#screaming gaffers

[fraudulent-cheese]

Perfectly timed for that original posts's birthday! based on a post by @incorrect-gaffers-quotes

[jesterjaxx]

I should make a skating au for the screaming gaffers

[didyouknowtotaldrama]

Exciting news for Eva fans! Between the Screaming Gaffers and Team E-Scope, Eva is slowly building a social game, and we can't wait to see what it may mean for her in a potential future season.

[total-karma]

my current fics in the works (there's a lot)

POSTED:

dress up in you (trustin)

good (& bad) things come in threes (aleheathoah)

NOT POSTED:

mkulia band au

mkulia + aleheather supervillain au (ohh this one is so fun)

gweather island oneshot

gwourtney time loop set during 'I See London' (this one is so angsty. i am having so much fun making them unbearable and awful)

screaming gaffers gen fic set during an apocalypse IM SO EXCITED for this one you have no idea

[real-total-drama-takes]

i wish action was a better season because i really liked the screaming gaffers team... and leshawna should've won

.

[ripaxed]

Killer Grips: Trent, Lindsay, Justin, Beth, Owen, Izzy, Courtney (Joined Later)

Screaming Gaffers: Gwen, Duncan, Leshawna, DJ, Heather, Harold

[arrowsneo]

Team Chris is rlly x4 hot

[vii-spider]

watching @mintiestkitkat play the pikmin 4 demo

[incorrect-gaffers-quotes]

Heather: *clicks pen*

Duncan: *clicks pen in response*

Harold: Stop that.

Heather: Stop what?

Harold: You’re talking about me in Morse code.

Duncan: Yeah, that's what we're doing. In the three days between seasons, we took a class on a very outdated, very unnecessary form of communication just so we could talk about you in front of you.

*in the confessional*

Heather: That’s exactly what we did.

[wosowrites]

For Her Safety (Jessie Fleming x Reader)

warnings: swearing

prompt: in which you get tackled horrifically during a dirty game by an irish player and jessie is furious.

a/n: by the way I LOVE Katie so much she just does these things for the sake of the story.

Bev had given you all a talk days before the Ireland game. It went something along the lines of "Katie McCabe plays dirty. She's brilliant, she's tough, she's dangerous, she will do anything to win, including taking your ankles out." The gaffer warned you all to be careful but not back down, to fight but not let her have any reason to hold a grudge against you. But mostly she emphasized that you had no control over the irishwoman, and that the only thing to do was hold her off.

When the Irish scored in the fourth minute you knew you had time, you knew you had the skill, but you also had a new found sense of worry. That goal was lucky. You cant mark someone taking a corner. She scored a good goal by accident, but a good goal nonetheless. And then it was Julias turn. It was Canadas turn to get lucky.

Right before half, Julia crossed the ball in from the left side and into the far right corner. An Irish defender tried to deflect it, but it went into her own net. You screamed your lungs out, running to Julia and hugging her and Jordyn closely. The Canadians formed a mob of joy before the half time whistle blew, but you all knew that you couldn't perform like the first half in the second.

And you didn't.

The real Canada came into the light in the second half, you were pressuring the Irish box, making passes, tackles, smart plays and taking shots, but the next goal came in the 53' minute. You were desperate to get on the score sheet as the striker, and when you saw a cross coming into the left corner just out of your reach and just a little too low, you knew what you had to do.

Throwing yourself in the direction of the ball head first, you made contact and sent the ball slamming into the back of the net along with yourself. You slid into the Irish net and quickly got up, running towards the only person you wanted to celebrate this goal with. Jessie Fleming. Her arms were outstretched as your body connected with hers in a hug at the top of the box. You wrapped your arms around her waist and laughed as Sophie, Jordyn, Sincy, and the entire of your team crashed into the hug as well. But the only person who mattered to you in that moment was Jess. Jess, your beautiful, perfect girlfriend and her shining, proud brown eyes.

