#rie writes

⤷ ⟢ syn. ˎˊ˗ you accidentally text the wrong number but things still work out in the end.

⤷ ⟢ cw. ˎˊ˗ fluff, crack, not proofread

⤷ ⟢ ft. ˎˊ˗ rudo, zanka, enjin, august, follo, jabber

EXPLICIT CONTENT. Read with discretion.

george luz/joseph toye /// post-war /// rated t /// 2.9k

“I can’t go to the movies anymore.” Joe mutters. He’s holding onto George’s wrist. It seems fragile in his grip, bony and thin. He knows that he could completely close his fingers around it, if he wanted. He thumbs at George’s pulse and feels it speed up. 

“Why not?” George keeps combing through his hair with his other hand. His foot rests over the top of Joe’s calf.

“You’re not there to talk through them.” Joe says, and feels almost annoyed about it.

When George laughs, he can feel it, a gentle vibration in his throat. “I can’t listen to music without thinking about you.” He says, low and quiet, somber in a way he never is. “So we’re even.”

(March of 1947. Toye turns twenty-eight. Luz is a sure thing. In a way, so is moving on.)

soshiro hoshina x mina ashiro | kn8 fic

synopsis: “She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and their eyes meet. ‘The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’ And everything around him lights up.”

Under the moonlight, Hoshina confesses to his Captain in the guise of a question. But it seems like she knows the meaning behind it...?

setting: After the banquet (EP. 8)

genre: Fluff

characters: Soshiro Hoshina, Mina Ashiro, Kafka Hibino, Reno Ichikawa, Iharu Furuhashi, Kikoru Shinomiya, Haruichi Izumo, Aoi Kaguragi

word count: 1.6k

penned: 7/16/25 - 7/19/25

notes: ahhh, i love hoshimina and the group's dynamics so much i want more of them so here's my first ever fanfic (⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠) pls also bear with me bc english is not my first language... thank ü !!

Written wholly and entirely for @garbria who always comes up with the best ideas and enables me terribly.

:Patience Series Part Three:

Word count: 1304

Trigger warnings - again illusions to abuse, mentions of blood. I can’t think of any others, but let me know if you see any.

A/N - I’m sorry this got very angsty. I promise part four will not be so angsty. And as always no beta we die like goose.

-/-/-/-

Mav’s brain short circuits when he opens the door and finds himself staring at Bradley. He can’t decipher the look in Bradley’s eyes and he doesn’t know what to say.

After several seconds of silent staring Bradley rolls his eyes and pushes past Mav. Mav continues staring out the door for a few more seconds, trying to process what’s happening before closing the door and turning around.

“Is Ice here? I need to talk to him.” Bradley says.

“In his office. He’s on the phone, not sure when he’ll be off.” There’s an edge to his voice that Bradley has never heard before. Bradley opens his mouth to respond, but before he can Bob walks in with a large encyclopedia of planes in his hands.

pairing: w.w. + reader

word count: 2k (yowza)

a/n: just another little oneshot aside from the series i'm working on! they're not necessarily related, i just wanted a break from brainstorming huhrhegh

—

The silence of the courtyard and its surroundings was inviting.

No sound had ever really been emitted from the factory and its grandeur structure. It was ensured from the beginning that the exterior was completely soundproof, and that the only noise ever emitted was that of the chocolatier himself amplifying his voice over a speaker. Many outside still wondered what really lied within the walls of the factory, for the accounts given from the Ticket Winners were, quite frankly, unbelievable. Not a single reporter, fact checker, conspiracist, or government official believed the words of eight foolish visitors.

To believe that a child was sucked into a fudge-transporting pipe and had been whisked away throughout the pipes of the entire factory was seen as ridiculous.

If your daughter chewed a treacherous piece of gum and inflated to the size of a small house, as blue as the deep see and as rotund as a sports ball, that was nonsensical.

When you lie about specially trained squirrels whisking you away and ungracefully lunging you and your father into a garbage chute piled with three weeks worth of trash, you get scoffed and laughed at.

And no, Mr. Teavee, your fellow teachers will not take the time to "hear you out" and "believe what you have to say" about your son's transportation through... waves and particles?.. to arrive on the screen of a rather small television. Aside from this, they begged him to stop bringing up the fictitious "Oompaland" he so desperately searched for.

News outlets had all believed that the victims' altered appearances were that of a publicity stunt, for they reverted to their normal selves in due time. A couple of showers for the kids and the effects had seemed to wear off. It was pushed that both the children and their parents feigned disappointment for such a wonderful company and its inner workings just to receive a slimy check. Ridiculed for their horridness until the dust settled, the families went on with their routinely lives replaying the moments from the first of that February every now and again.

