is not happy about it. That is, until he accidentally bumps into a fellow Swede. Of course, Wille tries to "accidentally" bump into Simon again. Luckily, the universe is on his side for once.

A university AU (with very little university) where nothing hurts and everything falls into place for two Swedish boys who just want to fall in love.

“Sorry,” Wille says as he crouches down. The person he crashed into huffs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Just my fucking luck. I— Holy shit.” The boy has looked up and is now staring at Wille with wide eyes. And ‘holy shit’ just about covers it, because this boy might be the most beautiful human being Wille has ever seen. Dark curls peeking out from under a worn beanie, cheeks and nose pink from the cold, pretty brown eyes that are currently looking at Wille with what he realises in horror is recognition. “You’re—” The boy stops and shakes his head, an incredulous smile on his face. “Did I just hit my head harder than I thought or are you… Prince Wilhelm?”

Read chapter 1 (of 5) on AO3 now. (3.8k/20k words)

[thingsthatcometomymindwheniwrite]

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

[dreamyelectronicmusic]

Sabotage

“I see the way you look at him,” a voice startles Wille out of his reverie, “when you think he can’t see you.”

He glances over his shoulder at the man joining him in the chilly air on the terrace of Felice’s penthouse. The sounds of the party going on inside the apartment waft in through the narrow gap in the sliding door. Perhaps Wille should feel caught out or embarrassed, but he can’t be bothered. He turns back to face the Stockholm skyline.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean for you to see that either.”

Simon’s boyfriend steps closer, leans his elbows against the balustrade next to Wille. They stare at the city lights together.

Read more under the cut or on AO3

“You’re still in love with him,” Ben says after a moment, his tone more sympathetic than accusatory. It can’t be easy, Wille supposes, to start dating someone and find out that their ex is still part of their friend group, especially when their relationship had been as public as Wille and Simon’s, but Ben has never treated him with antagonism.

“I’m afraid that once you’ve started, it’s impossible to stop,” he says. The bottle of beer he’s brought with him to the terrace is cold in his hands and long since empty. He picks at the label. “But I think you already know that.” He’s seen the way Ben looks at Simon, too, and he recognises the feeling.

The corner of Ben’s mouth quirks up. “Yeah.” He looks down at his hands, a little bashful and more than a little smitten. “I do.” Good. Simon deserves nothing less than absolute devotion.

Wille takes a deep breath and releases it slowly through his mouth. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he says. “You – you’re so much better for him than I ever was.” The truth of it has long lost its sharp edge. “It’s good to see him happy. I have no intention of getting in the way of that.”

It took him and Simon a long time to get where they are now, to build something resembling a friendship on the charred wasteland left by their relationship. It’s the only good thing Wille has left. He won’t do anything to sabotage it.

The door slides open again. Laughter reaches Wille’s ears, Simon’s pearly giggles easy to pick out. Wille smiles. It’s all worth it, if he gets to hear that sometimes.

“Excuse me,” says Malin. Wille squares his shoulders, knowing his brief respite is over. “We really should get going, Your Majesty.”

[wilmonsfolklore]

Is It New Years Yet?

A fun little strangers-to-lovers speedrun at a new year's eve party. As a treat after a long year that the YR fandom has made infinitely better for me. So, thank you all and here's to more fics next year! <3

When Wille entered the kitchen he stopped dead in his tracks in the door opening. The kitchen was empty except for the boy, the beautiful boy, who was standing at the counter, leaning against it and scrolling on his phone casually. This was Wille’s chance. The best he would get. He took a few breaths and stepped into the kitchen. “Hey,” Wille said. His voice was less steady than he would like. The boy looked up from his phone. It felt like his gaze was radiating heat that went directly to Wille’s cheeks. “I’m Wille,” Wille continued anyway.

or: Wille and Simon are both bored at a party on New Year's Eve but they find each other, and spend the hour before midnight together

Read it here! :)

[books-books-smolderinglooks]

Inspired by @jordensgolde's fic - Futile Devices 💜♥️

[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!

[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.

