My Fav Writer Following Me Back?!? Ahhhhh

Uncle Moony and Siri 🌟

Uncle Moony and Uncle Siri visit

[regulus black x fem potter! reader]

warnings: fluff

It was a quiet morning at the Potter-Black household, the kind that Y/N had learned to cherish. The storm from the night before had passed, leaving behind a crisp autumn breeze that drifted through the open windows. Harry sat cross-legged on the living room floor, carefully stacking his wooden blocks, his tongue peeking out in concentration.

Regulus was sitting in the armchair, a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other, looking as composed as ever. Y/N was beside Harry on the rug, sorting through his toys when suddenly—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The front door shook under the weight of impatient knocking.

Regulus barely looked up from his book. “I am not answering that,” he muttered, sipping tea.

Y/N sighed, already knowing who it was. “If we ignore him, he’ll just keep knocking louder.”

Sure enough—BANG. BANG. BA—

“Alright, alright!” Y/N called as she stood up and approached the door, throwing it open to reveal a very smug-looking Sirius Black, leaning casually against the frame.

“Why, hello there, darling sister-in-law,” Sirius greeted dramatically. “Your favorite Black has arrived.”

Behind him, Remus stood with a patient smile, holding a small box wrapped in brown paper. “I told him to knock like a normal person,” he said apologetically.

“I did knock like a normal person,” Sirius said, grinning as he stepped inside. “With enthusiasm.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let them in.

At the sound of new voices, Harry perked up. His little face lit up, and he scrambled to his feet. “Uncle Siri! Uncle Moony!”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter as he scooped Harry up, spinning him in the air. “There’s my favorite kiddo! Getting bigger every time I see you, huh?”

Harry giggled wildly, his tiny hands gripping onto Sirius’s robes. “Faster, Uncle Siri!”

“Not in the house,” Regulus said flatly from his armchair.

Sirius ignored him and did one more spin before setting Harry down.

Remus crouched beside Harry, handing him the small package. “I brought you a little something, Harry,” he said warmly.

Harry gasped, taking the package with wide eyes. “A present?”

“Just a little one,” Remus said with a soft smile. “Go on, open it.”

Harry eagerly tore into the paper, revealing a small enchanted book filled with moving pictures of magical creatures. His face lit up. “Wow!” He carefully flipped through the pages, watching a tiny Hippogriff flap its wings before running to Y/N. “Mama, look!”

“That’s amazing, love,” Y/N said, ruffling his hair. “What do you say to Uncle Moony?”

“Thank you, Uncle Moony!” Harry beamed.

“Anytime, little one,” Remus replied, ruffling his hair in return.

Sirius, meanwhile, flopped dramatically onto the couch, stretching his arms across the back. “So, where’s the good tea? Or—better yet—firewhisky?”

Regulus finally looked up from his book, narrowing his eyes. “It’s eleven in the morning.”

“And?” Sirius smirked. “I was up late doing very important things.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sirius, was that very important thing a drinking contest with Mad-Eye Moody?”

“… No?”

Remus sighed. “Yes.”

Harry, still absorbed in his book, sat himself right next to Regulus in the armchair, leaning against him. Regulus instinctively wrapped an arm around the boy, holding his book in one hand while absentmindedly carding his fingers through Harry’s messy hair.

Sirius watched them with a smirk. “Never thought I’d see the day. My little brother—a proper parent.”

Regulus shot him a glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sirius grinned. “It means I’m still processing the fact that you—the grumpy, brooding Black—ended up raising my godson instead of me.” He leaned forward, winking at Harry. “But don’t worry kid, I’m the fun uncle. When you get older, I’ll teach you all the best pranks.”

Harry giggled. “Really?”

Regulus scowled. “No.”

“Yes,” Sirius countered, nodding at Harry.

Y/N snorted. “No pranks today, at least. I’d rather not clean up whatever chaos you unleash.”

Sirius sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave.” He paused, then grinned at Harry. “For now.”