People were curious about the factory now, more than ever. In fact, there was a slew of reporters that would stand outside the gates every day. Sometimes they would stay for 10 minutes, other times 10 hours. Though it never seemed to bother Mr. Wonka, so you've noticed. The silence of your surroundings was inviting, because it hadn't felt like this for a while.

You had now been standing outside of the gates for just a minute, taking in the intimidating view of the smoking factory. To your left was none other than Charlie Bucket, now the heir of the entire Wonka estate. He followed your gaze and looked up at the smoke from afar, closing his eyes and inhaling the intoxicating scent of chocolate that surrounded you both. The sweet aroma was the only indicator that this was a chocolate factory. Its drab and gloomy structure indicated no such thing.

He looks back up at you, calling your name.

"Hm?"

"Think we should go in now?"

You blink rapidly and shake your head. "Oh, yeah! Didn't realize we've just been.. here. I doubt Wonka would mind."

As you both make your way through the snow, a comfortable small talk takes place. You and Charlie both joke that Will would tease you for standing outside when you could go inside and smell every smell and taste every flavor rather than roaming like lost dogs. Charlie had always enjoyed your presence; he believed you were the perfect fit for Mr. Wonka. On days where even Charlie couldn't handle the man, you were able to take over and hold the fort down. Reasoning with Will was a hastle in itself, but not necessarily impossible. He was often a difficult man to read. Thinning patience, fear of failure, and a desire to impress and amaze. Isolated from the outside world and accustomed to outdated lingo and style, it was challenging to get him up to speed. Sometimes you'd have to tell him not to expect so much from Charlie, who was just a boy, and understand that he needed time off of work to spend with his family.

Charlie would forever be grateful for the case you constantly made for him.

"Hey, Wendel, it's us," You jokingly shout, the two of you standing in front of the gates awaiting the buzz in. "And it's cold."

Charlie butts in, "Mr. Wonka, you'll have to hold [name]'s hands to warm them up-"

"C'mon, man."

"I don't see the problem in having a little fun!"

Will's hanging on to every word, listening as you two jokingly bicker just outside the doors. His voice rings out over the speaker, interrupting your playful arguing.

"Charlie's right. Come in!"

You sigh, looking down at your shoes to hide the blush spreading across your face. A smile crept itself upon your lips as you feel Charlie playfully nudge your shoulder, the two of you walking forward after hearing the doors open. Another chat takes place as the boy apologizes with a cheeky "sorry!" as you cross the courtyard to enter. You can't help but grin. "Don't worry about it, kiddo," You laugh it off, ruffling his hair.

Your feet are both met with the familiar red carpet that seemed to stretch for miles. After convincing Will to put up a simple coat and hat rack at the entrance (you hated throwing your coat down on the floor so carelessly), you take advantage of the iron stand and accept Charlie's coat. Hanging your coats up, Charlie speaks from next to you, already advancing.

"Evening, Mr. Wonka!"

Turning away from the rack, you step up to Charlie's side and face Wonka. He's already made his way over to you with his cane swinging around giddily.

"Hey, Charlie," He speaks above a whisper, clearly distracted as he's standing in front of you and taking in your appearance. Will would do this every time you came back after taking Charlie around the town; fresh air once in a while was greatly appreciated. His gloves squeak and you realize that he's reaching up to touch your face, grazing your cheek as you chuckle at the gesture.

"Nice to see you too, love." You speak up, reaching to take his top hat from his head and promptly placing it on your own. He flashes you that signature smile, leaning in to connect your lips with his own when-

"Can we at least make it inside before you start?" You're both taken aback as you turn your heads left in unision. Charlie, who's standing with a smile of his own, teases you and makes his way to the Chocolate Room door. You look back at Will to make sure he's not too offended.

He is definitely offended.

A childish pout graces his features. Although he knew Charlie was only having a bit of fun, he really wanted to kiss you without worry. Your grin falters as you look at him, rolling your eyes and adopting a softer tone.

"Mr. Wonka," The title melted off of your tongue like smooth caramel, "You know we could just waltz in and pick up where we left off in there, ri-"

He wastes no more time in placing a deep, loving kiss on the lips he so worshipped. It took you no time to reciprocate, smiling into the kiss and savoring the sensation. There seemed to always be a hint of a taste test on his lips... something you adored. Whether it was chocolate or licorice, taffy or candy canes, the delight of a treat all for yourself was perfect. What a wonderful thing it was, to be dating an accomplished connoisseur of sweets.