Day 12: In the back of your car there's a big black mark (where I ripped the seat) (car sex, riding, a little breathplay/choking) They have their first little talk of the evening with Simon on one side of the buffet table, Wille on the other, sweet fucking irony, Wille thinks, remembering itchy wigs and poofy pants and the most beautiful song he’s heard in his life, to date. They chat, crack a joke here and there, laugh, even. Settle back into a pattern that feels so eerily familiar, so nostalgic, so unreal. Because how can it be like this, how can they go back to who they were those years ago, how can it feel so effortless? Wille spends the rest of the evening on a cloud, untethered, floating, feeling light and ungrounded. Feeling like, at once, everything he’s been missing is coming back to him, overwhelming, but in the best way. And he is surprised, yeah, but also not at all, when they first crash into each other in the hallway. Because it feels like this is what they’ve been tiptoeing around all evening, this is what his entire body knew had to happen.

Day 13: Find a brand new way of seeing (Your eyes forever glued to mine) (1/2) (edging, toys, blindfolds) Everything is dark, and yet Wille feels like the white-hot sparks shooting up his spine are streaking his vision. He lets out a pathetic sound when Simon speeds up the movement of his hand yet again, only to stop all at once. This is worse than Wille imagined, so much worse. And he loves it. Every single touch, from Simon’s palm on his cock to the fingertips he’s digging into Wille’s hips to hold him down, Wille feels it tenfold. It’s like Simon’s hand weighs heavier on him than usually, like his skin feels hotter against Wille’s sensitive one, like every sound Simon makes, every little huff of breath, every single tsk he makes when Wille involuntarily tries to thrust up into his grip, is amplified. Wille thinks he can hear Simon smile, that typical brief exhale through his nose, a quiet hum. The thought sends a shiver up his spine. There’s a thrill in not knowing, not being able to see. In having to wait for verbal confirmation that he’s doing it right. He hopes he’s being good for Simon, hopes he is looking pretty with the black silk tied around his head.

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

[phneltwrites]

I wish you would write a fic where…

….Jan-Olof decides he has had enough of Erik and Wilhelm's antics, escapades and scandals. He retires. His successor is a young man called Simon Eriksson. The moment Wilhelm lays eyes on Simon for the first time, he trips over his own feet and falls (in love). Simon, however, isn’t impressed with the two princes. They make his job difficult. He can’t decide who’s worse. Pretty quickly Wilhelm is also annoyed because while he can’t stop staring at Simon, Simon is exactly like J-O was: professional, conservative and boring (but also cheeky/rude when it’s just the two of them). They have lots of stupid arguments but there’s also loads of unresolved sexual tension between them. Meanwhile Kristina watches everything from the sidelines and facepalms mentally.

💜

I was trying to think about this one and rotating it and I'm not so good at talking so here's like the short fic version of what I'd do! The angle I basically took here is about how anxiety from the outside often looks like rudeness and being judgmental.

Everyone knows this is a bad job. It’s why it’s the one for the most junior member of staff. Simon’s often caused himself to question his life choices and the series of misfortunes that have led to him firstly working for the Swedish monarchy—a thing he ideologically opposes—and as a wrangler for Prince Wilhelm. His literal, full-time job is to make sure the Prince is where he’s supposed to be, upright, and in clothes. On day one he’s informed they need someone for this because it is extremely difficult.

The prince is unreliable, they said. He’s used to being catered to and he doesn’t consider how to make any one else’s job run smoothly. Don’t expect any consideration. He won’t practice his speeches and will act unprofessionally if you follow-up on his preparedness. Just put things in front of him and hope for the best.

Simon doesn’t love the idea of being personal servant for a manbaby who is emotionally volatile in the workplace.

At first he thought it might not be so bad. Wilhelm introduced himself carefully, with a handshake and direct eye contact, dead serious like it wasn’t ridiculous on the face of it. He slid Simon snacks under the table at their first interminable briefing meeting.

“I didn’t think it would go this long,” Simon muttered as thanks.

“When you see the line ‘review precedence’ it means we have to list everyone who is going and what order they’ll walk in,” he whispers back with a grimace. “I always bring snacks when I see that.”

Simon files the note away and when he says as much to Wilhelm, Wilhelm rewards him with a real smile. His entire face brightens and when he does it reminds Simon that Wilhelm is his age.