The first foul on you came only minutes later, you were running down the wing, having switched momentarily with Jordyn. You got to the left edge of the box when Katie started marking you, jockeying and holding you off until support came. You moved up to her slowly, keeping the ball controlled and then faked going left before taking a small touch to the right past the irishwoman. But before you could get the ball again, Katie's leg stuck out and wiped your feet from under you. You barely had any time to react, already having been low due to the position you were in to change sides quickly, the fall made it that your head smashed into the turf without your arms to support them. You sat up quickly, your arms wide and the slight feeling of blood going down your face from your nose. You didnt care though, choosing instead to stand up and demand that the referee give Katie a yellow... which she didn't.

"You're kidding me, right?" another voice said. Jessie had closed in on you, Katie and the referee. "She stuck her foot out and made her fall on her face shes getting a card," Jessie said, her eyes cold and fixated upon McCabe. "You're not the referee, Fleming," the woman said. "Jessie just leave it," you said softly, putting your hand on her stomach to try and get her to back away. She probably would have if Katie hadn't sassed her.

"Yeah, you're not the ref," she taunted. This made the midfielder have other ideas. She pushed forwards and into Katie so that their faces were barely apart from each other. "Say that again, huh? I swear I see you touch her one more time and you'll be off this pitch in a stretcher," Jessie threatened.

Somehow, throughout the commotion between both teams, no medics had come for your nose. A big clump of players had formed, the green behind Katie, pulling their captain away and the white trying to put themselves between the two captains. Due to the big group of people and the loudness, the referee ended up not hearing anything that was being said, so a free kick was awarded and that was that.

However your nose was still bleeding like crazy and your jersey was soiled. Your head felt light and Jessies head snapped towards you as she saw you sit down on the grass again. The Canadian waved over medics and kneeled next to you, pushing back your baby hairs swiftly. "You're hot when you're mad," you winked at her. "You're hot when your nose is bleeding," she winked. "Dont lie," you rolled your eyes at her. "I'm not," she said almost hungrily. It made your heart skip a beat.

But then the medics were there with some towels and ushered you off the field just for the time it took to change your jersey and stop the bleeding. And then you were back on, but Katie was still angry.

The second foul on you came due to a slide tackle you had done to her. You had honestly tried to get the ball but ended up clipping her ankles. Not enough to injure her but enough to piss her off.

You were quick to stand up yourself, apologize and offer her your hand but she refused it, jumping up on her own and pushing you to the ground with a loud cuss word. You sat there, slightly stunned with your hands up in submission, but what made you stand back up was Jessie rushing towards you both, followed by a worried looking Vanessa Gilles and Quinny. You were quick to place yourself between Jessie and Katie. You grabbed onto Jessies waist with one arm and turned to Denise O'Sullivan. "Get her away from us O'Sullivan, she's not big but she stings," you yelled at the woman, referring to Jessie. Denise led her captain away and you watched as you got booked.

Before Jessie could argue with the ref, you gave her a stern look and took the yellow card. The game ended 2-1 which you were thankful for, but somehow McCabe still had it in her to argue.

As you shook hands with the opponent, Katie was closing the line and so were you. She stopped you by putting her hand on your stomach and pushing you in the slightest. "You play just as dirty as me you're just better at hiding it," she whispered in your ear. You rolled your eyes at her before moving away. "Whatever, I'm gonna go talk to my girlfriend now because I still have one," you scowled, knowing immediately you should not have said that. You walked away from her and towards Jessie who was looking more calm and concerned now instead of angry and on edge. "What did she say?" your girlfriend asked. "Nothing, just banter," you answered.

The next time you saw Katie, she was being booked. You had no clue for what because the game had been over for about five minutes now. You exchanged a look with Jessie and burst out laughing, clapping your hands together as the Irish ignored you.

The locker room was happy but full of knowledge that you all collectively needed to perform better versus Australia.

Once you got into the bus it was late and dark outside. Your hair was wet from shower water instead of rain and you cuddled up beside your girlfriend in the bus. "It's cute when you get all protective," you said to her, nuzzling into her shoulder. "It's cute when you put your arms out to stop yourself from almost breaking your nose," Jessie answered, making you let out a short, loud laugh. "Okay Fleming," you rolled your eyes.

