I decided to make an advent calendar for our favorite clones! It's going to be a new story every day. They're mostly just fluff, sometimes a bit suggestive or angsty, but all in all, sfw!
(p.s. english isn't my mother tongue, sorry for mistakes!)
warnings: reader has a really bad day, some mean comments
word count: ~820
a/n: this is the sixth fic for my advent calendar!
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Today was the worst day of your life. Ever.
It all started when you overslept and had to rush through your morning routine. You didn't even have enough time to eat your breakfast or give Waxer a goodbye kiss. Instead, you were running down the streets, trying to start work on time.
As if that wasn't enough, just as you were about to run around the last corner that separated you from your destination, you tripped over something and fell on the ground, directly into a cold puddle. You were covered in mud from head to toe.
But you knew yourself and your clumsiness well enough to have some extra clothes at your workstation. It wouldn't be a problem. Hah! You thought so. Turns out, with all the hustle and bustle, you forgot your keys.
You were wet and dirty, and the cold winter air didn't make anything better. You felt miserable and were freezing.
Just as you wanted to just give up and go home again, you heard someone calling your name.
"What are you waiting for? Avoiding work?" The high-pitched voice of your least favorite coworker broke your loneliness as she stepped closer, putting her key into the keyhole of the door. "You look like trash," she commented, but you try to ignore her.
"Forgot my keys. Thanks," you mutter, ignoring her mean comment, stepping in and stumbling to the elevator.
And that was just the morning. The rest of the day wasn't really getting better.
After some more mean comments from your coworker and your forgotten lunch, your computer suddenly stopped working. So you had to do the boring work.
The time passes too slowly, but when you finally can go, you pack all of your things and almost run home.
Just when you're right in front of the door and want to open it, you realize that you not only forgot your work keys but your whole keychain.
In addition to that, all the lights are off. Waxer isn't home.
With a glance at the calendar on your phone, you realize that today is the day when he comes home late. He wouldn't be here for another few hours.
You couldn't take it anymore.
Frustrated, you let yourself fall on the stairs. You pull your legs to your body, hug them with your arms, and bury your face in your knees.
You feel a familiar pressure behind your eyes, and after some seconds, you give up and allow the tears to leave your eyes.
The weather is windy, you start to freeze again, and you just can't help but hope that the cold stairs beneath you won't give you cystitis.
While you sit there crying, you don't even hear footsteps coming closer.
Only when warm hands settle on the sides of your knees, you notice that someone is here.
Startled, you look up, directly into the brown eyes of your love. He is kneeling in front of you, looking worried.
"Waxer!" you cry out, relieved. You jump into his arms, almost tackling him to the ground.
"What are you doing here? I thought you're working late," you mumble, squeezing him tight.
"I wanted to surprise you," he says, stroking your back slightly. "I wanted to cook for you and make you a sweet evening, but I was stopped at work several times," he explains further, pushing you back a bit to wipe your tears away.
"Come on, you're shaking. Let's get in, and then you can tell me what has got you so upset, okay?" he suggests, already pulling you up.
You nod, and while he is opening the door and helping you out of your jacket and boots, you tell him about your bad day.
Waxer listens carefully, nods, and sometimes comments. When you finish, you already feel better.
"What about that: You go shower and warm up, and while you do that, I'll cook us something nice, eh?" he proposes again, and the hungry rumble of your stomach provides the answer.
"Yes, please. I'm starving," you agree additionally.
About half an hour later, you're showered, smell good again, and feel warm. As you walk into the kitchen, you see Waxer standing on the stove with your grandma's apron around his neck. He's stirring something in a pot, and everything smells delicious.
You come up behind him and lay your face on his bag, hugging him.
"You okay?" he asks quietly, laying his free hand on top of yours.
"Yeah. Now I am," you whisper, enjoying the way he slowly starts to sway from left to right while cooking.
Waxer is the best thing that happened to you today, but that isn't a surprise.
Waxer is great, handsome. He knows what you need, usually before you even know it, and is there for you when you need him.
He's always the cherry on top for you, and you enjoy every second you have with him.
