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violetrainbow412-blog · 4 months

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Howdy! It's me again

How are you? I hope you are fine, and if not, then I encourage you from here!

Well, I would like to order something in which our dear Willy gets a little jealous because someone entered the factory and started flirting with his partner (reader) And that leads to a very affectionate moment between reader and Willy

Por cierto, qué le pones a los pedidos que escribes? Los siento muy emocionantes y me ponen a chillar a veces SJSGGWUW

(By the way, what do you put in the orders you write? I find them very exciting and they make me scream sometimes)

.—🌻

Tensions in the Factory [W. W]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

nota: ¡me hace muy feliz que te guste lo que escribo! creo que sólo se trata de hacerlo con amor (¿o algo así? jaja) Lamento haber tardado, entré a un trabajo durante vacaciones y apenas me queda tiempo, pero espero que sea de tu agrado, girasol:)

[ENG: It makes me very happy that you like what I write! I think it's just about doing it with love (or something like that? haha) I'm sorry it took me so long, I started a job during vacation and I barely have time left, but I hope you like it, sunflower:)]

taglist: @dyieying @reallysparklychaos [Timothée masterlist]

“Your factory is impressive, Mr. Wonka,” said the man next to the boy, with a satisfied smile on his face after the tour he had given him.

Willy was pleased with the investor's recognition that he intended to finance a new branch for Wonka chocolates and if everything continued as expected, he knew that that same afternoon they would be signing a contract.

“I'm glad you like it. This is where all the magic happens, so I hope that with that new store things are even more promising for us.”

He wanted to add something else when, suddenly, he was interrupted by the vision of a person; it was you, beckoning to him from the other side of the factory with a board holding papers. He knew it had to be something important or else you would have waited, so he apologized to the young man at his side and walked quickly until he reached you.

“Oh, I'm sorry to bother you, but one of the machines that churns the chocolate is jammed and making a mess in there, do you think you can check it?” you murmured, sounding slightly worried about the situation.

“Yes, I'll go right away. While you will talk to Mr. Salt? Tell him to excuse me for a moment”

"Yes, I will do it"

“You're an angel, thank you for letting me know,” he said goodbye, gently caressing the side of your face and practically running to solve the problem you had just told him about.

The man looking at you curiously from the other side couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than Willy and he was handsome, dressed in a gray formal suit that was worthy of a businessman. You had heard that he had a lot of money and although at first the chocolatier was not very convinced, after thinking about it better he believed that it was a good time to expand his horizons; that included having more stores to sell more chocolates. He had told you about the idea and you had been excited about it, so you motivated him to contact interested businessmen.

Although you didn't really enjoy talking to strangers, you took a deep breath and walked over to where the man was to greet him.

“Mr. Salt?” you said timidly, to get his attention. He watched you for a moment and when he got a better look at you, then he smiled hugely.

“Just call me Henry, Henry Salt. It's my pleasure," he replied, reaching out to shake your hand a little longer than expected. "Are you Mr. Wonka's secretary?"

It wasn't the first time a guy thought that about you, after all you were always behind your boyfriend with that board in your hand, writing things down, checking the operation, and reminding him of everything, however, Willy had always said that you were his partner and he wouldn't expect anyone to disparage your position: this factory belongs to both of us, he always said.

But it was easier to say yes than to explain all that.

“Something like that. He asked me to tell you that he had to attend to an emergency, but that he will be right back.”

"Oh, sure. There is no problem with it as long as you keep me company” he said happily.

The man was looking at you up and down, as if you were the most interesting thing he had seen in the factory so far, but you didn't notice it, because you were too focused on the thought of how Willy was handling the machinery.

“Did you like the factory?” you exclaimed, trying to get a topic of conversation that would kill the silence that had enveloped you.

You could tell that he was an educated man, because he immediately started talking to you about the structure of the building, finances, what a good investment it would be to open a branch and also about how much he loved chocolate.

“I have a daughter named Veruca. She is just a baby, but I hope to be able to give her everything she wants in the future. I only plan to work to fulfill her whims”

“Ow, that's sweet,” you tried to flatter. At least his motives were noble.

“She looks a little like you, actually. You are very beautiful"

You had to admit that the comment threw you off, but you still laughed nervously. Maybe he was just trying to be nice to you, so you could persuade Willy to close the deal with that man.

“Huh, I appreciate it, Mr. Salt.”

“What are your favorite chocolates? I imagine that being here you eat them in droves, right?” he murmured.

You hoped that with that the conversation would take a different direction, so you started talking to him about all the types of chocolates that Willy prepared for you: the sweet ones, some salty ones, the magical ones, the strange ones...

“But I think my favorites are definitely the mint chocolates. They may be simple, but Mr. Wonka prepares them in an exceptional way," you said dreamily, remembering that upon discovering it he had prepared an entire jar just for you.

“When the branch is open, you can stop by to eat all the mint chocolates you want. At a special price for special ladies”

You laughed at that, not so much out of desire but out of commitment to the potential client. Suddenly a hand was placed on your waist and when you turned in the direction of the body that had approached you, you noticed that it was who it could only be. You frowned slightly when you noticed that he was frowning, as if something had bothered him.

“I'm sorry I was late. Everything is in order now, would you like to accompany me inside, Mr. Salt?” he said. His voice sounded calm and stern, without that cheerful tone he always had, and he still had one hand planted firmly on your body.

“Of course,” the chocolatier made a sign for the opponent to start walking and he did not take his eyes off him at any time, noticing that Mr. Salt was looking at you with the same interest.

If he was unhappy with something, he didn't say it, and he just left a gentle kiss on your head.

“See you in a bit, okay?” You nodded and pushed him just a little, inviting him to follow the businessman you had just spoken to. He got lost down the hallway and you returned to your tasks, not imagining the feeling that was bubbling in your partner's chest.

“That man is a complete idiot.”

You were surprised to hear the boy use those words and, above all, by the furious tone with which he had expressed himself. You interrupted your tasks of making dinner to pay attention to him.

“Who are you talking about?

“From Mr. Salt, of course! I didn't sign the contract with him. Don't even think about it, he's a… a complete nutcase”

"What are you talking about? What happened?" you asked, completely surprised by what he was telling you. You put everything aside to approach him and held his face to analyze his expression: it was extremely strange to see him this upset “Honey?”

“He was flirting with you! Don't think I didn't notice, when I left, he... he started talking to you that way. And not satisfied with that, he called you my assistant and then he hinted that he wanted a romance with you. He said punctually: I hope that, if I open this new branch, you will send your pretty assistant to help me with everything necessary” he was red with anger as he said that and he had to breathe for a moment to compose himself. "So I told him immediately that there was no deal if he dared to talk about my wife like that.”

There was too much to process at once. You felt disgusted at the idea that another man had shown interest in you, but at the same time you were surprised by how he had reacted. Willy wasn't a possessive husband, but right now you were feeling something strange about this side of him.

“You don't have to worry about that…”

“Of course I have to. You're beautiful and I'm sure everyone realizes that, but I won't let anyone look at you like he was looking at you. It is my job to protect you and that includes not entering into relationships with those who want to take advantage of you.”

He sounded sincere and passionate when he spoke, convincing you that he was very serious about the matter. Contrary to what he expected, you smiled and cupped his cheeks again to kiss him on the lips. He melted at the touch, you knew it by the way his shoulders completely relaxed and his hands came up to hold your elbows during the seconds you were kissing him.

Once he was more relaxed, you spoke.

“It's all right, love. Can you calm down?” you asked him. Your hand began to gently caress his cheeks and your eyes looked pleading, something he couldn't resist. “You shouldn't have wasted such an opportunity, but... I appreciate that you rejected it. For me"

“I would do anything for you,” he said immediately. Suddenly he felt the urge to kiss you again and he did, deeply and lovingly. You didn't resist.

“You're my only boy, you know that? No one in the world could take me from your arms”

“That's not my fear, I know that nothing can separate us” he assured you, smiling from ear to ear. That's how sure he was about yours, that agreed with the pair of rings on your fingers “Besides, there will be more opportunities, you don't have to feel guilty about anything.”

“I don’t,” you exclaimed, to reassure him. You knew he had done the right thing and you loved him for it “Are you hungry? I'm making you something for dinner” you confessed and then he nodded.

He could smell what you were cooking and when you reached out to stir the contents of the saucepan with a stick, he hugged you from behind, starting to talk about something more trivial than that failed business and feeling clearly relaxed, now that he knew he was and he would always be the only owner of your heart.

#wonka 2023 #willy wonka x reader #wonka x reader #wonka movie #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee x reader #willy wonka #roald dahl #wonka fanfic #willy wonka 2023 #wonka fanfiction #wonka x fem reader

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txttletale · 2 months

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what do you think of the people using the wonka AI generated experience as proof that AI is making everything worse and taking the soul out of art

deeply silly. like do these people thikn if it wasnt for chatgpt the people beihnd Willy's Chocolate Experience would have been making a carefully crafted beautiful interactive art piece? no they would have downloaded 'chocolate wonderland.jpg' stock photos and written an equally bad and nonsensical script themselves. it was obviously a hack cash grab from the beginning. if anything AI provided the only redeeming parts of it with the batshit nonsense text on the posters and the evil chocolatier who lives in the walls and the hilarious fact that the script includes audi8ence reactions

#ask

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cringe-but-proud · 4 months

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Hi! You must’ve JUST posted while I was searching a tag! WELCOME to the crowd of other amateur writers who have no idea what we’re doing!

I have a request for a short fanfic/drabble! Wonka 2023 where fem!reader is a storyteller who worked in the laundry room when Willy arrives. Reader is closer with Noodle and usually tells her bedtime stories before going to sleep, and Willy comes to admire the vast imagination in the stories while falling in love, to Noodle’s joy. I haven’t had the motivation to write in a long time, so I hope you’d be up to trying to get the story out of my head!

Hi! Thanks sm for the request. Hope I could do your idea justice lol

Willy Wonka x Storyteller!Fem!Reader (Wonka 2023)

Warnings: None, I think. Sort of just a cute fluffy one.

Three years ago, you made the worst and most unforgivable mistake of your life: Taking a shower at Ms. Scrubbit's hotel.

To make a fairly short story shorter, you neglected to read the small print, leading to you being in a massive debt to her. So, for the next 5 years of your life, you'd be forced to work in a dirty, old laundry room.

You were absolutely miserable at first. Your days dragged by and your nights were mostly spent curled up in your bed crying. But, once you accepted your situation, you found a way to make the days go by faster: Making up stories in your head while you worked.

You'd always had quite the creative mind; so, weaving tales of magic and wonder was a fun way to spend your time.

Plus, Noodle always liked to hear your stories before she went to sleep.

But, recently you'd earned another fan of your stories.

Willy was the newest person who was unfortunate enough to end up down here. And lately he'd started sitting at the desk in Noodle's room every night, tinkering with new chocolate recipes or practicing his reading and writing skills, while you told Noodle a bedtime story.

But, according to noodle, he was actually in there just to listen to you. Supposedly, the moment you left, he'd turn to noodle and the two would discuss whatever story you'd told that night.

If that was true, you were honored.

One night, Noodle and Willy snuck out of the laundry room to do who knows what. And a couple hours later, Noodle returned without Willy. She told you all about the adventure they had which apparently included milking a giraffe, flamingos, and a run in with the police.