Jessie looked down at you and you shifted to look up at her so that she could place a small, sweet kiss on your lips. She closed her eyes and so did you, knowing that you had a couple hours of sleep before taking a plane back to Melbourne.

[fraudulent-cheese]

You cannot tell me Harold wouldn't debate the lore behind children's movies. He just would.

[jesterjaxx]

Im gonna

Im trying to match the characters up to type of board or style of skating

Like Gwen seems like a longboard girl to me

Harold is getting rollerskates i canNOT picture him on a board

Im including trent in this even tho its mostly screaming gaffers he has an oldschool board

Duncan has a trick board

Ugh i need help with harold leshawna and DJ someone please 🙏

I should make a skating au for the screaming gaffers

[benedictscanvas]

be still, my foolish heart [2] - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k

series warnings: lots of language throughout, some allusions to smut but nothing explicit, a LOT of fucking fluff mostly ngl

a/n: the response on the first chapter of this was so overwhelming in the best way. i'm literally beside myself that people enjoyed it! my current plan is to update this every other day and try and get some little blurbs and one shots out in between. have a fabulous saturday night my loves <3

series summary: when jamie gets called up to the england team for the first time, he's terrified. enter you, all smiles and swearing, and suddenly his only fear is falling head over boots for you.

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

---

chapter two - i swear i thought i'd dreamed her

“Is that all you’ve got, Tartt?”

“Oh you’re so fuckin’ on, Rife.”

It’s day four of training camp. Jamie is over the moon to find that the England lads are largely similar to his Richmond lot and while he’s not half in love with them like he is back home, they’re a good bunch of lads. They get on. They can rib each other endlessly and then enjoy a good meal. He feels far more at home than he could have imagined.

He hadn’t expected Ted to get quite so jealous when he was telling him all this on FaceTime the night before.

“It’s nothin’ like being at home, though, Ted. ‘Course fuckin’ not. Haven’t got a grandad screaming at me all the time, ‘ave I?”

That was enough to placate Ted, allowed him to get on with telling Jamie how everyone was getting on at Richmond. Apparently, Ted had originally called him to get some advice on hair care products, but Jamie didn’t buy that for a second. He knew Ted could tell how nervous he was before he left. He was so grateful to have a gaffer - and a friend - willing to make up a shit excuse to check up on him.

He was holding his own in the training sessions too. He knew he wasn’t first choice up front, and however much it might have irked him previously, now he was able to enjoy the prestige that came with being here. The feeling he got when he shrugged on his England kit every morning just like he’d dreamt about when he was only a sexy little baby.

He loved penalty practice with Rife, tackling Marko in a 5v5 and knowing he’d be tackled back any second. He knew they were training for what would turn out to be some of the most important matches of his career, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like making a few new friends and dragging them down to the nearby pitch everyday to have a kick about. It felt nice.

Still hadn’t managed to talk to the City lads, though.

It was beginning to affect his play, too. When one of them would shout out an instruction to him, he’d do it without hesitation, wanting to make nice. But he knew that his own instincts got him his place on this team and blindly listening to others wasn’t going to get him any minutes.

Which was why he was stood behind a plant, outside the hotel bar, trying to figure out his move to just go over and talk to the fuckers.

They were nice lads. He knew that. They used to be friends, yeah, but he was a prick back then, so maybe they only liked prick Jamie and weren’t that nice at all. Or they hated prick Jamie and wanted nothing to do with him ever again. Or they thought he was a total joke who didn’t deserve to be there. Or-

“What did the plant do to you?” came a voice from behind him, which made him realise he was gripping the stem with a vengeance, “You need me to kick it over? I’ll do it, but you’ll need to be lookout.”

That playful teasing, that voice, was familiar. When he turned and found you, kind head of PR you that he hadn’t seen properly since your first meeting, he couldn’t decide if he was a lucky bastard or had the worst misfortune in the whole world. He groaned either way as he let go of the poor plant.

