#mat baynton x reader

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter iii

plots are half revealed, and willy "mr accidentally steal yo girl" wonka gets his sorry ass saved by a woman wearing one of those "oh no my husband mysteriously floated away died" robes you see all over pinterest. (now there's a sentence i never thought i'd write.)

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

i would like to thank mr mathew baynton in that one bts interview for those bits and pieces of fickelgruber analysis that will totally now be used here. and also for being generally wonderful. thanks mat ilysm

also i thought it would be sort of funny for at least someone in this world revolving around chocolate to be lactose intolerant and then of course i had to turn it into something sad and poetic bc of Who I Am As A Person

enjoy!! and thank you for all the support on this fic so far!!

part two fic masterlist part four

She had a lot to think about that night.

Felix hadn’t returned home yet, and she started to worry that the fateful flying chocolates weren’t quite as harmless as advertised. The young man who’d made them, too, was swirling about her mind in a haze of schoolgirl blushes and piercing guilt.

Florence Fickelgruber had chosen her lot when she agreed to take on that name. Who was she to imagine a freer life, one of candy-coated dreams and a clear conscience, of gazes and banter with someone her own age, of running her hand through curls that weren’t slick with expensive gel? Who was she to foolishly wish for anything different, when so many people were counting on her?

She missed her home, her family, and it hadn’t been lost on her that Felix had never told her about his own background. Their wedding was attended mainly by those surrounding the Fickelgruber business, as well as another flood of press. She’d had to blink so much that day, unused to being in front of cameras after a youth spent on the stage, but her new husband had preened next to her as if this focus on appearance was where he felt most at home. She remembered the crowd’s polite cheers fading in her mind as he had slowly lifted her chin while she accepted a forkful of the most extraordinarily decadent chocolate cake.

For that day, she had allowed the feeling of his hand on her face to eclipse that of the too-rich frosting stuck in her throat.

Then he came through the door, humming a jaunty tune, and she blinked, torn out of the memory that she felt an entirely different kind of guilt for indulging in.

“Felix? Darling, where have you been?”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty auburn head, my songbird. The boy’s finished, absolutely finished. No one will be flying about the Galeries Gourmet if the police have anything to say about it.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“He’s disturbed the peace, made a commotion, even encouraged the-the-the unfortunate to disgrace our sacred sanctuary of chocolate. And the Chief is none too happy about it.”

“Is he?” she said suspiciously, stepping in front of him-because, up until this point, he hadn’t looked her in the eye.

Felix was silent for a moment, cacao eyes darting. His wife’s gaze was strong and unyielding-don’t lie to me again, I can’t take it-but her head tilted innocently to the side, a sort of plausible deniability.

A sort of protection.

“Yes,” he breathed with a curt nod, and took her hands in his. “I promise you, it was a solemn thing.”

“Then what were you singing as you came in?”

The chocolatier blinked again, falling into an absolutely done sort of expression, and Florence’s head tilted to the other side.

“You’ve had another musical number without me.”

“I’m terribly sorry, pet.”

“You know you can’t hide from me, Felix,” she said, something that would have been playfully teasing but held an edge of desperation that he refused to pick up on.

“It of course wasn’t the same without you,” he drawled in that ever-dramatic way, bringing her into their living room. “We’ll make it up now. Dance with me, Florence.”

He snapped his fingers, and some unseen yet attentive servant placed a needle on a record. A crooning melody started to crackle and bounce across the high golden ceilings, and Felix spun his wife into him, twirling her about with a smirk that she could only imagine to be the result of a monopoly saved.

She swayed to and fro in his arms, trying desperately to sink into the music, unable to focus on anything but the wrenching pull of her battling guilts.

~

Florence spent much of the next day in a state of ping-ponging worry. She’d looked intently out of the mansion’s sprawling windows over the town square, wondering whether her forbidden new friend had taken her advice.

“Just…don’t give up.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

And who knows what they’ll do to him now?

The hours had passed in a blur, and then she was laid limp, unable to sleep, and mentally exhausted, next to her husband and his piccolo snore.

She had screwed her eyes shut and burrowed into him, trying to force herself to feel as secure as she did two years ago; then, the slight sound of a little girl’s singing voice lifted itself into her consciousness, followed by the blare of a police car.

Puzzled, Florence carefully got out of bed and went to the window once more. The girl she’d heard was the one with the sweet smile that she’d seen in the Galeria yesterday, and Willy Wonka was next to her, warning her to run. The Chief of Police and Officer Affable faced them, but this wasn’t to last-the former seemed to tell the latter to leave, and the latter obeyed.

It wasn’t as if a switch flipped at that moment.

More like…

An extinguished candle was finally relit.

Before she could overthink herself into inaction, Wren was grabbing her robe and slippers and bolting downstairs, the snore that echoed after her serving as reassurance that she wouldn’t be found out. In her haste, she had the passing realization that this would be the first time she’d leave the house with her hair down and uncoiffed in over two years.

Through this rush, she heard the plunge of something in the town square’s fountain along with the shouts of the Chief, and she ran faster, throwing open the door just in time to see him about to club a drenched Willy over the head.

“OFFICER!”

Both men turned to her in an instant. She let out the breath she’d been holding since first hearing the girl’s voice, rolled her shoulders back, dropped into the character she’d played for the past two years, and stepped forward.

“What on earth is going on?”

They stared, each with a different kind of shock, as she walked toward the fountain. The Chief returned his nightstick to its holster.

“Mrs. Fickelgruber,” he stammered, “I thought you would have thought-well, I guess he didn’t tell-you aren’t-”

“No, I’m not thrilled about you clobbering this poor young man in the middle of the night,” she said, placing a hand on Willy’s shoulder. He looked at her, still touched with the fear of the past minutes but now grateful, and she tried not to be struck by the freckles she saw behind his water-plastered curls.

“Who said anything about clobbering?” the Chief laughed somewhat nervously. “We were just having a chat. An impactful, memorable chat. Right, Mr. Wonka?”

Willy dragged his eyes to him and held them there, a bit speechless.

What was probably three seconds but felt like an eternity of strange silence passed.

“Memorable indeed.”

“Right, then,” the Chief said. “You’ll do good to continue to remember it. Goodnight, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”

With that, he entered his car and drove away, his tail lights fading in the distance as the remaining pair stood, a little shell-shocked, her hand still on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said after a while, his gaze still trailing the receding police car.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, giving his shoulder an awkward pat, which made her realize just how cold he was due to the impromptu fountain bath. “Oh, God, you’re freezing. Let me…”

As he turned towards her, she looked up, trying to see through her window in the dark. She could barely make out the shape of a sound-asleep Felix, still in bed.

“Come to the office, I’ve got the key. There’s a fireplace there; you can stay as long as you need to to warm up.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes moved up the same way, then back to her, and she shook her head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course.”

~

“Do you want anything to drink? Water, tea? Hot chocolate?”

She hadn’t turned on most of the lights so as not to draw attention, but she’d started a beautiful fire, which Willy sat by in a plush emerald-green chair. She’d rattled off the drinks on habit, but she turned to him upon saying the third, sharing his smile.

“The last one, please. But I’ll make it.”

“No, you need to rest-”

“I insist,” he said, moving to join her by the small bar in the office and searching through ingredients. “Unless that’s some sort of corporate sacrilege.”

“Making chocolate in enemy territory?”

He took a small jar of powder from his sleeve and shook it into two mugs, considering this, and his smile faltered a bit.

“Is it really that bad?” he asked. “That they’d…that they’d send the police after me? That business rivalry is thought of like a war?”

She pursed her lips and nodded solemnly.

“They…feel threatened,” she said slowly, “and, despite how professional they seem, they can’t be mature or rational about it. Apparently, you really do have the best chocolate in town.”

He neither confirmed nor denied, but gave half of a smile as he looked down at the drinks he was stirring.

“And I, for one, am quite looking forward to trying it.”

“Here, then,” he said, pulling something out of a coat pocket that had managed to escape the frozen flush. “Nothing too dangerous about this one. Just some good old Wonka magic.”

He opened his hand to her, revealing a small, wrapped treat, and she sighed.

“I’d love to, but I really shouldn’t. Not even the drinks.”

“Why not?” came the stunned reply, and she nearly laughed at just how sweetly scandalized the boy seemed to be at the idea of anyone denying themselves that pleasure.

