Summary: You and Wonka bake a chocolate cake together.
Request: from anonymous: "Hi! How have you been? If you’re still taking headcanon requests, how about cooking or baking with Willy Wonka? I think that would be sweet (pun intended XD) Love your writing!"
Author's Note: I apologize for how long it took for me to fulfill this request! I've been very busy with work and regular adult life, but I hope it was worth the wait. Wonka seems like the perfect man to teach someone to bake if they never have or just would add his own personal flair onto the experience while making sure you're comfortable and happy along the way <3
Unedited.
divider created by @/saradika-graphics on Tumblr.
The thing which you could always rely on was Wonka’s kindness and gentle guidance, so it came as a welcome offer when he made the proposal of baking together.
You had minimal knowledge on the subject, but as someone who had a healthy appreciation for learning new things, as well as an affinity for indulgence at the highest level, you leapt at the chance to have him there by your side while you learnt to bake a new treat, perhaps something you might file away in the back of your mind for a special occasion when you wanted to be the one to treat him to something sweet for once.
His tenderness with which he guided you eased your nerves about potentially messing up; there was no mistake he didn’t assure you he could fix, having been steadily practicing culinary arts for the better part of his life and knew all that he needed were the right ingredients, a steady hand, patience and a little bit of magic, and that reassurance was enough to strengthen your faith in him and his abilities.
He knew what he was doing and you let him guide you through the experience, only stepping in when you got flustered or confused or perhaps set the timer on the oven wrong. He was as patient with you as he was with his own creations because the love you shared was perhaps what he was most proud of in his life, despite his own legacy and the chocolate factory he had created.
There was something vastly special about that which he shared with you rather than what he had accomplished on his own.
He read the recipe to you and had you gather all the ingredients, but still he wanted to give you as much creative freedom or as much oversight as you wanted or needed. It was all up to you and what you asked of him. This was as much about your needs as his own and where he liked abstraction and creative freedom and liberty, perhaps you were more regimented and wanted to follow a specific pattern.
“Of course, my dear, and we’ll have the recipe right here in front of us so that you may look it over as many times as you need,” the cadence of his voice was as sweet as the chocolate he made, “just take time you enjoy yourself, either way, that is all that I ask.”
You had a lovely time baking with him, if your styles were different or even if they were the same. Spending time with his was more important than what you did during that time, though you would have chosen this again and again, because it was something you could do together, a way to truly connect on his own level and watch him at his best, doing the things he most loved in this world, aside from loving you.
You loved the way he rolled his shirtsleeves up his arms when he stirred the batter, exposing his forearms the way he knew that you liked, but his focus was on baking, and he paid little attention as your gaze strayed and your mind wandered.
A soft touch on your nose snapped you out of your reverie and his little smirk told you that you’d been caught red-handed.
You sneezed and a white plume billowed from your nostrils, making Wonka chuckle fondly, “it seems you’ve gotten a bit of flour up your nose, dear,” he grinned as he proffered his handkerchief and you gratefully took it, dabbing gently at your nose to wipe away the flour as your cheeks burned.
He helped you clean up the kitchen once the pastry you were baking was in the oven, never expecting you to tidy up your space alone. He was used to maintaining a clean working space, even though his inventing room was anything but. Preparation of food intended to be eaten was far stricter than what he held himself to when he was merely tinkering on his own and, besides, he would never risk feeding you something that was potentially contaminated.
So long as what you were ingesting was safe for you to eat, his heart could rest easy.
While you cleaned, he told you stories of how he used to bake alongside his mother who had been the first person to inspire his interest in the culinary arts. After which, he slowly transitioned from pastry chef to candy maker. His choice and direction were something that he was proud of, and you were proud of him, your heart swelled with affection for this man who was so passionate and creative, a sentiment you were all too fond of seeing within other people.
He recounted tales and anecdotes of his childhood, a rare moment of vulnerability that he afforded you. Wonka was an enigma, that much you had grown used to, but on occasions he would give a little, sharing things with you that he perhaps hadn’t shared with another soul. He wanted you to see him for who he was and if opening up was the only way to do so, then he would, all for the sake of sharing his heart with you.
The sweet, warm smell of chocolate and sugar wafted from the oven and permeated the kitchen, swirling into your nostrils as you inhaled and making your mouth water.
It was all that Wonka could do to keep you from devouring the chocolate cake long enough for the layers to cool so that you both could apply the frosting.
He wanted to show you how to make thickened icing from scratch, but your attention kept waning as you looked over your shoulder at the cake layers that were cooling, staring longingly at them like you would a lover and it amused him more than he would admit.
“Patience, darling,” he whispered to you, his voice richly velveted on his tongue like silken milk chocolate, “you’ll be able to taste it soon enough.”
The longest wait was the time it took for the cake to cool so that the frosting wouldn’t melt, but once it was finally ready, Wonka had all assortments of cake decorating tools laid out across your kitchen counter, a professional baker’s arsenal, and you didn’t have any idea where to begin.
He guided you as before, teaching you the proper way to fill a piping bag and how to outline the edge of the cake so that you would get a nice, even layer of frosting with virtually no drips or messes. His steady hand was useful at this part and so you allowed him to do most of the frosting as you snuck tastes here and there when his back was turned.
You knew he most likely saw you, but it didn’t matter. It was safe for you to eat and so he let you indulge at every turn, delighted by the way your eyes lit up and you let out soft little moans of satisfaction.
When the cake was finally finished, you remarked that it was almost too beautiful to eat, but that didn’t stop Wonka from cutting a piece and offering you the first bite.
Reuniting with your childhood sweetheart, Willy Wonka, during the factory tour.
(For @groovy-lady)
"Y/N, you simply won't believe the news!" Your friend, Mrs, Bucket, chirped excitedly as the two of you met up to run errands together. The two of you had worked together previously, and she became a good friend to you despite the infrequency of your contact.
"What is it, Hellen?"
"Charlie's found it - the last golden ticket! Isn't it exciting?" She was more animated than you'd seen her in a long time, and she continued quickly. "I was thinking - and forgive me if this is too bold, but, I was thinking... perhaps you could take him for the tour?" And then you saw it - the mischievous glint in her eye.
Hellen knew a secret that you'd told few others - you'd known Willy Wonka when the two of you were children, and had been an item for much of your youth.
"I understand if you can't, or don't want to. I just thought... Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's silly." You told her you would think about it, and she didn't mention it again as you went onto your errands.
After that, it seemed as if you somehow saw more of his name everywhere you went; advertisement and news articles. Of course it was the fervor around the contest, but nonetheless you couldn't escape the ghost of your past. It was a pleasant ghost, at least.
There was a form to send in before the tour, giving the names of the chaperones. You'd kept it visible, and quickly penned your name down before the deadline.
