Who You Share it With (Willy Wonka x reader)

14. Breakfast

You yawned, stretching your arms as soon as you snapped out of dreamland. You paused for a moment, just soaking in the small amount of light that shone through your closed eyelids.

"You-you're awake?" went the meager voice of your local quirky chocolatier.

"Mm-hmm." You sat up, rubbing your eyes at the astounding sight. "You're awake?" Usually, you were the first to get up, enjoying the sunrise and getting down to make breakfast before anyone else managed to blink. Yet, there he was, dressed head to toe in his usual fanciful attire. He stared down at you as he worked to get his second sock on with only one foot on the ground. Turning to the window, you squinted towards the beloved grandfather clock in the middle of town. "It's half past four," you pointed out, attempting to sound surprised, but failing miserably with your groggy morning voice.

"I wanted to get an early start on the day," he pointed out nonchalantly.

"Nonsense." You threw off your mother's blanket and snatched the brown hat he'd just set upon his head.

"Hey—" you put the garment back on the bedpost over your scarf.

"You are going back to bed," you demanded.

"But—" he stared off at a wall, eyebrows furrowed. "Alright, I'll go," he groaned like a child who was just scolded into going to school.

After sitting down he grabbed your arm, pulling your form on top of him. "Woah!" While you attempted to get back up, he easily held you down through the struggle. "Let me go!" you yelped.

"Hey, I thought you said I was going back to bed," he grunted, holding onto your arms as you flailed your appendages around.

"And I'm not," you heaved.

"If I'm going to bed you're coming with me!" With one final tug, he pulled you next to him. "Ah, perfect," he sighed, firmly holding onto you from behind.

You shifted to face him and couldn't help but smirk at his flushed cheeks. "Well, I guess somebody's not going to get choc-chip pancakes. Too bad," you shrugged, making sure to emphasize the last bit. His eyes widened, looking down at you as if you'd just deprived him of his Christmas presents.

"Fine, go," he drawled, reluctantly letting go of you.

You eagerly jumped out of bed, leaving as fast as a jackrabbit. Before you could though, you couldn't help but take a fraction of a second to admire the giddy smile on Willy's face as you left. "Be back in a bit, Willy!"

"I'll be waiting, darling!" he called.

You washed up in the restroom down in the laundry. After, you went right back upstairs to the kitchen. While it wasn't the most pleasant of settings—with the grimy seams across the counters and walls—the floor shone so bright you could see your face in it. Noodle often scrubbed the tiles to Mrs. Scrubitt's orders. No one could clean as well as her, but no one despised it as much as she did.

The bottom of the counter was stained a discolored yellowish white, one that you'd never figured out how to get rid of. You kneeled down to a mostly forgotten cupboard. Just opening it let out a puff of foul-smelling dust. After coughing as quietly as possible, you reached into the very back of it. Past the cobwebs and dust bunnies was a bag of chocolate chips you'd been saving for a special occasion.

"Phew," you'd often wondered whether or not this was a good enough hiding place to fool Mrs. Scrubitt. This reassured you that she was too dim to even attempt trying her hand at making anything other than slop.

You quickly whipped up a batch of pancakes. The mundane task seemed like it lasted two seconds. You've made pancakes tens of times before. At this point, the only reason you continue to is that it puts a smile on the guests' and—in your opinion more importantly—Noodle's faces. You wanted to make something new. You almost hadn't realized how delighted you were to make those macarons with Willy last night. The sorrowful depths of your mind wished for nothing more than to feel the same way you did when baking with your dad.