“Milk has never really…agreed with me. Bad for the throat, and I’m a singer besides, as you know-I mean, I-well, it’s just…”

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.

“I shouldn’t.”

He took a moment, and she watched his eyes widen as he processed the shocking injustice of being genetically predisposed against chocolate.

“Does your husband know about this?”

“He does, but he doesn’t care. Says I’ll ‘grow out of it with time’, which I haven’t.”

“So he’s…”

“Essentially poisoning me, yes.”

They laughed a little, because, surrounded by echoes of Fickelgruber’s power, it was the only thing they could do.

Willy stared at the table for a moment, then pulled another vial, this one containing a liquid, from yet another pocket.

“Lucky for you, then, I’ve got milk made from the product of the finest almond trees on the islands of Seychelles,” he said as he deftly poured the liquid into her glass. “Guaranteed to go down sweetly, both on the taste buds and after.”

“...Thank you,” she murmured, touched by the gesture.

With a final flick of the wrist, he deemed the hot chocolate finished, and they each carried their mug to the fire.

“Wren,” he said thoughtfully as they sat down.

“Hm?”

She was instinctively flooded with warmth in the same way she was yesterday, though whether it was due to the stunningly perfect cocoa or hearing her name in his voice she wasn’t sure.

“Is it a nickname? Songbird, right?”

She saw in the fireglow that his face darkened a bit upon the memory of how Felix had always referred to her in the press, taking that potentially sweet title and spinning it in an almost dehumanizing manner. So someone did notice.

“Well…sort of. That was what my parents intended. They say a wren sang when I was born, so they gave me that name, and I loved it. But Felix assumed it was a nickname and suggested I should expand it; to sound more sophisticated in my performances, he said, but I knew half the reason was to fit with the alliteration. He’s always valued aesthetics above anything else.”

They were silent for a while, and the massive painting seemed to stare down at them, making the Fickelgrubers look almost menacing in the fireglow.

“That’s you?”

A moment passed.

“No. No, that’s not really me.”

Her voice was quiet, but decisive. Willy looked at her, really looked at her, and she felt more seen than she had in years.

“I want to help you,” she said.

“Hm?”

His head tilted to the side, a little stunned, and she nearly giggled as his now-drying curls flopped in front of his face.

How could anyone want to hurt him?

“I don’t know exactly what Felix and the rest have planned against you, but I know there’s something. He never really tells me anything, but I’ll…I’ll try to find out what I can, to distract him when needed. I don’t want you to be alone in this.”

“I’m not,” he said. “The others where I’m staying right now, we’re all in a rather precarious situation together, and I’ve got a few ideas, but…”

She watched the wheels turn in his mind, and after a few moments, he looked back up at her, for once lost for words.

“But thank you. Again. I’d…I appreciate it.”

“Thank you. For bringing some much-needed heart into this place.”

“I think you’ve done that rather well yourself.”

This was news to her often-guilt-wracked brain.

“...Really?”

“Well, of course. You clearly care, Wren…you’re kind, you’re poetic and talented, and far smarter than it seems they give you credit for. It’s in your eyes, too, I think. You can always tell the truth by a person’s eyes.”

Her heart had nearly stopped.

Somehow, though, she could tell that he was unaware of the full effect he had on her.

“Mr. Wonka-ah, Willy, I mean…”

“Forgive me if-I didn’t intend to-”

The clocks around the city chimed the hour, interrupting the two just as they had the day before, and the young man’s expression went from its dazed dawning to a startled realization.

“They’ll need me. Back where I’m staying, I mean.”

“Of-of course,” she said a bit awkwardly as they both stood up.

His hair had dried by now, falling in perfectly imperfect swoops around his face. He’d undone his necktie to keep its cold away from his neck, and his jacket was folded over his arm, and he was looking at her as if he hadn’t had a conversation quite like that with someone in a very, very long time.

And neither had I.

Or…ever, I suppose.

Until now.

“Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.”

She took a breath, let it out, and folded him into a hug, which he returned in an instant.

After two years of jutting angles and sharply possessive grasps, it was remarkable to simply, softly, hold and be held.

They bid a last goodnight before parting ways, and as she took her time walking back to the mansion, the moon seemed brighter than ever before.

[mermaid-trash]

Ariel Conroy comforting insecure!reader headcanons

a/n: today is an insane hacker man typa day so I was thinking of this and now you have to aswell :)

okay let's be honest he's not gonna be amazing at comforting you, he isn't the most emotionally intelligent man in the world

so at first he probably wouldn't take it very seriously when you make a comment about feeling insecure, he'd just make a snide remark and brush it off as a joke

it's not until he notices your glassy eyes and small pout that he realises you're actually upset about this, so he drops whatever he's doing and turns his full attention on you

first he'll sit there and just watch you for a minute, trying to figure out what the best thing to say to fix this would be

he opens with something like "you know I think you're the most wonderful person in the world, right?" with a frown on his face, trying not to be insulted that you would think so little of his feelings for you

he'll listen to you talking about your insecurities intently, in complete disbelief that you could ever think those things about yourself and slightly angry that you would say such horrible things about his favourite person >:(

he won't say much in return, but he'll open his arms and allow you to get comfortable in his lap, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight and breathing in your scent to calm himself down

"I wouldn't let just anyone sit on my lap like this, now would I?"

he presses little kisses to your temples and cheeks and eyelids and cups your face in his hands until he's squeezing your cheeks together and causing your lips to purse

"you are incredible. don't ever doubt that again." he says a little harshly, before kissing you fiercely and erasing any leftover worries from your mind <3

[sketches4mysw33theart]

Secret Fantasy

Title:  Secret Fantasy  Synopsis: Your brother, Willy Wonka, sends you on a mission to discover as much as you can about Mr Felix Fickelgruber and his shop. However, when you meet the man himself, you discover much more than you bargained for.   Word Count: 1.8k  Warnings: None 

Yes, I am still alive, but is the fandom? 🫠 

“Okay, Y/N,” your brother’s words echoed in your psyche. “Once you’re in Fickelgruber’s shop, play like a wealthy customer, like you’re there to buy his entire shop, yes? He’ll notice you soon enough, then you can ask him about his chocolates, his upcoming plans, all of it. Anything you see, anything he says, try and remember. Chocolates, flavours, shapes, packaging, all of it! It’s risky, I know, but you can do it, I know you can. Okay?” 

But, bathed in the soft, green light of the infamous chocolate shop, surrounded by plush velvets and lush silks, it was easy to lose your grip on sanity. You stood, stunned, in the centre of this corner of paradise like a boat lost out at sea, bobbing listlessly against waves it has no strength to fight.  

Overwhelmed by endless coloured boxes and paper-wrapped concoctions, you weren’t sure where to look. So, your attention bounced over each shelf and colour and texture as quickly as pinballs spinning in the dazed universe of their machine. You were used to chocolate, naturally, and you had confidence that nothing could compare to the tiny miracles that your brother could produce. However, seeing a real shop, so many types of confectionaries deliberately put together and dressed up to entice passers-by to dip into their pockets – it was an entirely new realm for you.  

Of course, it did not take too long for you to get noticed. Dressed up in the new finery your brother had dipped into his quickly growing stash of chocolate-selling money to kindly purchase for you, which itched your wrists at the cuffs and made a satisfying swish noise whenever you turned, it was admittedly hard not to notice you. You looked as though you had strolled into new money and built a throne of sovereigns from the petty cash. 

“May I help you?” You were reading, with your mouth open in awe, the flavours in Fickelgruber's Fancies (one of his most expensive boxes of chocolates) when the refined voice sang over your shoulder, and you turned to it as though scolded.  

You were caught in the headlights of a face you had only heard mythological tales about, the face of one of your brother’s arch nemeses. The face of, you shamefully thought as soon you laid eyes on him, an extremely handsome man. Frozen under his liquefying stare, you floundered, your boat taking on water as you stuttered, trying to find your footing in this strange, golden world.  

Somehow, you thought focusing on the handsome man responsible for your drowning (and much more besides) would carry you safely back to steady ground. He was wiry, tall, and immaculately presented, from the perfectly waxed shape of his hair to the shined-clean sparkle of his shoe tips. His accent was as plummy as the colour of his matching tie and handkerchief, but he had a nice, if a little strained, smile on his face. Rather more than nice, you thought.  