It all happened so fast - Hellen asked, you agreed, and in the blink of an eye you were standing at the gates with Charlie by your side. And then the moments dragged until Wonka himself finally emerged. He looked very different, of course, but yet somehow still the same. The other guardians were quick to rush up to introduce themselves and their children, but he hurried through them until he got to you.
"And Y/N. I was looking forward to seeing you most of all. You do remember me, don't you?"
The candy maker lit up when you told him that you did remember him, grinning wide and looking much like the boy you'd known long ago.
"I named one of my chocolates after you, you know. And I'll tell you a secret - it's my most favorite creation." He paused only a moment before continuing, "come, I've got such marvelous things to show you."
He held out his arm for you to take, paying no mind to the other chaperones as he lead the group inside.
Hi! I just want to let you guys know that I am writing for both 2023 and 1971 Willy Wonka so if you have any requests for either one don’t hesitate to request. I know that I have a few unanswered requests and I’ll get to it as soon as possible but I just wanted to remind everyone that requests are open.
"Willy Wonka is chaotic evil because he's a rich capitalist who used slave labor to run his factory and plotted to murder children!"
"Actually, Willy Wonka is chaotic good because he saved the Oompa Loompas from a dangerous jungle full of predators, taught four bratty kids a lesson, and lifted the nice kid's entire family out of poverty!"
Y'all. Willy Wonka is chaotic neutral. While on the one hand he epitomizes the white savior trope in his behavior toward the Oompa Loompas and Charlie, on the other hand he does help them when they need it and when no one else will. During his factory tour, he allows each child to expose their own character flaws and reap the consequences thereof. He does not actively push the children to destruction, but neither does he step in to save them. True, his gifting of the factory to Charlie, like his employment and housing of the Oompa Loompas, serves his own ends just as much as it helps them. Arguably, he gets far more than he gives in each situation, though there is no evidence he is cheating anyone with any degree of self-awareness or intention.
Summary: With the arrival of springtime and its natural rekindling of reader's anxiety towards the future and the unknown, Wonka does his best to remind them of the blessings they have and how deeply he loves them.
Author's Note: I wrote this almost a year ago and I never posted it, so I figured I'd share it today since it's been a while since the last time I shared any writing with you all. I've not had much time to do so and I don't know if/when I'll be able to. I still adore Wonka with all my heart, life has just gotten in the way of my creating. Happy Spring and I hope you enjoy this fic!
Edited.
divider created by @/saradika-graphics on Tumblr.
The morning air was fresh and crisp, filled with the scent of flowers and the chirping of birds.
Warm, buttery sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, illuminating scintillas of dust motes as they glittered and swirled through the air like speckles of starlight upon the hardwood floors.
Inside the factory, you felt like a fish in a bowl, unable to truly appreciate the coming of spring because you so rarely set foot outside, but it did not bother you as much as it would have if things had been different – if it were not for him.
Willy Wonka kept your spirits buoyed just enough that it did not bother you to stay inside most of the time, even though no less than a year ago you would have longed to frolic the parks and meadows and tread the streets recently thawed from a long, bleak, frozen winter.
He was enough to relax your rapidly beating heart and calm your racing mind, if only when he came into your line of vision.
Whenever his work pulled him from your shared bed before the sun rose was another story and you were uncertain whether your fragile state of being could withstand the task of telling that particular tale and so you stayed in bed, hopeful that the lingering sadness which clung to you like the icy tendrils of a lasting winter that clung to the first sprouts of vegetation to break ground and surface into blossoming splendor would fade like the cold.
It took time for the ice to melt because the snow blanketing the ground sealed in the cold, but eventually the sun’s rays would penetrate it.
You only hoped that the same could be said for this aching feeling inside your chest.
No matter how many times you took a breath, you still couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of dread that engulfed you. You felt it in your throat, in your chest, and spreading throughout your entire body. Your mind was filled with thoughts of uncertainty and fear, as you found it difficult to hold onto any shred of a positive mindset. You were crippled by anxiety, trapped in an endless cycle of worry, self-doubt, and fear, which spurred on even more unpleasant emotions: sadness, depression, an impending sense of doom…
It seemed that your mind always found something negative to fixate upon.
As of recent, it was your fear of loneliness.
It was difficult to put into words because you did not feel lonely.
Wonka still attempted to coax an explanation out of you, knowing that the only way for him to help was to better understand what your thought process was.
Your worst days concerned him.
He did not like to leave you lying in bed all day; it was not good for you to waste away in his bedroom while he worked. The pain that you had experienced in your life was not his to resolve, nor was it his responsibility to remain by your side all the time, but sometimes he could not help himself from putting his own needs and the needs of his company on hold.
You were a priority of his and the last thing he wanted was for you to question it.
This was what it meant to love.
Love was uncomfortable, tiring and difficult, but that did not mean it was not worth experiencing.
Willy wanted you to lean on him and to inconvenience him; to love was to sometimes be a burden on the one you loved, to give and to take, to share in each other’s happiness as well as each other’s sadness and to take up comfortable space in the other’s life.
You were meant to exist just as you were.
Willy would have hated to see you happy all the time because he would know you were hiding how you really felt.
Everyone experienced sadness at some point or another, even himself, and if the two of you were meant to coexist inside of his factory as a couple, then you were meant to see each other’s emotions, even the messy ones. He would have worked tirelessly to provide you with everything that you needed to feel happy, but the reality was that human emotions are very complex.
Just as one could not always be happy, your sadness was also temporary.
Willy lived for the days when he saw glimpses of your true self, when the clouds lifted and it was clear skies.
Very few days were you “right as rain” as he liked to say and the way he said it always made you laugh.
The sound of your laughter curved his lips into a smile reminiscent of a crescent moon, except he was your whole galaxy.
Willy Wonka meant more to you than there were words in the dictionary to describe it.
Many times had you tried, but your attempts did him far from justice in your mind.
Some souls were beyond words, even a soul as eloquent as Willy Wonka.
He could tell when you were feeling too much; it took you away from him. You could be sitting side by side and yet your mind was miles away, an unreachable world shielded from outsiders and untouched by the common man.
He wondered what you thought about when you got like this and it concerned him how lengthy these periods could last for.
You hadn’t felt content in weeks and as the clouds descended and the rain settled in, Wonka rose like the sun and his wisdom shone through you, illuminating every darkened corner and, perhaps, if you were as lucky as you had been to cultivate such a relationship, you might even glimpse a rainbow.
“I don’t want to see you grieving what hasn’t happened, meanwhile, you’re missing out on what is right in front of you,” Wonka murmured as he sat beside you on the plush sofa, your head resting in his lap while his fingers applied gentle pressure to your scalp. He was massaging your head, fingers stroking your hair as he combed them through and, once he got to the ends, started at your roots once more.