Regulus groaned, rubbing his temple. “Why did I let you into my house?”

Remus chuckled, sipping his tea. “Because you secretly love us.”

Regulus scoffed but didn’t argue.

Y/N just smiled, watching as Harry curled up happily between them all, his laughter filling the house. Whatever storm had been outside last night, whatever nightmares had tried to creep in, Harry was safe here—with his family. Even if Sirius was a bad influence.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

master list

So good wth😭

Messiah

Eerie similarities

The eerie similarities between Danny and Baba, and, Harry and Mama

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

word count: 779

warnings: fluff and a bit of humor

The Black-Potter living room was a study in contrasts. On one side, sprawled across the thick, emerald-green rug, Harry and Y/N lay on their backs, laughing breathlessly after what had been, according to them, an epic tickle war. On the other side of the room, Regulus sat on the couch, legs crossed, one arm draped casually over the backrest. Beside him, their six-year-old daughter, Danica "Danny" Potter-Black, mirrored his posture with unsettling accuracy.

Both father and daughter held books in their hands. Regulus was reading a dense, leather-bound tome about magical theory, his brows furrowed in concentration. Danny, meanwhile, had a picture book titled The Curious Cauldron Chronicles, but it wasn't the pictures she cared about. Her small finger traced the words on the page as she read quietly to herself, lips moving with every sentence.

"She's just like you," Y/N said from the floor, propping herself up on her elbows as she watched the pair. "Quiet, broody, and disturbingly good at everything."

Regulus glanced over the top of his book, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Disturbingly? I'm gifted, not disturbing."

"Baba," Danny said without looking up, "Mama's jealous that we're smarter."

Regulus chuckled. "That must be it."

Y/N gasped dramatically and flopped back onto the rug. "You hear that, Harry? Our broody geniuses think they're better than us."

Harry, sprawled beside her with his messy black hair sticking up in every direction, grinned mischievously. "Yeah, well, they probably can't do this." He scrambled to his feet and launched himself into a spontaneous, lopsided cartwheel.

Danny finally looked up from her book, unimpressed. "That's not hard," she said, setting her book aside and sliding off the couch. She attempted a cartwheel, landing with a heavy thud on her side. She scowled as her curls flopped into her eyes. "Okay," she muttered. "Maybe it is hard."

Y/N laughed and sat up. "It's okay, Danny-bug. We'll teach you."

"I don't need help," Danny mumbled, climbing to her feet and brushing herself off. "I just need practice."

"She's definitely yours," Y/N said, looking pointedly at Regulus.

"And Harry's yours," Regulus countered, tilting his head toward their son, who was now attempting to do jumping jacks while singing a made-up song about dragons.

"I'm like Mama!" Harry declared proudly, flopping down beside her again. "We're the fun ones."

Y/N ruffled his hair. "That's right, Hazzy. We cause the chaos while they sit around reading big boring books."

Danny crossed her arms, standing next to her father with an identical expression of disdain. "Books aren't boring," she huffed.

"Exactly," Regulus said, holding out a hand for a high five. Danny slapped his palm with the practiced precision of someone who'd done it many times before.

"See," Y/N whispered to Harry. "Broody, smart, and way too serious."

Harry giggled, but his eyes softened as he watched his sister sit back down beside their father. "I like it when Danny reads to me sometimes," he said quietly.

"Of course you do," Y/N said, kissing his temple. "She's your little sister. You're supposed to think she's cool sometimes. Just don't tell her that too often."

Harry nodded sagely. "Got it."

Across the room, Danny leaned into Regulus's side, her head resting against his arm as she picked up her book again. He angled the book slightly toward her, pointing out a tricky word when she hesitated.

Y/N smiled softly. "She's going to be just like you, you know."

Regulus glanced up. "Brilliant and devastatingly handsome?"

"I was going to say a stubborn know-it-all, but sure, let's go with that."

Danny, still absorbed in her book, gave a tiny smile at her parents' teasing. Harry, meanwhile, tugged on Y/N's hand. "Come on, Mama! Let's build a pillow fort!"

