Who You Share it With (Willy Wonka x reader)

22. Acts of Indebtedness

Mrs. Scrubitt was absolutely awful; there was no doubt about it. However—despite her wildly spiteful demeanor and extreme temperament—she liked you. You didn't think it was genuine appreciation, no, it was just you being entitled to a space in her blackened shriveled-up heart after being the longest-lasting guest. Well, the longest-lasting guest that hadn't died yet, of course.

Mrs. Scrubitt's little glints of gratitude surfaced very subtly, but—being the recipient of them—you couldn't help but notice her tendencies.

For one, your room was a bit bigger than that of the other guests. Of course, you had technically inherited it from your deceased parents, but that didn't explain the fact that she could've easily given Abacus or Lottie the same courtesy.

Despite having a larger room, Willy showed no intention of moving out—even after Lottie and Piper fixed his mattress, rendering the extra space irrelevant to housing two people.

Another "kind" gesture was letting you out of the laundry. Other than Noodle—who, let's face it, was practically born in the laundry—you were the only "guest" allowed outside. Though, it was pretty rare that she did let you leave, causing you to sneak out anyway.

Not that it made much of a difference now that Willy had given the others enough confidence to go as well.

And let's not forget the fact that she always gave you the easiest task of making slop! While the other guests gruesomely ironed, you were either stirring the next day's laundry or making their dinner. But, maybe she only gave you the chore of making slop Scrubitt-style because you were objectively bad at ironing.

While the job used to be difficult with your sub-par ingredients and lack of space, Willy's chocolate business brought in money. Such revenue could be used to buy ingredients for you to make—as he called them—edible eatables, and the job of making food became even more strenuous with the guest's newfound expectations. You still adored cooking though, and the benefits of experimenting with your new chocolatier friend for dinner outweighed the laziness of preparing slop.

Now that you think about it, the vast majority of Mrs. Scrubitt's paltry acts of indebtedness were negated by Willy's much larger kindnesses. You said, "the vast majority," and not "all" for one simple reason. The same reason you were currently being dragged into the pigeon coop by the ear behind an intoxicated Mrs. Scrubitt.

You see, no matter how much Willy made your life better, Mrs. Scrubitt was prone to fits of drunken rage. So, when she stormed into the kitchen with a dripping decanter of golden liquor, you'd already known what a ride you were in for.

"Y/N! YOU FILTHY RAT!" she'd scream.

"What-What's going on?" you'd reply, stepping back just for her to grab you by the hair.

"YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!" she'd say, but you never did know because you never did anything.

"Wait, I—" You'd try, but by then the laundry would have grown quiet and you'd have been thrown into the pigeon coop.

"Wonderful," you muttered under bated breath. You thumbed over your ear, which was probably bright red from her grubby hold.

This scene played out nearly every other day before Mrs. Scrubitt became preoccupied with her and Bleacher's antics. It had practically become routine, but every time it still sent a pang of sadness through you.

'Why'd it have to be today?' you thought. This was the last day before the shop opening and you were stuck in an old rickety pigeon coop. You hadn't even seen the store since that day Lottie, Piper, and Noodle were teasing you. Would Willy really be able to pull such a feat as to turn the dusty spot into a lively den of dreams? You hoped with all your might that the customers would see the charm that you did in the store.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when a pigeon fluttered down next to you. "Sorry for taking your spot, lil' fella, but I have a feeling I'll be stuck here for a while," you told the pigeon, who just cocked their head.

Talking to pigeons; this was your sign that you were going insane.

~•~

"Noodle, where's Y/n?" asked Willy, who had precariously searched the entire laundry. He'd just completed the finishing touches on the tree, and he'd love for her to see it.

Noodle looked over her shoulders both ways before whispering, "Mrs. Scrubitt dragged her in the pigeon coop, I heard it got real bad."

Willy immediately tensed, thoughts ran wild in his mind. 'Is Y/n okay? What did she do? What did that monster do to her?'. He found his feet moving on their own out of the room, but he didn't complain. In all honestly, he was surprised he didn't just crash to the ground right in front of Noodle, much less gain the instinct to protect Y/n so easily.

He heard a muffled call of, "Where are you going?" from the direction he came from, but he didn't have the time to turn back.

"To help Y/n!" he called back.

Not a moment later, Noodle scurried to his side, easily keeping up with his brisk pace. "Are you mad? Mrs. Scrubitt will kill you!" Noodle warned in a hoarse whisper.

Willy thought for a moment. Was he insane? No, he couldn't be insane, he made chocolate! What madman would make the world's greatest chocolates? But, if he was mad then he could always be the first. While the idea of being the first mad chocolatier sounded enticing, Willy decided he couldn't be insane because the only reason a madman was mad was that they don't think they are mad, and Willy was fully aware of the fact that he may be mad. Hence, he was—

"Willy?" he found himself standing before the door of the coop, Y/n's sweet inquisitive voice calling his name. He didn't stop for a moment to wonder just how he'd put his feet on autopilot or exactly how often he'd arrived at a destination not even having realized he left. The questions were obviously irrelevant, unlike the question his love- friend had in store for him.

"Yes, darling?"

"Why are you staring at the coop?" she asked.

He drifted out of his gaze and met her eyes through a hole in the door. "I'm getting you out, of course!"

"What? But Mrs. Scrubitt will kill you!" he felt an odd sense of deja vu from the sentence.

"I've dealt with worse!" he reassured her, flicking the latch open. "Besides, we should be going to bed."

She reluctantly left the tiny pantry-sized space. "So, I won't get to see the shop?" she asked sorrowfully, staring out through a nearby window at the setting sun.

He attempted to lighten the mood, "Well, think of it as a prize for your hard work. As I always say, the best prize is a surprise!" That got a giggle out of her and it made his day.

───── ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ─────

The day after next, he did evoke Mrs. Scrubit's wrath, but—as he said—he dealt with it.

~•~

1205 words

"In one more week, we'll get to see the shop opening! Are you excited? I'm excited :3 Anywho, the one-shot book will be coming out in a matter of days, so keep an eye out! I hope you all still like this book (idk why posting a chapter always makes me feel so anxious). Again, I want to thank all of you for the support and all the milestones this book reaches! I don't want to bore you guys with a long a/n again so, vote, comment your thoughts, and I'll see you next chapter!"

- Coffee