Her recount of the night was entertaining, and you were glad she's had fun. But, you couldn't help but feel a bit worried for Willy. "So, what's gonna happen to Willy?" You asked. "Is he getting arrested?"

Noodle shook her head. "He told me he'd talk his way out of it." She said as she got into bed. She tilted her head at you. "Do you like him?"

"What?" You flushed.

"Like, do you wanna be his girlfriend?"

"I-" You were about to say no, but that wasn't entirely true. You admired him. He had a brilliant mind, and he was unbelievably handsome. "Okay, how about I tell you a story?"

"So, you do wanna be his girlfriend."

"Story is beginning now."

Later in the night, you were in your own room, about to settle in for bed when someone knocked at your door.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, getting up to open the door for whoever it was.

"Hey." Willy greeted. "Sorry if I woke you up." His hair looked wet which was strange, but you were more concerned with why he was at your door.

"Don't worry, I wasn't asleep. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I was just wondering if... Uh, did you tell Noodle a story while I was gone?"

You nodded. "I did."

He seemed a little disheartened, which made you feel bad. "I'm sure noodle can retell you the story tomorrow." You offered, trying to lighten his mood.

"She could. But, the way you... I mean... You have a wonderful, imaginative, beautiful mind. And the way you tell your stories, it's amazing! You could read me a grocery list, and I'd be on the edge of my seat." He gushed.

You couldn't help but blush. "You think all of that?"

"Yes! How could I not?" He gave you an affectionate smile.

You returned him smile. "I mean... I could tell the story to you right now, if you want."

Willy thought about it. "It's alright. I think I can go without a story for one night." He said reassuringly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the offer, though."

He began to step away from your door, saying a quick goodnight before he began walking toward his room.

"Wait, Willy." He stopped and turned to you.

You walked up to him and kissed his cheek. Willy blushed. "What was that for?"

You shrugged. "To make up for the story you missed out on?" You offered.

Willy smiled and gave you a quick peck on the lips.

"What was that for?" You asked this time.

"Just cause I like you." He replied as he leaned in to kiss you again.

#Wonka 2023 x reader #willy wonka x reader #wonka x reader #x reader #fanfiction

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necstasy · 18 days

Text

candy-coated raindrops

& willy wonka

synopsis. willy wonka lets you play around in his chocolate kit. neither of you could have predicted that you would create an aphrodisiac chocolate.

includes. aphrodisiacs, smut 18+ MDNI, accidental drugging (due to aphrodisiacs), oral (f receiving), dry humping, cumming untouched, premature ejaculation, p n v intercourse, virgin coded willy, teaching/coaching, neighbors/friends to lovers, typical wonka shenanigans, fluff

word count. 6k

a/n. title from candy rain by soul for real. art is aftersleep by lewinale havette.

Willy should have never let you in his chocolatier kit. He was being sweet, charming, romantic, even. It seemed like a harmless idea at the time, letting you have full reign over the elaborate ingredients in his at home kit, allowing you to make whatever chocolate you wanted.

You’ve seen him make chocolate often enough to know the process. You stressed that you didn’t need his guidance. You wanted your creation to be a surprise, so you casted him off to his living room while you sat in the kitchen, working diligently to create your masterpiece.

When you finished and had two tiny and harmless-seeming chocolates in your hand, you and Willy quickly indulged yourselves, humming around the surprisingly pleasant taste. But then the effects began to kick in.

They were slightly unnoticeable at first, and your immediate instinct was to attribute the sudden warmth to a shift in the temperature, the sweat gathering along your hairline to the stress of making chocolate, the adrenaline in your limbs to the sugar making its way through your body, the stirring low in your abdomen to the presence of someone you feel something for standing just across from you.

But the growth of your symptoms were confusing. Willy displaying similar symptoms was alarming.

Standing in the center of his apartment, you’re trying to ignore the way your heart is trying to jump out of your chest and into his while you focus on the way Willy’s green eyes are a little lidded and heavy and—dare you say—lustful as he stares at you, all while you’re trying to get to the bottom of the incident.

“Willy,” you call his name once, and when he doesn’t answer, you call it twice. It’s not until you introduce a firm tone that he blinks himself out of whatever stupor he was in. When he looks at you again, his eyes seem a little clearer.

(He was intensely trained on the way your blouse, newly tailored by your own hands, fit over your bosom with just enough strain to create emphasis. In fact, you were filling out all of your clothes quite well today, but he hadn’t noticed until now. Until the chocolate has taken effect, he reminds himself.)

“I’m sorry, have you been talking?”

You nod. “Yes!”

Willy clearly hasn’t been listening at all. Now, he stands straight with his hands tucked into his front pockets. You don’t fail to notice the tension in his shoulders and his face, especially since he attempts to relax both areas, only to end up in the same predicament as before.

“Did I do something wrong with the chocolates?” You ask him.

Willy takes a second. He clicks his tongue, turns to face the wall to your left, and hums.

“That depends. Did you do something wrong with the chocolates?” His attempt at a joke falls flat, especially when your response is the same expression. He presses his lips into a thin line, dips his head. “Sorry.”

He runs down the list of the standard ingredients, asking if you’d included each and every one to the T. Then he gets to the additives, the ingredients that make Wonka’s chocolate unique. The array that you previously had free reign to, left with one singular instruction to not mix them together.

“You didn’t mix them, right?” His eyebrows lift, his eyes widen as if mixing the ingredients could cause something as disastrous as the end of the world. When you shake your head with the absolute truth, worries melt from Willy’s face for just a second, before his eyebrows push together and he takes a step closer to you.

“Oh, God, don’t tell me you used the pink bottle? The small one tucked in the corner?” He says it with caution, and this tone alerts you more than the previous. This tone is careful, as if he’s attempting to not scare you as well as himself.

This tone makes you hesitate to answer truthfully. You choose avoidance as a replacement strategy.

“What would happen if I did use the pink bottle? Nothing bad, right?”

Willy steps back, turns, and begins to pace the apartment, your eyes following him to and fro.

“Nothing bad, I guess. Just … unfavorable. Awkward. Debauched.” With each adjective he stops, faces you, and then continues pacing.

Debauched? Is that why you feel like this? Is that why you’ve been watching Willy’s mouth and hands move rapidly? Why you’ve been noticing how pink and smooth his lips are, and how slim and long his fingers are, and why you suddenly can’t stop thinking about exactly what he could do with both.

It takes loads of strength to snap yourself out of your daze.

“Um … debauched? What d’you mean, Willy? What was in the pink bottle?”

He finally stops his pacing to face you. His green eyes seem a little remorseful, maybe regretful. He looks like he’s going to deliver unfavorable news, things that could change the trajectory of your slightly comfortable life.

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

An aphrodisiac. Willy Wonka has an aphrodisiac in his chocolatier kit. It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, the man has Yeti tears and Hoverflies and other things you can’t even begin to comprehend. But Willy Wonka making sex chocolates is the thing you’re struggling to wrap your head around.

You don’t bother asking why he has an aphrodisiac, and you know what it would do—what it will do to you both—but you still find yourself asking for assurance.

“What would an aphrodisiac chocolate do?”

Willy clicks his teeth. “Well, I suppose it would … do what aphrodisiacs do.”

Currently, it’s certainly doing what aphrodisiacs do. Willy really shouldn’t have let you make chocolates.

You turn away from him.

When you’d been sitting in front of all of Willy’s ingredients, they were all a little overwhelming. You had endless options for what you wanted to create. Endless possibilities for effects. And when you’d decided to keep it simple with a pretty pink unlabeled bottle, you assumed the chocolate would be strawberry flavored at most. Not this. You can’t help but ruminate, letting your thoughts lead you down twisted corridor after twisted corridor, all lined with possibilities of how you and Willy’s cherished friendship could be destroyed by this one mistake. Your mistake.

You hear his footsteps first. Soft thuds of his worn in boots against the creaky floor. You feel the warmth of his body next, getting closer and closer until he’s right behind you.

When his hand touches your elbow, you flinch at first. When he doesn’t remove his touch, you quickly become used to it.

“Hey, you aren’t panicking, are you? Because I’m sure I could whip up an anecdote or something. It might take a while because I don’t know the exact ratio, but I’m sure I could do it.”

There’s a second where you don’t say anything, even though you have a worried reply already brewing on your tongue, the words along the lines of Willy either making the situation worse or taking too long to create an anecdote. Ultimately, you decide to hold your tongue, not willingly, instead because you’re acutely aware of the way Willy’s trying to soothe you. You’re focused on the way his voice reverberates in his throat, the volume and tone so soft that you can’t help but create an entirely different scenario for when the words could be said in your imagination. He sounds so beautiful, a voice you want to hear for as long as the universe would allow it.

And if that’s the chocolate or your long term crush talking, you don’t know. What you do know is that you and Willy should stay away from each other just in case either of you thought about giving in and ruined whatever good thing you had going thus far.

Willy doesn’t take kindly to your suggestion.

He steps in front of you, bending down enough to force you to look at him, his hopeful eyes searching for your downcast ones.

“Stay away from each other? I think we should do the opposite, just for our own safety. We don’t know how strong this batch is, you know. What if you walk out of this flat and jump onto the first guy you see?”

He talks fast, bordering on rambling, and his words hold an edge stronger than plain worry. Jealousy, even, but you refuse to believe it.

(Willy certainly is jealous at the thought of someone taking care of you in this state, especially since that would leave him alone with only his hand and the memory of you once more.)

When you agree to stay, your decision is based on wishful thinking. You both sit back on Willy’s new couch, a display of how well his chocolate shop was doing. There’s a little too much space between you both, but the energy radiating from your bodies occupies the gap.

Willy asks you about your symptoms first.

You list them off, the same as before save for the addition of the arousal gathering in your panties. Willy nods, you notice his ears turning a very light pink as he divulges into his symptoms.

“The same as you and I uh …” he hesitates. His hips shift along the couch and he wipes his hands along the knees of his trousers. “I have an erection,” he eventually admits, his voice just a tad bit too low.

It is plain curiosity that drives you to look over at his crotch where you take notice of the evidence.

You want to stare longer, you really do, and your gaze does linger for a moment. Until you feel Willy watching you and you lift your eyes to his, taking in the way they’re just wide enough to display curiosity, a look he wears often and well.

He licks his lips and your ever inquisitive eyes pick it up.

“How long do you think the symptoms will last?” You ask him.

Willy shrugs. “It can’t be more than a few hours, right?”

You nod, sit back, and wait.

Two hours pass by before you give in.

You make it through the first hour with much difficulty and nothing but board games, books, and stories about your childhoods to keep you tethered. You go to the bathroom an hour and a half in and seriously consider forcing your fingers between your thighs for just a bit of relief, but Willy calls out for your turn in a rousing game of chess from the otherside of the door and you’re flushing the toilet and waddling back out to face him.

It’s a slight brush against the other that changes the course.

You’re both in Willy’s kitchen attempting to make tea. The space is like yours, just inverted, which means it is entirely too small for the price you pay. You’re moving around well enough at first, asking Willy where things are before you grab them yourself as he works in tandem.

And then it’s a slight brush, just the smallest bit of friction from his crotch running against your bottom, that makes your breaths hitch.