As you stared at him, watching the corners of his lips rise in a coy, roguish smile, sense boomeranged back into your brain in the guise of your brother. Play like a wealthy customer, like you’re there to buy his entire shop. 

“Er, yes, actually, I think you can, Mr Fickelgruber.” Finally, your voice came back to you, and with it the confidence and bald-faced mania your brother had instilled in you long ago; the tools needed to get your job done. What you didn’t notice, however, was your instant use of his name and the gratified expression that illuminated his face as soon as you addressed him by it.  

“These fancies,” you pointed somewhat redundantly to the lush green box, hoping it would disguise the quiver in your voice as you recovered, “there are no cherry flavours. That simply won’t do.” 

To your surprise, he smiled again. “Oh, you’re absolutely right. It is a travesty, isn’t it? I was saying the same thing to my wretched assistant only yesterday. May I suggest you try these instead?”    

He reached easily over your head, pulling from a higher shelf a sleek black box emblazoned with an egotistical gold F and stylishly held together with a single black ribbon stretched across the right-hand side. You were rather too distracted to focus on what he reached for, however, as you were overwhelmed with a strong wave of wild ferns (freedom, open countryside stretching out ahead under the harsh shards of moonlight), a rich, earthy scent emanating from his suit and the body it covered the same way his shop exuded opulence and his wry smile radiated superiority.  

Then, he was holding the box almost to your nose, as though he suspected you of neglecting your glasses; this only confirmed that you were not as confident as your attitude would project. Slow responsiveness, trembling hands, quivering mouth. His impression of you must have been that of a helpless infant. 

“These,” he began speaking when you gently lifted the box from his hand to inspect the contents listed on the side, “are my pride and joy. Fickelgruber’s Fudges.” His chest puffed as he shared with you the name of the delights currently cupped in your hands, but finally, your attention was diverted from your new companion. He was still talking, filling up the electric space between you with fleeting words about the concoction and how, although it wasn’t strictly chocolate, it was ‘the best taste sensation you could achieve on God’s green Earth’, but you could barely hear him as you scanned the ingredients and thought of your brother’s face.  

Your brother, you knew, was a dab hand at all kinds of confectionary, but he was never satisfied with his fudge recipe. Although you were supportive, neither, secretly, were you. There was always something missing. Not enough sugar, too much, the flavours don’t gel well, unappetising to look at - always something. It took one glance at the near-empty shelf above you to know that this was not the case with the man in front of you.  

His flavours were certainly unique, although as you read them, they seemed so simple. No yeti sweat, for example. There was cherry, as expected, but also salted caramel, mint, raspberry, maple, and a mysteriously named Fickelgruber’s Fantasy, an unnamed flavour with a top-secret recipe.  

Of course, you asked immediately, “What’s the flavour?” but he just laughed loudly, throwing his head back so you could see the bobbing of his Adam’s apple along his taut neck. Despite the face of your brother still hovering at the forefront of your mind, at the sound of Mr Fickelgruber’s unbridled laugh, your lips twitched into a giggling smile. 

“Well, if I told you that,” he said once he had recovered, a grin spread across his handsome face and hands clasped behind his back as he leaned closer to you, “I’d have to kill you.”  

He brought his hands between you to grasp the box you were still holding, slipping off the ribbon with ease and lifting off the lid. “I believe I can spare a few of these to tantalise your tastebuds, however. Here,” he held up a perfect cube of mouth-watering fudge, covered with a delicate strip of chocolate and dotted with what looked like either marshmallow or biscuit. “Try my fantasies for yourself.”  

He quirked up an eyebrow as he held the fudge out to you between his forefinger and thumb, only an extension of his one-sided smirk. You looked up from the piece of confectionary to his face for a mere second before opening your mouth and allowing him to place it onto your awaiting tongue.  

It was like a slice of heaven, melting in your mouth as soft and supple as the rich cocoa butter your brother had traded a silk scarf for in India and allowed you to dip your finger in as he made his chocolate after days of denying you the privilege. Fickelgruber’s Fudge had that same kind of forbidden luxury in its flavour, rich and decadent. That addition of biscuit – it was definitely biscuit, you recognised as soon as it touched your taste buds – only emphasized the beauty of the bite, giving the chewy texture a gritty crunch.   

If Fickelgruber was smiling with pride before, he was beaming with it now, watching your eyes light up as the taste of his well-kept recipe coated your throat. “Good, no? And there’s your beloved cherry, of course.” 

As soon as you’d swallowed the secret Fantasy, he was holding up a square of fudge dotted with sweet cherries. Without question, you opened your mouth once more, accidentally catching the very tips of his fingers between your lips as your mouth closed eagerly around the sweet. You were too overwhelmed to apologise as he withdrew them without a care, too overwhelmed even to speak. The cherry was, dare you say it, even more delicious than his prided secret recipe, as sweet and real as cherry pie.  

You swallowed the sweet blissfully and looked down at the open box still in your hand as though it were a treasure chest. Your Pandora’s box. You weren’t sure if you wanted to eat them all at once or simply leave the box on a table, lid off and sweets displayed, for visitors to coo over as they pass, but never to touch. Funnily enough, as he spoke once more, it came to your attention that you were having a vaguely similar tug-of-war about the man who had been feeding them to you. Keep him to yourself, or hand his secrets over to your brother? Hmm... 

“You know,” there was what you could only describe as a smouldering look in his eyes as he stared at you with his undivided attention, “I have plenty more fantasies that you could try if you’re looking for a certain flavour.” He gestured around him with his hands, but your stare never left his. “My whole shop is at your feet.” After a brief pause, he added, “As am I.”  

Only for a moment did you hesitate, looking over your shoulder past the thick green curtains and gold rails, out into the plain beige and white of the Galleries Gourmet, the people gazing through the spotless windows in wonder as they hurried past, and even further out into the street, where your brother was using your distraction of his rival to share his chocolate with the world as he waited for you to emerge safely. 

Feeling like a traitor to your brother, a fraud, a betrayer of the very blood that was pounding in your veins, you turned your back to the outside world and followed the dark, swaying shadow of the handsome man who turned to look at you, eyes twinkling, eyebrow raised, smile fixed, only the once before leading you deeper into the crowds of the shop floor.  

Oh, you were in trouble.  

[agir1ukn0w]

no I will not be taking criticism you all know I’m right.

[jamiewintons]

Mat Baynton Characters + How They Propose To You

Characters: Thomas Thorne, Jamie Winton, Ariel Conroy, Bill Shakespeare, William Agar, Chris Pitt-Goddard

Tags/Warnings: Fluff. Some Vague S*xual Implications. One Reference to Ariel's P*rny Poetry.

A/N: Requested by an anon. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written, and as always reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! I don’t know why William’s part ended up so much longer than the rest of them, but these things happen, I guess. I really like writing these so if you have any suggestions for topics please send them to me!

*

Thomas Thorne

Thomas wants nothing more than to propose to you in a very romantic, over-the-top fashion, but with the both of you being ghosts, he obviously cannot. The fact that he can’t even get you a ring distresses him to no end! But still, he knows that he wants to marry you, and spend eternity by your side, so he does the best he can. He asks Alison to get flowers (he’s very specific on the exact type of flowers she needs to acquire), which she uses to decorate the library, in which Thomas plans to propose to you. Thomas leads you to the library, where he asks you to sit down by the window, one of his favourite places to spend time with you. He prepared a (rather long) poem to propose to you with, and you’re both tearing up as he reads it. When you finally get the chance to tell him that yes, you will marry him, he has the biggest grin on his face, and he wraps you up tightly in his arms, whispering to you about how lucky he is to have found you.

Jamie Winton

Jamie would favour a more low-key proposal, but he’d still want it to be special and romantic, so he proposes when he brings you breakfast in bed. He makes you breakfast in bed every weekend, so the gesture doesn’t seem out of place, but the nervous expression on his face and the little box sitting next to your toast certainly do. You look over to Jamie, who’s now kneeling beside the bed, with wide eyes, and he awkwardly smiles at you. He starts giving you this cute little speech about how much he loves you, blushing the whole time. Honestly, you want to just interrupt him so you can tell him “yes”, but you let him say what he needs to say. Once he’s done talking you very enthusiastically accept his proposal, before placing your breakfast aside and pulling Jamie back into bed. You’d have time to eat later, right now you just want to show your fiancé how much you love him.