“I’ll water it later to say sorry, I guess,” he said, patting a leaf in a way that felt pretty pathetic, “You’re stayin’ ‘ere too? I haven’t seen ya.”

That wasn’t totally true. He’d seen you about once a day since that first day, but only around the camp itself rather than the hotel. The two of you had shared curt nods each time, a reminder of your first meeting, but each time these nods had been followed by easy smiles to each other.

Each time you’d been sharply dressed. A pencil skirt here, a trouser suit there. It reminded him a little of Rebecca, except for the little touches that he’d noticed you let slip through the professional facade. A beaded anklet, a pair of fluffy earrings. You were a ray of sunshine around the place, that much he had picked up on. The regulars at the camp greeted you as a similar breath of fresh air.

“Perk of being head of a department,” you smile, “How’s training treating you? Issues with the grass that you’re taking out on all plants in sight?”

There was a very loud sigh waiting in his throat. He could make up a lie about waiting for someone, or checking out the plants because he wanted to get himself one back home, but you’d see through any bullshit he offered up. And he didn’t really want to bullshit you anyway.

“More embarrassin’ than that, I think,” he admits, watching as your face falls from that teasing smile to something with more worry in it. It’s very hard to keep eye contact with you when you’re looking at him all concerned like that, “I’m gonna give y’ the option to walk away now, if ya want, so y’ don’t have to be part of it, like.”

He watches you make a face as if there’s an obvious answer to what he’s just said. Without thinking, he takes a quick glance back at the City players huddled around the bar to check they haven’t clocked him. Of course, you notice.

“I hope you know how mysterious and intriguing you just made this situation,” you say as you come to stand beside him, more behind the plant than you were, “Something to do with the lads in there?”

That big, loud sigh he’s been holding in manages to break free.

“Yeah, it is. Yeah,” he doesn’t even know how to say it without sounding like a sad sack of shit. You smell really good and it’s the first time he’s seen you in anything other than work clothes and you look incredible in cargos. His thought process is scrambled, “They’re all City, yeah? Sooo…we were teammates an’ then we weren’t. Now I’m…fuck, I don’t even fuckin’ know what I’m doin’.”

Part of him hates swearing like that in front of you until he remembers your penchant for swearing. He hadn’t looked at you when he was talking, but when he risks a look back at your face, there’s no more of that worry that had been there briefly. There’s understanding instead, and he likes it a lot more. 

“You want to talk but don’t know how? Think they hate your guts?”

“Well, it’d be hard to hate these guts,” he says, words cocky but he doesn’t get the tone right and he’s quick to self-deprecate instead, “But yeah, that sums it up. Pretty fuckin’ pathetic, huh?”

“No. Not fucking pathetic at all, Just Jamie. Don’t call yourself that.”

You’re looking at him expectantly so he nods, a little confused by your ferocity.

“Good. Not pathetic,” you say again, for him or for you, he isn’t sure, “So, let’s get us a game plan. How about we go in there, order a drink maybe, definitely some chips, and I’ll wave them over after ten minutes. I’ll make up some PR bullshit, get the conversation going.”

He hesitates. Suddenly, he realises his previous plan was to stare at them all night through the leaves of this plant before running back to his room when they looked like they were about to get up.

“I dunno…maybe I should leave it? Like, I’m making a big deal out of nothin’, really.”

“I think they’d appreciate you making an effort,” you insist, “I can confirm that they don’t hate your guts, if it helps. They’re decent lads. Warne is a dickhead, but he’s harmless. I’m sure you know all this, really.”

“You might be underestimatin’ what a dickhead I was, Just Y/N,” he laments, although the use of what he could now call a nickname between the two of you makes him feel better, “I was fuckin’ awful.”

“No, I know,” she says instead, and he wasn’t expecting that. His head snaps to gape at her so quick she actually laughs at him, “I watched Lust Conquers All. It’s trash but it makes you feel better about yourself, you know? And yeah, you did seem like a dickhead, but you don’t seem like one now. Anyone with half a brain would notice, so I’m sure even Warne will realise you’re not coming at them from the same place you were at.”

