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proxima-writes · 6 months

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title: a very furby christmas

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: t

word count: 3.6k

joel miller masterlist | all masterlists

summary:

it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect.

well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months.

turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town.

author’s note:

this is just a silly lil feel good holiday fic that’s been plaguing my brain. if you are too young to have experience the furby craze, i implore you to look it up. however, if you do remember, i hope this gives you a happy dose of nostalgia. gingerbread dividers by @saradika-graphics

tags/warnings:

pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.

“Dad! Wake up!” Sarah shouts, bursting into Joel’s room. She leaps onto the bed, bouncing on her knees and jostling him around on the mattress as he groans.

“Sarah, baby, it’s too damn early,” he says, pulling the quilt over his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” The bouncing stops as she lays beside him, tugging the quilt down. “It’s time to make cinnamon rolls. And we gotta make cookies for Santa.”

Joel blinks, his daughter’s face coming into focus, bright brown eyes and a gap toothed smile filling his vision. Her hair is a wild mess from sleep and her unicorn pajama shirt is stained with toothpaste. At eight years old, she’s starting to lean out, her cheeks no longer as round and her limbs at that stage of awkward adolescent lankiness. He wants to sleep, wants a few more hours of rest after a jam packed holiday season of repairs and deadlines and supply issues, but looking at her smiling face and remembering that she’s getting older…

Well, that gets him moving.

“Alright. Let’s get downstairs and make Santa the best cookies he’s ever had.”

She squeals, scrambling off the bed and racing out of the room, light footsteps descending the stairs as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up to find a t-shirt in the pile of laundry he’s neglected to put away, opting to dig through its wrinkled contents for what he needs each day instead.

He makes his way downstairs and to find his daughter rummaging through the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk for their customary Christmas Eve cinnamon rolls and the jangle of keys in the doorknob lets him know that Tommy has arrived.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Millers!” His younger brother announces. “Sarah! It don’t smell like cinnamon in here!”

“Dad woke up late,” she shouts back. Tommy grins at Joel as he passes, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“‘Course he did,” he says with a wink. Joel rolls his eyes as he gets the electric mixer from the top cabinet for Sarah and preheats the oven for her.

“Y’know, Santa can take all those presents he’s got ready for you and leave them at other houses for nicer kids,” he says. Sarah’s eyes go wide.

“He wouldn’t!” She yelps. “I’ve been good all year!”

“Don’t listen to your daddy, sweetheart. He’s just bein’ a sensitive Sally,” Tommy says. She breathes a sigh of relief, her attention returning to her task of cracking eggs.

“I just really hope Santa brings me a Furby,” she says wistfully. “I want one of ‘em so bad. Chrissy got one when they came out in October and they’re so cool!”

“I’m sure Santa will come through,” Joel says, catching Tommy’s eye and winking. Tommy’s brows pinch together as he mouths, “What?”

Joel widens his eyes at him, a look that screams, “What do you mean, what?!”

Tommy continues to look confused and Joel squeezes his eyes shut, turning back to his daughter to help her with rolling out the dough she’s mixed up. She continues to chat about her excitement for tomorrow, especially because her big sister has agreed to stop by in the morning.

“You didn’t forget that she’s coming, right?” Sarah asks.

“‘Course not, sweetie,” Joel replies distractedly. The hours Joel works aren’t always conducive to a prompt after school pick up, so most days Sarah spends time with a volunteer from the Empowered Girls program that she calls her “big sister”. He always forgets her name, but he knows she’s a student working on her master’s degree in elementary education at University of Texas. Did he forget she was coming? Yeah, maybe, but he’s got bigger problems right now.

Like the fact that Tommy is acting like he has no clue he was supposed to get Sarah that damn Furby for Christmas.

Once the cinnamon rolls are in the oven and Sarah returns to her room to get dressed for the day, Joel smacks Tommy on the back of the head.

“Ow! The fuck?” He asks, rubbing the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“Tell me you didn’t forget that perfect little girl’s goddamn talkin’ demon toy or I’ll do it again,” Joel warns, already raising his hand. Tommy scrambles from his seat, hands held up defensively as he backs himself up against the counter to get away from his brother’s assault.

“You didn’t tell me to get one!” He insists. Joel stares at him incredulously.

“I sure as hell did! I gave you fifty bucks three weeks ago and asked you to get one because I’d be workin’ OT until Christmas Eve and it would be too late by then!”

“I thought the fifty was for me. Like an early gift or somethin’.”

Joel closes his eyes and attempts to take a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, he feels no more calm as he looks at his brother.