Ariel Conroy

Ariel wants to go all out when he proposes to you, because under the surface he’s actually quite the romantic. Still, he proposes when you’re at home because of privacy reasons. The whole thing is meticulously planned out – your favourite meal for dinner, bouquets of your favourite flowers, and even some (incredibly porny) poetry that he’s written for you. On the surface he looks very confident, but inside he’s just so slightly nervous that you might say no (and he wouldn’t be able to handle that). Though the whole night is very organised, the proposal itself is quite simple. After all of the dramatics, he pulls you towards him, tilting your chin upwards so you’re looking at him and asks, “Marry me?”. When you say “yes”, Ariel’s eyes light up and he smiles before kissing you, vowing to never let you get away like he did with Hawkwind.

Bill Shakespeare

Bill is going to relish in the romance and drama of proposing to you. Leading up to the proposal, he sends you all kinds of flowers and other gifts for about a week before he finally pops the question. When the day comes, he’s even more affectionate with you than you’re used to; you lose count of how many times he kisses your hand. The proposal itself is certainly very long and poetic, as he gets down on one knee and holds your hands gently in his while he says his piece. The combination of his beautiful words and the adoring way he’s looking up at you proves to make you incredibly flustered and emotional. Once he finally gets to the point and asks you if you’ll be his wife, you accept immediately. Bill is so happy with your answer that he jumps back to his feet and passionately kisses you, only stopping to grin brightly at you.

William Agar

William is so nervous that he can hardly speak. You were told that he wanted to see you, but for a great deal of time you’re just both sitting there in silence as he stares at you. You ask him multiple times if he’s feeling alright, to which he wordlessly nods, but you’re not quite convinced. You assure him that he need not be nervous with you, because he can say anything, and you will be happy to listen. William seems to take these words as encouragement and he stands up, taking a deep breath, before beginning to pace around the room. He’s barely able to keep eye contact with you as he begins listing all the things he admires about you, and you’re pretty sure you know where this is going but you don’t want to make assumptions (though you have been courting for a while, so you’re not exactly surprised).

He even gets a little self-deprecating at one point, where he ponders over whether he’s even good enough for you, to which you speak up and tell him that of course he is. William smiles and blushes before getting back to his speech. Eventually he finishes and finally turns to look at you, looking as if he may faint. Shakily, he kneels down in front of you, before asking very quietly if you’ll do him the honour of becoming his wife. Of course, you say yes, and he looks baffled for a moment before grabbing your hand and kissing it a few times (you can tell that he’s crying a little bit but you choose to say nothing of it). You’d love to actually kiss him properly, but you know that you’re not truly alone and it would be improper. Besides, you’ll have all the time in the world for that once you’re married.

Chris Pitt-Goddard

Chris’ proposal seems to come out of nowhere. You’re cuddled up on the sofa watching TV when he just randomly asks you to marry him. You’re pretty sure he’s just messing with you at first – you’d heard from Tim that Chris believes that marriage is just a useless institution that the government uses to keep tabs on people – so you just laugh it off. But when Chris pulls out the ring he bought for you you’re pretty sure it’s no joke. It looks obscenely expensive, and you have no idea he could have afforded it on a teacher’s salary (spoiler alert: he definitely stole a bunch of money through various schemes to buy it for you). He looks up at you from where his head is resting on your chest with a massive goofy grin as he awaits your reply. You’re surprised for sure, but you can’t say that you’re anywhere close to disappointed, so of course you say “yes”. Chris tries to play it cool, though he’s still grinning, before leaning in to kiss you, leaving whatever show you were watching to be forgotten in the background.

Requests for fics/drabbles, headcanons, and character preferences are currently OPEN!

[clydethesnake]

Who I Will Write

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Peter Parker (mcu)

Slash

Duff McKagan

Izzy Stradlin

James Hetfield

Kirk Hammett

Jamie Winton

Thomas Thorne

Tyko

What I will write

Fluff

Angst

Smut (underage characters MUST be aged up)

What I won't write

rape / non-con

pedophilia

incest

racism

abuse

at the moment I will not be writing x male! readers, I do not feel comfortable doing it (I don't know how to). I might in the future but for now please do not send me requests for male reader.

[effloradox]

stop dreaming of the quiet life (it’s one we’ll never know)

I am not immune to Mat Baynton’s good looks even when he’s playing a cyberterrorist I’m afraid 🫡 also y'know I love a man who I'd forget my morals for and Ariel is,, filling that brief

Pairing: Ariel Conroy x Reader

Prompt: “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

Warnings: It’s Ariel so it’s not the healthiest of relationships, (sort of) choking, manipulation, (sort of) toxic relationship (Reader loves Ariel and is there by choice but y'know he's not the most upstanding of guys), takes place just before canon

-

It’s a beautiful evening. It’s something you can really appreciate out here in the middle of nowhere, where the stars shine brighter than you can ever recall seeing them back home. New Mexico hadn’t been somewhere high on your travel list initially but now you’re here it is nice to take a moment to appreciate it. Things have been so hectic recently that it’s almost nice to have a moment to yourself. You've certainly stayed in worse safe houses.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.” Ariel’s voice cuts through the silence of the night and you can tell he’s partially annoyed at you. You know he hates not knowing exactly where you are at any given moment, especially when he’s been busy working and away from the safe house. You’d taken to carrying your laptop around with you for the past few days since you know he can always watch you through it so he knows you’re safe, occasionally waving or blowing a kiss in its general direction to keep yourself entertained.

“If you checked the cameras you would’ve seen me straight away.” You’d chosen your spot on the grass carefully, making sure that you were visible on two different cameras aimed at the exterior of the house but he clearly hadn’t checked. He wasn’t due back for another day or two, though you can’t say you’re surprised he’s here. He’s never liked leaving you by yourself for long. Not that you blame him. Being a wanted cyberterrorist isn’t exactly the safest job in the world.

You can hear the soft padding of shoes on grass as he walks towards you, only stopping when he finally appears in your line of sight. He won’t join you on the artificial grass, too many germs, but he extends a gloved hand to you to help pull you to your feet. Once you’re on your feet he pulls you into him, one hand resting lightly on the back of your neck as the other keeps you snug against him.

“We’ll be going again in a few hours. Max is getting the van ready so we can go before sunrise.” You let out a soft hum at his words, your arms moving to his waist so you can hug him back.

“I’ll miss you.” He pulls away from you after you speak, dark eyes conveying an emotion you can’t quite place.

“You’re coming with us.” You frown at that, confusion swarming your mind.

“Why?” The question slips out without you meaning for it to, and you wince slightly at the displeased frown that appears on Ariel’s face. You don’t mean to doubt him but after two years of him keeping you far from any Deus Ex activities it’s hard to understand why he’s bringing you along to a prison break of all things.

“You’re safer there with me than here by yourself.” Despite everything, you believe that. Ariel can be a vicious man if the right situation arises, and he wouldn’t put you into a dangerous situation if he wasn’t prepared to handle it personally. “Unless you don’t trust me to keep you safe.”

When you don’t speak, his expression darkens and the hand on your neck begins to add pressure as he squeezes it. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but you need to choose your next words carefully. The last thing you want is to upset him when he’s only just come home.

It used to bother you when he acted like this, but after a few years you understand the man in front of you almost as well as you understand yourself. He’s a man who’s been cast aside and betrayed by people he should've been able to trust a lot in his life. In these moments all he’s searching for is reassurance that you won’t hurt him the way everyone else in his life has. Over time that’s a skill you’ve honed quite well.

“You know I trust you with my life Ariel.” When you answer him, you do your best to maintain eye contact to show that you’re being sincere. Whatever he wants from you, you seem to fulfil as the pressure on your neck is removed, and he leans forward to press a kiss against your forehead.

"I do." When he moves away from you, you close the gap once again to press a kiss softly on his lips.

“I’ll go pack my things, yeah?"

[battybumboy]

And he was falling || Thomas Thorne

Im pretty sure this is the first reader insert about BBC’s Ghosts that anyone’s made- let alone with Thomas Thorne. Let me know what you think.

P.S. this is what I do instead of sleeping when I’m meant to.