Y/N jumped to her feet with a conspiratorial grin. "Excellent idea, partner-in-crime."

As the energetic duo began dragging pillows and blankets from every corner of the room, Danny peeked over her book. "That blanket's mine," she said.

"Then come help us," Y/N said with a wink.

Danny hesitated. But when Regulus nudged her lightly, she stood and crossed the room, grabbing a pillow and placing it with calculated precision.

"We're going to have our hands full with these two," Y/N murmured as Regulus joined her on the couch.

Regulus draped an arm around her shoulders, watching Harry enthusiastically demonstrate the "proper" way to build a pillow fort while Danny corrected his measurements. "Yes," he agreed, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple. "And I wouldn't change a thing."

Outside, the winter wind howled against the windows. Inside, the Black-Potter family remained warm, chaotic, and perfectly complete.

previous chapter <--> next chapter

Timothée's tiny soulmate

Tiny hands, big love, and a dad wrapped around her finger.

pairings: Timothée Chalamet x Fem!reader

word count: 2.3K

warnings: Fluff, a bit of jerk Timothée for a few moments, childbirth

note: First chapter to my new series.. Girl Dad Diaries !

more here: Girl Dad Diaries masterlist, masterlist

You and Timothée had been married for two years, and today, December 27, just two days after Christmas, was his birthday. A week ago, you found out you were pregnant with his child. It hadn’t been planned, but neither of you was against the idea; if anything, it felt like perfect timing. To surprise him, you wrapped a small, slender box and tied a little bow on top. Inside, you placed five clean, positive pregnancy tests—your quiet, heartfelt way of saying, We’re having a baby. 

You also got him a new iPad for his birthday.

Why not? Right? Were you spoiling him? Maybe just a little. In five days, Timothée Chalamet was getting a brand-new MacBook, an iPad, and, though he didn’t know it yet, a baby. So yeah, you were spoiling him. But if anyone deserved it, it was him.

You woke up bright and early, long before he stirred. The house was still dark except for the faint glow of the Christmas lights strung across the living room, and the soft scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air from the candles you'd been lighting all week. Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you tiptoed through the house, grabbing your slippers and hoodie before heading out to the garage. That’s where you’d hidden the gifts—you knew he wouldn’t think to check your car.

Moments later, you returned with both boxes in hand. One was a sleek Apple box, the other longer and thinner, wrapped with extra care and a little satin bow. You placed the thinner one 6to the side for now. That surprise would come last.

Carefully, you placed the iPad box on the bed and leaned over him, brushing the hair from his face. You kissed his forehead gently.

"My love," you whispered sweetly.

He groaned in protest, rolling over and tugging the blanket over his head. "Nooo..."

You giggled. "C'mon, birthday boy. Wake up."

He peeked out with one eye. His curls were a mess, his voice groggy. "What time is it?"

"Too early," you admitted, laughing softly, "but I couldn't wait."

He sighed dramatically. "This better be worth it."

You grinned and placed the gift on his chest. "It is. Open it."

He sat up slowly, yawning as he pulled at the wrapping paper. The second he saw the Apple logo, his eyes widened.

"No way..." he murmured. "You got me the iPad, too?"

You gave him an innocent shrug. "I mean, you need something portable for travel. The MacBook is for editing and writing, the iPad is for movies and drawing. Practical, right?"

He just stared at you. "You're insane."

"Maybe," you replied playfully, crawling back into bed beside him. "But I love you."

He leaned over and kissed you, lingering a bit longer than necessary. "I love you more. You really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to. You deserve it."

He was already powering it on, a boyish grin on his face. "Okay, yeah. This is amazing. You're amazing. I feel so spoiled."

You smiled to yourself, glancing at the still-wrapped box on the nightstand.

"Oh," you said casually, "there's one more."

He blinked, still distracted by his new iPad. "More? Babe, you already went overboard. What is it, socks? A sweater?"