You knew he was right and felt yourself nodding in agreement, “I know,” you whispered, your words almost catching in your throat, and you felt his digits sink into your hair even further as he comforted you.
His touch placated your emotions, but occasionally, could exacerbate them.
Willy did not know if he was making things better or worse, but instead he kept talking, “I don’t think that words are useful in your situation, my dear,” he began, “but I have a few to impart anyway: you are afraid of what the future holds, but you, my darling, are not the only one. There is no knowing where we’re going…”
You made a soft cooing sound at those words, the all-too familiar verse he would quote from time to time, that sent a shiver down your spine.
“I only meant that…I hate to see you suffering so, when your blessings are so abundant. No one knows what the future holds, but what we do know is what is in front of us. You are a treasure, my dear, the jewel of the entire Wonka factory, and I will do everything in my power to remind you of how special you are to me.”
You lifted your head just enough to gaze into those shimmering blue tidepools of his and your heart fluttered inside your chest as if it had grown butterfly wings and was beating them against your ribcage.
“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of loving,” you whispered, bracing yourself against the couch cushions to lift your body up into a sitting position, “I appreciate how much you’ve helped me and I won’t ever forget how much trouble you’ve gone to for my sake. As for what you’ve said, I know you are right. I don’t want to let myself be miserable over what might not ever be or will come in due time because then I’ll only be missing out on what I have right now.”
“Precisely, my dear,” Wonka agreed, his shoulders slumping in relief that you had taken what he was saying to heart, “you only have what time you have. There is no sense in wishing for more.”
“You know what I want to spend that time doing?”
Wonka raised an eyebrow, his thin lips quirking up into a lopsided smirk, “And what might that be, dear?”
You reached out and cupped his warm cheek, leaning in to graze his waiting lips with the essence of a kiss, “loving you.”
Summary: Reader and Wonka spend the morning together, celebrating their one year anniversary.
Author's Note: This fic is very personal to me, since today marks one year since I rewatched Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and fell in love all over again with the story, the themes and this man. I am honored to share my love & my writing with all of you; I hope it means as much to you as it does to me. Thank you for all of your love and support on everything I've written for this fandom & for giving a piece of my heart a home. The necklace (pictured above) is mine. Each charm is represented and featured within this fic in some way. Can you find all the references? Some are easier to spot than others.
Edited.
divider created by @/chechelia on Tumblr.
As the first hints of dawn began to peek through the curtains, the soft warmth of the blankets enveloped you, cocooning your body in a gentle embrace akin to the arms of a lover. The mattress cradled your form and molded to its curves and contours as you nestled deeper into the plushness. The pillows cushioned your head, their feathery softness caressing your cheek and the curve of your neck.
Slowly, you began to drift into that hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness, your senses heightened, yet your mind was blissfully calm. The faint scent of fabric softener mingled with the familiar, comforting smell of skin, lulled you into a state of utter tranquility.
Outside, the world was just beginning to stir, but in this peaceful moment, nothing else mattered except the enveloping comfort and blanketing security. Time stood still and you savored the sanctity in which your body relaxed; your mind was free to wander in the early morning haze.
It was a sense of pure, unadulterated bliss - a fleeting but cherished respite from the stresses of daily life, a chance to simply be present in the warmth of the moment before the day truly began.
As you began to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, you noticed you were not alone.
Your senses slowly awakened to the familiar sensation of arms wrapped around you.
You felt Wonka’s steady breathing against the back of your neck, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as his mind drifted through the land of dreams.
His heartbeat, strong and steady, pulsed against your back and the gentle tickle of his hair brushed against your shoulder.
Inhaling deeply, you were enveloped by his familiar scent—a comforting blend of salted maple and dark cocoa, the faintest traces of his cologne that he used sparingly, and the more natural, earthy aroma which was uniquely his.
Sighing contentedly, you nestled back against him, savoring the security and affection of his embrace as you hovered in that blissful, in-between state. In that tranquil, dreamlike moment, the rest of the world fell away, leaving only the two of you cocooned inside your own private heaven.
Not until you had blinked your eyes open to the golden light of morning that was filtering in through the curtains, casting a cozy glow over the bedroom did you begin to realize that today marked a very special day for the both of you and was assuredly the reason that Wonka had chosen this morning to greet you first thing.
He preferred to rise early and get started on work as soon as he was bright-eyed enough to focus, yet this morning he was still in bed when you woke, arms encircling your body in a tight embrace of love and warmth.
His body pressed solidly against yours, his light snores in your ear signifying that he must’ve dozed off as he waited for you to wake; the sound made you give a soft, breathy giggle and his eyelids twitched at the gentle sound.
At some point in the night, he must’ve opened your bedroom windows, exposing your bodies to the lingering caress of mid-September morn. Summer had finally begun to wane, ushering forth the year’s next and most eagerly anticipated season.
The air was crisp and still, save for the distant birdsong heralding the dawn, and you turned over onto your back and listened.
The warmth of the fresh sunshine gently kissed your cheeks and coaxed you the rest of the way out of your slumber.
As you stretched your arms above your head, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, excitement bubbling in your chest like a burbling brook.
Today marked a milestone, one full year filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams.
One full year with your lover, Willy Wonka.
Falling in love with a man like him was as exhilarating as chasing sunsets.
It was a dance like the fleeting moments of day's end, a pursuit of the ever-changing canvas painted across the sky. As the sun dipped below the horizon, its brilliant hues ignited the atmosphere in vibrancy–fiery orange and deep crimson mingling with delicate pink and soft lavender, a breathtaking symphony of color that seems to shift and evolve with each passing second.
To chase these sunsets was to chase the ephemeral, to try and capture the uncapturable, the sublime beauty that hung suspended between day and night. It was a race against time, a frantic scramble to soak in every last glowing ember before darkness fell.
Yet in this chase, there was a sense of wonder, a deep appreciation for the natural world's daily masterpiece.
Each sunset was unique, a one-time performance that could never be replicated, prompting the observer to be fully present, to pause and drink in the splendor unfolding before their eyes.
To chase sunsets was to engage in a sacred ritual, a moment of tranquility and awe in the face of nature's grand spectacle – a humbling reminder of the fleeting beauty that surrounded you, if only you had the eyes to see it.
That was what it felt like to be in love with him.
His presence in your life was as humbling, as exquisite, as inspiring as a sunset.
The love you had for him was a cornucopia of emotions wrought into existence by the beating warmth within you, radiating outward across a canvas of darkness and brightening your whole sky.
Every moment that you had together felt as fleeting as colors chasing each other across the heavens, twirling together in a dance of radiance and regality.
You felt the same warmth reflected within him, the dawning of color just grazing the tips of your soul as it bled through him and into you.
His heart rose and fell like the sun, his blue gaze a cloudless sky that chased away the storm in you.