-🍯Xx

❗️Female!reader ❗️

The readers occupation and life status is a suprise. 👀👀

Icy wind blew the trees sideways like poor boney hands open to receive the first thing that was placed into them. Clouds coated the sky in a thick woollen blanket, impenetrable by the sun.

Rain spat down making ripples in the solitude lake below like tears in a murky, cold bath and the temperature was cold enough for one not to bare without a thick coat.

The ghost submerged neck-deep in said lake did not feel the bitter chill of the icy waters, nor did he feel the wind through the thick chocolatey curls piled upon his head- he was dead and had been for over a hundred years.

The ghost in question was a very upset Thomas Thorne who had stormed off after a row that had ended with his fellow housemate and ghost, the Captain, shouting.

It’s not that he wasn’t used to being scrutinised by his peers but the words that were shouted were ones that hurt. ‘Nobody cares about you or your rubbish poetry and your failed love life. Grow up Thorne.’

‘Does nobody really care?’ Thoughts plagued Thomas’ mind. The fear of truth in the soldier’s words alone stung as painful as the sting of an angry wasp. ‘Maybe he’s right. Why do I even bother with harbouring these feelings for fair Alison anyway?’

It wasn’t to far a stretch for the young poet to understand that the only living woman in the house didn’t reciprocate his feelings but he never failed to try and take his shot at happiness.

The lake water didn’t soak his clothing and the sludge at the bottom didn’t make a mark on his dainty, heeled plimsolls which for the living would be abnormal... maybe even a miracle depending on the situation but for ghosts, this was a daily part of their excistance. A constant reminder that nothing living related to them anymore.

The soft sound of heavy boots came trudging from along the banks of the almighty pool of water; which Thomas, being his melodramatic self, pretended to pay no heed to- his head still facing the other direction in a rather distressed manor.

He could hear the unnamed footprints stop at the waters edge and a weight slump down on to the muddy earth beneath them. He had to push down the small flicker of hope that perhaps this person came to coax him inside due to genuine concern as he continued to listen for clues as to who the mystery person was.

“Thorne..?” Came the warm yet strong and slightly gravely female voice of another housemate. The being in question was a person who was there before him and had subtly helped him through his death. A young pirate by the name of Y/N.

Y/N was an anomaly of her time- one of the only female captains of any ship... let alone pirates. She had died a while before Thorne, no one knew how. It was one of the many secrets that only the walls of the house could know. The walls of the house... and the deceased herself.

She had watched Thomas through, not only his death, but his life too, holding the knowledge of all the mishaps through the love-starved poets life. The amount of times he had been let down was not a pretty number. She knew how silence could drive him to hatred and overthinking, which, in Y/N’s opinion was surely much worse than any grudge that anyone could bare on the dandy poet.

So there she was. At the side of a lake watching every flicker of movement from Thomas with steady, watchful eyes.

“Have the others convinced you to come and get me or are you here to taunt me too? ” the poet jabbed, cursing himself for sounding harcher than he had intended. He enjoyed attention and didn’t want to waste it.

“No.” Came her sincere reply, “I’m here to tell you something.”

“I am in no mood to be patronised by some fony pirate!”

“I’m not here to poke fun at you, Thorne! I have more decency than the others and I know better than to worsen your mood when you’re in this state.” she exclaimed, honesty lacing her voice.

“Lay open then! I was in the middle of hard work!” he bit his toungue at how impolite he was being. She only wanted to tell him something and perhaps fetch him from the lake. It wasn’t like he enjoyed being there, he was just too stubborn to get back to land without someone coming to get him first.

“I just want to tell you that I heard your argument with Cap- yes I know it’s bad of me to not call him captain but he still isn’t telling us his name-” the first part of Y/N’s speech sent Thomas’ stomach plummeting at the thought of her siding with the Captain. He didn’t know why he cared so much about how she felt but he pushed away his thoughts, turning to the pirate and nodding for her to continue, “I assumed you need to know that I disagree.”

The poets eyebrow rose as he fully turned to face the woman. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean what I say. He’s wrong. Someone cares about you.”

“Who? Name a single person who has ever bothered to look at me twice! You can’t! Because no one cares for a melodramatic washed up poet. Go on. Try your best to name a single person who cares!” Thomas responded, exasperatedly.

“Me! I care.” The pirate said, her voice soft as the realisation dawned on the poet’s face. The realisation that she had always been there no matter how much he rambled, no matter how cold he was or how unbothered she seemed... yet he never took her acknowledgment into consideration.

“Oh.” The poet responded, the lines in his forehead ironing out and his snarky tone dropping as a fluttery feeling sprung up in his chest.

“Well. C’mon Thorne. You can’t stand in this lake all night... if we were able to feel temperature I’d tell you that it was warmer inside. Besides... don’t want to miss your turn on the tele-vis-ion.” Y/N said, standing up and brushing the imaginary dirt off of her long navy blue jacket with her oversized shirt cuffs and offering her other hand to the quiet man who begrudgingly took it and climbed up onto the muddy bank.

The silence between the two was comfortable and understanding, a newly found middle ground for the unlikely duo.

The silence was broken as Y/N turned to the poet, “If you need anyone to talk to- about anything at all... I’m always here.” She chuckled before adding, “I mean, I can’t physically go anywhere else... so I always will be here, but you get my point.”

It was as if a mask had been unveiled from Y/N’s face, for Thomas had began to see her in a different light. A light that shone brighter that any star he had ever seen. Walking along with her, her weapons swinging in their holsters below her jacket causing a soothing rhythm of clicking and tapping. It made a new sensation form in the bottom of his stomach. Her presence, not only felt authoritative but also slightly homely, the homely feeling he had never felt from another woman, whether they were one he was trying to woo or not.

Thomas quietly chuckled in agreement before the two returned to the understanding silence.

When he first met the intriguing pirate she had been loud and seemingly unbothered by the fact of her death. She was friendly, he would go as far as to say that she was friends with the other dead members of the house, but he was convinced it was her being the charismatic pirate she was.

In all honesty... he never truly noticed her. Upon his death and meeting the ghosts, it was like moving into a new house and you never notice how beautiful the design on one of the ceilings are... until one day you do and you immediately fall in love with how much character it has. She was just a piece of unmovable furniture to Thomas, who had just noticed her...

And he was falling.

____________________________________

Ok. Hoped you liked it. I might make it into a series if it gets enough positive feedback. Constructive criticism only please! And also, please don’t steal 😊 Have a nice day/night dears! xx

Find and read part two here

https://miss-letters.tumblr.com/post/619380849732911104/but-he-was-falling-pt-2-thomas-thorne

[inawearyworld]

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.

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter i

florence fickelgruber, the famed chocolatier's idealistic young wife, ponders her past, her regrets, and her longing for a change. guess what? she finds one.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.7k

chapter one is a shit ton of exposition for the character, but i promise you, dear timothee fans, the content you're here for is coming. i tried to capture the dahl style of storytelling (without, yknow, the racism and fatphobia and all that) which was so fun. this character essentially popped into my head last night, and the story will follow her development through the plot of the movie. after i left the theater, i realized i'd painted my nails to match mat’s costumes without realizing, and then suddenly WHOOM there she was. almost like magic. :)

enjoy!!

(also. even if the cartel’s offices don’t actually have balconies, THEY DO NOW.)

part two fic masterlist

"Free if you Truly Wish to Be", or, "the Chronicles of the Songbird", being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.

Things were…fine.

In a world such as this one, there was very little luxury for a girl such as herself to hatch, nurture, and follow a dream. It would spark up in the purest of fashions and launch onto its way, glittering with promise of a life’s hopes fulfilled, only for the world around it to force it down a path of compromise and disillusionment until the dream’s poor follower found it nearly unrecognizable.

Such was the lot of Mrs. Florence Fickelgruber’s passion for performance. Long before either of these names were attached to her, she knew she longed to spend her life swept up in poetry and music, creating a better world through the arts she loved.

That dream, she often swore to herself, had not died.

It had simply…not turned out as planned.

For now, at least.

For a little over the past two years, more specifically.

It would have been nice to have the means and time to try to make her own fortune, to experience a sweeping romance with someone her own age, to live in a world fair enough that allowed her to both support her now-faraway family and live according to her ideals; it would have been nice indeed.