All of that optimism dies the moment they have their first event where Simon is in charge of wrangling, without anyone else guiding him. And he can’t find Wilhelm. Why did he think that Wilhelm would make an exception to his unreliability for Simon?

He runs around, dashing from room to room, as if a six-foot suit bedecked man might be overlooked in a corner like a stray pair of headphones.

The patter of rain on the window draws Simon’s attention by chance and then it’s his second heart attack. Wilhelm is out there. Soaking.

Simon dashes out and immediately feels the rain seep down the back of his neck. It’s raining hard enough that it pushes at his curls, wetness worming its way in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Simon feels hysterical. He grabs Wilhelm’s wrist. It feels like ice. He drags and Wilhelm follows him, feet stumbling. Simon closes the door behind them and starts to fret. Wilhelm’s hair is wet. His suit is wet. His tie is ruined. He got a whole onboarding document on the caretaking rules for silk ties. Exposing them to rainwater is not best practice. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Meanwhile, Wilhelm’s hair drips onto the parquet floor. He isn’t saying anything. He’s supposed to be giving a speech to this anti-drunk driving charity in ten minutes and if Simon sends him out like that, he’ll get demoted in such a way that they’ll make his life miserable enough until he quits. He thought Wilhelm respected him a little but he’s just standing there, staring at nothing, looking bored. Offering no solutions, no explanations. Least he could do is apologise. He’s not even looking at Simon, instead peering at the detailing on the baseboards. Now is not the time to develop an interest in design.

Simon is going to get fired. And Wilhelm doesn’t even care. Simon supposes he has ultimate job security and doesn’t know what insecurity would feel like.

“Look at the state of you,” Simon scolds. “How could you do this? Is this hazing? My first time so you want to fuck with me?” Simon brushes at Wilhelm’s hair, helplessly. The front pieces have slid onto his forehead. “I get that this is nothing for you, but this is my job. I need this.” He takes Wilhelm’s tie. He pops the top button open. Maybe it looks intentional. “You get everything handed to you. I’m here to make sure you have your tissues and your shoes are shined and all your whims are taken care of. And all you have to do is show up and hand out some ribbons, shake a few hands. Would it kill you to take it seriously? Or at least, if you aren’t, would you try not to waste my time? Your extremely royal highness? If that isn’t too hard for you.” Wilhelm is just like the rest of them. Every rich kid at University who complained that the professors weren’t nice enough to them, or who whined that they were broke because they spent all their money on drinks and movie tickets and for the first time had to consider a budget. People to whom it had never occurred to them that they’d have to be careful about anything in their life. That they’d have to think ahead or go without.

“Yeah,” Wilhelm says absently. Simon stops talking. He glares at Wilhelm. “That’s right. Isn’t it?” The question sounds like it’s of no matter to him. Simon wants to shake him.

Wilhelm does it first, shaking his head, water flying. He wipes his hair with his hand, slicking it back as much as he can. Then he steps out.

Simon doesn’t watch the speech. He’s not allowed in the room anyway. His precedence is too low.

Later, he sits around with the staff, Friday night out to celebrate the week and starts to complain. Everyone laughs in that nostalgic way that Simon has never mastered.

“You didn’t bring an extra suit?” Margot asks. “Someone didn’t train you right. For his Highness you always have to bring a full change.”

“And his headphones,” Andreas jumps in. “If he starts looking like he’s going to bolt, those can keep him in place for a bit.”

“At least if he runs he usually comes back,” Karl says. It seems that everyone has a Wilhelm story. “It’s the hiding that’s more difficult.” Karl is one of the older members of the team. He leans over to Wilhelm. “His Highness knows all of the nooks and crannies in the palace. Every built-in cupboard and weird space under some stairs. You’ll get to know them too.”

The longer this goes on, the less funny it gets. Everyone had told Simon how difficult Wilhelm is, how spoiled, and he’d seen Wilhelm’s behaviour today as careless. But this is so consistent.

Then Margot hammers the final nail. “He can’t fit in the worst spots anymore. You’re lucky. Trying to reach in to the top shelf of a wardrobe to get a grip on him while in heels was not what I studied for.”

“How long ago were you managing him?” Simon asks. He feels the shape of the answer already.