For the past two hours, you both had been avoiding the issues at hand, dancing around the elephant in the room like hormonal teenagers going through their first near-sex encounter. Willy kept a pillow over his lap to shroud his prominent boner. You tried your best to keep your blouse from rubbing against your erect nipples, or the seam of your trousers from rubbing against your cunt. And all things considered, you were doing pretty well.

All it took was one little brush and suddenly your pelvis is pressed against the counter, the cabinet above you is closed with its desired contents forgotten, and Willy has you caged in your spot with his hands on either side of you.

His head rests against your shoulder as he frantically rocks his hips into yours. One of his hands leaves the material of the counter to grip your hip, keeping you still as he continues to hump you. Your own stimulation from the act is minimal, but the aphrodisiac has apparently also made you grateful because you take what you can get.

Plus, the little sounds Willy makes are enough to get you off alone. You wished you could bottle them up and take them back with you, in fear that this would only be a one time thing.

He is all but whimpering against your back with each shaky thrust into your ass. He glides the length of his cock along the seam of your cheeks, working in strokes as long as the situation allows for.

There’s not much coordination to it, but apparently it gets the job done because it is alarming how soon his hips stutter and he rocks into you one final time before he stops and pants against your back.

His turnaround time is even quicker.

“Oh God,” he steps back from you, but the kitchen doesn’t allow for much space. When you turn around to face him, he’s still within arms reach. “I’m sorry. I … I don’t know what came over me. Maybe you were right, we should’ve gone our separate ways. Allow me to show you out…”

You put an end to his rambling by pulling him close with one hand on his face and the other on his shoulder.

You’re bold for a moment, bold enough to bring your mouths almost together. The tips of your noses touch, you can feel his breath mingling with yours, but then you give him space. You give him the option to back out, positively damning you to your own devices and memories once more.

But if it means you and Willy could remain friends, then you’ll take it.

The doubt begins to creep into your mind. It starts to make a home in your frontal lobe, distorting the image in front of you into something shameful. Self deprecating, even. He had just humped himself to completion against your back, yet you question how he feels about you.

Your touch on Willy’s body lessens into a gentle press for just a second in preparation to separate from him completely, but then Willy takes the initiative to move a hair closer and presses his lips to yours.

It’s swift at first, nothing but a hesitant press of lips against lips. It’s not halfhearted, though. On both ends is a certain amount of exercised restraint, and when you sigh and press your chest to Willy’s, he gets rid of his first.

Like before, Willy displays an unruly side to him that you had barely seen before. He delivers onto you a passion you have only seen him have for his business thus far.

His hands eagerly cup your cheeks as he sears his mouth against yours. Your lips move in uncoordinated tandem, lacking any cleanliness within it. You allow yourself to be coaxed into opening up until you have your hips against Willy’s and your hands in his hair.

When you bump your crotch into his, Willy makes a noise into your mouth that sounds like he’s been wounded. It’s then that you notice that he’s hard again. Or, maybe he was never soft to begin with, despite the dampness you know to exist within his trousers.

An idea forms into your mind.

You continue to allow Willy to kiss you, opening your mouth just enough to tease your tongue into his, before placing the muscle back into its home. Meanwhile, your hand travels down, over Willy’s chest, along his waist and pelvis, and then right to his croctch where you brush the palm of your hand over his boner with just enough pressure to elicit a reaction.

He sighs, pulling back from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. You take the positive reaction in stride and continue your work.

Your lips part in grateful shock whenever Willy rests one of his hands on your bottom, gripping the flesh through your skirt in his hand. His eyelashes flutter to open, revealing his big green eyes, windows into his soul that display the desire swarming through his body like a colony of active bees.

You only palm Willy’s cock twice more before he rests his hand on your wrist.

Your eyebrows lift, but you don’t have to voice your curiosity.

Willy smiles at you sheepishly as he delicately peels your touch away. “I don’t wanna …” He shakes his head. “Not too soon. Again. I want you to feel good, too.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

You dig your fingertips into the stiff waistband of Willy’s trousers and use your grip to pull him to the den behind you. Truthfully, even if you hadn’t tethered him you knew he would have followed.

As soon as the couch is within sight, you direct Willy to it and push him to sit. He falls back unceremoniously with a light “oh!”, looking up at you expectantly, eagerly. His lithe hands resting on his knees, his eyes as wide and curious as ever

As soon as you straddle him, he weakly thrusts up into you, as if the reaction was unintentional and instinctive. When your hands begin undoing the buttons of your blouse, Willy’s eyes drift down to watch, and it’s comical how they widen even more whenever your blouse is open and he gets the first look at your chest.

You pull the remainder of the shirt off of your body, and slip the straps of your bra off of your shoulders, but you stop there.

“Do you wanna take it off?” The previous haste hangs suspended over you both for just long enough for Willy to answer. As soon as he nods you’re directing his nimble fingers to the back of your bra, dropping your touch to allow him to fumble for the clasp. You expect it to take longer than it does, but only a few seconds and two attempts are needed before Willy has your tits exposed.

He stares. And stares. His lips quirk into a small smile, he compliments you with so much sincerity that you think you flush a little bit.

His hands still rest at your back, fingers lightly pressed into where the band of your bra had been digging into your skin all night. You don’t say anything when you latch your fingers onto his forearms and pull his hands around to the front.

Willy looks up at you with raised eyebrows, nonverbally asking for the permission you’ve already given him. Still, you nod once, and then he has two large hands covering your tits. You let him gather his bearings there, directing him every so often in ways to massage and pinch and rub against your nipple. Just when he starts to pull direct pleasure from you, he inhales as if he was going to say something.

“Can you—uh …” he hesitates and then starts again. “Can you teach me how to make you feel good? What can I do?”

You’re busy knocking your hips in a search for more pleasure, so it takes you a second to respond. “You can use your fingers. Or your mouth.”

Willy’s reply comes incredibly fast. “My mouth. If that’s okay with you.”

You stop moving and just smile down at Willy, brushing a stray curl off of his face only to watch it fall right back into place. “More than okay with me.”

Which is how you end up sitting on Willy Wonka’s new couch entirely bare, your legs spread before Willy who is on his knees in front of the couch. He has only taken his shirt off, and despite the disparity in nudity, you don’t feel uncomfortable. Even though you’re spread open before him.

From above, you’re able to see the way your cunt glistens, enticing even you to do something about it. It’s all the more confusing on why Willy is just sitting there, staring. You know he’s inexperienced from the way he requested guidance, but does he not know what to do at all?

Your lips part. “You can start by–” Willy doesn’t let you finish before he speaks over you.

“Just one second.” He drags it out.

It’s there where you realize he’s not completely lost. He’s just admiring.

You don’t rush Willy, even when your emptiness starts to become unbearable and you can feel frustration growing. You don’t have to wait for long, though, because Willy is soon extending a long middle finger and gently pushing it against your folds, applying just enough pressure to separate your lips and dip into your arousal.

He swipes through the fluid, gathering it on the tip of his finger before lifting the digit to the light, ignoring the way you shiver. You watch him inspect the way his finger glistens. You watch him bring it to his mouth and wrap his lips around it. You watch his cheeks hollow as he sucks his finger clean, his eyes fluttering shut much like they do whenever he’s tasting one of his particularly well made chocolates.

He releases his finger with an audible pop, his eyes opening and focusing right back on their target. When he speaks, it’s likely to himself.

“Wonder if I could harness this flavor.” He leans in as he says it, his lips getting closer and closer to the place you’ve wanted him for a while now. His last few words are spoken in almost a whisper, but you catch it anyway. “Maybe put it in one of my chocolates …” and then he’s letting his tongue exit his mouth and placing it on the path he’d opened.

He takes tiny and tentative licks for a few moments, focused on not one particular spot. He’s in between your entrance and your clit, occasionally catching a cluster of nerves that provide a teaser of what he could be doing with just a bit of guidance. Guidance that you’re willing to provide.

“Go up a bit,” you tell him, your hands digging into the velvet fabric of the couch cushions under you. He moves up, his eyes watching you and his eyebrows raised curiously. “Just a little further. There should be a–” He finds it just then and your head throws back.

You think he speaks a “there?” into your clit, but you can’t be sure. You nod either way, letting praises slip past your lips while Willy focuses his tongue there.

He’s not half bad now that he knows what to look for. His hands hold you open, one palm on each thigh, five fingers pressing into your skin with a firm focus. The tip of his tongue flicks your clit, sometimes slipping a little too far under or above but it works. The aphrodisiac knocking through your system makes sure that it all works.

Your hand eventually gravitates towards Wonka’s curls, fingers slotting through the tousled brown until you have the hair along his crown pushed back. He responds positively to this, pushing himself further into your cunt until his nose is buried in your mound. His enthusiasm peaks, he has a burst of energy, and he starts to lap at you. He pushes your legs up and back, opening all of you up to him, and he devours.

He’s messy and audible with it, switching between sliding around your entrance to going back to your clit. Every so often, he misses his target, but his recovery is quick, strong, and impressive.

You want to tell him to slip a finger in you, but the words refuse to find your tongue. They float aimlessly and uselessly around in your head, evading the hand that attempts to grab them. Instead, you grip his hair, push him down while you push your hips up, and Willy takes the direction as a hint to force his tongue in you. It’s unexpected, but it feels so good. You’re nodding and moaning far too loud.

“Yes, yes, right there, Willy. Don’t stop, please.”

It’s a little counterproductive and ironic when he briefly stops to assure you that he won’t stop, but the sentiment is still there. His nose nudges at your clit as his head bobs with the movement of his tongue working in and out of you. The combination has you close, and closer, and closer, until …

Your legs close around Willy’s head and your hips cant up towards his mouth while one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had takes over you. It surely has to be a combination of your recent celibacy, your feelings for the chocolatier between your legs, and the sweet candy still taking over your system. And you’re so thankful for each aspect as your thighs continue to tremble and you struggle to catch your breath.

Willy doesn’t seem to notice your struggle. He continues his work in the same place and with the same amount of determination, undeterred by your thighs pressed against his ears. He has accepted the position, resting his hands on the outside of your thighs and rubbing his palms up and down your skin. It’s almost too much, and you’re just about to tell him as such whenever you feel the beginnings of another orgasm creeping up your spine.

You debate your options: letting this orgasm taper off or letting it exist, and you can’t come to a conclusion before your body is making it for you.

Willy has switched back to your clit for this one, pink lips puckered around the bud as he sucks and licks and even nips every so often. Finally, he pushes a finger into you, just one but the rough pad of the digit massaging the top of your walls is enough for your head to throw back and your mouth to open in a silent shout as your toes point and your back curls. And soon after you’ve gone through this orgasm, you go limp and simply exist, shockingly thankful when he takes his mouth away from you.

“You taste good,” is the first thing he tells you. His lips and the surrounding area glisten. His overindulgence is obvious on both of your bodies.

You hum, trying to come back to.

“Do you want a taste?” He’s already rising to your lips when he asks it, and you wouldn’t have said no anyway. You kiss him gratefully, but lazily, letting his tongue slip into your mouth without much reciprocation on your end as you’re not wanting the flavor as much as you’re just wanting him. Thankfully, Willy doesn’t seem to mind.