“Great. Now I’m gonna have to go to the goddamn toy store on Christmas Eve to find one of these things.”

“I’ll go for you,” Tommy offers. Joel hits him with a look.

“No. I ain’t makin’ that mistake again. You’re stayin’ here with Sarah and I’ll go get the Furball.”

“It’s Furby,” Tommy corrects. Joel reaches out and smacks his head again before he can protect himself.

Sarah returns to the kitchen, dressed in her Rudolph t-shirt and jeans and smiling brightly as she says, “I’m ready to make cookies!”

Joel smiles apologetically. “Bad news, sweetheart. I gotta run down to a job site and check in on somethin’. Looks like a plumbin’ emergency.”

“On Christmas Eve?” She asks, smile dropping from her face. “But we have to make the cookies!”

“I know, I know, but Uncle Tommy will stay and help you. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

“Yep. And we’ll make cookies better than any your daddy has ever made, too.”

Joel’s teeth grind together at the dig but he keeps smiling at his daughter. “Right. See? I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“I guess,” she says forlornly. Her arms wrap around Joel’s legs and squeeze tightly. Joel smooths a hand over her wild hair, glaring at Tommy.

“Sorry, sweetie. But the sooner I head out, the sooner I can get back, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles against his thigh. “I’ll make sure Uncle Tommy doesn’t eat all the dough before we bake it.

“That’s my girl,” Joel says.

________

You knew you shouldn’t have waited this long to go shopping for your little sister’s Christmas gift, but you’d picked up extra shifts at your part time job since you weren’t flying home for the holiday break and time just slipped away from you. Now you’re entering your fourth store on a desperate hunt for the one toy she hasn’t stopped talking about since it came out in October.

“It’s called a Furby and the more you talk to it, the more it learns,” she told you, showing you the fluffy toy in a catalog one day. “Isn’t it so cute?!”

“It’s…something,” you replied, staring at its dead eyes. “And that’s what you want for Christmas?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if Santa will bring it for me. I told dad about it, but he’s been really busy with work and I don’t know if he remembered to tell Santa.”

You wander around the store, looking for the garish pink and blue sign that lorded over the toy display. You finally spot it, crossing your fingers as you quickly approach what looks like a mostly barren shelf. There’s something on the bottom row, but your experience in other stores has showed you that often people abandon their unwanted items in the Furby display, leading to false hope.

“Please, please, please,” You mumble, moving quickly now. You’re trying not to break into a run in the middle of the store but after so many disappointments, you can’t be blamed for your steps turning into a light jog.

A pair of unseeing mechanical blue eyes stare back at you from the bottom shelf as you get closer. Pristine white fur, pointed ears, and a little yellow beak encased in plastic.

The last Furby.

You’re so close to success you can taste it.

You reach for the toy, ready to scoop it into your arms and take a victory march to the lone cashier left working, when a tan hand emerges from your left, landing on the box just as you touch it.

“‘Scuse me,” a deep voice says, southern drawl blanketing the words. You look up, gaze meeting the warm brown eyes of a handsome man, tall and broad with messy dark curls. He smiles, all smooth charm as he says, “I’m goin’ to need this toy.”

You stand firm. “I think I was here first, sir.”

The charming smile drops. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Look, I need this toy for my daughter. I’ve been lookin’ for one all over town.”

You place your free hand on your hip. “I need it for my little sister and I’ve also been all over town today. If you needed it so bad, why didn’t you get it sooner?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he replies. You roll your eyes. “Come on, please? Ain’t there somethin’ else your little sister is dyin’ to have?”

“She’s talked about this toy for months,” you tell him. “And she’s worried Santa isn’t going to bring it, so I wanted to make sure I got her one.”

He smiles softly. “Sounds like my daughter. She handed me no less than five letters to Santa to mail off askin’ for one.”

“So why didn’t you get one before tonight?” You ask curiously.

“My dumbass brother,” he says. “I‘ve been workin’ overtime for the last few months, so I told him to go out and get one. He didn’t listen.”

“That sucks.”

“What about you? What made you wait so long?”

It should probably feel weird, having a full conversation with a stranger while you’re in a stand off over a Furby, but the man’s smile has your stomach twisting, wanting to know more about him and oddly thrilled that he wants to know more about you, too.

“I picked up a lot of extra shifts since I’m on break. I go to UT,” you tell him. “Time just got away from me.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the feelin’.”

A crackle sounds over the store speakers, a bored voice announcing, “Attention Toys R’ Us shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the front of the store to complete your purchases.”