Will does just as Charlie's instructed: he takes your chilled hands in his. Breaking away, he matches your gaze and widens his grin. Always showing off that perfect mouth, huh?

"He's right, you know," Eyebrows now furrowing in concern.

"Your hands are as cold as ice."

This, of course, was a lie. You were both aware. By the time he pointed it out, the temperature of the hall (hotter than normal, for the Oompa Loompas) had already warmed yours hands in no time flat. He always looked for an excuse to hold you. It was often to "make sure you didn't fall into the river" while cuddling or "assuring safety in a room full of unfinished inventions" by draping his arm affectionately around your shoulder.

Sigh.

"I love you, and you should know that you can just.. hold my hands whenever you want. I promise I won't bite," You tease, using your thumb to rub against his knuckles as he did for you.

"Yeah, I know.. but not having a reason is weird, right? Doing it out of nowhere is just creepy? It feels dastardly and abnormal."

"Ah, I see you're still trying to understand actual affection, Willy."

"Partners just show affection whenever they want?"

"That's right! When it's appropriate, and trust me- it is. You have my permission. I would not be opposed to a kiss on the cheek every so often, or even a hand to hold. You don't have to say anything either! That's the beauty of it. It's natural, and it's unspoken."

He tilts his head to the side and reseambles a concerned dog. "Unspoken?"

"Yes!" You exhale, still smiling your way through the conversation. Catching him up to speed always required a little work. "Look, it's really just doing whatever feels.. right. You know that you're stable and in love, and you go with your instinct," Noticing his hat is still on your head, you let go of his hands to remove the accessory and return it to its rightful place. "There's no second guessing. You're just happy and impulsive. And that's pretty much okay."

Will brings a gloved finger up to tap his chin pensively. "Ah. Okay, okay okay okay. Alright. Yeah. Yeah!" He beams and looks up, violet eyes gleaming and full of joy. "Impulsive! Oooh, I like it! Candymaking is kind of impulsive you know, it's always a leap of faith when trying something n-"

He's abruptly cut off as you plant a quick one right on the kisser. Needless to say, he's even happier.

"Heeeey, I like impulsive!!"

Before you're aware of what he's doing, Willy scoops you up in his arms the second his sentence finishes. Carrying you bridal style and making his way to the door, you're caught in a laughing fit and playfully hitting his chest.

"That's impulsive! There you go! There it is, babe! That's unspoken! That's love!"

He comically kicks the door open with his heeled boot and brings you to the Chocolate Room you so graciously adored. As you take in the view (a couple of ooo! pretty!'s and ah! magical!'s in between), he continues his confident stride towards the river.

"Hey, Will, we're headed for th- Will, hun, we're going straight to th- Willy, the- WHATAREYOUDOING-"

He swings you.

"Oooooone!"

"WAITWAITWAITW-"

"Twwwooooooo!"

"YOURCHOCOLATEMUSTNOTBETOUCHEDBYHUMANHANDS-"

"Aaaaand three!"

A screech to rival the banshee's echoes through the room, and you expect to be drowning in creamy milk chocolate by now. To your surprise, you're still clutching onto Will for dear life, and he's smiling down at you and flashing his pearly whites.

"That would have been impulsive, huh?"

You're gasping for air.

"Yeah. Would have been crazy."

A gulp, then a sigh of relief.

"You said it yourself, babe. Can't contaminate the chocolate. You know that, silly goose!"

You throw your head back and groan.

"That," He sets you down and you tumble onto the grass, "Was not.. the kind of impulsive.. I was.. referring to." You gasp and lay limp on the meadow, catching your breath.

He takes a seat next to your still form, choosing to sit criss cross on your right side.

"Oh, how I love impulsive!"

You let out your last sigh, and can't help but close your eyes and smile. Will laughs and takes pride in your defeated state. Unbeknownst to you two, Charlie watched the whole thing from afar. Not wanting to bother either of you, he kept his joy to himself. It was about time someone had made Mr. Wonka laugh so sincerely.

pairing: w.w. + reader

word count: 1.9k

a/n: yea ok my mind is filled with nothing but wonka... what about it 🙄 anyways this is my first post here huuuohoh

—

The aroma could be detected from just around the block.