Remaining lazy on top, you use your hands below Willy’s waistband to lightly palm his cock. When you find what you’re looking for, another boner stuffed in his trousers, you start to undo his pants.

When you pull his cock out of his boxers, you momentarily forget about his moment of weakness earlier. The mix of dry and wet cum around him doesn’t bother you, and you momentarily have the thought to clean him up with your mouth. You don’t get to act on it before Willy speaks.

“I should get protection.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Do you have any?”

When Willy nods enthusiastically, as if he’s proud to own condoms, your heart thuds painfully behind your throat. It makes sense that Willy would have slept with someone who wasn’t you, but that doesn't make it sting any less.

You watch him, anticipating him to stand and walk away to grab a condom. Instead, he reaches under the couch cushion, searching for a second, and pulls out a metal tin. You go to ask him about the location, your lips already forming the question whenever he answers it for you.

“Just in case.” His lips pull into a thin smile.

Is Willy really that desired that he keeps condoms stashed around his apartment? You wonder where else they are, and how often he gets to use them.

(Unbeknownst to you, it’s not very often at all. The locations are picked simply as a trait of overplanning and born from his hopefulness.)

In no time, Willy has the condom slipped over his dick and his tip nudges at your entrance. You’ve laid on the floor beside the couch, your back pressing into the rug you’d helped him buy not too long ago. When his tip is kissing your entrance, he stops there, eyes raising to meet yours for a second. You don’t know exactly what he’s waiting for, but you give him a curt nod anyway and that seems to do the trick. He pushes forward slowly and you don’t know if it’s for your benefit or his, for he shudders as soon as his tip breaches your entrance and you hiss and he continues to introduce more and more of his length.

You didn’t get a good look at him before allowing him to enter you, so you go on feeling alone. He’s thicker than you would have imagined, with more veins than you would have thought, too. The condom shields more than you would have liked, but safety is the most important thing here, even though your amplified brain tells you that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have a kid with Willy. You’ve seen him interact with children before, and the thought would sometimes find you late at night, or during moments like now. But before you can dwell on it any longer, you push it away as Willy sinks more length into you.

You try to be patient and breathe through it all. When Willy finally stops, you think you’ve reached the end. But then he moves a little more and apologizes when you groan exasperatedly.

“Almost there. I promise.” Just a few more seconds, and some impossible inches later, and Willy is finally nestled completely within you, deeper than you anticipated.

You’re unresponsive under him, your eyes blinking at the ceiling and your lips parted. From an outside perspective, it looks like you don’t have a single thought behind your eyes. When really, it’s the complete opposite. Your thoughts are taking over every bit of your being, echoing the same phrase in an exclamation: It’s finally happening!

He’s not moving yet, but even this feels heavenly. You’re so full, fuller than you’ve been in a while. Willy’s combination of length and girth is something you’ve never had before and you worry that after this dream completes, you might never have it again. You’ll forever be an addict chasing a high you won’t ever achieve again.

But that’s for you to worry about afterwards.

Willy has his head hung low above you, his hands pressed into the rug beside your head. His hips are flush with yours, still unmoving, but he’s breathing heavily above you. Labored, almost.

In an attempt to be soothing, you rake your hands through his hair. He shakes against you and lets out a sound that is a combination between a gasp and a moan. It’s so pretty that you want him to do it again, so you repeat your motion. It doesn’t get your intended reaction until you pull on the thinner hairs at the back of his head, and then he makes the sound again and gives you your first thrust.

After that, he doesn’t stop. You don’t think he can.

His thrusts are clearly unpracticed, which qualms your worry about Willy sleeping with someone other than you (not that it matters or anything). You don’t know if he gets the hang of it, or if it’s just pure luck, because after a short while he improves.

He starts rolling his hips instead of just moving them back and forth. He angles them a little, likely something accidental but it works, and you push your legs into his side to keep him there. He’s finally lifted his head, but his eyes are closed while he feels it. He’s deep in you still, his thrusts are a little shallow as they reach for your cervix and this alone makes you shudder. It’s a slightly unusual feeling for you, which makes it all the more alluring. You encourage him to keep going through unfinished sentences, and he praises you for how good you feel in between your words. You both are speaking at the same time, not exactly listening to the other and creating a concoction of words.

“You feel so good. I can’t believe this is happening. Thank you, thank you, thank you …”

“Right there, Willy. Right there. Yes! Keep going, please. Don’t stop …”

It’s no surprise to you when he cums first. He warns you before it happens, his words are a little shameful when he admits it. “I’m close. I’m not gonna last.”

You tell him to let go anyway and when he does, it’s such a pretty sight. Earlier today, he was behind you when he did this, and you weren’t graced with his face. But now that you are, you kick yourself for missing it before.

He’s so pretty.

His pink lips swollen and open. His dark eyebrows pushed together. His eyes closed. His curls hang over his forehead. But the small features in his face is what makes the picture so pretty. All of the tiny muscles working together, minute in nature, but joining to create a painted canvas that you want to either save or see as many times as possible.

This orgasm lasts long enough for him to pull you in it with him. He’s still cumming into the condom, providing a warmth that’s so close but so far inside of you. His thrusts are strong and constant, even though the rhythm of them is off and unpredictable. But each time his crotch presses into yours, nudging against your clit, and after enough times you’re letting go too, allowing whatever your orgasm wants to bring work its way through your body.

Here, like this, it’s a beautiful, harmonious scene. You exist together like this, and not just together. It’s a bliss and a level of intimacy you’ve always dreamed of, and you want to sit in it for as long as you can. Apparently, you both do.

Willy doesn’t move even whenever both of your bodies are limp. He holds his weight off of you on his forearms, but his head is resting between your breasts and along your stomach. He sits like that for a minute before rising, shakily pulling out of you, and then laying beside you.

You speak first.

“D’you think we should try to sell those chocolates?”

Willy laughs weakly. “Valentine’s day special?”

You hum, your eyes glancing down to where Willy has rested a hand on your stomach. The appendage sits there, unmoving, for a second, and when you don’t protest, he begins to draw indistinguishable shapes along your skin.

Answering your question without humor, he says, “No. I think we would keep it between us. If that’s okay.”

The way he says us has undertones attached to it, creating more weight than the two-letter word would usually have. You like the way he says it.

You turn your head to look at him, already finding him looking at you. For the first time, your skin flushes at the thought and you feel giddy. A little embarrassed, too. The aphrodisiacs must be wearing off and the confidence with it.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” A moment passes. Then, “But I don’t remember the recipe so don’t hold it to me.”

Willy laughs with a little more enthusiasm this time and you return it.

“Should we get cleaned up? Maybe have some dinner?”

You nod, leaning in towards his lips. When you kiss him, he tastes like strawberry flavored chocolate. Well, underneath the distinct bitterness of your arousal he does.

#&. WRITING #&. willy wonka #willy wonka smut #willy wonka x you #willy wonka x reader

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septembercfawkes · 10 months

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Directionality in Fiction: Why You Need it & How to Create it

Every successful story has a sense of direction. The audience wants, and even needs, an idea of where the story is going. If the audience literally has no idea what could happen next, then that often means what happens next doesn't really hold any value one way or another. It's like Willy Wonka's river ride into darkness--confusing, awkward, and a little bizarre. It's hard to trust Willy Wonka to get you anywhere. Writers should avoid being like Willy Wonka, for several reasons.

Wait! you may be thinking. Don't we want our stories to be unpredictable? Isn't not knowing where the story is going more exciting?

Many beginning writers make this mistake (including yours truly back in the day). They think having no clue where the story is going makes it more of a page-turner. They may recall audience members happily describing a story, saying, "I had no clue where it was going!" or "I had no idea what was going to happen next!"

These are just expressions of emotion. In reality, for the audience to even have those emotions, they usually must have a sense of direction first.

It's a similar concept to being vague versus being ambiguous. Vagueness happens when you don't have enough context to tell what something is, if anything. Ambiguity happens when there is enough context to interpret something in two or more ways, and you aren't sure which it is. When audiences say, "I had no clue where it was going," often what they really mean is, "I didn't know which of the critical directions it would go."

A story that has no sense of direction is almost never as effective as one that does. Without a sense of direction, the audience can't measure what is progress or what is a setback. They can't get invested, because they can't anticipate anything. They can't feel tension or suspense or even surprise, because they can't hope or fear for what could happen, and don't have expectations for what is going to happen.

Instead of Willy Wonka's tunnel of terror, imagine taking a hike toward a beautiful waterfall (it can still be made of chocolate if you want). A twisted ankle, closed trail, or nearby predator is a bigger setback than if we had nowhere we were trying to go. A shortcut is a bigger leap in progress if we are trying to reach a specific destination. And discovering we're actually on a trail that leads to an active volcano is a bigger surprise.

There are two critical plot elements that will automatically inject directionality into your story. Then, there are a lot of alternative methods you can use to reinforce it, or that you can rely on when performing a rule break (more on that in a bit). First, let's go over the two major ones:

1. Goals

A character's goal immediately gives the audience a sense of direction. This is because goals are about an outcome. They instantly convey what the character wants to happen, or doesn't want to happen. In order to be effective, though, they have to be achievable and relevant. Who cares if your character wants to do magic, if magic is literally impossible in your setting? That's not a real goal--it's a wish.

There are three basic types of goals: obtain, avoid, or maintain.

Convey a clear, relevant, and achievable goal early, and your audience will not only have a strong sense of direction, but they'll be more invested--because they'll want to see if the character gets the goal.

Then, if you add how the character plans to get the goal, you'll reinforce the goal and sense of direction even more.

2. Stakes

Many like to define stakes as what is at risk in the story. I feel like it's more effective and more accurate to define them as potential consequences. It's what could happen if a condition is met. If Voldemort gets the Sorcerer's Stone, then he can return to power. If Frodo destroys the Ring, then he saves Middle-earth. If Katniss cuts down the tracker jacker hive, then she can get away from the Careers.

As you may have noticed, stakes are often tied to goals. They are often the potential consequences of meeting or not meeting a goal.

Stakes are about conveying to the audience what could happen. This gives what does happen, meaning.

Stakes also innately convey a pathway, a direction. If X happens, we'll go down path A. If Y happens, we'll go down path B.

I've never seen a story with too many stakes. I've seen lots of stories that don't have enough stakes. Walk the stakes out to create strong directionality.

And don't assume your audience will simply imagine the stakes on their own. Almost always, they want the story to tell them (explicitly or implicitly) the stakes. Almost always, the story is better when we clearly communicate the stakes. Avoid being vague. Help the audience imagine which important pathways the story could take.

These are the two most important, and most effective, ways to create directionality--they accomplish multiple major things at once.

However, this doesn't mean they are the only ways to create directionality.

And while they are almost always critical to a solid plot, that doesn't mean you can't ever break the rules and have them be absent on occasion.

If they are absent though, that usually means something else needs to be used to create directionality in their place (unless, of course, you are working with a teaser--but even they can arguably have a sense of direction). So how do stories without legit goals or stakes still work? Well, they probably incorporate at least one of the following things--which you can also use to reinforce directionality when you already have goals and stakes in play.