Those striking, piercing eyes held an intensity that was both alluring and a bit unsettling, hinting at an inner depth and complexity that lay beneath the surface, a gentleness that could instantly disarm and captivate all who fell under their spell. It was as if the boundless sky itself had been distilled into the windows of his soul, a mesmerizing and almost hypnotic quality that left an indelible impression on all who crossed paths with him.
There was no urgency in the way that you loved him, however.
A fleeting sunset did not hold a candle to the eternal flame of your love for him.
As he began to wake up, Wonka’s grip on you tightened. He let out a soft grunt as he stretched his legs and shifted closer to your warm body.
Even the way he held onto you while he slept was indicative of your importance and how much reverence he held for you, clinging to you as though he were fearful you might dematerialize and disappear, leaving him clinging to cold air and memories that would fade all too quickly, but no.
You weren’t going anywhere.
Not if he had anything to say about it.
If there was one thing Willy Wonka was good at, it was dreaming.
His desire for love and companionship began as nothing but a dream and he was forever indebted to whatever force conjured you into being his reality.
With a gentle kiss upon your supple cheek, he opened his eyes, “good morning, dear,” his voice crooned lovingly into your ear and you drew yourself up closer to him, arms encircling his shoulders as his nose tenderly nuzzled against your tight jaw, “sleep well?”
Your response came as a soft moan and a mumbled, “yes, love.”
Wonka chuckled lightly, leaving another sugary sweet kiss on your cheek and whispered, “wonderful.”
Your heart fluttered the same way it had the very first time his lips met your skin and a pleasant shudder rolled down your spine at the rich tone his smooth as caramel voice took on in the early morning, an octave deeper than you were used to as he shed sleep like his favorite coat and woke to greet the dawn.
It was not often that you were given the opportunity to admire him first thing, in all his unkept, natural glory, and you fiercely took hold of every second.
You shifted and sat up, a pang of disappointment shooting through you as his arms fell away to allow you to sit up. You propped your pillow against the headboard and leant back, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as he followed suit and settled in beside you once more.
His brown sugar curls were comically disheveled, sticking out at odd angles and flattened at the back where he had rested against the pillow.
You couldn’t resist the urge to laugh at him and you reached out, cupping his cheek as you brought him in for a kiss.
He seemed slightly taken aback, but once he felt your lips move over his, he melted like chocolate, the taste of his tongue just as sweet.
When you broke the kiss, his eyes were shining brighter than the light from beyond your open windows and his voice became hoarse, like you had kissed away all its strength, “I’m guessing you know what day it is.”
You nodded, completely wrapped up in the warmth of him, the distinct voice he used when he wanted to evoke that tenderness in you that he had fallen so in love with.
Everything about him was much grander than the empire he had built.
You loved him not for what he had but for what he was and, above all else, he was yours.
“Of course I do,” you said, “It’s our anniversary. How could I forget?”
“I knew you wouldn’t,” he replied with a grin and he turned, reaching to the side where he was able to grab a small, long box from the nightstand and proffered it to you, “go on, open it.”
You hesitantly took the box from his hands and, with shaking fingers, lifted the lid and was rendered speechless save for the small gasp of surprise that left you upon sight of what was inside.
You carefully removed the necklace from the box, a stunning, beaded array of color that sparkled in the light and resembled that of which your heart felt every single time you looked at the man sitting beside you, “Willy, its…beautiful.”
His long fingers ghosted across the back of your hand as he gently took the necklace from you and opened the clasp.
You shimmied to the side and, with your back to him, he laid the necklace into place around your neck and refastened the clasp.
Your fingers immediately found purchase on the beads, rubbing the cold, round little orbs as they dangled from your neck.
You were stunned beyond belief by such a tender gesture, unable to wrap your mind around the fact that he had picked something like this out for you, but why this specific piece?
There was always a reason behind what he did and a trained eye could spot it; you liked to think that you knew Wonka well enough to be able to uncover the secrets of why he did the things he did, but even you were still left unaware.
The only difference between you and the rest of the world when it came to Wonka was that when you asked the question, he wanted to give you an answer.
“What is it about this one…” you began to tentatively pose the question, “…that made you think it was right for me?”
You tugged lightly upon one of the beads, pinching it between two fingers as you so often did when your anxiety began to get the better of you, a nervous habit you developed that grounded you when your thoughts took to threateningly new and daunting heights.
Wonka tilted his head and his grin turned reassuring, “the colors made me think of you: vibrant and cheerful, yet each color is startlingly different from one another. The beads remind me of your multi-faceted, uniquely beautiful personality and all the wonderous things that I love about you.”
You felt lightheaded, as if you might pass out and you had to take a moment to compose yourself lest you break down in tears at such a genuine confession of his undying love for you, but this was not just meaningless prose spewed from tainted lips and a tarnished sense of what was important, good or right. Wonka meant everything that he said and you had no apprehension for the possibility that he might just be telling you what you wanted to hear. While it was true that you longed for this very moment, a time in your life when a man would show you just how much he cared for you rather than tell you, it never amounted to anything so vastly beautiful and for so many reasons far beyond the obvious.
You felt like you had been backed into a corner and dizzyingly kissed until you were out of oxygen and teetering on oblivion. A thousand tiny stars collided at the backs of your eyes and swam into focus out of the depths of the great beyond and surfaced in pools of swirling destiny.
This very moment had been a long time coming and it was real.
His touch was electric and you nearly jumped as his fingers delicately grasped your wrist, fingertips lightly pressed against your pulse like he was checking to make sure he hadn’t just given you a heart attack with how open he was being.
He had metaphorically cracked his chest and let you see his heart and it bled red for you alone.
This kind of thing only happened once in a lifetime and thank god, this time, it was happening in yours.
It was the type of love only present in books or in movies, the kind other people swore was not achievable in real life because ‘real men do not love like that’ but why not?
Why should we stop at the impossible, when it is far more exciting to let ourselves dream?
And amid your attempts to understand what had brought you here, to this very moment, you thought to yourself, “if this sort of love exists inside of my heart, why is it so far-fetched to hope for it to exist in another’s?”
“And if it may be possible, that another heart out there should feel the way that I do, why should their heart not find mine?”
Love was the starting and ending point of all that there was; if it could happen to anyone, why not to you?
You had seen love in your life, even felt it during the most fleeting, heavenlike moments and you knew that if it could happen for another, it could also happen for you, too.
You let yourself be swept away for once, on the belief that he meant what his words construed and instead of being the means to an end, you became his end, his choice, his everything.
You were everything that he had always wanted and had thusly been afraid to dream, because even the great Willy Wonka never got everything that his heart desired, or at least, he had thought this was true until his gaze settled on you and his heart knew within the breadth of a second that you were the one thing he had been missing out on for all these years.