The man’s expression grows panicked. You sigh, taking your hand from the box.

“Get it for your daughter,” you tell him. “Keep that Santa magic going for a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “What’ll you get for your sister?”

You look around the store, spotting a sporting gear display. You take off in its direction.

“I’ll figure something out!”

________

“It’s a Furby!” Sarah shouts, shaking the box in her excitement. “Look, dad! Santa got me a Furby!”

“Is that so?” Joel says, sipping from his mug of coffee with a splash of Bailey’s, his own personal Christmas tradition. “See? I told ya I sent out all those letters you wrote.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She chants, running around the family room in her red plaid pajamas. Tommy, still barely awake, nods as Sarah shows him the list of features on the back.

It’s close to 9 a.m. but the Miller brothers had a late night of wrapping presents and drinking whiskey in order to have the tidy pile of brightly colored boxes ready beneath the tree for Sarah in the morning. Joel had also gotten her a new journal and a pack of Jelly pens, a few bottles of nail polish, and two new Beanie Babies for her collection. Tommy had sprung for a set of shin guards for when she starts soccer in March, something she was excited for ever since the girl she’d been paired with in her big sister after school program had played with her a few times.

It’s not much, but it’s what he could manage. Sarah is happy, her eyes lighting up with each gift she unwraps, and that’s all that matters to Joel.

A knock sounds at the door and Sarah races down the hall, Joel trailing after her trying to remind her not to open the door to strangers. The young girl doesn’t listen, instead throwing open the door and launching herself into the arms of someone surprisingly familiar.

You look up, eyes going wide in surprise he’s sure mirrors his own. Sarah drags you in by the hand, excitedly introducing you, giving Joel a name for the pretty face he’d been thinking about all last night.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he says, holding a hand out to you. You slip your palm against his, warm and smooth, shaking his hand. The smile on your face is mischievous, the secret the two of you share dancing in your eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you tell him. “Hope I’m not too early, Sarah said you open presents around eight and to come after that.”

“No, no, ‘course it ain’t too early,” he assures you. He realizes he’s still holding your hand, even as silence settles between you. With a laugh, he draws back, running his hand through his hair nervously. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

Joel leads you to the kitchen where Tommy is pulling a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven under Sarah’s careful supervision. He whacks her hand with a dish towel when she tries to reach for the steaming hot dessert and she pouts pitifully. She spots the gift bag in your hand and her eyes light up.

“Is that a present for me?” She asks.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller,” Joel chastises. You laugh, handing the bag over to her. She rips the tissue paper from the top, reaching in for her gift with a wide smile.

“A soccer ball!” She exclaims. “Dad, you can help me practice in the backyard now!”

You share a look with Joel, one where his gaze is filled with gratitude and yours reflects understanding. The moment is made brief by Sarah trying to bounce the ball on her knee, knocking it onto a counter and subsequently being told to go put it away for now.

You introduce yourself to Tommy while Joel pulls you a mug of coffee. Sarah brings her now unboxed Furby into the kitchen, setting it in a place of honor on the dining table.

“Dad, can you put batteries in Snowball?” Sarah asks. She turns to you. “That’s his name.”

“Oh. Hello, Snowball,” you say, voice serious as you regard the toy. Joel laughs while he digs around the junk drawer for the rogue batteries that hide beneath bills and takeout menus.

As breakfast is served and toys are turned on, conversation flows between everyone easily. It’s a wonder, Joel thinks. You fit right in with his little family, like you were meant to be there all along. Maybe it’s the Bailey’s in his coffee, or maybe it’s the spirit of Christmas, but he can’t help the warmth in his chest as he watches you help Sarah with the Furby that started it all.

________

You’ve been at the Miller house since early that morning, through all three meals of the day, many rounds of coffee, a screening of Home Alone and A Christmas Story, and painting your nails with Sarah. Not once does anyone make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In fact, as the day wears on, you can’t help but think that Joel, like you, doesn’t want the day to end. You keep catching his eye and the crooked smile he gives you leaves you feeling giddy.

After dinner, Joel and Tommy start gathering what looks like cookie decorating supplies. Sarah sighs and you turn to her with concern.

“It’s time for the gingerbread competition,” she says, more solemn than an eight year old ought to be. Joel leaves the room and returns with a caulking gun.

“Why does he have that?” You ask, watching as he loads a saran wrapped bag of icing into the chamber.

“They take this…very seriously.”