3. Dramatic Irony

Dramatic irony happens when the audience knows something the character doesn't. Often this is a critical piece of information, and frequently (though not always) it is implied that the character will learn the same thing at a later point in the story. In a horror, we watch the villain enter a dark room, and later see the heroine, oblivious, go in that same room. It's likely only a matter of time before the heroine realizes the villain is in there, and the audience anticipates that encounter. This creates directionality.

Even if the character never learns the critical information (such as the fact that Juliet isn't actually dead in Romeo and Juliet), the audience still anticipates how the character will interpret or react to what they do encounter (a Juliet who seems to be dead).

4. Convergence of Plotlines

In a story that contains multiple viewpoint characters, each with plotlines, it's often implied or assumed that these plotlines and characters will converge. We may start a story with a rich man eating a feast for breakfast, then taking his recent earnings to the bank. And after, we may cut to a scene where a poor, starving woman is begging, perhaps a block away from the same bank. The audience anticipates that these two characters will cross paths.

Sometimes the two viewpoints or plotlines don't seem to have anything in common, but the audience expects they will relate to each other on some level--they are in the same book after all.

Promise your audience a collision of plotlines, and you'll promise them a sense of direction.

5. Countdowns

A countdown automatically implies direction--whether or not the audience knows the consequences tied to it. We show a clock counting down, and we wonder if a bomb will go off or if another catastrophe will hit once it reaches zero. Or, it could be a countdown to a celebration, like the New Year.

Countdowns on a timer are obvious, but there are other types of countdowns too. A simple calendar can work as a countdown. In Christmas Vacation, an advent calendar is used to count down the days until Christmas. Each Harry Potter volume fulfills one school year, each chapter brings us closer to the year's end. So even when there isn't a dire goal in play, there is always directionality.

A deadline works in similar ways.

There can be a countdown when using up resources: Fuel is running out. Oxygen is limited. There is only one loaf of bread left to eat.

Illnesses and maladies can work as countdowns. There may be a countdown to when cancer wins, or when a spell leaves its target as an unseemly beast, permanently.

Countdowns always imply direction.

Knowing the potential consequences--the stakes--creates more tension and suspense, not knowing them creates intrigue.

6. Geographical Destinations

A destination naturally implies direction. In The Emperor's New Groove, Kuzco needs to make it back to his palace. Every step closer is progress, and every obstacle that blocks or pulls him off course is a setback.

But destinations can still work even when there isn't one specific destination yet established. Whenever you open a book that starts with a map, it implies a sense of geographical direction. You may not know exactly which place is the desired destination, but the map promises that the characters will be venturing to different places.

7. Passive Mysteries

Passive mysteries work by withholding context from the audience. Stuff is happening, but the audience doesn't really know what it means (think: vagueness). Because of the lack of information, no one is really doing anything to solve the mystery--there aren't any "leads." (In contrast, in an active mystery, the character has the goal to solve the mystery and has leads to follow.)

Teasers often work as passive mysteries (which is why I said sometimes even they have a sense of direction). The audience is promised that if they stick around, they will get the context they need, to understand what is going on. The audience is promised a direction.

Passive mysteries often can't hold an audience for very long, strictly because they work off vagueness. You need other elements in play to get readers to stick around.

Nonetheless, the promise of context does give readers somesense of direction.

Active mysteries create directionality too, but in the same way that goals do. In an active mystery, the goal is to try to solve the mystery, so the audience is promised a direction with that.

Directionality is important in every story, and not only is it important in the whole narrative arc, but it is important within acts, sequences, and scenes, too. Nearly every scene should have directionality, which should be established early on.

Once the audience has directionality, you can make the story more exciting and dramatic (and even "unpredictable"). They think things are going X direction, but something comes along that threatens that direction or even throws the characters off course and onto a new pathway, a new direction. Just like our (chocolate) waterfall hike. In any case, there should almost always be a sense of direction.

#writing tips and tricks #writing tips #writing help #writeblr #writing advice #writing reference #writing tip #writer #writing #fanfic

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vainvenus · 1 month

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⌲;꒰ Wonka Welcome! ꒱

Pairing :: Willy Wonka x Fem!Reader

Synopsis :: There's a new bakery in town and Wonka stops by to give the owner a warm welcome.

Includings :: Slight spoilers, events happen after the movie, Wonka speaking nonsense/being illiterate, him pulling shit out of hat, slight flirting, this is really short (im just trying to dump my drafts), nothing but fluff

An :: "He's the worst Wonka" ok but he's the hottest so send requests!

"What's that you got there, Noodle?"

Willy questioned, brows furrowed but eyes full of curiosity as Noodle walked back into the shop. She had a small tart-like thing in her hand, a few crumbs dusted across her chin as she licked her fingers.

It was small yet colorful, some sort of filling under a few fruits as Noodle held it out to the brunette to take a bite.

"A tart."

He hummed, taking a bite from it and his eyes went wide as he hummed again after tasting it. The crust had a perfect crisp taste to it, the fruit each tasting perfectly ripe.

"Delicious! Did you make that all on your own? How? Where?"

Noodle shook her head as she finished the rest of it, wiping her fingers down on the bottom of her pants. "Not me. There's a baker, she just opened up across from us, don't know how you haven't noticed."

"What!?"

Will practically teleported over to the window, hands pressed against it like a child who was passing his shop for the first time. His eyes were glistening as he saw there was a Bakery shop positioned right across from him.

"Well, I think I ought to say hello! Give her a warm Wonka welcome!" He hummed, adjusting his top hat as he walked out the doors and across the street.

He looked up, eyes scanning across the shop's sign and he narrowed them a bit. Noodle had been continuing to teach him how to read but of course, he still had a few issues.

"[Mispronounced version of name]'s blissful bakes." He muttered to himself before pushing the door open, the sound of a bell chiming above him as he did so.

"Welcome! Menu's right above me and you can order when you're ready." He heard a soft voice chirp.

He walked a bit closer, seeing a girl wearing a simple outfit with a white apron that had red hearts printed all over it. Her hair styled in [hairstyle]/wrapped up. She was mixing something in a bowl before turning around.

She turned her head to Willy and he had felt his heart stutter for a second when their eyes had met and a smile automatically grew across his face.

"Oh! You're the Willy Wonka, right?"

"The one and only, ma'am!"

"It's so nice to finally meet you!" She set the bowl down, walking back to the front counter as she held out her hand. "I'm [Y/n]."

Oh. That's how it was pronounced, he thought it seemed a bit odd when he said it out loud earlier.

He took her hand, turning it so he could place a soft kiss upon the back of her palm. "A pleasure! I can't believe we haven't talked yet!"

"I'm a homebody. I don't roam around town too much unless it's to get here or more ingredients." She answered and he had nodded.

"Well, I believe a warm Wonka welcome is far overdue."

"A warm Wonka welcome? Just what is that?" She asked, smiling a bit out of amusement.

"This!" Willy exclaimed, taking off his hat as reaching his hand into it and pulled out a chocolate bouquet of flowers even equipped with a chocolate bow.

[Y/n]'s eyes widened with surprise as she smiled and took them, surprised that they weren't sticky at all but felt as if they had been in the fridge.

She had broke off one of the petals from the chocolate rose, popping it into her mouth. She hummed in satisfaction as she grabbed another.

"Oh my god. This is the best chocolate I've ever had."

"Thank you! I get that a lot." Wonka smiled and she had giggled, taking another bite of the bouquet.

"Please, let me give you a warm welcome as well. Choose anything and it's on the house."

The brunette tilted his head, brows furrowing a bit. "Why would it be on your house?"

"Huh?" Her expression matched his confusion as she shook her head. "No- that just means it's free!"

"Ohhh." His eyes scanned the menu, there were a lot of choices he honestly felt a bit overwhelmed. He finally decided, pointing to it.

"What're you pointing at me for?"

"Can I not have you?" He asked, his tone a bit playful as he leaned against the counter with a smug smile.

"Why don't you pick something actually on a menu?" She giggled, rolling her eyes playfully and he chuckled.

"Alright, alright." He hummed. "How about one of your tarts? One with strawberries, blueberries and kiwis."

"Alright, one tart coming right your way."

#willy wonka #Wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka x you #wonka x reader #wonka x you #wonka timothee #timothee wonka #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader

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bindeds · 3 months

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⋆。 °⛧ Willy Wonka headcanons ! 🖇️✩ ₊˚

gif is by @thisgameissonintendo <3

do lmk if you’d like more posts like this!! I’m planning to write a wonka fic soon so stay tuned ;)

requests are open ! mlist. wonka nsfw hcs.

he’s good at lockpicking & pickpocketing, so he’d make a very good thief but he doesn’t do it because he knows he was taught better by his mother and he doesn’t want to disappoint her

he is only a workaholic when it comes to his chocolate. This man would find the easiest and fastest possible way to do most other tasks

one of the only tasks that are an exemption of the above are clothing. He’s particular in what he wears, not that he has high standards but he wants to dress unapologetically like himself, and that includes deep shades of purple, red and pink for his overcoats, and more mute colors for anything below that

LOVES to read now that he can. He often visits the library and even started a mini book club with Noodle and the rest of the gang (Piper, Larry, Abacus and Lottie) but they assign themselves more than one book per month sometimes because the rest are not as fast to read books as the two of them

He is IN LOVE with Alice in Wonderland, especially the Mad Hatter.

He loves poetry too, and learned how to write his own pretty quickly and always reads it out to Noodle when he writes new poems

his guilty pleasure for books is definitely romance. He likes the thought of devoting yourself to one person, because he knows how it feels like to devote himself to chocolate, and imagining a whole other person to share everything with just fills him with so much hope and light.

this man smells just like vanilla and chocolate, and he wants to keep it that way so he learned to make his own perfume that has the unique smell of his own chocolate (this headcanon partially inspired by this fic! I love the writer sm)

definitely looks up and says ‘sorry mama,’ if he does something questionable, even if he has good intentions

unaware of ‘gender norms’ because he lived by a river with his mother as a child then stayed on sea for seven years with roughly the same group of people, so those things weren’t imposed on him especially since he was mostly raised by only his mother.

following the headcanon above, he knows both the female and male parts of the waltz and other ballroom dances and has no problem wearing skirts or dresses (though prefers pants because he’s used to wearing them and it’s easier to move around in)

and because he was raised with only a small group of people around him almost his whole life, he lives life ‘unfiltered’ which is why he is seen as eccentric and wild, because his mother found it endearing and the boat crew saw how brilliant he was and never told him to ‘tone it down.’

loves shopping with Noodle, and they have an especially good time trying out clothes together

if the Barbie movie came out around the same area and time period, him and Noodle would have definitely dressed in all pink and only Wonka would have bawled his eyes out while Noodle begrudgingly consoles him

definitely goes back out to sea for a whole month once a year, and with the same crew he was first seen with in the beginning of the film. He misses them dearly, and always shares his chocolate with them free of charge

this man has chocolates for everything—chocolates to sleep better, chocolates to enhance focus and even chocolates to calm down (either from panic attacks or intense emotions like anger)

he probably even sells chocolates with vitamins inside, mostly also for children who don’t remember or don’t want to take their vitamins, but he was careful not to make it too good so they won’t take more than the necessary daily amount

he learned to cook after the events of the movie, finding that knowledge in that area would help enhance his skill in chocolate-making. He’s good, but of course he’s not a sous chef

#timothee chalamet #wonka 2023 #wonka headcanons #wonka movie #willy wonka #timothée chalamet #willy wonka x reader #headcanon #.wonka bin #.wonka hcs #( ࿈ archived. )

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sketches4mysw33theart · 3 months

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Whisky Kisses and Chocolate Dreams

Synopsis: You are trying to enjoy a quiet night to yourself when a certain Mr Willy Wonka stumbles home from a night out ‘testing chocolate ingredients.’