Fiddlewhacker’s Gumdrop Shop stood right at the corner of the street, boasting a pink-and-white color scheme for the whole town to recognize. With a rather humble sign that featured a glass jar of gumdrops, the candy store made a decent name for itself amongst the residents. Despite working primarily with gumdrops, a variety of candies and goods were made available to customers. Many would come and go on a daily basis just to explore the wares that were offered; both children and adults alike reveled in the vast collection of sweets. Both small name and top game candymakers could find their sweets sold at Fiddlewhacker’s, for it was the town’s only access to any delectable wonder at all. There would be newcomers, there would be regulars. One thing that remained certain to the town was that a customer never left disappointed.

Employees were few, however, and business was difficult to handle with such a small cast. Fiddlewhacker himself was the manager; he could only hire so many workers that were actually up to the task, after all. It seemed that the overwhelming abundance of candy left many with more cavities than they had started with (some had worn a proud record of “no cavities” on their sleeve before taking the job). It seemed impossible to track down a willing participant who could control their sugar intake.

Enter you- Fiddlewhacker’s prized posession. Never had he met a “youngster” (as he called you) with such vigor and passion for candy. You enjoyed every moment spent stocking shelves, checking inventory, and manning the register. Hell, he was almost sure enough to leave the store in your care after his time was up. But you refused to talk about that.

With only two other workers, you all seemed to do an excellent job at keeping the shop spick and span. Apparently, business was booming enough to grab the attention of those outside the town. Wanderers recommended everyone to stop by the Gumdrop Shop- even hitchhikers. It seemed as though everything about the atmosphere you and your coworkers established was enough to intrigue foreigners; you and Fiddlewhacker accepted them with ease. The cast especially hoped that newcomers would consider moving to the town and applying for a position. You all had the chance to grow and expand, and here it was, handed to you on a silver platter. If only the silver platter had been just a little less than an arm’s reach away.

What with his arrival, the timing couldn’t be better.

»»»

The shop door opens, and a familiar little “ding!” reaches your ears.

You look up from where you’re sweeping (just by the assorted chocolate bars) to see a rather tall gentleman stride in. He’s got a massive black top hat and bug-eyed sunglasses to match. Sporting a- is that real?- bob cut that curved inward just at the jaw, his hair sways with him as he looks swiftly from his left... then to his right... then to you. An unsettling grin grows upon his features to reveal a gorgeous set of pearly whites. Damn, were you envious... but also kinda spooked.

For the brief moment you studied his figure, you took in his rather sharp cheekbones and pale complexion. Tying his look together was an expensive-looking red velvet coat that seemed to be perfectly tailored to his liking. He sure seemed comfy.

“Kiddo, d’you think you could get that customer?” Fiddlewhacker’s voice calls out from the back; he’s been handling a new shipment of licorice twists. The man looks past you, smile faltering slightly, realizing that he had entered right when you were getting ready to close.

“Oh dear,” He looks back at you, a frown finding its way to replace his perfect smile. “Did I come at a bad time?”

You stand your broom up by the nearest corner and dust your hands off excitedly, turning your body to him completely. “Hey, no, no! It’s alright! We’re always welcome to have a customer, even if it’s a minute before closing. How may I help you tonight, sir?”

He looks taken aback, but nonetheless straightens up and smiles widely once more. Reaching up to remove his sunglasses, you’re quite surprised to find that his eyes were strikingly violet. Not just a deep shade of blue, but rather a vivid purple that you would have never expected. Your shock must have been evident, because you feel his stare more than ever and you begin to blush. Shaking it off, you make your way to the counter as his gaze follows your movement while talking.

“Oh, good! See, I heard you guys were nice, but that’s too generous of you. Now, I was only wondering about your employee shortage. I wanted to come see a day of work for myself but it seems like I’m too late! Bummer.” He’s walked to the opposite side of the counter now, folding his hands politely as your folded arms rest inches away. You’re leaning forward, holding onto every word he says. Funny, his voice was a smooth as chocolate...

Once again, you shake such distracting thoughts from your mind. “No worries, sir! You can drop by any other time you’d like. We’re open from 7am to 9pm on days ending in Y.”

And that’s when he knew you were perfect.

You’re smiling, letting the lighthearted joke settle in. Your goal was always to be as inviting and hospitable as you could be, and cracking a stupid joke or two usually put customers at ease. He’s grinning ear to ear, an envied set of teeth displaying itself for the whole shop to see. His eyes light up and crinkle, a sign of a genuine smile.

“That was cute! I liked that. You’re cute!” He happily rushes the words out of him as if he’s been holding onto them forever. His joyful demeanor falls quickly. The man’s face contorts into an expression of concern now, eyebrows furrowing and a downward, contemplative glance at the counter. He had never uttered words like that, ever. To anyone. In his whole life. Not once. So why was he saying them now?