She purses her lips. “Ten, fifteen years ago? Don’t worry, it won’t take you that long to get a better portfolio.”

So she was a grown woman and Wilhelm was what, seven?

He stands up. “I have to go.”

***

He goes to Wilhelm’s rooms at the palace. His badge gets him in the building but a guard stops him at the door. “No staff entry to the prince’s private rooms outside of working hours,” she says firmly.

Simon hadn’t thought about that. He didn’t think about that.

He won’t push his way in.

***

Simon grabs Wilhelm’s sleeve at the end of the next briefing. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Simon says.

Wilhelm is staring at his sleeve where Simon has a hold on it. Simon lets go. Wilhelm’s fingers twitch, turning and curling towards Simon’s. He looks up at Simon and blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“No, that’s what I’m saying.” This conversation is going weirdly.

Wilhelm looks confused. “For what?”

“For snapping,” Simon repeats.

Wilhelm doesn’t look any less confused. “You were doing your job.” He says it, almost questioning. Like why are they still talking about this.

Simon did not think he could feel worse, but Wilhelm’s total lack of understanding why anyone should give him any consideration makes him want to claw at his shirt collar.

Then Wilhelm is called away.

***

At the next function, which is a rose garden tea thing that Simon can’t pretend to understand, Simon finds Wilhelm sitting on a bench next to a trellis.

“Hi,” Simon says.

Wilhelm takes a big inhale, shoulders rising up and in. “Am I out of time?”

Simon thinks about it. Thinks about Wilhelm forcing himself out there. Then he says, “Want to get out of here?”

Wilhelm laughs. Then he takes a second look at Simon’s face. “Oh.”

Simon puts out his hand. Eyes darting between his hand and Simon’s face, Wilhelm takes it. Simon tugs and Wilhelm comes easily.

When they go, they don’t look back.

[gulliblelemon]

Simon and Wille have... an arrangement. They don't have to like each other, they don't even have to really talk to each other; they can just take what they need and then carry on as if they've not just had their hands in each other's pants. But then something happens that throws their delicate agreement out of the window, and they're left having to figure out what they are to each other. Enemies? Indifferent colleges? Friends? Or... something else?

Read now on AO3 (T rated, 9.8k/29k)

[bluedalahorse]

This is a Sara and August Appreciation Post (Favorite Non-Wilmon Overall Ship)

A post written for YRFavesFest2024, graciously hosted by @youngroyals-events. This is in response to prompt #6.

They’re so awkward. I love them.

If I learned anything from the historical example of Vasa, it’s that some ships are destined to sink. But lo, they sink so majestically that you must cherish them and build an entire museum dedicated to their cultural significance.

Such are my feelings for Sara and August. They have been my two very favorite characters in Young Royals from day one, and also they are in love? They’re both so deeply flawed, with so much chemistry, and they’re both so very lonely, that you can see why they’re drawn to one another like magnets.

Truly, I could honor saraugust in any number of ways, but I realized looking back that they were above all extremely fun to write about. So in this post, I’ve put together snippets from fics I’ve written about Sara and August, both finished/published and unfinished/unpublished, that showcase all the fun I’ve had with their dynamic over the years.

I’m going to put the fic snippets below a cut, as this post will be as long as Malte is tall. Also, as a heads up, there will be some excerpts that trend a bit naughty, but never anything explicit. Enjoy!

Terrain Boundaries Territory was the first fic I wrote for them in summer of 2021. I went into a two-week fugue state and forgot to do anything else while I worked out the story.

In TBT, Sara decides she’s going to get revenge on August for how he treated Simon. She decides she’s going to do that by dating him, finding out all his secrets, and ruining him somehow. Of course, as Sara and August get closer and more entangled, things get more complicated between them.

I used this fic to discover characterizations for Sara and August, mostly, and figured out what made them tick. It really helped me to bond with them as characters. I feel like my Simon is reasonably characterized, but the other secondary characters need… a lot of work. At this point the show was new, I was lurking, and I couldn’t even keep the character names straight. It showed.