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Google Translated phrases (please let me know if these are wrong!)

(I’m lowkey annoyed that Wonka didn’t speak other languages in the movie, because of course Gene Wilder did and it would make sense for young Wonka to as well considering he’s just come back from his travels, so you better believe I’m sticking it in here)

Beyond the happily ever after, the takedown of the fearsome cartel, the rearrangement of the corrupt police force, the arrest of the despicable wash house owners, Noodle’s family reunion, and the return home of the scrubbers, there was you and Willy. Through everything.

You accidentally stumbled across him on the first day he attempted to sell his chocolate in the Galleries Gourmet and, as his chocolate plan grew, continued to bump into him in the most unexpected of places. From the moment your eyes met, and a sweet smile rose on his face, the smile he glowed with as he watched the chocolate cartel fly away, sent Noodle home to her mother, toured the ruins of the castle that would become his cosmic axis, you and Willy were thick as thieves.

Since then, Willy had been busy building his mini-empire, including his refurbished shop in the Galleries Gourmet (which had quickly become one of the most popular retailers in the city) and the opening of his brand-new factory, but never busy enough to neglect you. Because he took you with him, into his factory, into his living quarters, initially as Chief Operations Officer, regular taste tester, roommate and partner in crime, and eventually into the most freeing relationship you had ever had the pleasure of stumbling into.

Willy’s friends visited, of course, and very often, especially Noodle. However, it was Miss Benz who Willy was out with one night when you were allowing yourself time to relax with a cup of hot chocolate and the latest funny papers.

It was late, but not too late, and you were sat in the armchair in your bedroom. It had been your idea to keep separate bedrooms even after your relationship with the chocolatier had blossomed, tentatively suggested over an early breakfast, but Willy was eager to nod and agree. He worked a very strange schedule, sometimes sleeping in late and others bursting awake at the first sign of dawn, and often not slipping back between the sheets until the world was shadowed in darkness. Despite this, when your schedules matched up, neither would oppose the other sneaking into their room at night.

In your room that night, the fire was roaring in the hearth, battling the oncoming autumn chill, and you were enjoying the stillness of the end of a busy day. Willy had gone out early afternoon, and you glanced towards the clock languidly, not particularly worried. Willy may have been prone to getting himself into tight spots, but you had no doubt that Miss Benz would stand for none of it.

Still, you did wonder where they may be. It wasn’t unusual for Willy to disappear for hours and then show back up as though it had only been a few minutes, babbling about a new idea or the source of a new inspiration. But these were usually solitary adventures – he enjoyed devoting all his time to his friends when they were in town.

Before your twinge of worry could teeter and threaten to overspill into a pool of anxiety, you heard the distinct sound of the front door clicking shut below. He was always extra quiet when coming home after dark. He never wanted to wake you.

Not that this seemed particularly important to him on this night. Because, not ten seconds after the front door shut, there was a mighty bang like metal hitting wood, some unintelligible mumbled words, heavy footsteps, and finally a soft knock on your door.

Before you could respond, your door flew open, and in flashes of purple and brown, a familiar body stumbled into your room, exclaiming your name. You were faced with Mr Willy Wonka, swaying slightly on his feet with his arms wide open. “Hello, my love!”

He looked dishevelled, his coat crinkled, hair a mess beneath his slightly dented top hat and shirt tails hanging out over his trousers. Heaven only knew what had happened to his waistcoat.

You watched him with your eyebrows raised as he took off his hat, patted down his curls, and turned on his heels around your room.

“Hm, where did the coat rack go?” He mumbled to himself. You did not have a coat rack. He looked at you, biting down on your lip to stop from laughing at the state of him, and a dawn of realisation rose on his face. “Oh well, I suppose this will do.”

He stumbled over to you and placed the hat, at an angle, on your head, adjusted it slightly, and then patted the top with a smile. Once he was satisfied, he turned and fell unceremoniously face down on your bed. That laughing smile grew unrestrained on your face as you plucked the hat from your head and put it carefully on the table beside you. “Willy?” You questioned, and he looked over at you with glazed-over eyes and a dopey grin.

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Having a lie-down.”

“This is my room,” you said, humorously.

“Then why are you sitting there like a goose?” He rolled over onto his back so he could look at you properly as he patted the empty side of the bed.

You were quick to cast the paper you were engrossed in only a second ago to the side and slink into his open arms. But, getting up close to him allowed you a sudden realisation before you could settle down.

“Willy, have... have you been drinking?!” You asked, unable to hold back your laugh as you noticed the scent of alcohol tingling your nostrils, the dreamy mist of his eyes, the twitching of his fingers.

“No,” he responded quickly, defensively. “Miss Benz and I have been testing chocolate ingredients.”

“Oh, and what were these ingredients?”

He opened his mouth, then hesitated before replying, looking beyond you in thought. “Well, we started with rum for these incredible bottle-shaped Rum Babas I want to experiment with, there was quite a bit of that to taste, then we tried some liqueurs, lots of flavours, the cherry tasted just divine, a glass or two of champagne for truffles, and then we sampled some whisky for fudge. And then, I... well, then I was here. Come closer, I missed you.”

He held you tightly, pulling you into his sweat-sheened skin until your nose brushed against the tautness of his neck. With this closeness, Willy took the opportunity to press a dozen soft, quick kisses to random planes of skin on your face, across your nose and cheeks and forehead and hurriedly closed eyelids. You could smell the overwhelming scent of whisky lingering on his breath as his lips stumbled across your face, but he pressed them to your own before you could comment.

His kiss tasted interesting, a cocktail of numerous alcohols and, of course, chocolate, but his lips were as soft and gentle as they always were. You hoped that would never change.

“Oh, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he started mumbling as he pulled away, staring at you with wild eyes. “Mon amour, amore mio, meu amor, qīn’ài de, meine geleite – hm, wait, that’s not right. Meine.... Ah, meine geliebte.” Although the numerous ways of breathing a new lease of life into the sweet name he had for you tickled you pink, giggles bubbled up in your throat and tumbled from your lips as unrestrained as the whisky flowing on your lover's breath. He looked at you with a bemused expression that was hurriedly offset by a beaming smile. “Why are you laughing?! I’m expressing my love!”

You didn’t bother to even try and stop the laughs escaping your body, but you did fight through them to make your excuses. “I know, I know, but... nevermind.” You dragged the heel of your hand over one of your eyes before looking at him earnestly, genuinely. “I love you.”

He glowed at your words, lit up and grinning like a child at the foot of a Christmas tree. “I love you too,” he returned the sentiment with quiet vigour, stroking two trembling fingers against the protruding bone of your cheek.

However, the moment was somewhat spoiled by the obnoxious yawn he released, barely covered by the hand that wasn’t touching your skin.

“Come on,” you said, nudging him slightly until you could peel up your coverlet, “let’s go to bed.” He was eager to fall under the covers and pulled you closer instantly, so the bedspread fluttered down around you of its own accord.

Held tight in his arms, you felt the softness of Willy’s lips whisper at your hairline, an everlasting goodnight kiss. Before you could press a kiss to his neck in return, he was already beginning to snore.

#wonka 2023 #wonka movie #willy wonka #wonka #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #chocolate cartel #fanfic

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ashlynredonovitch · 3 months

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Hello! I love your work! Wondering if I could request a Wonka fic where y/n is having a panic attack and willy finds her and helps her through it! then noodle comes in and they all have a lil family moment ^_^ (willy and y/n are platonic!)

Hi anon! thank you so much for the request! Sorry they have now taken a while longer to get out. My whole family was hit with the flu, including me, and I'm not able to write much because I just keep getting headaches. Hope you like the story!

Warnings: panic attack, anxiety, slight mention of a possible ED if you squint, malnourishment

Hope you enjoy!! :)

Panic

I just finished folding more of the laundry after it finally dried, thankfully finished after the long day of doing laundry with the wash crew. We had taken so long that Scrubitt and Bleacher hadn’t let us eat for an extra hour and a half, and since we still hadn’t gotten it done, I took the rest of the load so the others could go eat. Noodle would bring me my dinner later anyway if I didn’t eat.

It was my fault anyway, I just was going slow today. I was on barrel duty for the majority of the day, and if the first step of the laundry is slow….the rest of it is slow as well. So I automatically felt bad that I was the reason for withholding everyone’s dinner.

Scrubitt hadn’t let me eat though, so I would just have to wait for Noodle to bring me my food in a couple hours when she could sneak it in. I was craving something though. It gets worse if I’m thrown in the coop because then you don’t get anything at all. At least I’ll have a chance tonight. If only Willy was here. Him and Noodle are getting more milk for his chocolates while they had a chance to escape before roll call.

I knew the panic was building up, but it just felt like I could ignore it. The feeling in my stomach from how hungry I was felt like a gnawing pain, I couldn’t even focus as I just collapsed in the corner of my small room. My mind a a million thoughts, but I probably couldn’t even try to name one, all of my focus was on the half-tempting smell of the food my fellow workers were consuming.

I hate crying, I hate it. The feeling in my chest as it gets tighter and tighter to the point I can’t breathe, I hate the feeling of uncontrollable tears that can’t stop. For some reason though, I can’t, there are no tears. Just painful attempts at a breath.

“She’s in there. I didn’t want to disturb her, but I’m worried,” I hear Piper say as I heard two sets of footsteps down the narrow hallway, oh, it couldn’t be. I’d be too lucky.

A light knock was on my door, but I couldn’t even begin to try to lift my head up.

“Y/n?” The voice questioned through my door, before gently opening it. It was apparently my lucky day. “Hey what’s going on?”

“I- I can’t-” I started before my own breathing stopped me. It felt like I was being choked.

Willy looked concerned as he examined every inch of my face, or what I could tell from where my head was on my knees. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay. Noodle, go grab a towel!” He hollered as I could see that he tried to reach out to put his hand on my shoulder.

Apparently once he felt my trembling shoulders he decided I wasn’t well, even without me answering. As Noodle ran in with a towel, Willy instructed her to put water on it. “You’re trembling terribly, here take this.” He offered me his plum-colored tailcoat as he put it over my shoulders, as I stayed curled up in the ball.

“Thank you,” I managed to whisper out as he tried to loop his arms under me to help me stand.

“Of course, you know I’d do anything to help you, y/n.” He says earnestly as he guides me over to my small bed. “Here, get under the covers.”

He instructed Noodle to do something else gets that I couldn’t hear. Which I soon would understand as Noodle rushed in with the extra blanket from Willy’s own bed, as he laid it across me. It finally felt like my chest wasn’t being weighted down with a boulder, the comfort of my friend greatly easing my mind. However….

“Y/n, have you eaten anything today?” Noodle hurriedly asked when she stopped. That’s when Willy looked frantically over at me as well, as he sat on my bed.