But for now, life was not quite nice, but fine. The sleekly fonted Fs that monogrammed nearly every surface in the mansion in which she lived had stood during the beginning months for her husband’s, and now her own, alliterative names. Now, she only saw them as golden signifiers of things being nothing more than Fine.

She was currently perched on an emerald-colored fainting couch in her husband’s office that, despite its plush craftsmanship, had lost any semblance of comfort long ago. She sat, and she considered the striking portrait of the two of them that hung over the fireplace, which they’d posed for when she’d still thought this was a good idea: a self-satisfied smirk rested on his face, and her emerald-manicured hand rested on his chest (intended by her to show her devotion, intended by the artist to show her ornate ring). She sat, and she looked into the hall, and she sat, and she stared out the window for a time, and she sat. Eventually, she picked up a set of paper and an emerald-set quill.

“What’s that you’re writing, darling?” came Felix’s voice from across the room, and she nearly sighed in annoyance, a direct contrast to the way her head snapped toward the sound.

There shouldn’t be a melody to that voice, she thought. Not when he only seems to initiate conversation at the exact moments I’ve decided to do something for myself.

“To the opera house,” she responded as he entered the room.

“Again? I thought they’d rejected you.”

“On the grounds that they were scared to hire me, they said, lest they write my role not fully to your liking and lose their concessions wares because of it.”

“Pish, posh.”

“Do you think, my love,” she asked, standing and moving to him, “that…well, would you dictate something I can write here, to reassure them? They’ll take your word over mine.”

“There wouldn’t be a point,” he said flippantly. “Besides, they’re right. Just keep singing for my radio commercials, darling; the customers love it. I can’t imagine you needing anything else. They’re installing our new grand piano next week, you can have all the little fun you’d like on that…”

Throughout this speech, he’d been digging through the pockets of his impeccably tailored blazer, eventually producing a cigarette.

“Give me a light, pet?”

She gritted her teeth as she lit his cigarette, and he brought it to his lips with a smile. She hated when he called her that.

It used to make her feel…wanted, wanted when nobody else did.

Now it just felt…

“I want to share my work,” she said, pushing aside the previous thoughts and pushing forward the previous conversation. “I want to have a genuine impact on the world.”

“And you will, I swear it. Once Fickelgruber Chocolate’s advertisements started using your voice, sales went up nearly twenty percent, and they’re only growing; if that’s not impact, what is?”

With that, he kissed her before she could give an answer-there was a time I would have romanticized that taste of cigarette smoke-took the half-finished letter, folded it so crisply it nearly ripped, and tossed it into the gold-leaf wastebasket.

“Felix-”

“Just wait until the new radio spots are released. It’ll be marvelous, darling.”

She should have known this was how it would be.

It had seemed too good to be true in the moment. To receive, after a performance in her home city, not only the praises of a world-famous chocolatier but also an offer to travel to and perform in his world-famous city, and later a proposal-albeit more businesslike than romantic-to be set for life, to provide for her struggling family; although, she’d come to learn, her husband would have wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her if he had known of her humble origins.

He’d just never bothered to ask.

Well, save for once-

“I assume you come from a good family?”

“Oh, yes, they’re the warmest souls you could ever-”

“Wonderful.”

I grew up nowhere near those obsessions with reputation; how was I to know he meant “good” in that sense?

Before she truly knew him, she had liked him. Felix was undeniably smart, and not unhandsome; she thought him to have a solid wit and an intriguing way of speech, with eyes and hands that would have been attractive on a kinder man. The clean lines and deep green hues that seemed to follow him everywhere suited her well, and she used to have reason to believe that association with him might give her a platform to create positive change, that he saw her as an equal in ambition and intellect.

Once they were married, once she’d seen him with the rest of his Cartel and realized the depth of his disdain, arrogance, classism, and general apathy for anything that was not himself, that reason to believe had dwindled faster than a sweet drop of hot chocolate on a waiting tongue.

…Not to mention that I could practically see him almost rescind his proposal when he learned I’m lactose intolerant.

But she’d suffered through the resulting throataches and occasional days of less-than-stellar singing that came with the barrage of dairy-filled sweets as she was announced to the world as the famed chocolatier’s fiancee, telling their story (which Felix embellished quite often) to the press over and over again.

“Yes, that’s right,” she remembered him saying on the television broadcast that announced the engagement, “my little songbird has finally found her golden cage.”

She had winced, forced to make it seem like a smile in the face of the blinding sea of flashbulbs. That had been the first moment in which she couldn’t ignore the deeper feeling that this was wrong, and she wondered if anyone watching would notice her flash of pain.

What she didn’t know was that, thousands of miles away, in the middle of a far-off ocean, a boy on a ship had been holding a tiny transmission screen (assisted somewhat by magic in order to obtain a stronger signal), eager to see the news about one of his idols, and that, despite his core tendency to give the benefit of the doubt, that idol lost a bit of his respect that day.

I shouldn’t have done this.

But if my family was still starving, all because I wanted to wait for someone kinder, someone who’d support my dreams, I couldn’t forgive myself.

She was startled from her thoughts by a shout calling from below the office, followed by…

A song.

Felix discarded his cigarette and went to the window, posturing into a lean against its frame, and Florence followed. His arm slunk around her waist, so her hand found its way to his chest; it was the portrait pose again, the frozen frame, the unspoken understanding.

I do love acting.

But I don’t know how much longer I can take a life of…offstage performances.

The boy in the center of the Galeria, though, seemed not to be putting on a persona for the crowd, but rather infusing his entire soul into his song to them. He was indeed meaning to sell something, but his passion for it shone brightly in a way she’d never seen from a businessman, present company included. The people that were starting to surround this young man hailed from all walks of life, and he beamed at them all with the same sunlit smile.

With a flourish, he opened the lid of the jar of candy that he held, and-

Oh!-

Each piece of chocolate had flown from its container and flitted into the air, leading to a gasp of delight from the crowd. Florence was able to suppress her own squeal, but couldn’t stop a flex of the hand, involuntarily causing her to grasp her husband’s tie.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Fickelgruber said, clearly misunderstanding his wife’s reaction, and with the tone of his voice clearly opposite of his words. “His charm over them will be…short-lived. Our business is perfectly safe.”

The boy finished his song to rapturous applause, and it took every ounce of Florence’s theatrical training to keep from joining it. She felt a shift next to her, and looked to the side to see her husband making pointed eye contact with his colleagues in their respective offices. The smirk that used to set her soul aflame-before she’d learned what it could mean-formed slowly across his face.

“Florence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Go home.”

“I-”

“We’ll take care of him. Go home.”

Saying this, he left her side and swiftly went out of the office, presumably to join forces with the rest of the Cartel in terrorizing the poor young man.

The moment Felix’s presence could no longer be felt, Florence let out a breath.

Turning back to the window, she considered the boy, who was wholly wrapped up in the joy of his work having an impact on those who witnessed it.

Tentatively, and with the slight smile of a small rebellion, she turned the window’s handle and stepped out onto the office’s balcony.

She wouldn’t let his light be dimmed in the same way she thought hers was.

And she would certainly not go home.

[inawearyworld]

Free if you Truly Wish to Be,

or, the Chronicles of the Songbird,

being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.

(a wonka x oc fic in which fickelgruber’s idealistic young wife, who married rich for the need to support her family and the hope to follow her dream of a life on the stage, longs for a chance to make a change and finds it in the form of the daringly earnest newcomer.)

chapter list

chapter i

chapter ii

chapter iii

chapter iv

chapter v

prologue/epilogue

[inawearyworld]

music makers/dreamers of dreams: a fiytwtb addition

a study of wren's relationship with music at two pivotal points, and music's relationship to the world of wonka as a whole

2023!wonka x oc (though lbr there is also a SIZABLE dose of fickelgruber), ~1.9k

alrighty SO. i was thinking more about this dang movie (as you can probably see by the rest of this blog) and all those thoughts came here. i am a big ole motherfreakin nerd for music and shakespeare and many other things, and therefore so is wren.

also this takes place in the universe of the original screenplay (in which pure imagination is first sung by noodle as she teaches willy to read). my take on that song here in general is more like the original in the 70s movie; there’s just Somethin About It Man.

alrighty, enjoy, like comment reblog etc, love yall <3

fic masterlist

“We are the Music Makers, and We are the Dreamers of Dreams”, being a Prologue and Epilogue to “the Chronicles of the Songbird”, regarding the Songs in question and their Bird, one Wren Matterson.