I wrote TBT right when I got into verse novels, so it’s in verse. I also decided I was going to write Sara’s POV as a second person narrator, to put the reader uncomfortably close to what she’s thinking and feeling. These things are fun to play with in an MFA program, but they’re a bit risky for fanfiction, where a lot of fans prefer familiar tropes and writing styles. I still love that this fic reignited my passion for writing fanfiction in general.

Also there’s a Fleabag reference that no reader has found yet. Beat you to the punch, Lisa.

An excerpt:

There is a floorboard in the hallway where August’s step hesitates, a door on his left like a gap between fangs. In the evening, now sober, you return without him— stand in the threshold of the door and sniff each layer of dust, catalogue the shrouded furniture, the landscapes painted in storms of oils, the one tall harp, out of tune. Footsteps, doubling back. His shadow touches your shoulders and, This is where we found my Pappa dead. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Did he know he was being too honest? You know what that’s like.

Next excerpt comes from an unfinished, August-POV sequel to Terrain Boundaries Territory I was writing in Fall and Winter of 2021. After TBT, I was asking myself: well, how did August manage to fall in love with Sara? I could feel, instinctively, that he was going to fall in love with her, whenever season 2 of YR came around. I just wanted to work out what it would look like. I started to play with the idea that maybe he dates her to deflect any suspicion about the video, but starts to soften toward her as he realizes they have a lot of loneliness and grief in common.

In this scene, Sara’s just had a meltdown during a clash between Marieberg and Hillerska students. Sara and August are just starting to date publicly, and everyone has thoughts, including Sara’s old bullies. They’re nasty to her, and Rosh (who happens to be both Present and Intimidating) tells them off. Sara runs away, and August goes to find her.

They talk:

“So you have some friends at Marieberg.” “They’re Simon’s friends. They only like me because of Simon.” Oh. Shit. If August were a good boyfriend (which, he isn’t) and this were a real relationship (it’s not, they just need one another for appearances) he’d tell Sara I like you because of you. Maybe also I’ll always put you first. They’ve only been official for a short while, but guys have whispered bolder lies into a new girlfriend’s hair. That’s sort of how relationships work, isn’t it? Always moving too fast and lying. August wants to say that because Sara’s brushed aside the graveyard dirt that covers up an old memory: his first parents’ weekend, back when he was a gangly kid with no muscle definition and no idea how to dress himself, when he told his mamma people only like me because Erik makes them. That put a shocked expression on Mamma’s face. Then she forgot just ten minutes later, when she told August she was seeing people again. Three years and becoming prefect should have dulled August’s memories of that weekend, but now unearthed, the memories only make the present feel fake. Sara’s closed in on herself—head bowed, eyes on the ground, now ungloved hands clutching at her elbows. Inside Sara must feel cold, raw, bruised, inert. Like forgotten meat at the back of a freezer. It’s not fair that she should feel that. Not when she’s smart and detail-oriented and secretly daring. Not when she’s the sort of girl who becomes a social media heroine for rescuing cats. August is too scared of saying I like you, even as he’s counting all the reasons people should like Sara. So instead he asks, “Do you want me to hold you?” Sara nods. August follows the advice of football scarf girl and hugs Sara tight. She doesn’t tense up—it’s the first time he’s felt her relax, actually. That he’s noticed. If he’s going to pull off this fake boyfriend thing, maybe he should notice more. “You asked,” says Sara. “You’ve never asked before.” Talking into his coat, she adds, “I need somewhere to rest.” “I told you, you can always use my room.” “Somewhere to actually rest.” “I know. I understand. Come on.” He takes her hand and leads her back to the dorms.

Next, in early 2022, @heliza24 and I began publishing Heart and Homeland, our ensemble regency AU. I think to this day, we’re one of the few true ensemble fics in YR fandom that gives all five main characters roughly equal POV time, but I could be wrong about that. I intend to finish the epilogue chapters in 2025.

Anyway, I felt like I had a solid grasp on Sara and August at this point, and also I love period dramas. Do you know how exciting it was for me to write them in a troubled gothic romance situation? Sara’s the governess for Felice’s younger sisters, and August is attending Hillerska with Simon and Wilhelm while also being engaged to Felice. Felice breaks off her engagement to August though, and then after a Series Of Dramatic Events, Sara and August run off together.