How was it that two hearts found each other in the vastness of such a full world, when what was possible seemed more shocking to occur than the most daring and doubtful fantasies ever dreamt?
You did not know how you had come by someone as spectacular as him, but your heart remained steadfast.
You loved him, fiercely and with a wildness you had spared only to and for yourself.
And, just as deeply as you loved him did he feel the same.
To love someone as you loved each other was art and for once, you wielded the brush.
It was your chance to have what you had always dreamed of and you had no one to thank for it more than him.
That was the thing about Willy Wonka: the longer you spent with him, the easier it became to reach for what you wanted because somehow it was always within reach, no matter how distant it appeared.
Whether it was pure happenstance or magic was what you did not know, but it was not within your realm to care how it happened, only that it had.
The relationship you had cultivated with this man was reminiscent of how pearls came to be: a bond which took years to grow, strengthened by intensity and dedication, which steadily grew into something pricelessly magnificent.
“Are you alright, darling?” Wonka’s concerned voice roused you from your pleasant reverie, “seems I lost you for a moment there.”
“Oh,” your breathless exclamation seemed to renew his initial surprise and his eyes widened as you continued your thought, “forgive me. I was just thinking about what you said. The necklace is…stunning. I feel almost inferior to wear it.”
“Nonsense, my dear!” Wonka gave a delighted chuckle now that he was certain you liked the gift, “It is a gorgeous piece of jewelry, however, I find your beauty to be far superior.”
Your cheeks took on a tinge of pink when he complimented your appearance and you opened your mouth to counter him, when your gaze was pulled in the direction of your chest of drawers which had come into your line of sight when you shifted your body to face him.
“What…”
Another gasp was pulled from you at the sight of a beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting in a crystal vase, the perfect accent piece for your sparse bedroom.
The whimsical arrangement itself was thick with richly colored blooms, purples and pinks of varying hues, a clump of yellow roses setting off the bouquet with a pop of bright color.
“You got me flowers?”
Your expression softened even further as you reached forward and took hold of his large hand that delicately enveloped yours as your fingers linked themselves with his.
“Of course,” he replied as though it were an obvious choice, but you did not see it as he did.
‘How obvious’, you thought to yourself, ‘and yet I must’ve missed it somehow.’
Wonka had intended to surprise you, though he had not expected you to be caught so worryingly off guard.
“Darling…” he cooed, his maple-sweetened voice dripping with obvious concern, “you didn’t think I would simply get you nothing for our anniversary, did you?”
You didn’t want to answer that.
The trembling of your hands spoke volumes and as Wonka drew you up against his solid chest and pressed you snug against his body, your legs twisted up together like a soft pretzel, he understood that there was once a time when you expected the bare minimum and weren’t even given a crumb.
His heart ached in that moment, imagining how the love of his life had once felt unloved and taken advantage of by some nameless face, but that was not your reality any longer and he was determined to show you that the bare minimum was a threshold he would continue to cross and exceed your expectations, surpassing the barriers you had set around yourself so that you did not have to feel disappointed, because he cared for the woman he put his efforts into.
“I hope I haven’t upset you,” he whispered tenderly, his free hand that wasn’t holding yours rubbed the length of your back in languid, comforting strokes, “I just want you to know how loved you are and how worthy of it you will always be.”
You lifted your head and took his breath away with a passionate kiss, a whirlwind of desire, reverence, grace and gratitude, for all that he had given you, far beyond material gifts.
Aside from the tangible, he had renewed your sense of self-worth.
He treated you like the princess that you were and reminded you that, no matter how warped your sense of self was, you were always worth his love.
He had loved you enough to change your point of view and life seemed a lot clearer when you felt secure in yourself and in love.
“You’ve done just the opposite,” you replied, craning your neck to gaze at him with love shining in your eyes, “thank you, Willy. For the gifts, yes, but also for all your love. It truly has changed my life in the best way. I never thought that this could happen...”
“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting…”
You instantly recognized the quote and a fond smile graced your lips as you responded, “And when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.”
If it were possible to dazzle a man who found intrigue in only his dreams, you merely had to show him that this reality felt as magical as a dream.
His dreams were limitless, yet the realities were far grander.
Wonka was delighted by your love of literature and your voracious appetite for the written word.
Most people thought he spoke in riddles; it turned out there was one person who made sense of it all.
You could read him like any one of the books he so frequently quoted.
“Having the opportunity to love you, even for just one year, is something I will always treasure,” he whispered as he leant over you and tenderly kissed your forehead, watching as your nose wrinkled when you smiled with delight at his sweet affection and words.
“I could say the same, Willy, but for some things in life there are no words.”
His pointed grin and piercing gaze were enough recognition that he knew where you had heard that phrase before.
“You know, I have something for you, too.”
Wonka perked up at this, “for me? Darling, it isn’t necessary.”
“I know that, but I wanted to get you something. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
Willy loved everything that you did, simply because it was you who was doing it. It never mattered to him what it was that he was being given or how or why, all that mattered was that it came from the love of his life and with a piece of her heart attached to it.
How had he come to have fallen in love?
Wonka had long considered himself a romantic, though he was apt to hide such a thing in most social situations because of how untrustworthy the world around him seemed to b. He was not used to wearing his heart on his sleeve or letting himself become too exposed and vulnerable. That was how a person got themselves taken advantage of and Wonka had gone down that path on more occasions than he purposely wanted to revisit.
There was something about you that spoke the language of his heart, and as it would become apparent to him now, like recognized like.
You had that same level of mistrust in the world around you, but you had let him in.
Why?
Perhaps it was something in the way he carried himself or could it have been how you always seemed to see right through him, down to his very core? It unnerved him somewhat how perceptive you were, far more than most he had dealt with in his life. He was used to exceeding expectations, being several steps ahead of anyone he encountered and was thusly able to control any situation he found himself involved in, but you matched his steps no matter how quickly he walked or by how much he increased his stride.
You were the true gift; you were what he had been waiting for.
You shuffled out from beneath the bed linens and hung awkwardly over the side of your bed to reach down beneath the frame and pulled a small gift box out of its hiding place.
As you settled, you handed the box to him and Wonka turned it over in his hands as though it were something precious.
It was, as it had come from you and everything you touched became priceless to him.
“Shall I open it?” he asked you with a hint of a tease in his voice, making you playfully roll your eyes at his question.
“No, Wonka, I think you should stare at it some more,” your sarcastic reply made him chuckle, “just open it.”
He carefully lifted the top off the box and sifted carefully through the tissue paper when his fingertips grazed fabric. Plucking the tissue paper from the box and setting it aside revealed that inside the box was a bowtie, not unlike the one he so lovingly adorned himself with almost every morning, adding a pop of tasteful, elegant flair to his outfit and tying it all together in a formal, classically styled appeal.
However, this one, was radiantly blue.