It’s a lot to process. Firstly, that yet another person has watched that godforsaken fucking show and it’s you and he feels like a total idiot in front of you now. But then he registers the rest of it, that in such a short time you’ve just proclaimed that he’d obviously not like that anymore. That he’s changed. He knows he has, but he doesn’t always expect other people to notice straightaway.

“How the fuck did you watch that show and still manage to be so nice to me when we met?” he asks, because he can’t help himself. He wants to know the answer. Wants to know if you’re just like that with everyone, because that would probably be easier.

“Hey,” you lower your voice, “Richmond fan, remember? I’ve been to the games. Even a couple of the open training sessions. Everyone at Richmond knows you’re a different person now, right?”

He gulps. Nods.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. So…I do too,” you’re practically whispering now. Talking to you is like having a piece of Richmond with him, maybe even more so than the playlist. You’re Richmond and you know the new Jamie. It means more than he should tell you to feel like he has someone on his side, “Also I’m pretty good friends with this guy at the club. Do you know Trent Crimm?”

“You know Trent?” he exclaims, louder than he should. You hush him, but you’re smiling as you do it. He repeats his question a lot quieter, “Sorry. You know Trent Crimm?”

“Yeah, he used to do some reporting on England, for a while. We ended up chatting quite a lot. There’s not many male football journalists out there worth making friends with, but Trent’s one of the good ones. He texted me to look after you, actually, so you must be pretty great.”

Now Jamie was really torn. On the one hand, Trent texting you to take care of him was really fucking nice for a man he hadn’t even spoken to all that much. On the other hand, there was now a sinking feeling in his chest that all this kindness was a favour to Trent and had nothing to do with him at all.

“Oh. That’s- uh, that’s nice to hear.”

“Oh fuck, that’s not why I want to help you!” you said quickly, like you’d read his mind, “I just saw you with the plant, wanted to check you were okay. I’m not just, like, fulfilling a promise to him or anything.”

That sinking feeling lifted. Especially because he liked that you wanted to make sure he knew that. He could feel little pieces of his confidence floating back into his body. They were on thin ice, however, when you tugged on his arm to follow you as you walked straight into the bar, heading directly for the City players as you did so. He had no choice but to follow you.

His first thought was that you really did look criminally good in cargos, and his second thought was that this wasn’t in the fucking plan.

“Boys! My City Folk,” you greet them, definitely going for awkward on purpose. The three players smiled and waved as you came to stop beside them at the bar, Jamie following behind attempting to look as cool as possible, “I do hope you’re not breaking any rules? I am a known grass, and I will tell Gareth.”

They laugh and Jamie joins in because then maybe he’ll be part of things. Also, you’re funny, and he can tell you know it.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, just water for us tonight. We thought if we came down here, it might at least feel like we were drinking.”

“And I thought there might be some girls to chat with,” Warne added, as expected by pretty much everyone who knew him, “None around until you showed up, Y/N.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Warne,” you reprimand, though there’s enough teasing in it that he just grins, “Didn’t the others remind you this hotel is entirely booked out for England players and staff?”

“Yeah. But you never know who you haven’t met yet.”

Jamie snorts at that and it draws more attention to him than he’d like. But it’s an opening, and your eyes are wide telling him to go for it! So he does.

“Strangely profound for you, Warne,” he supplies, grateful when you chuckle and the other two City boys join in, “Hey, how about the next round of water is on me?”

That really draws a laugh out of them, even Warne.

“You were always a generous son of a bitch, Tartt,” Rocky smiles, clapping him on the back. Again he sees an opening and with you still looking at him all encouragingly, he wants to take it.

“Nah, I wasn’t. I was a prick when we last talked. But I’ve been told I’m slightly better now, sometimes,” he glances at you when he says it, but you look so fond he has to look away, “Anyways, what I’m tryin’ to say: I’m sorry for before. Hope we can start fresh, like.”