You chuckled nervously. "Not exactly. Here. Open it."

You handed him the smaller, longer box, wrapped with a delicate little bow. He looked at you suspiciously but took it, tearing the wrapping slowly.

He lifted the lid and stared.

Five pregnancy tests. All positive. All clean. Lined neatly in a row.

His jaw dropped slightly. He didn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds.

"Wait..." he finally breathed. "Are these... are these real?"

You nodded, heart pounding. "I found out last week. I wanted to tell you in a special way. Surprise."

He looked back down at the tests, then up at you, eyes glassy with disbelief. "We're having a baby?"

You smiled, your voice soft. "Yeah. We are."

He let out a breathless laugh, dropping his head into his hands for a moment before looking at you again, overwhelmed but glowing. "Oh my god. I... I don't even know what to say."

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You don't have to say anything. Just hold me."

He pulled you into his arms immediately, holding you tighter than ever.

"This is the best birthday of my life," he whispered into your hair. "A MacBook, an iPad, and a baby? I don't think anything could top this."

You laughed. "Well, don't get used to this kind of treatment every year."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Too late. I'm officially spoiled for life."

The first trimester was a whirlwind of emotions and adjustments. You cried often—when your jeans didn’t fit, when nothing satisfied your hunger, or just because. Your body was changing fast, and so was your world. Timothée stayed grounded through it all, holding you close when you broke down, whispering soft reassurances. He even cleared out a guest room and began turning it into a nursery—the one with the big window you loved. Inspired by your love for stars, you both chose a space theme, spending countless hours researching baby essentials. Timothée was convinced it was a boy; you secretly hoped for a girl. You decided to wait until the birth to find out.

The second trimester brought a little relief from the nausea, but new aches took over. Leggings became your daily uniform, much to your embarrassment as a touring singer. Still, with Timothée’s unwavering support, you embraced the changes. You announced your pregnancy mid-tour, keeping the details private, and fans adored the mystery. Meanwhile, your craving for cucumbers spiraled—chopped, dipped, and topped with anything you could think of. Timothée kept a cooler of them backstage and even tried your wildest combos. You laughed, nested, your belly grew, and the nursery became a dreamy little galaxy.

By the third trimester, everything was harder. Sleep was a battle of pillows and shifting positions, and you were always too hot, too tired, or too emotional. Swollen fingers forced you to take off your rings—Timothée lovingly put them on a chain around your neck. Performing felt heavier, but fans cheered louder than ever when the baby kicked mid-song. Cravings got weirder, nesting became an obsession, and you repacked the hospital bag more times than you could count. Through it all, Timothée stayed close—singing to your belly, rubbing your feet, and reminding you how strong you were.

You were sore, swollen, and ready. Nervous, but full of love. The best part was just around the corner.

Then, the day finally came when your water broke. The hospital room buzzed with low voices and the steady beeping of machines, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the rhythmic sound of your breathing. Hours had passed in a blur of contractions and sweat, your grip on Timothée’s hand never loosening, even when your fingernails dug into his skin. He didn’t complain once. He stayed right beside you, brushing damp hair from your face, whispering encouragements through every cry, every wave of pain.

“You’re doing so good,” he kept saying. “He’s—uh—they’re almost here.” He still stumbled over the pronouns sometimes, trying to avoid guessing, but you could tell he hadn’t fully let go of the idea that it might be a boy.

You were too focused on surviving the next contraction to care.

Then, finally, it happened. One more push, one last scream—and the room exploded into sound. A sharp, high-pitched cry filled the air, and the doctor smiled as she lifted the baby up.

“It’s a girl,” she announced, beaming.

You blinked through your tears and turned to Timothée. But instead of the cheer or the gasp you’d expected, he went oddly quiet.

“A girl?” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else.

It wasn’t disappointment exactly—not in the way that stung. But for a moment, you saw the flicker in his expression. A beat of surprise. Of recalibration. He had been so sure. Had spoken to your belly like a boy was listening. Had joked about teaching “his son” guitar.