“Oh!” You exclaim, ears and cheeks going pink with embarrassment instantly. “Thank you! You’re quite the charmer yourself!”

And now it was your turn to look down and contemplate regret. Oh wow, that was blunt. Kind of blunt. Yeah, you’ve never told a stranger that before.

A small cough pulls you from your thoughts, escaping what would have been an endless cycle of wonder. The man smiles warmly and gives a little giggle. “He-heh!” He grins, cheeks brushed with the lightest shade of pink. That’s a cute little giggle, you think. You’d never heard someone giggle like that without some creepy intent, but this man just seemed to be so peculiar that a giggle would be perfectly in character for him.

“Well, can I do anything else for you, sir?” He grimaces at the mention of “sir.”

“Ew. Sir makes me sound so old. Call me Willy!” A hand that was previously resting on the table shoots itself out to you, offering a warm shake from a purple leather glove. You stop leaning forward and immediately stand up straight, eyes growing wide with amazement. His poor hand remains jutted out. How could you not notice it before? The curly “W” pin stuck to his shirt collar that matched the very same logo of the chocolate bars you handle every day. The fact that you had never seen him before, and that his demeanor was much too peculiar to be some other wanderer.

“I can’t believe it... you’re Willy Wonka!” You joyously point out. Reaching out to shake his hand, a warmth fills your grasp. Beneath his gloves, there was a good chance his hands were just as smooth as the skin on his face, and they must have been perfect to hold. “How did I not recognize it before? I’m sorry, si-“

“Ah-ah!”

“Right! Willy... well, I can't believe it's you!" The sound of his name off of your lips was the loveliest thing he had ever heard. And that was far from an exaggeration. He wanted you to construct millions of sentences, some saying his name and some not. Whatever you spoke would be smoother than caramel and sweeter than honey, and he would be blessed to be wherever you were, hanging on to every syllable and pause.

"Don't believe it's me, huh? Well..." He retracts his hand and brings it up to his chin, stroking it thoughtfully. Your hand grows cold from the lack of comfort and you're already aching to feel him again. Concentrating on his features as he pondered, you yourself wondered what someone like him would be doing strolling into an established candy shop. He had mentioned wanting to see a day's work... could it be he wanted to help your business? Surely he couldn't see you as a competitor- you were nothing but a humble shop that did its best to share the magic of candy to an adoring few. Your thoughts escape you as he stops his train of thought with a little "yeah!" and focuses on your face.

"What exactly are you doing after work?"

That was not a question you expected to hear. What a surprising man, wasn't he? You glance at the broom you placed in the corner mere minutes ago, concluding that you had finished up cleaning and that Fiddlewhacker would complete his storage work soon.

"Nothing much," You start, eyes finding their way to his and locking his gaze with yours. "Planned on going back home and... falling asleep, really."

He gives a curt nod, adopting a look of seriousness. "Mhm," His finger begins to tap his chin. "Are you, by any chance, scheduled tomorrow morning? Any reason to be up early?"

Shaking your head no, he leans forward ever so slightly, dropping his voice to a clear whisper.

"Wanna see the factory tonight?"

And this is when your ears would shoot up and hearts would take over your eyes if you were a Looney Tunes regular. His request is anything but ordinary; you've been invited to see the fabled factory tonight? Who would deny such an call to wonder? You had just met this Mr. Wonka, and he's offering a personal tour of his beloved empire?

Nodding fervently, you rush to put the broom away. Organizing a candy bag or two that seemed out of place, you finish up quickly and rush to the back. You stop before the doot, about to knock when-

"I heard the whole thing, y'know. I'm done here, leaving soon. I won't need you tomorrow morning- go see that factory!"

Hand coming back down to your side, you give a wide smile and shout back, "Thanks, Mr. Fidds! I'll see you tomorrow afternoon!"

Rushing back to the lobby to find Mr. Wo- Willy waiting, you practically jump into his arms.

"I'd love to! A million times yes!" You exclaim, grabbing your bag and coat. "I'll give you another answer, for good measure: yes."

Willy smirks and feels his heart swell up with joy. You seemed thrilled to have this opportunity, and he was more than thrilled to get to know you better. Not once in all of his chocolatiering days did he believe in a feeling like this.

This felt new, spontaneous, fresh and healthy.

This felt right.

As he held the door open for you to let you out, he takes one last look at the shop. In all of its colors, patterns, and sweets, you seemed to stand out the most. He closes the door and walks by your side. Ready to explain the physics of the glass elevator, he excitedly leads you by the hand just to get there quicker.

Perhaps something could come from this, he thought.

Something that would be everlasting.