The first twentysome chapters of the fic were written before season 2, and I think I did a reasonably good job predicting Sara and August’s dynamic. Also, they hooked up in a moving carriage, so I may have predicted a Bridgerton season as well, oops. Anyway, here’s a scene from the morning after that hookup, and if you’ve read far enough into the story, you know this will have tragic resonance later on:

Sara tugged the dressing gown tighter around her shoulders. August sat beside her on the bed, careful not to upset his mug. An aroma from Sara’s childhood filled the air, and she remembered how Pappa, in his better moods, used to let her grind coffee beans when he came back from his voyages. Preparing coffee for Pappa and Mamma helped Sara to feel useful, even though she had not been allowed to drink it herself. “That’s coffee, isn’t it?” Sara asked. The smell never bothered her the way it did Simon, after Pappa was arrested for smuggling it. “It is,” said August. “Her Majesty’s ban doesn’t really apply here with us. It is really only for the general public’s benefit, to help them moderate their vices.” Vices. Sara felt she had not indulged hers enough. “May I have some coffee?” “You may.” August handed Sara the mug, and Sara drank as he drawled on. “Speaking of Her Majesty, she is in good health, although of course it distressed her to learn of last night’s events. I am glad I was the one to bring her the news and reassure her of His Highness’s well-being. One needs the support of family at such dire times.” He was showing off now, speaking breezily about his connections to the monarchy, as if Sara herself hadn’t danced with the prince earlier. “Her Majesty has already implied that I should stay in town for the coming days so that I can assist Wille as he returns to the palace. I will be back and forth between here and there. You must promise not to fret too much when I’m out.” “I am capable of occupying myself, and you are quite committed to serving the realm. We will manage a few hours apart,” said Sara. A moment later she realized that he probably wanted her to say something else. Felice had explained once that boys sometimes expressed such sentiments so that girls could reassure them of their devotion. “Of course in practice, I am sure I will miss you, and that you will miss me.” Things were moving fast. Sara took a final long sip of coffee before handing the mug back to August. “Here you are.” August looked down into the mug. “You drank all of it.” “You will have to bring me more, then.” Sara smiled.

Now that we’ve had Sara and August in the historical past, let’s move on to some fic where they find one another again in the future! While I am very satisfied with their breakup at the end of season 3, and think it’s what was right for them, I sometimes imagine a possible future where they can try again and things work out for them. Why? Because I like seeing them kiss. It’s really not that deep.

Here’s something unfinished I wrote after season 3, where the Swedish people are about to vote on a referendum about whether or not they want to end the monarchy. August (who has been through a lot of character development and worked to make things up with Simon) just assumes everyone is going to vote to end the monarchy, so he’s doing everything he can to make sure the transition goes smoothly and that they can give the monarchy a good “funeral” and such. Meanwhile, Sara is working a toxic nonprofit job that takes advantage of her passion to make the world a better place. And wouldn’t you know it? They’re crossing paths:

August nods and exits out through the double doors, and just like that, Sara becomes a royal guest. Perhaps one of the last royal guests ever, if last week’s polling data means anything. She hopes no one will interview her for a documentary about it in the future. There’s a farcical moment two minutes afterward where August sticks his head back in and says he’s forgotten his sunscreen, and Sara hands him the bottle before he goes out again. It’s a brand she’s never seen before—something ridiculously expensive and high SPF. Fragrance free, too. Sara can’t help watching through the windows as August rubs the sunscreen onto the back of his neck and onto his exposed forearms. Can’t help wondering if she’d have rubbed it in for him, admonishing him like you know you burn so easily, if they’d had their summer weekends in Bjärstad during his military service like he’d wanted. Still, Sara hadn’t wanted it, then, and that thought should be enough to push herself back into fifteen minute stretches of newsletter edits and donor emails. Sara reminds herself of her bosses’ talking points: that PuzzleChildrens’ oldest donors appreciate the paper copies of the newsletter they receive each month, that the personal stories of lost children remind them where their money is going, that Sara is doing so well at communicating with people and that she shouldn’t worry too much about creating a perfect product, only one that reaches people’s hearts. She opens up a colleague’s story about a pitiable single mother in Luleå called Maja, whose eleven-year-old daughter Saga has been “stolen” by a serious disease. The colleague is older and touchy, so Sara phrases all her line edits delicately. What she really wants to type is: Don’t call meltdowns “tantrums.” Of course Saga has empathy, she loves her dog and she probably feels that very deeply. And for fuck’s sake arm flapping isn’t a “babyish gesture.” But no. She can’t respond like that. Not with the amount of money these newsletters raise, not when her older colleagues don’t know things, and she was the one hired to educate them. Sara thinks that maybe, the cotton of her sundress would be better if it were rougher. If she could run the nail of her index finger across her hip and it would hurt just enough to remind her how to communicate with people at work so they don’t think she’s a freak. Eventually Sara’s phone buzzes with an incoming text, pulling her out of her thoughts. Do you want something to drink? It’s from August. Sara looks up, and he’s still outdoors on the balcony. He glances in Sara’s direction and offers her a stiff—but not unfriendly—wave. The glass between them is impossibly clean, probably scrubbed this morning by the staff at Solliden. Sara texts back. I don’t want to trouble you too much. Are you having something? Seltzer. There’s a local brand that just launched, they do one with an elderflower and pear infusion. August makes a face at his phone (Sara’s still watching him, it’s that twisting expression his mouth sometimes makes when he’s embarrassed himself, like he’s gotten an unexpected taste of sour candy) and types a follow up. It’s less pretentious than it sounds. You can have what you want though. We’re well-stocked here. Seltzer sounds good, Sara responds. I’ll have that, thanks.

Do I have other future scenarios? Yes. One of them involves Sara and August on a road trip back to Sweden (they can’t do air travel because of a volcanic explosion in Iceland) so they can get to Wilhelm and Simon’s engagement party in time. This is a future set after August leaves the monarchy behind, but hasn’t explained to anyone why and it’s a bit of an incident. Sara is working a shitty nonprofit job in this story idea, too, since the road trip idea was sort of a 2.0 iteration of what you see above.

Anyway, when I think about them as adults, I enjoy letting them be a little bit kinky. Mostly because they both seem to have intense sensory needs and would also like figuring out the power exchanges, and also because you can have a scenario where Sara’s tried more kinks than August has, and it reverses the experience dynamic they have as teenagers. Like this:

Sara presses the brush bristles down onto August’s open palm. It’s only a little bit of extra pressure, spread out over multiple prickling points, but it sends a current up his arm and through his chest. August draws in a sharp breath. He and Sara meet eyes. They’re studying one another now, like they’ve both been hit by the realization that it’s been over ten years and they’ve tried other things with other partners. “So.” Sara smiles out of one corner of her mouth. “You like a little bit of pain?” “Maybe,” says August. “I mean, life at the palace was pretty conservative, so I didn’t get to explore much—” “Please.” Sara is the one laughing now, and there’s a mixture of affection and disdain in it that makes something in August’s stomach curl. “Royals get away with doing all kinds of kinky shit.” “Not me,” says August. “I was working all the time.” His face flushes as he realizes how embarrassing it sounds—Sara’s giving him an are you kidding me look—but there’s also something hot about it at the same time. About wanting to squirm under her gaze. “We could try something tonight,” says Sara. “if you want.” “We promised ourselves we wouldn’t.” “We said we wouldn’t touch each other. And we won’t. I’m only going to touch you with the brush. Do you want me to explain?”

Sara domming is fantastic, but I also kind of imagine saraugust as a couple with with swtichy vibes. Which is why in L’escarpolette, twentysomething Sara has a surreal sex dream about getting tied up on a swing while she’s wearing her Valentine’s ball clothes:

August kneels, and that’s when Sara knows she has him where she wants him. Or, he has her where he wants her. Whichever is the truth. August reaches for Sara’s foot—the one that hasn’t lost its ballet flat—and his eyes meet Sara’s as he slides the shoe off and sets it aside. He bends down further to kiss her ankle. A current of electricity travels up Sara’s leg. The sensation leaves Sara twitching and ticklish. August seizes the hem of her skirts and lifts. Out of the corner of Sara’s eye she glimpses the firelight down at the bottom of the hill, where the mysterious eighteenth century party frolics on. Perhaps sparks of that light glint in people’s eyes or in the lenses of their opera glasses as they swivel their gaze toward the hill… Sara’s balance falters. She tips backward. “Wait wait wait.” August lets go of Sara’s skirts and claps his hands back around her waist, steadying her before she can hit the ground. “I want to make sure you don’t fall.” He’s so earnest, and Sara still feels ticklish. She giggles, and August joins her, and for a moment they are consumed by the giddiness that comes with carrying out an odd and daring experiment in the night. But how to avoid falling? Sara follows the line of the swing’s ropes upward. Oh. Those flowering vines hanging down from the tree branches. They’re waving ever so slightly in the breeze, as if they’re trying to get her attention in secret. In her waking life, Sara sometimes imagines what it would be like to tie up a lover. Or what it would be like to ask a lover to tie her up. She’s never felt like she could ask anyone. Maybe here…

To finish off this post, let’s talk canon divergences. I once had a commenter on one of my fics say that they saw Sara and August as a case of Right Person, Wrong Timing. I can get behind this idea myself, and it’s always made me wonder what their relationship would be like when they met earlier, when August is raw from grief in his first year at Hillerska, and Sara is still experiencing bullying in public school. I’ve started a fic along those lines, and I’m hoping to finish it soon for events in January or February.

Looks like Sara and August are going to have to escape a situation together:

The boy in the closet with her is pale and slim. He twitches and groans softly. Something pinches inside Sara’s chest. Sympathy? He looks as trapped here as she is, and Sara wants to trust him. Just so she isn’t alone. She crawls over to the boy and kneels at his side. She keeps a house key in her palm just in case. His eyes flutter open halfway. “You’re awake,” Sara says. “Fuck.” He blinks. “You’re… Sara?” “Yes,” she says. It’s a relief to hear someone say her name aloud, even though he’s a stranger. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” Haltingly, the boy pushes himself up to a sitting position. “I’m… not sure.” “You should check.” He’s quite tall, Sara notices. And he’s sitting still, not checking his head like she told him to. Sara can’t tell from looking at him if he has any lumps on his head; he has thick, dark curls that hide that. She’d have to run her fingers through his hair if she was going to help him check. Will she have to? The boy hasn’t moved yet. It’s like he’s in a daze.  Sara’s fingers twitch. She’s impatient. Before she can raise her hands and look the boy over, to make sure that he’s safe, he finally shakes himself alert and moves his hands to his hair. “No lumps,” the boy says. “So I’m alright.” His eyes land on Sara. “Are you…” Sara replies with the truth. “They locked me in here for hours. We need to get out.”

Anyway. Do you see how much these two fuel me? Do you see The Vision? More fic to come on a tumblr near you!

[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

[enjoythesilentworld]

💜 wilmon + #78 💜

hiiii thank you so much!! here’s a lil dancey one for you :) <3

#78 Addicted – Zerb, The Chainsmokers, Ink

The answer should be ‘No’. They both know it. Wilhelm shouldn’t even be asking in the first place.

But he is.

“Do you want to dance?”

Simon eyes him over. Pretending. Like he’s surprised to see Wilhelm here.

“Okay,” he says eventually, grinning, already moving towards the dancefloor, towards the rolling, anonymous bodies.

“Okay,” Wille echoes, letting his hands settle on Simon’s waist now that he has… permission. Because that’s what this requires now, in this weird time loop they’re in. Permission.

“This changes nothing,” Simon tells him, even as they grind up against each other, even as he licks the sweat off Wille’s neck and presses bruises into his skin.

Wille parrots again, “Nothing,” because he’ll do whatever, say whatever, to keep them on the dancefloor a little longer.

It’s fucking delicious. As addictive as always. Simon’s hands, his lips, his smell. The way he moves against Wille, the way they both get swept up in the music—in each other—and forget the rest. The way they’re both panting and sweating and licking into each other’s mouths, Simon tasting like lime and salt and sweetness. Wille soaks it all up. A man in the desert. Two addicts fresh out of rehab and right back to their drug of choice.

Simon rolls forward again, lips barely separating from Wille’s to whisper, “Just one more time.”

Breathless, Wille nods, “One more time.”

send a number get a drabble(ish)!

[justfriendsbestthings]

they’re boyfriends you know