“Mate,” Rocky shakes his head, brushing him off, “We’re all good. Long as you don’t keep drifting offside when I’m trying to thread one to you, I think we’ll manage.”

“Yeah, and don’t beat me in the fitness trials, alright? That’s my time to shine,” Warne adds, and even he’s got a friendly look in his eye, an attempt to respond to Jamie’s obvious and unexpected vulnerability. The weight that Jamie feels lift off his chest is massive. He can breathe properly again.

“No promises, mate. I’m fuckin’ fast now. Lightning, me.”

And with that, it’s easy to fall back into the banter he was used to. When Warne has launched into a story about not being able to find a toilet in Ibiza, he turns to you to say a silent thank you, but you’ve vanished from his side. He tries not to let his disappointment show on his face.

Searching around for a second, as subtly as he can, he spots a flash of your cargos behind the plant he’d been so well acquainted with. You pop your head out when you see that he’s looking and shoot him a double thumbs up and it’s all he can do not to excuse himself from the conversation and run over to you.

But you’re already giving a little wave and walking the other way. He watches you until you’re gone. Lets his eyes linger even a little longer than that.

When he turns back to tune into Warne again, hoping none of them noticed his wandering eye, he’s so incredibly grateful that you helped him face his fear. That he’s got his wish, and can get back to the game he loves without anymore unfinished business hanging over him.

Alongside that gratefulness, is the tugging at his heart that thinks his position behind that plant wasn’t so bad, once he gained some company. 

But he wouldn’t have flirted with you. He isn’t going to. Bad idea. Just talking, in a totally friendly way, would have been a pretty fucking nice evening, he thinks.

---

next chapter

if you've got this far, i fucking love you!! <3 and if you're at all into real life football like i am (enough to be pursuing a job in the field ffs) then see if you can work out who any of the England players might be based on hahaha

[total-karma]

i know the show itself explores this very topic but it's so funny how duncan acts so tough meanwhile he's coming up with nicknames for his teammates behind the scenes (the h-bombs for heather and harold is a term of endearment TRUST ME!) hes suchhh a dork

[real-total-drama-takes]

The gaffers should’ve booted leshawna instead of heather. That evil cocoa puff kept talking sh*t about the other castmates, and her weak cheer did nothing to help them win.

Harold was fully in the right for booting her over duncan, especially since duncan always kept things straight up, and leshawna showed herself to be a manipulative snake who couldn’t put her money where her overly lip-lined mouth was.

- 🥝

[chelseachilly]

do you want to build a snowman?

pairing: reader x ben chilwell request: "ok so you and ben have a daughter around 3 or 4 and its her first time seeing snow so they take her outside to build a snowman :)" - anonymous warnings: fluffff, dad!ben word count: 2k

author’s note: thanks for all the requests!! i'm really getting in the flow of writing rn (and inspired by the holidays) so i'm going to do my best to write as many of them as i can! ❄️

-

“Is Daddy gonna be home soon?”

It’s not the first - or the second, or the fifth - time your daughter has asked this question since she woke up this morning. 

Ben left for training shortly before 8, and neither you nor your daughter Sophie were awake yet. You could’ve happily slept a few more hours, but Sophie woke you up not long after to excitedly announce that it had snowed overnight.

In her four years of life, your daughter has never seen a significant amount of snow, at least that she can recall. It snowed quite a bit on her first Christmas, but she was far too little to remember that, and since then there’s been nothing but a few flurries here and there or a light dusting on the rooftops.

She’s quite fascinated by the concept from watching movies and TV shows featuring winter activities and is currently deep in a Frozen phase, which means she’s obsessed with the idea of building a snowman. 

Over the past month as the weather got colder, you and Ben had tried to keep her expectations low as you weren’t sure you would get enough snow to make this dream a reality. You could tell it was killing Ben to disappoint her - he hates denying his little girl anything - and a few nights ago you caught him looking into booking a holiday to Switzerland or Finland or anywhere she would be guaranteed some snow.