Tommy and Joel set up decorating stations on either end of the dining table, shooing you out of your seat. Sarah grabs a cookie from a platter on the counter and settles onto a barstool while you stand by, confused and maybe a little scared.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asks. Both men nod. “Start your construction!”

Joel and Tommy rip into the cardboard gingerbread house kits, determination in every move. Joel uses the caulking gun to lay a foundation for the floor of his house, followed by the sides and the roof in quick succession. While Joel is going for a well built structure, Tommy takes a more avant garde approach, using a combination of licorice and frosting to hold his house together.

“Are they always like this?” You ask, fascinated as you watch them.

“Sometimes they’re worse.”

Tommy chucks a peppermint at Joel’s head, the candy bouncing off his forehead and landing on his gingerbread shingles. He counters with a gumdrop that manages to hit Tommy square in the eye, angry curses falling from the younger Miller brother’s lips as he tries to recover and continue the construction of his mid-century cookie home.

“Quit fightin’ dirty,” Joel says when Tommy whines about him being unfair. “I‘ll only fight dirtier.”

You know that the words aren’t meant to be suggestive but you can feel your cheeks go warm nonetheless. The Furby in Sarah’s arms coos, a string of indecipherable words coming from its little yellow beak.

“What did it say?” You ask.

“I’m not sure. It’s still speaking Furbish,” she says.

“It said,” Joel chimes in, setting down his frosting gun, “that I’m the gingerbread construction champ.”

Joel’s little gingerbread house looks like it’s straight from a magazine. Perfectly built, structurally sound, and classically decorated with candy and sugar. You and Sarah both applaud as Tommy groans. His little house lists to the side and a glob of icing drips to the table.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says to her dejected uncle, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s always next year.”

“Alright, it’s time to start closin’ up shop. To bed with you,” Joel announces, steering Sarah for the stairs.

“Can’t I stay up later?” She complains. The Furby echoes her tone convincingly.

“I already fell for that last night. You’re not gettin’ away with it twice. Bed, and brush your teeth,” he replies, kissing her on the head. “Tell everyone goodnight.”

She hugs you and Tommy before heading upstairs, the Furby chirping as she goes. Tommy punches Joel lightly on the shoulder.

“You know I let you win, right?” He asks. Joel scoffs.

“The proof is in the cookie,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. I’m headin’ home,” he says, hugging his brother. To your surprise, his arms wrap around you in a quick squeeze as well. “It was nice to meet you. Don’t be a stranger,” he tells you with a wink.

When the front door clicks shut, it’s just you and Joel in the kitchen. You’re inexplicably nervous now, despite spending the whole day with the man, and you busy yourself by loading the dishwasher with mugs stained by hot chocolate and coffee.

“You don’t have to do that,” Joel says, gently grasping your wrist. He removes the mug from your hand and sets it on the counter. He pulls you close, your chest brushing his as you take in a surprised breath. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. Up close, you can see the stubble that’s grown along his jaw, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes, and that his nose is just the slightest bit crooked. A heavy palm rests on your lower back, the heat of him palpable even through your t-shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice dropped low in the quiet room.

You nod, unable to form words, but that’s okay. His hand cups your cheek and his lips press to yours and your eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping you as you lean into him. It’s soft at first, experimental. A tentative exploration of a broken boundary.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding tight as he parts your lips and his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like sugar - peppermints and hot chocolate and cookies that he’s eaten throughout the day sweetening his kiss. When he pulls back for a breath, he dips his forehead against yours, smoothing his thumb across your cheek.

“Been wantin’ to do that all day,” he tells you. He kisses you once, twice, and is about to go in for a third when a voice from upstairs interrupts him.

“Dad?” Sarah calls. Joel steps back from you, leaning past the kitchen doorway to yell back a, “Yeah?”

“Snowball won’t stop talking,” she replies. Footsteps sound on the stairs and Joel breaks away from you as Sarah enters the kitchen, Furby in hand.

“Take the batteries out,” Joel suggests.

“I did.”

She turns the toy over, showing the empty battery compartment. Joel rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“Tell you what,” he says, holding his hands out for the toy, “Why don’t we stick it in the hall closet for the night?”

“Won’t he be scared?”

“It’s…it’s a toy, baby.” You stifle a laugh as he shoves the talking Furby beneath some towels in the linen closet and shuts the door. “There, now you can both get some sleep. You can play with Snowball again in the mornin’.”

Sarah yawns, nodding. Joel kisses her head before urging her back to bed. When he returns, his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“What a weird toy,” you tell him, eyeing the closet suspiciously.

“Yeah, but it’s what got us here,” he says, pulling you into his arms once more.

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