“No, I made everyone fall behind earlier, so Scrubitt wouldn’t let me eat.” I say as the tears started to slow, hopefully the last of the bunch as Willy slowly massaged my scalp with his hand.

“I’m gonna go fix that, I’ll be right back.” She said as she skidded across the floor.

Not before I let out a quiet “don’t get thrown in the chicken coop” causing the man behind me to let out a quiet laugh.

“I was really scared when Piper said you isolated yourself in here.” Willy told me, as I tried to look up at him from where I was laying.

“Sorry,” I told him nonchalantly, I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.

“Don’t you dare apologize, you were having a panic attack, I just got worried. How about after you get some actual food in you, I’ll make your favorite chocolate to cheer you up?” He asked as he continued to rub my head.

I smiled as I felt the other muscles in my body relaxed, “that sounds really nice.”

“You’re safe now, y/n, Noodle is going to get you dinner, and then we’ll find some funny combination for tonight’s chocolate.” He smiled at me as I listened to him talk, nodding my head at his eagerness. Never had someone been able to help me through an attack that quickly. Even though it had felt like hours, Willy just had a certain charm about him that made it easy to relax. At least now I know someone is there to help me should the need arise again.

#fanfic #willy wonka #wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #timothée chalamet #noodle wonka #wonka x reader #willy wonka x reader

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inawearyworld · 4 months

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free if you truly wish to be: chapter iv

shit goes DOWN. as y'all have probably gathered. bc. yknow. the plot of the movie. but first there's a song yayyyyyyyyy

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

god, i love musicals.

(edit: realized after posting that i was looking at the wrong page of the screenplay while writing this and therefore royally screwed up the song structure of a world of your own but it’s fiiiiiiine)

once again, thank you mat for that interview taking a typical one-dimensional dahl villain and letting him be a more complex character. also i should probably throw a content warning on this one for depiction of a slightly abusive relationship

but i promise everything's gonna be okay soon-happy new year everyone!!

part three fic masterlist part five

While going through a time of personal growth involving trying to unravel one’s identity from that of one’s rich and powerful husband, it often happens that there are advantages to said husband being wrapped in worry over a new business rival-and, therefore, spending far more time at the office.

Wren’s favorite advantage at the present moment was that she was the only one to watch the mail come in.

Deep purple stationery was the signal she looked for-and steadily received, then returned with her own emerald letters-every day. The notes included scrawled updates regarding the operation to allow the earnest young chocolatier his day in the sun, anecdotes about the group of launderers that supported it (who she’d snuck out to meet often enough that they now felt like a second family), tales of a mysterious orange man, and exchanges of advice, witticisms, and Shakespeare quotes.

The handwriting was inexperienced, and there were more than a fair share of spelling errors toward the start of their correspondence, but she didn’t care a whit.

We’ve got the shop, Willy had written one day. For now, the task is digging through its decrepit debris and designing its decoration. (The credit for those words goes to Noodle-she says hello.) There are so many possibilities, I barely know where to start.

Start with the “why”, Wren wrote back. That’s what I always do. If there’s a piece I’m struggling to sing and I lose motivation to practice, I go back to the reasons I love the piece, even all the way back to the reasons I love the arts in the first place. Maybe there’s something in there for your shop-what made you want to share your chocolate with the world? (And hello to you too, Noodle!)

My dear Wren, came the reply, you’ve just given me the best of ideas.

He told her then about his mother and the inspiration she provided. Wren would be lying if she’d said a tear hadn’t fallen onto that particular letter.

As for how to keep him safe from the Cartel, police, and every other corrupt authority, Wren did her part by becoming Florence again whenever necessary. She acted less suspicious around her husband, leading him to be less secretive-although the gain in information was miniscule, it was better than nothing.

Felix’s rages would range anywhere from tittering, jealous rants to scheming monologues during which his whole being seemed to take on a lower, darker, more calculating tone. She’d listen carefully to all of these, tactfully calling out anything that might get him to consider he was wrong, but that had little to no effect.

Plan B, then, she’d realized, is all I can do.

So, whenever Felix seemed particularly incensed or just on the verge of coming up with how to destroy his rival, Florence would swoop in with wine and dark lipstick and a low-cut dress. She’d endure being his caged pet songbird, his doll, his perfect plaything, only because she had the growing feeling that things were about to change.

If Willy’s shop becomes successful enough to be completely undeniable, maybe the Cartel will finally acknowledge him as an equal. Maybe I’ll finally be seen as an equal, too. Maybe things will finally be truly fine.

So, night after night, she’d sit on her husband’s lap, twirl his tie, and kiss his neck until he’d forgotten the name of Wonka.

The same could not be said for her.

Due to just how glamorized she always had to be while in public, it didn’t take much to come up with disguise enough to be able to visit the new shop on its opening day.

With a fluttering sense of hope, Wren approached the fourth building of the Galeries Gourmet, blending in seamlessly with the sea of soon-to-be-wonderstruck passers-by. She cast a few nervous glances to the window of the Fickelgruber office, at which the man stood in his usual stance. There was no chance, though, of his recognizing her trademark ginger flame amongst the crowd; it was safely tucked under a dark, low-brimmed hat.

This could have set her mind at ease, but the fact that he looked even more smug than usual as he surveyed the ground below him made her nervous.

Did they plan something?

She was distracted from this worry by a sudden flash of color at the long-empty shop’s door. Willy Wonka stepped through, looking more himself than she could have ever imagined. He addressed the crowd with a flourish, and she marveled at his ability to combine showmanship with authenticity.

He took a skeptical older man’s arm, leading him to the shop’s entrance, and began to sing.

All at once, the shop transformed before all of their eyes, flooding with color, and the music settled into a sparking pulse that thrilled Wren to the core.

Willy grinned, fully in his element, and the doorway went dark. Gloved hands presented chocolate wonders as their creator sang them into existence. When he lit a match, the store seemed to come alive, and Wren gasped.

If his letter was anything to go by, the sight he had created was an homage to his childhood on his mother’s boat, brought to life in a way nearly too beautiful to be true.

Willy and the other man danced up a bridge of sorts as his song continued, proudly offering his shop as a world for each of his customers to call their own. Overtaken and lifted by the enchanting environment, Wren squealed with the rest of the crowd and ran into the shop, ripping the hat from her head and allowing her auburn curls to tumble freely down.

She threw her head back and laughed aloud. Her lack of makeup, and plain blouse and skirt replacing the usual emerald-colored finery, gave her assurance that she wouldn’t be recognized here; this was the closest thing she’d experienced to liberation in a very long while, and she relished it, along with the sweetly simple soar of Willy’s voice across his song.

When she looked up at him again, he was sitting on the boat that floated on the circling chocolate river, and she noticed he’d already been staring with a sideways grin. As the bassline that came from nowhere launched into a rollicking chromatic vamp, he tipped his hat to her, and she gave an enamored wave.

The second verse passed, and suddenly he’d reached her, extending a hand which she took without a second thought. He helped her onto the boat, then pulled her alarmingly close, but before she could say a thing about it, a cloud of smoke appeared around them.

Wren blinked and realized that she and Willy were now at the base of the massive chocolate tree in the center of the shop.

“How did you-”

But he only smiled and started to dance his way up the tree.

“A world of your own,” he sang, then gestured an invitation straight towards her.

This’ll be easy enough, she thought, nearly bursting with joy.

“A place to escape to,” she continued, running farther up the tree to meet him in the middle. His expression filled with awe upon finally hearing her sing, and they began a whirling back-and-forth.

“A world of your own-”

“-where you can be free!”

“Wherever you go, wherever life takes you…”

“This is your home,” she sang to him, twirling herself into his arms and beaming with pride. He’s found it-he’s created it.

“A world of your own,” they finished. He looked at her for a moment, seeming struck, then kissed her hand and disappeared through the branches of the tree to continue with the song’s bridge. She let out a dazed and happy breath, taking a moment to let her gaze roam the shop from her perch in the chocolate tree.

She didn’t know what would happen next, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t let herself enjoy this moment.

What did happen next was…as an understatement, not what any of them had hoped.

She wished she could say it was a complete surprise, and she wished she could have done more to stop it. The candy started having disastrous effects, the customers understandably balked, and it was clearly not Willy’s fault in the least. In a blur, the shop was in ruins, and Wren sat in shock with the little group who’d worked so hard to make it magical.

The candyman himself was devastated; not just by the massive setback, but by the absence of his mother’s spirit. Wren and Noodle sat by his side, but Abacus ushered them up. It broke Wren’s heart to think of leaving him like this-if the truest and most trusting dreamer on Earth can be broken down, where’s the hope for the rest of us?-but she somehow still felt she had to follow the group out.

She felt a hug around her waist and a held-back sob, and looked down to see Noodle clinging onto her. Wren immediately knelt to her level and hugged the girl close, finding it hard now to keep back her own tears.

“Terrible shame what-”

“Florence?”

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her breath dropping to the floor.

Slugworth had spoken first, a smooth and practiced opening to what would have turned into a gloat. The voice that had interrupted him was genuinely shaken and clearly belonging to her husband.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Noodle, who nodded. “You can go, you shouldn’t have to see this-”

“Florence,” his voice came again, at a loss. She took a breath, stood up, and faced him with tears in her voice.

“Hi, Felix.”

Silence.

Slugworth looked with growing puzzlement between the woman and the girl, and Felix could only stare at his wife with dawning realization.

“You’ve been working with him,” he said simply, every usual quirk of inflection having vanished.

For a moment, the wash crew surrounded her in an attempt at a shield, and she heaved a breath to keep back a sob-of fear, of gratefulness for these friends that had become family over the past weeks, of everything suddenly crashing down.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly to the wash crew and perhaps to myself. “You all should go. Like you were going to. I’m sorry.”

They didn’t move.

She looked at Piper, whose worried hand was on her arm. There was an unspoken vow of protection between the women in that moment, but Wren’s eyes pleaded, so Piper nodded sadly, took Noodle’s hand, and the group left.

Wren was almost afraid to look at Willy, but she did; the boy was staring at the old chocolate bar in his hands, looking as if he could barely process a thing.

The sympathy in her gaze must have been far too obvious, because she suddenly heard footsteps, felt a hard grip on her wrist, and gasped in pain as it was yanked up and backwards.

“Darling,” Felix hissed with a sinister edge, though his voice was breaking, “I don’t know how or why this betrayal-”

“Betrayal?” she finally cried out, breaking free from his grasp as Willy rushed between them. “You lot have just poisoned dozens of innocent people, all for a business rivalry, and I won’t-”

“If you want your family not to starve, you had better lower your voice,” he barked.

Every speck of air seemed to leave the room.

“...My family?”

“I may have been distracted enough for the past weeks to ignore the mail that came in and out of our house, but I had not always been that blind. I thought your compassion to be an incomprehensible gesture, but I let it slide. When I felt like it.”

…They haven’t gotten everything I’ve sent.

They haven’t-

“In fact,” he continued, “it served as what was almost a pleasant reminder of the truth. For your family, for your stupid dream, and for your sweetly dependent soul-you need me.”

“If you knew I was poor, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s the same way for me!”

This was the peak of what had been a building explosion, and this was the moment in which they both remembered there were other people in the room.

“What?” the four besides him breathed, almost in unison.