Thankfully, today her prayers were answered, and you were fully prepared to bundle up and go outside with her before you even had your coffee, but she insisted on waiting for Ben. It was their plan to build the snowman together, Sophie told you, and she stuck to her decision even when you reminded her he wouldn’t be home for hours.

It‘s been pretty adorable watching her anxiously await her dad’s return all morning, pacing around the house and checking for his car in the driveway often. You can tell how badly she wants to go out and play in the glistening white snow, and the remarkable restraint she’s showing is a testament to how much of a daddy’s girl she is. 

“Not too much longer, sweetheart,” you assure her as you beckon her to come cuddle with you on the couch where you’re doing a bit of work on your laptop. “He texted a while ago and said he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

“Alright,” Sophie sighs. “Can you put on Frozen?”

You’ve watched this movie more times than you can count lately, and once already today, but you remind yourself that you signed up for this when you chose to be a parent as you’re queuing up Disney Plus once again. 

Later, when you’re nearing the end of the film and you’ve given up on doing any more work as long as your daughter is screaming the lyrics to each song, you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

“Daddy!”

The movie is quickly abandoned as Sophie darts toward the foyer to greet Ben. You’re not too far behind her, though by the time you reach them she’s already in her dad’s arms.

“Daddy, it snowed!” Sophie exclaims, her little arms wrapped around Ben’s neck. “We have to build a snowman!”

“I know, darling,” Ben laughs, giving Sophie another squeeze before gently setting her down. “Why don’t you go get your coat on while I say hello to Mummy?”

Sophie nods and eagerly runs toward the closet to fetch her winter coat. As Ben drops his bag and makes his way over to you, you can see how tired he is from training. When he cups your face to give you a kiss, you can tell he’s also freezing. 

“How was training, baby?” you murmur, placing your hands on his to warm them up. 

“Cold,” Ben sighs. “Forgot how brutal it is training in the snow. I’m glad the gaffer let us go home early, though.”

“You and me both,” you smile, leaning in to kiss him again. “Maybe you should warm up a bit before going out to play with Soph?”

“No, she’s been waiting for me all day,” Ben says. “I’ll be fine.”

You know there’s no changing his mind, especially when Sophie comes running back into the room in her adorable little puffer jacket that nearly swallows her whole. You help her zip it up and grab mittens, a scarf and a hat to keep her warm, as well as some for you and Ben. 

Once you’re all ready to face the cold, you head out to the garden together. You and Ben have matching grins on your faces as you watch Sophie excitedly run through the snow for the first time, a core childhood memory being created right before your eyes. 

She gets to work right away on her snowman, rolling the snowball she’s formed as long as she can before it gets too heavy for her and she has to accept Ben’s help. 

You join in on their efforts, occasionally taking a break to take some photos of your daughter and husband that you already know are going to be your new phone background.

After some hard work - certainly for a four year old - the snowman is completed with a carrot nose and hat that you had prepared just for this occasion. 

“He looks great, Sophie!” you exclaim. “What’s his name? Olaf?”

Despite it being a fairly safe guess, Sophie looks at you like you have two heads.

“No, Mummy, Olaf doesn’t have a hat,” she reminds you very matter-of-factly. “His name is Tom.”

“Like Uncle Tom?” Ben chuckles, referring to his best friend and her godfather.

Sophie seems to contemplate this for a moment before shaking her head.

“No, because I want him to be Tom.”

You and Ben look at each other for a moment before bursting out into laughter. You both blame your daughter’s stubbornness on each other, though deep down you know it’s from both of you, but at times like this it’s both hilarious and adorable. 

“Fair enough, sweetie,” you say, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Now, I think some hot chocolate is in order. Ready to go in?”

“No, we have to make snow angels!”

Of course, this was another activity she had seen in films that she was dying to try for herself. 

“Alright,” you chuckle. “Why don’t we make snow angels while Daddy goes and warms up? He’s been out in the snow all day.”

The pout on Sophie’s face quickly tells you that she is not happy with this plan, and Ben swoops in before you can say anything else.