But before you could even speak, they placed her, tiny, pink, wailing, into his arms.

And everything changed.

Timothée looked down at her, and whatever expectation he had crumbled in an instant. His whole face softened, like someone had knocked the wind out of him in the gentlest way. His eyes brimmed with tears as he adjusted his hold on her, already protective, already in love.

“Elodie,” he whispered, like her name had been waiting on his tongue this whole time. “Hi, baby girl.”

Then he looked at you, and though he was clearly trying to be composed, his voice cracked as he admitted, “I thought I wanted a boy. But… she’s perfect. It was always supposed to be her.”

You smiled through your exhaustion, through your own tears, and reached for him, your daughter tucked between you like the softest miracle.

A week in the hospital felt like a slow dream, both calming and surreal. The days blurred into each other in a haze of soft lullabies, nurse check-ins, and the gentle hum of machines that beeped and blinked with their rhythm. Every few hours, someone would enter the room to examine Elodie, check your vitals, ask questions, and smile politely. The food was bland, the lighting too harsh, and the beds not quite soft enough, but none of that mattered. You had her. She was here.

Still, by day seven, you were aching for your home. For the nursery you'd spent months perfecting. For the quiet comfort of your bedroom, your candles, your robes, your slippers. And maybe, selfishly, just a little bit of time without a nurse barging in with a blood pressure cuff when the baby had just fallen asleep.

Timothée was practically bouncing by the time the discharge papers were signed. He packed everything up with the energy of a man who had trained for this moment his entire life. The hospital staff wheeled you down in a chair, your arms wrapped around the infant car seat where Elodie blinked sleepily, her tiny hat pulled low over her forehead. Timothée walked beside you like a proud golden retriever, loaded with bags, snacks, and the biggest grin you’d ever seen on his face.

He double-checked the car seat straps before you left the parking lot. Triple-checked them before pulling out. And then turned in his seat a dozen times during the drive, just to make sure she was still breathing.

When you finally stepped into your home, everything felt different. The air was warmer somehow, the rooms no longer silent but humming with new life. It was like the house had been holding its breath this whole time—and now, with her inside, it finally exhaled.

And from that moment on, Elodie was never far from Timothée’s chest.

You thought you’d be the one who couldn’t let her go, but Timothée became completely, utterly inseparable from your daughter. She was always in his arms, swaddled against his chest in that soft gray wrap he insisted on wearing everywhere. He wore her while making breakfast. While reading. While pacing the living room as she napped. He even wore her while brushing his teeth once. “She likes the vibration,” he shrugged, speaking like he was some kind of baby whisperer.

You joked that you were officially the third wheel now. He didn’t even argue.

Every few hours, when it was your turn to nurse or rock her to sleep, he’d hover just a few inches away. And the moment you were done, he’d scoop her right back up with a breathless, “I missed her.”

You laughed, but you understood. Because watching Timothée fall in love with Elodie was like watching gravity find him again. He melted into fatherhood. The actor, the performer, the dreamer—all of it quieted, softened, sharpened into something tender and fierce. She made him gentler. And braver.

He danced with her often, barefoot in the nursery under the soft light of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He’d sway slowly, whispering, “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, right?” His voice cracked sometimes when he said it. As if he couldn’t believe she was real either.

One night, while you were still adjusting to night feeds and the ache in your body, you found him on the nursery rug with Elodie tucked on his chest. He was humming “Landslide,” eyes closed, tears glistening at the corners. When he saw you, he smiled and whispered, “She likes Fleetwood Mac. She's got taste already.”

He called her his tiny soulmate. You didn’t even mind that he barely looked at you anymore, because when he did, it was usually to say, “Look at her. Just look.”

He was so in love with Elodie that it was almost comedic. One morning, after pulling her gently from your arms, he sat beside you and muttered, “I’d throw myself in front of a bus for her.”

You blinked at him. “You just met her.”

