My Lost Starshine (Willy Wonka x Reader)(2005)

8

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"Good morning, starshine."

The words slipped out before I could stop them—soft, almost reverent—as I leaned close enough to catch the faint scent of peppermint and home that still clung to her after all these years. 

She smiled, that same small, knowing curve of her lips I'd dreamed about on too many lonely nights in Loompaland.

"The Earth says hello," I finished, the old line from that ridiculous song we used to hum together under the cherry tree when we were small and the world hadn't yet taught us how cruel it could be.

She whispered the last part along with me, barely audible, her eyes locked on mine. 

For a heartbeat, the entire factory—the children, the chocolate river waiting just beyond the next door, the whole glittering madhouse of my life—fell away. 

It was just us again. Just Y/n and Willy, stealing a moment that tasted like stolen candy.

Then a small hand tugged her sleeve.

Charlie. Sweet, wide-eyed Charlie, looking up at her with that innocent curiosity only children still possess.

"Y/n," he asked quietly, "why did Mr. Wonka greet you like that?"

She blushed—actually blushed—and I had to fight the urge to reach out and brush my thumb across the color on her cheek. Instead I watched her kneel slightly, keeping one protective arm around his shoulders.

"Well, Charlie," she said gently, "it's a slightly complicated story. Willy and I... we used to be... very close."

Very close.

The phrase landed like a sugar-dusted kiss. I felt my own gaze soften as it met hers over Charlie's head. Close didn't begin to cover it. 

She'd been the only person who'd ever made me feel like the world could be safe. Like I could be safe.

I cleared my throat—dramatic, theatrical, buying myself a second to remember how to breathe—and stepped forward.

"Dear guests..." I began, spreading my arms wide, letting my voice bounce off the high, candy-striped walls. "Greetings. Welcome to the factory. I shake you warmly by the hand."

I swept into the familiar introduction, the one I'd rehearsed in front of a hundred empty mirrors during the long years the gates were locked.

"My name is Willy Wonka."

Right on cue, Veruca Salt piped up from the front of the little group.

"Then shouldn't you be up there?" She pointed at the now-silent puppet stage.

I tilted my head, letting a slow, amused smile curl my lips.

"I couldn't very well watch the show... from up there, now, could I, little girl?"

Y/n chuckled behind me—quiet, delighted—and the sound went straight through me like sunlight through stained glass.

"Mr. Wonka," she called softly.

I flinched—just a tiny, involuntary twitch—because hearing my name in her voice still felt like coming home.

She stepped forward, pulling Charlie gently with her.

"I don't know if you'll remember me... but I used to work... here in the factory."

The others might have missed the tiny spark of mischief in her eyes, but I didn't. She was playing along. Giving me the opening I'd secretly hoped for.