“You mentioned to me a while ago how you often thought about changing the color of the bowtie you wear and how you thought that matching it with your eye color was a smart style choice,” I explained as he gently removed the bowtie from its wrapping and held it up to his neck like he was gauging how it might look on him, “and I thought it was a beautiful idea and would make a brilliant gift. I hope you like it.”
“My love…” he crooned that nickname as though you had adorned his heart with stars, stringing up garlands of your love, tangling yourself up in him, “I would love anything as long as it were given to me by you, but this…I don’t think I have ever received such a thoughtful gift…thank you.”
If your love were a constellation, Wonka would be your north star.
“Oh honey, I can’t wait to see you wearing it!”
You tossed your arms around him, letting him pull you into his chest as you settled against his body like you were made for him and, who knows, perhaps you were. That would explain why every day that you loved him felt like the first moment you locked eyes with him.
How every step you took, led you right to him.
This must have been what it felt like to flutter, drifting on a gust of air, flying for sweetness like a butterfly seeking nectar, all for love, for existence, for far more than mere survival, but for everything you never knew you needed until it was right there in front of you.
You existed for him, because of him—you were his monarch: a rarity, an elusive being, delicate, yet resilient, flying only for him, just for his sweetness.
“I will have to try it on,” he agreed, already eager to coordinate it with his usual ensemble, “but it can wait. Would you like a cup of coffee, my dear?”
You nodded in response and Wonka gave you another chaste kiss to your temple as he freed himself from the tangle of your limbs and the bed linens, extracting himself from the little pocket of warmth that your bodies had created to go and fetch you both your morning coffee.
Wonka was gone long enough that when he had come back to the bedroom, you had settled down flat on the mattress again and closed your eyes as you waited for him to return.
The gentle patter of his bare feet against the hardwood floor signaled his arrival, a tray carefully balanced in his hands as he had made his way back to the bedroom.
The enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, beckoning his sleepy-eyed partner to stir. With a tender smile, he approached the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb your peaceful repose.
As he set the tray down on the nightstand, the rich, dark liquid glistened invitingly in the mug, a thin wisp of steam curling upwards. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his weight causing it to dip slightly, and reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your soft skin.
Your eyes fluttered open, and you were greeted by his loving gaze and the thoughtful gesture of him bringing you a steaming cup of your favorite morning brew. It was a simple act, yet one imbued with profound meaning—a tangible expression of his care, his attentiveness, his desire to start your day on a warm and comforting note.
In that moment, you were enveloped in a sense of being cherished, of being the center of his world, and you couldn't help but smile as you sat up again and reached for the mug, the rich aroma invigorating your senses and filling your heart with gratitude for this man who knew you so well.
Wonka carefully picked up your mug and handed it to you, “careful, love,” he warned, ‘don’t burn your hands. Hold it from the handle.”
You took the mug by its handle and held it in your lap to let it cool a bit before bringing it to your lips and taking a small sip.
The warm liquid soothed your throat and roused you from your slumber, driving away the lingering darkness from your eyes and your cheeks flushed with color, a beautiful sunrise of rejuvenation beginning to dawn across your features and Wonka couldn’t help but bask in your glow.
He shifted to sit down again after moving your teddy bear to the side from where it had been hiding beneath the sheets while the two of you slept.
He fondly remembered how he had gifted it to you for Valentine’s Day, a momentous occasion he likely would not forget for the rest of his days. The way your eyes sparkled with delight when you clutched the bear made his heart swell with pride.
You had deserved a gift as special to you as you were to him.
As it turned out, the gifts themselves were never what you cherished most; it was the way it felt to be loved so profoundly by someone that they would consider giving you something so meaningful and heartfelt.
All you wanted was to be wanted and Wonka had given you that gift, repeatedly, for an entire year.
You could feel the lump beginning to form in your throat and you thanked the heavens that were contained in his eyes that you didn’t have to speak because you would have forgotten how.
As important as he had become to you, you had a difficult time putting it into words because his love did not mean just one thing.
Your love was a vast plain, a sweeping, arms wide open kind of magnitude that could only be captured in tiny glimpses of things that reminded you of what it felt like to be in love with a man like Willy Wonka.
The world could not contain a man who designed his life to be an escape from that very same world he had found you in.
If love was anything to him, it was escaping together.
Wonka could not often trust his own mind because it was the very thing that kept him a prisoner—the irony of it all was not lost on him.
He hadn’t dreamt you up.
The only thing he had never been able to invent for himself was connection and he had spent many sleepless nights pondering scenarios of love, of loss, of missed connections and how one tiny glimmer of hope could perhaps change everything, so long as he didn’t lose himself in the process.
Wonka stayed away from people, whether it was because of the invasion of his privacy that he held so dear or because he could not find it in his heart to trust another person after his business had nearly been ruined all because he had trusted the wrong people, but he had to let go of the past.
His heart was safe in the palms of your hands and he could feel it beating, echoing his love for you throughout his body, down into his very soul.
“Thank you for everything,” you whispered to him, which brought him out of his thoughts and he focused on the sound of your voice to keep him centered, “not just for today, but for every day we’ve had so far.”
Wonka smiled, a genuine look of happiness spreading onto his face at the sweet way you always spoke to him with, “You’re very welcome, my dear. I must say that it has been a pleasure spending a year with you and I am looking on to the future ahead with much hope for even greater things.”
With coffee in hand, you carefully snuggled up to him, letting him turn your face to his as he leaned in and slanted his lips over yours.
His kisses still left you weak, but there was a sense of safety and comfort which blanketed you, a metaphorical duvet that warmed your soul just like the one that shielded your physical body from the cold.
“So am I,” you replied as he pulled back enough to let you speak, his lips still hovering over yours.
“Now, my love…” he began, his delicate smile beginning to twist into a wicked grin, “once you have finished your coffee, perhaps there is yet another way for me to share my love with you…”
You laughed as his words trailed off, “Oh, there is? Well, how do you like that…”
You felt him nuzzle against your hair, inhaling your scent as his body pressed solidly into yours, as close as he could get and yet he still craved more, “I will take good care of you, dear, if you’ll let me.”
The meaning of his words stretched far beyond the innuendo they conveyed.
Wonka was going to take care of you every day you had left because you were his greatest achievement, your relationship far more priceless than his factory and all the chocolate he could ever make and if that was not enough to show you how deep his love for you ran, then it would never be enough.
“I’ll always let you, Willy.”
If words and actions were not enough, then at least, Wonka knew that he always would be.
Summary: Reader surprises Wonka by wearing a formal dress for the first time; Wonka reminds reader of how gorgeous they truly are, inside and out.
Author's Note: A short and sweet fic I wrote some weeks ago. Hope you enjoy!
Edited.
divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.