He nodded, serious. “If there was a shooter, I’d use you as a human shield to protect her.”

You stared, speechless.

He gave a crooked little smile. “Don’t take it personally. You had your moment. This one’s hers now.”

But even in all the humor, you could see it. The way she had rewired something in him. His entire world now existed in the space between her breaths.

He wore her in a carrier everywhere: around the house, to the grocery store, even while standing outside in the backyard doing nothing but watching the sky. He kissed her head more times than you could count. He cried the first time she grabbed his finger with intention. He cried harder the first time she smiled.

And you watched it all—this beautiful, chaotic, overwhelming new rhythm of your lives—and thought: We’re going to be okay.

You had your little girl.

And she had the man who would move heaven and earth just to keep her warm.

Learning how to read

Regulus and Y/N try to teach Harry how to read

words: 0.5k

warnings: fluff, not proofread, alive Regulus and Sirius not being in Azkaban

“Alright, Harry, let’s try this again,” Y/N said patiently, tapping the open book in front of them. “What does this word say?”

Harry, sprawled across the plush rug in the Black family library, kicked his legs idly and squinted at the sentence. He traced the letters with his finger, lips moving as he tried to sound it out.

“C… ca… castle?” he guessed hopefully.

Y/N smiled. “Close! It’s a cauldron. You almost had it.”

Harry groaned dramatically and flopped onto his back. “This is so boring.”

Regulus, sitting in a chair nearby with his own book, arched an eyebrow. “Reading is not boring, Harry.”

Harry turned his head to stare at his Baba with a look of deep betrayal. “But it is! There aren’t even any dragons in this book!”

Y/N chuckled. “We have to practice the small words first, love. Then we can move on to dragons.”

Harry pouted. “But I want adventure stories now!”

Regulus sighed, rubbing his temple. “You won’t understand adventure stories if you can’t read properly.”

Harry huffed but reluctantly sat up again. “Fine,” he mumbled, picking up the book. “But only if I get a story about a dragon next.”

Before Y/N could agree, the library doors burst open.

“Never fear, Padfoot is here!” Sirius declared dramatically, striding into the room with a mischievous grin.

Regulus groaned. “Oh, no.”

Harry immediately perked up. “Uncle Siri!” He scrambled to his feet, rushing toward him.

Sirius scooped him up and twirled him in the air. “My favorite little troublemaker! What are you up to?”

“Reading lessons,” Y/N answered, crossing her arms.

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. Sounds dull.”

Harry nodded eagerly. “It is!”

Regulus shut his book with a sigh. “We were making progress before you arrived.”

Sirius ignored him, digging into his coat and pulling out something that made Regulus’s eye twitch.

A brightly colored, illustrated comic book.

“Forget the boring old schoolbooks, Harry,” Sirius declared, wiggling the comic in front of him. “If you’re going to read, you should read something fun.”

Harry gasped. “What is it?”

Sirius grinned. “The Adventures of Martin the Mad Muggle!” He flipped open the pages, showing off the dramatic illustrations of a confused Muggle accidentally causing magical mayhem wherever he went.

Harry’s eyes widened in delight. “That looks amazing!”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” Sirius shot back, smirking.

Y/N sighed, hiding her amusement. “Sirius, you’re not exactly helping.”

“Oh, come on,” Sirius said, plopping onto the rug beside Harry. “Think of it as… incentive! He wants adventure stories? Let him practice with this!”

Regulus glared. “That is not proper literature.”

Harry, meanwhile, was already flipping through the comic excitedly. “Look, Baba! There’s a dragon in this one!”

Regulus groaned as Y/N stifled a laugh.

Sirius winked. “See? Learning can be fun.”

Regulus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspicious like ‘you are the bane of my existence’, but ultimately, he sighed in defeat.

Y/N ruffled Harry’s hair and smirked at Sirius. “Fine. But if he starts writing his letters backward because of those ridiculous fonts, I’m blaming you.”

Sirius grinned, slinging an arm around his godson. “Deal.”