Two Years and Eight Months Prior to Chapter One

This had been a very odd evening.

Wren had been put up in a luxury hotel for the amount of time she’d agreed to stay in the city, which had taken quite a bit of getting used to. Coming back to her room after a day of work voicing advertisements, she had noticed a crisply thrice-folded paper slipped under her door, held together with an emerald wax seal.

Yes, that was where the oddness had started.

She’d torn the seal, read the note conveyed by a cursive hand so elaborate it nearly caused a headache, and crinkled her brow.

She’d opened the door to her room’s closet, faced with the sight of a dress, stole, and gloves of deep green velvet that she soon learned were impossibly well-tailored.

She’d followed the address of the note, becoming even more confused when it led her to the city’s cathedral, but presented it to the bishop as instructed. He had looked her up and down and ushered her into what turned out to be an elevator.

She’d continued through the corridors, growing more and more curious and undeniably uneasy, greeted by a woman with tired eyes whom she wished she could have truly talked to. Any attempt at conversation that Wren made, though, was interrupted by whispers that came from the other side of the heavy door-

“The two of you must stay mostly in shadow, she won’t agree if she recognizes you and knows of our arrangement too early.”

“Are-are you sure of her, then, Felix, if she’s too-”

“Oh, do shut up, Gerald, she’ll certainly come around by the time we’ve-besides, you know you owe me one-”

“Gentlemen, please. Let’s just focus on the…ahem…altered choreography.”

“You can’t be in the center all the time, Arthur, it so happens that for this particular-”

“Fine, fine. Miss Bonbon, lights at the ready?”

And then the guard had cleared her throat, the whispers had ceased, and Wren went inside, asking if this summoning was for some sort of rerecording session.

And that was how she had gotten to this point, whatever point this was.

The evening’s oddness now found her the focal point of a whirling tango, a display so dizzying she barely knew which way was up. It was a teenaged fever-dream fantasy come to life, colored lights flooding and hands on her waist and trembling twixt-verse vamps and velvet and tweed and silk.

It was a too-sweet overwhelm of something, but at least it was something at all.

The lighting was such that she couldn’t tell exactly where she was, but she realized that, in that moment, she didn’t care. There was a taste of dark mint chocolate in the air, and she became aware that at some point a massive necklace of dewdrop emeralds had been clasped around her neck by a deft, grazing touch and was now dappling her collarbone as she was twirled, dipped, tossed, thrown.

Most inescapable of all was Felix Fickelgruber’s voice in her ear, accompanied by tight harmonies that came from seemingly nowhere, promising her every speck of security and influence that she’d been in need of her whole life. Any question or dissent from Wren was smoothly dismissed in rhyme, and even when she could get a few words in, they somehow always came out in rhythm.

It was almost as if her innate tendency to musicianship overruled any resistance.

It was almost as if he’d known that would be the case.

The realization was alarming and delicious all at once, and with the current sensation of melodies pronounced against her neck, she was inclined to focus on the latter.

The music from nowhere started to build, shifting from the driving tango into a blasting Broadway finale. Clear-toned horns, stunningly blaring lights, this sauntering silhouette with his sea-of-chocolate eyes calling her by a new name-it was too much, one quiet thought piped up, something’s being hidden.

“You’ll be living so high, don’t refuse my-”

Then the lights dimmed further and all else seemed to disappear, save for Felix and the sound of one solo violin.

“-question it took all this to confess.”

The violin threw in a chromatic accent, adding to her held-back and long-delayed swoon, and she realized the next line was hers.

“Don’t know if I should play it…”

“Darling, won’t you say it?”

Then his hand was lifting her face, and there was silence for the first time in what felt like ages.

She was backed up against a wall, not only in metaphor.

There was only one syllable left in the stanza, and only one possible rhyme.

“Yes.”

She let out a breath, which was soon caught up into his own as violins swooped into a sickeningly soaring final beat.

A Few Minutes Following Chapter Five

The librarian that had been the first in this city to give Wren a kind smile all that time ago was standing on her steps, hugging her daughter, who looked as if she was finally breathing for the first time in her fourteen years.

Without question, this was the most beautiful thing that the other woman had ever witnessed.

Something close to the same was probably true, too, for the man who stood beside her.

“If you want to view paradise, simply look at them and view it.”

He’d sung to Noodle to encourage her as they approached the library, a lilting melody that he was currently continuing-to himself now, and with tears in his voice.

“Somebody to hold onto; it’s all we really need.”

They both knew Noodle would stay in touch with them, they knew they were more than happy for her, but they were still touched with tears. Wren had her own bond with the girl, but she knew Willy would miss her the most out of everyone, so she took his arm, and they leaned on each other.

“Nothing else to it.”

He was probably thinking of his own mom, too.

And she was thinking of hers.

They’d finally been able to write back and forth again; Wren had read over and over the two years’ worth of her family’s letters, remembering all the time she’d spent worrying and wondering aloud to Felix why she’d never gotten a letter from them. He’d always flicked her words away, assured her they must have simply been busy, that the mail these days was spotty; his voice was always sweet and smooth on those days, and she’d allowed it to comfort her when she thought nothing else could.

Never again.

She’d written pages of apologies and explanations to her mom, pouring every ounce of love into that paper, and receiving the reply felt like a world-heavy weight off of her shoulders.

It was the same feeling that she knew her friend was feeling now, that her new love had felt in spirit just minutes ago.

They held each other, certain and close within the shared tinge of loneliness.

“So goes a good deed in a weary world.”

They turned to see the Oompa-Loompa just down the path, looking between them, his eyebrows going up a bit when his gaze found Wren.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wonka,” he said half-sarcastically, “it seems I’ve misquoted in the presence of your aficionado of the Bard. ‘So shines a good deed in a naughty-’”

“It’s fine,” she laughed. “Portia’s…not exactly the most admirable of characters to need to quote correctly, anyway.”

“Quite right.”

“And I do like ‘weary’,” Willy mused. “It’s not what’s written, but it…”

“Just feels better,” Wren agreed, and Willy smiled at her before turning back to the Oompa-Loompa.

“I was wondering if I’d see you again.”

One negotiation later, the three were walking across an old bridge to a castle of ruin that nearly took Wren’s breath away. There was history in these old stones, so much life, so much room to dream.

“It’s beautiful, Willy.”

“Just wait,” he said with a grin.

“It was sweet, by the way, what you sang to Noodle. How did you find that melody?”

“It was hers, actually. Seems the idea of imagination can…”

He trailed off when the church bells tolled in a way that Wren had never heard them ring before.

High B flat, low A, low B flat.

High B flat, low A, low B flat.

High B flat, low A, low B flat.

Over the ostinato, she started to hum Noodle’s melody, and Willy stopped in his tracks, looking straight at her.

“What?” Wren said.

“...It fits.”

“Yeah, perfectly,” she smiled.

“Keep going,” Willy said, getting that sort of shimmer in his eye that usually came when he’d thought up some sort of wonderful new idea. “You’re the only person I’ve known who sees beauty in an old ruined castle-not only what it could be, but even just what it is. So”-overwashed with thoughts, he took her hands and kissed them, the dreamer in his element, and she laughed, and the Oompa-Loompa rolled his eyes, and Willy grinned, leading them into the castle-“so, Wren, my dear Wren-tell me what you hear.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and let it come. The possibility of the place, the fulfillment of the past few weeks, the melancholy and wonder, the magic that had entered her life.

“Start with a minor chord on the second,” she said softly, slowly. “Repeat your first few notes, let it fall into the five, then-then it goes to that major seventh.”

She swooned into the unexpected chord, then realized that, as she was murmuring each suggestion, it was blooming into full orchestral realization behind the chocolatier’s voice. At the same time, the castle’s courtyard was starting to take shape; the crumbling walls returned to their speckled glory, a beautiful domed ceiling of glass appeared from nowhere, and colorful ingredient pipes started to snake around each corner. Willy’s eyes widened with wonderstruck joy as his creation came to life, and he and Wren looked at each other with equal and mirrored pride.

For his part, the Oompa Loompa started to seem the slightest bit impressed, which the couple took as a win, smiling in awe as they danced into the space.