As the sun began to set, golden hour cast its warm, honeyed glow through the open window and upon your skin as you dressed. Silk whispered over your skin as you slid into the gown, the rich, azure fabric cascading down your body in waves, an elegant outfit that hugged your curves so lovingly and tinged your cheeks with a subtle blush of newborn confidence and mild apprehension.
Your fingers trembling with excitement; You had never worn a dress like this before.
You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and the sight of yourself, dressed in such a garment, filled you with raw emotion.
It was a gown fit for a queen, its intricate lace trimming and shimmering sequins catching the light that danced off the glimmering threads sewn into the hem.
Tonight, you were not dressed to impress, but to express your love.
Your breath caught in your throat as a lump formed in familiarity; you had expected this to end in tears, but the night had only just begun.
“You look stunning in that dress.”
The velvet caress of his voice from just behind you made your skin grow hot to the touch and your blush darkened several shades.
You spun around to show off the front, your heart racing inside your chest as though it were determined to escape from your body; you delicately tugged on your neckline, adjusting the fabric to drape across your body in a more flattering and comfortable manner, “you like it?”
You asked the question as though you did not believe his compliment came from a place of honesty and that made Wonka’s smile falter for a fraction of a second.
“Of course I do, my love,” he insisted, crossing the room in several, casual strides, “everything that you wear is as beautiful as you are, if only because it is you who is wearing it.”
If his words weren’t enough to melt your uncertainty, his actions were.
He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a lingering, warm kiss against the back of it.
You let him hold your hand for a moment longer, until you had to turn around.
You couldn’t help yourself from taking yet another look in the mirror as if you couldn’t decide whether you were comfortable and satisfied with your choice of outfit.
Willy had never seen you dress up like this before and it concerned him somewhat.
Not that he was opposed to such a change, however, when you made such a drastic statement, no matter what it was, it always held a deeper meaning.
There was diffidence in your demeanor.
You were hearing his words, but were you listening?
His arms gently encircled your waist, keeping you held against his front as he gently rested his chin on your shoulder. His wispy, caramelized spun-sugar curls tickled your face as he admired your appearance in the mirror, a gentle, content smile upon his thin lips.
“You know, my dear,” he began, a tender lilt in his voice as he tried to lighten the mood inside your heart, “you’ve never dressed so formally in front of me before. I consider this quite a special occasion, as with every moment I spend with you.”
“I love you so much that it aches sometimes,” you confessed and without missing a beat, his hand found yours again, lacing your fingers together, licorice twines which could not be pulled apart.
Your head leaned against his, two clouds brought together out of pure circumstance, held fast by turbulent currents in collision to condensate.
Tears pricked the backs of your eyes and Wonka’s smile faded; as an empathetic lover, he felt what you did.
“I can feel it sometimes, too,” he whispered into your ear and his voice sent a shiver straight through you, “deep in my chest…spiraling outward like a galaxy…exploding like a supernova…perhaps it is true that we are all made up of a little stardust…”
‘If this love is meant to feel like a galaxy, then I need for you to know that you are my entire universe…’
Something told you that Willy already knew the words that you would never say.
He did not need to hear it; every beat of his heart echoed what you left unspoken.
“You…like the dress…?” you asked him tentatively and, as always, Wonka heard what you were not asking.
No conversation with him was ever so simple as that…
“I do,” he affirmed and with a kiss atop your head, he acknowledged the rest with the grace of a gentleman and the tenderness of a lover, “but not as much as I love you in it.”
You twisted in his grip and hugged him fiercely.
With a fondness that Willy Wonka had never bestowed upon another living soul, he scooped you into his arms and returned your embrace.
His long fingers traced circles on your back and you could feel the gentle press of his finger pads through your dress, the devotion and warmth he had for you bleeding outward through his touch.
Everything about Wonka spoke of affection.
The way he held you buoyed your spirits as well as your body and you felt the uncertainty lifting, replacing your doubts with clarity and his willowy frame against your body made it feel like you were walking on air.
You inhaled his scent, the deep, chocolatey notes infused with hints of brown sugar and citrus zest.
He smelled like a delicious treat and you couldn’t help but want to savor him.
You closed the distance between your bodies, sealed it with a kiss and his very essence seemed to melt on your tongue, a property of the chocolate he made.
His dazzling, blue eyes held your gaze when you broke apart, his kiss-swollen lips parted in bliss, “I adore you, little hummingbird.”
The nickname made you smile, a sunrise of happiness appearing on your face.
To love Willy Wonka is to know such great honor as to fly for the sake of sweetness.
Author's Note: I think this was requested, but I had planned to write it anyway. Since I don't know when I'll have another full fic to post, here's a lil treat. Enjoy <3
divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Willy is very attentive to your needs after passionate lovemaking sessions. Need help getting cleaned up? He’ll take the initiative to get up first and help you clean yourself up. Want some cuddles? He’ll be there with open arms, waiting for you to curl up in his embrace. Whatever it is that you need, he is more than happy to oblige. As long as you make your needs known, he will always do his best to meet them.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
As an intellectual, Willy loves his brain and all things connected to it, i.e. his thoughts, ideas, desires, etc. His mind is what attracted you to him so how could he not fall in love with it just a little bit? He would also say that he is quite fond of his hands because of how easily he can use them to create things, carry out his whims or bring you pleasure…
He is also in love with your brain and all of the beautiful things in it. There is not one specific thing he loves the most about your physical appearance. Every part of your body is equally intriguing to him, but in different ways.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Wonka is not fond of cum, mainly because of the mess. His creative, artistically inclined mindset often means that he is disorganized, yet he is never dirty or messy. He takes pride in his appearance, so anything directly related to any bodily functions are taken care of discreetly and with haste.
He is a gentleman and perceives that ejaculation anywhere on his lover’s body is disrespectful.
He treats his partner with respect and only cums inside of them, while of course wearing a condom—safe sex is incredibly important to him.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He occasionally fantasizes about his partner hiding beneath his desk and giving him a blowjob while he works.
Or perhaps his thoughts might drift to them taking him aside in the chocolate room and dropping to their knees behind one of the trees or mushrooms and satisfying him there.
He would never, ever let it happen, mostly because he could not stand the thought of someone seeing or catching him in the act.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Not as experienced as one might think, but he knows enough to engage in the act without needing any guidance.
He has only had a couple of sexual encounters in his lifetime, mostly because he has a low sex drive and doesn’t think about it or experience urges very often. His mind is preoccupied with creating new products and he doesn’t have much time to think about or engage in sex.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Missionary is his favorite.
It’s a classic and he loves to be able to gaze into his partner’s eyes, watching all the little emotions that flicker across their face as he makes love to them.
A close-second is having his partner straddle his lap while they ride him. Sometimes it is enjoyable for him to let them take the lead and he certainly appreciates sitting back and letting them use his body to bring themself pleasure.