Harry, completely oblivious to the war being waged over his reading material, beamed. “This is the best lesson ever!”

Regulus groaned again.

E3 WITH FEM READER X WONKA PLEASE OMGG

A bit of love and chocolate

Willy shares his last piece of chocolate.

Willy Wonka x Fem! reader

word count: 670

no warnings

masterlist, Wonka Masterlist

The streets of the city were quiet at this hour, save for the distant sounds of late-night travelers and the occasional splash of rain against the cobblestone roads. The glow of lamplight flickered against the damp pavement, casting golden reflections that made everything feel just a bit more magical—at least, that’s how it felt whenever he was with you.  

Wrapped in a slightly tattered coat and clutching a small paper bag, Willy hurried down the alleyway, his breath clouding in the cool night air. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure he hadn’t been followed. Mrs. Scrubbit had already caught him sneaking out once before, and he couldn’t afford to be locked in the attic again. But seeing you—just for a little while—was worth any risk.  

When he finally reached the side street where you always met, he saw you waiting on the worn steps of your small flat, arms tucked around yourself for warmth. The sight made his heart do that funny little leap it always did whenever you were near.   

“Miss me?” Willy called softly as he stepped into the light.  

You turned, your face lighting up at the sight of him. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble sneaking out like this.”  

“Ah, but what’s life without a little danger?” he teased, plopping down beside you.  

You shook your head with a fond smile. “One day, she’s going to catch you.”  

“She’d have to be quicker than me.” He tapped his temple. “And I’m very fast when properly motivated.”  

You huffed a laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “And what motivates you, exactly?”  

“Well…” He grinned, reaching into the paper bag. “Chocolate, mostly.” He pulled out a small, neatly wrapped piece and handed it to you.  

You raised an eyebrow. “Willy, that’s—”  

“My last piece, I know,” he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “And I’m giving it to you, because—” He turned to you, eyes warm, voice softer now. “That’s love.”  

You stared at him for a long moment, the teasing edge in your expression melting away. The words were spoken so easily as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and maybe to him, it was.  

You took the chocolate from his hand carefully, as if it were something delicate, something precious. “You really are something else, Wonka,” you murmured.  

“I like to think so.” He leaned in a little, resting his chin in his palm as he watched you with bright, expectant eyes. “Go on, try it! It’s a new batch. Made it myself, of course—top-tier craftsmanship, a hint of cinnamon, a whisper of nutmeg, and just the tiniest bit of longing.”  

You laughed, shaking your head, but did as he asked. The moment the chocolate melted on your tongue, you sighed in contentment. “That’s incredible,” you admitted.  

Willy beamed, rocking back on his heels. “I knew it! Love makes everything sweeter.”  

“Or maybe you’re just that good,” you mused.  

“Both!” he declared, pointing a finger in the air. “But mostly the first one.”  

You rolled your eyes fondly, but then your smile softened. “Thank you, Willy.”  

His expression turned a little sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I was planning on savoring it, but then I figured… I’d rather you have it.”  

Warmth spread through your chest, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He froze for a second, then blinked at you, stunned.  

“Goodnight, Willy,” you whispered, standing up before he could say anything else.  

He remained seated, mouth slightly open, before breaking into the biggest, goofiest grin you’d ever seen. “Goodnight, dearest,” he called after you as you disappeared inside.  

Still grinning, Willy touched his cheek where you kissed him, then got to his feet, adjusting his coat. He had to get back before Mrs. Scrubbit noticed his absence, but somehow, sneaking back through the laundry chute didn’t seem like such a hardship tonight.  

After all, he had something even sweeter than chocolate to dream about.  

Your lee fic just killed me oh my gosh

grr thank youuuu 🥹🪼

So handsome🌻🌻🌻🌻

Credit to Vanity Fair

as a catholic, i find this so funny

*In a church*

Sirius: Why are you looking at me like that?

Regulus: I just don't wanna miss it when you burst into flames.