“I think I have a few snow angels left in me,” he smiles, picking Sophie up and balancing her on his hip. “Babe, can you start the hot chocolate while we finish up here?”

You raise an eyebrow at your husband but accept his proposal nonetheless, placing a quick kiss on both his and Sophie’s cheeks before heading inside. 

As you’re warming up the milk on the stovetop, you look out the window where Ben and Sophie are still playing, her excited giggles loud enough that you can hear her through the windowpane. 

Your heart is threatening to burst from the sweet scene, overflowing with love for your daughter and admiration for your amazing husband. No matter how tired he is from training, if he’s upset about a loss or injured or anything else, he always steps up for Sophie. You’ve known since you met him that he would be a great dad, but ever since you became parents, he’s continued to exceed your expectations.

Just as you’re pouring three steaming mugs of hot chocolate, you hear your family come in through the back door and begin to strip off their winter gear. 

To your delight, Sophie runs straight into the kitchen and hugs you tightly.

“I made five snow angels!” she exclaims as you run your hand up and down her back in an effort to warm her up. “Daddy made some big ones, too.”

“That’s amazing, love,” you smile, kissing her head. “You want some hot chocolate?”

“Yes! Can I put the marshmallows in?”

“Of course,” you say, lifting her up onto the counter and passing her the bag of mini marshmallows.

As much as she’s a daddy’s girl at heart, you also get your fair share of moments when your daughter seems to only want her mother. You know how special her bond is with Ben, and you really can’t blame her for how much she loves spending time with him, but you still cherish the little things that just for the two of you - making hot chocolate with extra marshmallows being one of them. 

You carry the tray of drinks into the living room with Sophie trailing behind, and find Ben already there getting the fireplace going and arranging some pillows and blankets.

“This looks cozy,” you smile, setting the drinks down and sitting on the floor across from him, Sophie following your lead. “Thanks, honey.”

“Thanks for making the hot chocolate, my loves,” Ben responds, glancing over at the tray that holds two regular Christmas mugs and one with the Frozen characters on it. He picks that one up and pretends to take a sip. “I assume this one is mine?”

“No, Daddy, that’s mine!” Sophie squeals, making both you and Ben laugh as he carefully passes it back to her. 

You all sip your drinks in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the sweet beverages and the burning fire. 

“So, did you enjoy your first snow, Soph?” Ben asks. “Was it everything you hoped?”

“It was amazing!” Sophie confirms. “Thank you for playing, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, angel,” Ben says with a soft smile as Sophie climbs into his lap and he kisses her rosy cheeks. 

It’s not long before she drifts off to sleep, tuckered out from playing in the snow and comforted by her dad’s embrace and the sound of you and Ben quietly talking about your days. 

Once she’s fully passed out, Ben carefully shifts her tiny frame over in his arms to make room for you on his other side and beckons you over. With him laying back against the sofa and you now laying against his chest, both of you watching your daughter sleep peacefully, you’re not sure you’ve ever felt more content. 

“That little girl absolutely adores you,” you comment, nuzzling further into Ben’s warmth.

“She must get that from her mum, then,” Ben jokes, making you roll your eyes for a moment before kissing his jaw, then his cheek.

“Mhm,” you nod, smiling as you reach his lips and kiss him slowly. 

When you pull back, Ben gazes lovingly at you for a moment before his eyes return to Sophie, her little hand curling around the material of his hoodie in her sleep.

“Babe?” Ben murmurs, and you nod again. “How would you feel about trying for another one?”

It takes everything in you not to betray yourself with a grin as you think about the tiny Christmas onesie and pregnancy test you boxed up and placed under the tree yesterday while Ben was picking Sophie up from daycare. 

It’s less than a week until Christmas - you can make it that long. 

“Let’s talk about it after the holidays?” you say for now, pressing another kiss to Ben’s lips. 

He nods with a smile, though you can see his mind wandering with thoughts of another little one to play in the snow and curl up by the fire and watching the same movies over and over with. 

It’s been the greatest joy of your life raising Sophie side by side with him, and you absolutely can’t wait to do it all again.