Willy Wonka Fluff - Blog Posts

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

you met him on a thursday.

not that the day matters, really, but he would always remember it like it did. said thursdays felt like beginnings, and you, standing there in the soft light of the shop window, your hands curled around a cup of tea and your eyes steady on his, it felt like the first page of a romance novel.

he was talking to the shopkeeper about cocoa beans, something about mouthfeel and integrity and how 'chocolate should feel like a memory'. you weren’t listening at first. not until he laughed, it was soft and a little startled, like someone had surprised him with his own joy. you looked up. and he looked back.

and everything that came after was quiet.

“you always smell like sugar,” you said one morning, your voice still scratchy from sleep.

“occupational hazard,” he murmured, cheek pressed to the pillow, curls a little chaotic. “you don’t mind, do you?”

you shook your head, pressed a kiss to the slope of his shoulder.

“i think i’d miss it if you didn’t.”

he had a way of making even the smallest things feel like magic. folding napkins into roses. spelling your name in spun sugar. telling you stories like they were secrets, eyes bright, hands moving in the air like he was sculpting the words as he said them.

“i want to build something,” he told you once, “a place. for people who still believe in whimsy.”

you leaned into him, heart warm.

“then do it,” you said. “i already believe in you.”

sometimes, when it got late and the world felt too sharp, he’d reach for your hand without saying anything. just gently lace his fingers with yours.

“thank you,” he said one night, voice soft like sugar melting in warm milk. you didn’t ask what for. you just squeezed back.