On the rarest of occasions, he will take his partner from behind, mostly if he is already in a more possessive mood.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
It depends on his mood.
Wonka is usually very jovial and a bit of a trickster.
He does not believe that sex must be serious all the time, but he will read the room and conduct himself after the precedent his lover sets.
His partner’s overall enjoyment is his top priority and if cracking jokes or laughter helps make the experience more fun for them, he’ll be sure to find little ways of bringing a bit of humor into the personal encounter.
H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Wonka tends to be a bit vain.
He is well-groomed; trimmed, not shaven.
The carpet does match the drapes in terms of curliness, however down below is thicker and one or two shades darker than on top of his head.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Willy is a romantic at heart.
Every aspect of intimacy is very romantic and, depending on how comfortable his partner is with it, he will make sure that every sexual act is steeped in romance.
He wants his partner to feel comfortable and safe enough to be vulnerable with him. After all, Wonka is being just as vulnerable as they are and the romantic aspect is in part done for him as much as for his lover.
He loves to give kisses and nuzzles and gentle touches.
His hands will guide his lover’s movements, helping them maneuver themselves if they are finding it difficult to do so on their own.
Often, he takes it upon himself to shoulder the more dominant position, however, he can find plenty of ways to be romantic in a more submissive role if his partner feels more comfortable with that.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Wonka rarely, if ever, masturbates.
He thinks too much and is unable to achieve orgasm.
It doesn’t bring him pleasure the same way that making love to his partner does and if he is seeing someone, then what is the point in doing it himself?
If it ever comes to it, he’ll masturbate in the shower because he can easily get rid of the evidence and clean himself off immediately afterwards.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Wonka isn’t very kinky.
However, he prides himself on being a brat tamer and isn’t afraid to speak his mind, sometimes sending his partner into a tailspin because of the things he says to keep them in line.
There is a bit of a darker side to him and, on occasion and with the right stimulus, he can be persuaded into becoming demanding, playing the role of a very dominant partner for the sake of having passionate, possessive sex.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Wonka is not interested in having sex anywhere except in the bedroom.
He does not even want to think of anyone having perceptions of his sex life or the knowledge that he engages in anything of a sexual nature, even though he is not ashamed of it or anything like that.
He likes to maintain his privacy and therefore he won’t risk anyone seeing him perform any sexual acts.
Occasionally he might be persuaded into making love on the couch, yet he still does not appreciate how exposed the living room feels in comparison to the privacy of the bedroom.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Clever word play and wit are very stimulating for Wonka.
Wonka has sex using his mind, not just his body. It entices him when his partner matches his intellect and can find ways to stimulate the conversation the same way one might do with his body.
It gets him going to see his partner dressing up for him or taking pride in their appearance for him. It turns him on to no end if he ever sees them casually wearing one of his shirts or trying on his clothes.
He’s got a bit of a thing for seeing his partner in lingerie…
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Willy would never do anything to cause his partner any pain or discomfort, nor would he take advantage of them or knowingly cross any boundaries without direct approval or consent.
He will be checking on and following up with his partner throughout any sexual encounter to be certain that he still has their consent and will immediately stop if he even suspects they are uncomfortable or do not wish to continue.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Wonka prefers giving rather than receiving, but he wouldn’t turn down a blowjob every once in a while, especially after a particularly rough day.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Slow and steady is just what Wonka likes.
Nothing about the way that Wonka makes love to his partner is ever fast and rough, unless they would like for it to be.
Wonka takes his time, striving to give pleasure to his partner over time, building up to a crescendo of emotion and release rather than giving it everything all that once.
Foreplay is incredibly important to him and he won’t skip it; it takes incredible skill to get it just right.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
As stated above, Wonka likes to take his time and therefore, he wouldn’t go for a quickie unless it was the only option.
He would prefer to wait if no other options were available to him because times spent with his lover is so precious to him that he would not want to be rushed.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Wonka is not a risk taker when it comes to sex.
Unprotected sex is a big ‘no’ for him. He is not interested in having children of his own and he cares enough about his partner to take their feelings and needs into consideration as well.
There are times for risks and intimacy is not one of them as far as he is concerned.
As for experimentation, he is willing to try most things at least once, especially if his partner asks for them.
The only thing unacceptable to him is causing his partner any discomfort or pain. The most one might be able to coax out of him is a bit of spanking, but do not expect it to cause much pain at all. He hates even the thought of accidentally hurting his partner; he would find it nearly impossible to forgive himself if he harmed them.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Wonka makes up for his lack of stamina with his passion, charisma and charm.
Due to the duration of a session, he is usually exhausted and satisfied after one round.
However, if his partner wants more, he will do what he can to satisfy them, although he always makes certain that this is a rarity; he is gifted in knowing how to please his partner so that one round is almost always plenty for both of them.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
This might come as a surprise, but Wonka can be a bit jealous and territorial regarding his partner. He would not like the idea of them relying on a toy for personal pleasure when he is willing and perfectly capable of satisfying their every desire.
He does not forbid his partner from pleasuring themselves, nor will he be angry if he were to find out they owned and used toys, but he would want to have a conversation about whether or not their needs were being met so that he could do his best to meet them and would use this opportunity to check up on them and make sure he isn’t doing anything that they don’t like or do not wish for him to continue doing.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
In the right mood, Wonka is a relentless tease.
He can undress his partner with just his eyes, leaving them squirming under his piercing blue gaze.
He’ll be a bit unfair sometimes, using his personal wit and charm to debilitate his partner and leave them crumbling beneath him.
He can and will talk circles around just about anyone.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Willy is not very loud.
The most his partner will get out of him are a few grunts and the occasional breathy moan.
Unless directly requested, he won’t make very much noise.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Along the lines of a more sensual headcanon, Wonka would love to shower with his partner.
Cleanliness is very important to him (it must be since he works with food) and showering together is a nice way to help him feel more connected with his partner and to warm himself and loosen up his muscles before intimacy occurs.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Wonka’s body is very soft.
He is not chiseled or have a rigid, sharp bone structure.
His skin is very soft and plush, conducive to being cuddled and squished.
He is somewhat toned and has an average build with some defined muscle, specifically in his biceps and thighs.
He has a broad chest that lacks a lot of hair, though he does have a faint happy trail leading from his belly button down to his pelvic area.
His manhood is slightly above average.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
My personal headcanon is that Wonka is greysexual and therefore his sex drive is very low.
He does not strike me as someone who values sex as a defining part of a romantic relationship, although he does appreciate it for its role and has desires and urges he needs to satisfy from time to time.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
It takes him a while to fall asleep afterward, mainly because he is concerned with making sure his partner’s needs have been met before he allows himself to relax or take what he needs.
Once they have been looked after, Wonka will relax, cuddling into them and letting himself drift off into dreamland.