“Oh, you heard right,” Felix launched into speech, the characteristic gestures starting to work their way back into him. “I came from nearly nothing, just the same. But I did what I had to do to climb to the top. I cast them all away, left my old life behind completely, and I suppose it was a foolish hope to think my wife would do the same. But she-but you-you are nothing but a guileless, deceitful bleeding heart.”

“I…”

Tears blurred her vision.

“I am…genuinely sorry that you felt you had to hide your past, but that doesn’t excuse trying to make the rest of the world match your insecurity and fit your little chocolate mold. And if that makes me a bleeding heart…I’m proud of the title.”

For a moment, the man looked as if he would allow his wife’s words to affect him.

Then his face, normally so expressive, turned completely cold.

She’d lost him.

She’d never truly had him to lose.

But she looked at Willy, and she thought of the wash crew, and she realized she finally had a truer support system. And if she could try to start over, find some other way to earn money to send to her family without interception, and some other way to reach the dreams that felt so far away at the moment, she knew Felix would be wrong: she didn’t need him.

After a long silence, Slugworth cleared his throat.

“Get her out of here. We have business with Mr. Wonka.”

What?

Her and the younger man’s eyes widened, and they grabbed each other’s hands on instinct, but a small number of policemen came around the corner of the shop door at Slugworth’s order. They clamped hands on her shoulders and dragged her away from Willy as the Cartel stood silently and watched.

“Wait-wait, no, I-”

“Wren-”

She struggled, fought, kicked, but was forced into the backseat of a police car-

“Let me go, you corrupt bastards-”

“Wren-”

“Let me-”

“Just drop her somewhere in town,” Felix said coolly. “Somewhere that isn’t my home.”

“WREN!”

The car door was slammed, and the last thing she saw was the Cartel advancing on a dazed Willy, opening a suitcase of cash.

All she could do was scream, and the scream turned into a cry.

They did indeed drop her somewhere. She burst out of the car the second it had stopped, and the officers drove away without a word.

Sick with worry and trying to regain her breath, she looked around, almost fainting with relief when she saw the laundry building. Piper, having heard the commotion, stood outside, and they looked at each other for a moment before Wren fell sobbing into her arms.

This is not over.

#fiytwtb #wonka movie #wonka 2023 #wonka #willy wonka x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet #wonka x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfic #mat baynton #mathew baynton #mathew baynton x reader #mat baynton x reader

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momolady · 7 months

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November Patreon Rewards: Hearthway Hollow

Hearthway Hollow has everything that the autumn needs. They celebrate Halloween starting in July. They have the world's best coffee shops, cozy blankets,bonfires, and of course, werewolf lovers to snuggle on chilly nights.

This November, feel like you've just visited with this wonderful trinkets straight from the Hearthway Hollow welcome center!

A Hearthway Hollow gradient logo (designed by me). A classic logo by @smogteeth. And a 'Hot Werewolf Girlfriend' coaster with art by @chopshoppar

$20 and up will get everything, while the rest of the mail out patrons will receive two items at random! (Exciting? Probably not.)

Not only that, starting in November, I will be doing a special ebook each month before anyone else. This month, as you can guess by the survey I put out, I'll be doing a collection of the best Hearthway Hollow characters. So make sure to vote on this survey so your favorite characters make it into the ebook.

Not only will you receive all of this in November, but you'll also join the Momolady discord server. There you'll get to chat with other monster lovers and creatives to find new friends and new monsters to love. You'll also be able to talk with me but that feels less exciting.

Stories that are and will be available on Patreon that have yet to be published will also be yours to read! Including:

A collection of stories not published anywhere else.

A Hearthway Hollow story about two teachers that I never published because I didn't think it was good.

A vampire novel that I wrote ten years ago.

Rhys, a lizardman, reunites with his former lover who left her life of sexwork to escape the dangerous city she was in.

Preview to what would have been a seqeul to my story Huntress int he castle.

A spin-off of Aymeric's story about his little brother Laeretes.

Romarod is an orc, traveling through Elderbay, a port within Obresh that used to be a really seedy neighborhood. And all he wants are some baked goods.

Art is an orc who inherited his family's art supply store. It needs renovations and bad, so he hires you to take care of it.

Alcide is a high ranking vampire who controls a giant spacecraft as it makes a pilgrimage to the vampire sanctuary. You are a special human who Alcide takes care of.

Jian thr Rakshasa retuns in a new tale as he take the narration reigns to explain how the relationship between him and Rika has grown.

A woman realizes she's been put under a spell, and her fae lover Kerwyn is in desperate need of her help.

Onyx the Tabaxi returns with new sexy adventures in the confinges of her close knit village.

An older woman is being haunted by a Leshy, a forest spirit who is trying to repay the kindness of her long gone husband.

Jasper is a bugbear who keeps a very neat shop. He and his lover have been seperated for a long while, now he's been kidnapped and she must rescue him.

Zaejin and Perik return! And Zaejin wants his promised bread.

Jacqueline is a Dullahan and a chocletier. An while she's no Willy Wonka, her Halloween tradition brings her into a sweet relationship with a female patron.

Five paralangua vie for the attentions of one Chosen when the other four fail to return home for the Festival of Ash.

Plus so much more!

#exophilia #teratophiilia #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster girlfriend #monster smut #monster lemon #monster romance #teratophilia writing #exophilia writing #patreon #writblr #writing community

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thrifty-swiftie · 4 months

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wonka gate: an examination of the parallels between wonka (2023) and sweeney todd (2007)

i saw wonka (2023) approximately 10 hours ago and since then i have been plauged by the film's nearly exact parallels to sweeney todd. over the past 10 hours, i have employed the help of my friend @orfisheus and we have successfully deconstructed every similarity between wonka and sweeney todd, though this post will specifically focus on the 2007 tim burton adaptation.

**SPOILER ALERT FOR BOTH FILMS. DO NOT READ AHEAD IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!**

the simplest place to start is to introduce whom each of the wonka characters is trying to replicate. in my opinion, the most recognizable of these characters are mrs. scrubbit, portrayed by olivia colman, and mr. bleacher, portrayed by tom davis. these two are obviously trying to replicate sweeney todd/benjamin barker and his counterpart mrs. lovett. these two are recognizable by name alone, with "scrubbit" sounding extremely similar to "lovett" and "bleacher" sounding similar to "barker." however, the personalities of scrubbit and bleacher are nearly exact replicas of lovett's and sweeney's personalities. both sets of characters run "shops" that aim to harm the people coming in. one character, lovett in sweeney todd and bleacher in wonka, lures their victims in while the other, sweeney and scrubbit, do the actual harming. even from a non-theatre fan standpoint, the similarities between these characters is undeniably recognizable.

now, you may be asking "if scrubbit and bleacher are meant to represent the main characters from the original source material, why aren't they the main characters of wonka?" to that, i propose that we look at wonka as if it's the story of sweeney todd told by another character: anthony. timothée chalamet's wonka is almost a 1:1 copy of sweeney todd's anthony. both characters are dreamers and see the world in the best light possible despite all of the tragedy surrounding them. if you choose to view wonka as a story told through an anthony-esque character's perspective, the fun, colorful atmosphere of wonka feels less out of place than it did upon my initial viewing of the film. in a society where law enforcement and religion is corrupted by corporate greed, willy wonka still chooses to see the good in the world and the people in it, hence the film's upbeat and colorful atmosphere.

no anthony can be complete without a johanna, which willy wonka finds in noodle, the film's female lead played by calah lane. noodle, a supposed orphan (although, like with sweeney's johanna, the viewer finds out the true parentage of noodle later in the film), was taken in by the film's antagonists and is literally caged in by said antagonist. this directly mirrors johanna being trapped by turpin, sweeney todd's antagonist.

though the characters do not take a romantic interest in each other (which, let's be real, would be illegal) wonka and noodle form the same kind of bond that anthony and johanna did in sweeney todd. wonka rescues noodle from her cages multiple times throughout the film, just like anthony freed johanna. the duos care more about the wellbeing of their partner rather than the rest of the world and at the end of both films, the two sets characters both have happy endings.

in terms of minor characters, i would consider wonka's trio of chocolateers to be an extension of judge turpin, while keegan michael key's police chief character takes on the role of beadle.

as for plot parallels, the two films share many similar vital plot points, including quite literally opening in the exact same way. tim burton's sweeney todd film begins with anthony singing on a boat, while paul king's wonka opens with willy wonka singing on a boat. both sing about similar topics too, with wonka singing "after seven years of life upon the ocean... the city i've pinned seven years of hopes on lies just over the horizon... i've got twelve silver sovereigns in my pocket and a hatful of dreams" and anthony singing "i've sailed the world, beheld it's wonders... but there's no place like london." right off the bat, the viewer is exposed to the dreamer's perspective before the rest of society is shown.

not long after, wonka is brought to the shop of mrs. scrubbit and bleacher, where bleacher then attempts to club wonka. this could potentially serve as a callback to sweeney and his razors.

we meet noodle right after this. although noodle is most definitely the johanna stand-in of wonka, an argument could also be made for her representation of sweeney todd's toby. in the 2007 film, mrs. lovett takes toby in both out of usefulness and emotional attachment and she puts him to work in her shop as an assistant. like toby, noodle is taken in by mrs. scrubbit and put to work. however, mrs. scrubbit feels no emotional attachment at all towards noodle, hence why her name is scrubbit, a pun regarding her profession, rather than lovett, a name that professes why the character takes toby in.

as the wonka film progresses, we see more and more parallels with burton's sweeney todd. firstly, bleacher lies about his identity for a large portion of the film, just like sweeney does, and in both films the audience is made aware of these lies before the other characters find out. another parallel can be drawn between sweeney and wonka as both characters go "underground" to escape arrest, although wonka literally uses the underground sewer system while sweeney conceals his identity from the people who used to know him as benjamin barker. additionally, both wonka and sweeney utilize their stores to evade police capture.

at the very end of the film, we see our last two similar plot points. first, noodle is reunited with her mother. johanna meets her own mother at the end of the film, but while noodle is able to obtain a happy ending and live the rest of her life with family, johanna doesn’t realize it’s her mother, and is unable to reach that same fulfillment. johanna’s ending is much more tragic than noodle’s, however wonka is a children's movie, so what can you really expect? finally, in the post credits scene, we see justice delved out to mrs. scrubbit and bleacher as they are arrested for their wrong doing, similar to how mrs. lovett and sweeney die at the end of their film. once again, they're not killing people in a children's film, so this is the best we can get in terms of a parallel ending.

after breaking these similarities down with @orfisheus, i am completely convinced that wonka is a cleverly concealed parody of sweeney todd, but in the end, the movie represents a genre that is critically underappreciated in today's society. musical theatre should not have to be concealed to be enjoyed by all and theatre should not be relegated to the stereotypical shakespeare dramas. at the end of the day, who can really say if wonka is secretly a replica of sweeney todd? all that truly matters is the knowledge that allows us to appreciate wonka's worth. more than just a children’s film, it builds off of the foundation of two great works to become something that both pays tribute to and evolves the stories of willy wonka and sweeney todd.

#wonka 2023 #wonka #sweeney todd #these are the same movie #you cannot convince me otherwise #wonka movie #willy wonka #timothee chalamet #johnny depp #theatre

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