“We’ll begin with a spin, traveling-”

“One, two, diminished flat three…”

“-in the world of my creation!”

He was the taste and the sight, she was the sound and the sense.

“What we’ll see…”

“Two-five…”

“…will defy…”

The dance came to a pause, and he turned to her, eyes shimmering with anticipatory trust.

The answer came to her as a miracle would.

Your wheel mixes its chocolate, my song mixes its mode. Subvert their expectations, my love, just like you always have.

“Major three,” she said breathlessly, and-

“Explanation.”

The chord ricocheted through the space, and something like a sigh of a laugh escaped them both. Then the bridge came, soaring and swooping with a much truer hope than anything she’d ever heard before.

Wren Matterson had always loved music-it had been once her lifeline, then her work, then the thing that had held her in place. But now, it didn’t have a betraying hold on her, no-now it was hers, born of inspiration from those she loved, coursing through her skin with a warmth unlike anything she’d ever felt.

Perhaps there wasn’t exactly nothing to it, but they had indeed changed quite a bit of the world, and she had the feeling that they’d only just begun.

“There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Living there, you’ll be free if you truly wish to be.”

[agir1ukn0w]

he’s beauty, he’s grace, I want to tie him to my bed and do unspeakable things to his face

[jamiewintons]

Mat Baynton Characters + Someone Walks In On You

Characters: Thomas Thorne, Jamie Winton, Ariel Conroy, Bill Shakespeare, William Agar, Chris Pitt-Goddard

Tags/Warnings: S*xual Content (I don’t really go into details, but the implication is there).

A/N: Requested by an anon, who is apparently trying to help me overcome my embarrassment about writing these kinds of things. Please don’t read if you’re under 18. And as always, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

*

Thomas Thorne

When someone walks in on the two of you during a private moment, Thomas is embarrassed, of course, but he’s more concerned about you. He’ll try and cover you up to the best of your ability if you’re too shocked to do so yourself. How likely he is to snap at the person who walked in depends on who it is, and how quickly they leave the room, but he’ll definitely be annoyed at the interruption regardless. If someone makes any jokes or comments about it later, he’ll get quite riled up — especially if the comments are aimed towards you — and will probably get into a fight over it.

Jamie Winton

When you and Jamie are interrupted while in bed together, his face goes bright red, and he is likely to get a little bit snappy with whoever it is that walked in, semi-politely asking them to leave (if we’re being realistic, it’s probably Dave, who would definitely think the whole situation is very funny). Once the two of you are alone again, Jamie will be an embarrassed mess, and you’ll have to stop what you were doing to comfort him and assure him that it’s not that bad. He’s mumbling under his breath about how the one time he forgets to lock the door, this is what happens. If he’s reminded of the incident again later, he’ll go all red again and want to leave the room.

Ariel Conroy

Ariel is not happy when someone walks in on the two of you together. He hates that someone else has seen you in such a compromising situation, because you’re his and these kinds of things should be for his eyes only. He’ll definitely end up yelling at whoever walked in, threatening and chastising them for not being polite enough to knock before entering a room. After you’re alone again, he’ll be perfectly willing to get back down to business, but he may be a little bit rougher with you than before due to being so frustrated over other people’s incompetence.

Bill Shakespeare

Bill isn't too bothered about being caught, but he’ll make sure to get the other person out as quickly as possible. Once it’s just the two of you again, he’ll probably crack some dumb joke to try and lighten the mood, though if the joke doesn’t land because you’re feeling too embarrassed, he’ll try his best to comfort you and let you know that you have nothing to be ashamed of. If you want to keep going once you’ve calmed down, he’ll be happy to, but he’ll also be fine to stop if that’s what you want instead.

William Agar

William pretty much goes into shock when someone catches the two of you together, regardless of who it is. He won't be able to get a word out, so you'll have to be responsible for getting the other person to leave and restoring your privacy. He might take a while to settle his nerves enough to be able to speak again, and even then he'll most likely be too shaken to continue what you had been doing, which of course, you're understand. If someone brings up the situation later, he'll go back into shock again.

Chris Pitt-Goddard

Chris isn’t really that embarrassed that you’ve been caught, but he is quite irritated that the intrusion has brought things to a standstill. He’ll be very impatient for the other person to leave so the two of you can continue as soon as possible, and will shoo them out of the room if need be. As soon as they're gone, he'll just look at you with a smile and ask "so, where were we?", and will be very enthusiastic to get straight back to it, almost as if you were never interrupted.

Requests for fics/drabbles, headcanons, and character preferences are currently OPEN!

[jamiewintons]

Mat Baynton Characters + Waking Up Beside Them For The First Time

Characters: Thomas Thorne, Jamie Winton, Ariel Conroy, Bill Shakespeare, William Agar, Chris Pitt-Goddard.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff. Very mild s*xual references, only if you squint though.

A/N: Requested by an anon. And surprise, I've replaced Yonderland Chris with a different Chris. I hope you enjoy, and as always, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated.

*

Thomas Thorne

Thomas wakes up before you, unable to stop himself from gazing at you and marveling at how beautiful you look in the soft morning light. His smile only grows when your eyes begin to flutter open, and words cannot describe the joy he feels when you sleepily move closer to him and rest your head against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, and thinks to himself about how lucky he is, that he'll be waking up with you like this every morning from now on.

Jamie Winton

You and Jamie both awake to the sound of his alarm - which he had forgotten to turn off - and your lovely, romantic moment of waking up in his arms is ruined by his mad scrambling to try and make the noise stop. Once you've settled back down, you can't help but feel a little bit shy, both of you blushing and smiling at each other softly, murmuring quiet "good morning"s. After allowing yourselves the chance to properly wake up, Jamie makes you breakfast and you can safely say that it's the happiest morning you've had.

Ariel Conroy

Ariel is surprisingly very clingy to you in his sleep, and you wake up to find yourself wrapped up in his arms so tightly that even if you wanted to leave, you wouldn't be able to. It's honestly nice to see him like this, so calm and peaceful, quite the contrast to how he is when he's awake. The day to come was bound to be crazy and unpredictable - with Ariel, every day tended to be - so you enjoy this nice, quiet moment while it lasts.

Bill Shakespeare

Technically you don't wake up beside Bill, even though you're expecting to. When you open your eyes and don't see him there, you're confused, looking around the room, only to see him sitting at the little desk by the bed, writing away. When he notices you're awake, he looks over at you and smiles, setting his quill down. He tells you that he awoke feeling rather inspired, and had to get the words down before they left his mind. Bill asks if you want to hear what he's written, and what he reads to you is the most lovely, romantic poem you've ever heard in your life. Now that's over with, he happily gets back into bed to cuddle with you for a while.

William Agar

William honestly looks baffled when he wakes up beside you, and his expression ends up concerning you so much that you have to ask him if he's alright. He tells you that he is perfectly fine, it's just that part of him had believed that the night before had just been a dream and he would wake up alone. But, he admits - quietly, as his cheeks go bright red - that he's very glad that it wasn't a dream. You have to agree. He stays with you as long as he possibly can, before duty calls and he must go off to work.

Chris Pitt-Goddard

When you wake up, Chris is still fast asleep, snoring softly with his face buried in your chest. You can't help but giggle a bit at this, but you know that since it's a weekday, you have to wake him up. When you do, he whines, telling you he wants to stay in bed all day. You try to tell him that he has to go to work, but he retorts that it's P.E so it doesn't really matter, the kids will be fine without him. In the end, he convinces you to call off sick from work and stay with him, and you can't bring yourself to regret it.

Requests for fics/drabbles, headcanons, and character preferences are currently OPEN!

[jamiewintons]

I just wanna advertise the Baynton Babes Discord server again since I haven’t done it in a long time :)

Basically it’s a Mat Baynton appreciation server that’s mainly focused on x reader/self-insert type stuff. It’s NSFW, so you have to be 18+ and comfortable with sexual topics to join.

There will be some dead dove topics discussed, though there is a separate channel for those things that you can block if they make you uncomfortable (we don’t allow discussions about incest however, it’s a triggering topic for multiple people in the server)

All in all I want to try and keep a chill environment. There’s been some drama lately and I want to get through that.

If this sounds like something you might be interested in, please feel free to DM me and ask for the link! Please have your age in your bio though because I don’t want to let any minors in.