#happy holidays from mintyvan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saintmccann · 6 years

Text

36 - happy holidays from mintyvan

request for Christmas theme, snowy London, putting up a tree, drinking hot cocoa, family reunions, and pregnancy!

note V FLUFFY! V CUTE! enjoy!

_____________

The windows were frosted over on the outside, and snow beat against your roof. The darkness outside had descended so early tonight, and it made you sleepy.

The fire crackled in the brick hearth a few feet away from where you lay, snuggled into your blue velvet couch in your favorite pajamas. The soft texture of the fabric on your skin and the warmth of the fire radiating toward you were lulling you in and out of light sleep. Your tired eyes were fluttering; you were enjoying the bit of rest you had to yourself. Your back and feet hadn’t hurt in a while, and your warm dinner had filled you happily.

“Love?” Van asked, slithering his body behind yours on the couch and resting his hand over your stomach. The other hand ran softly through the strands of your hair.

“Mmm,” you hummed in response, snuggling up closer to him and enjoying the safe feeling of him pressed up against you.

“You sleepy already? It’s just now five o’clock.”

You burrowed your head against the couch cushion and mumbled a soft response. “When you’re pregnant, you can do anything you want.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he softly laughed, and pressed a kiss right behind your ear. It sent a tingle down your spine. “I thought you might like to know I’ve thrown some cookie dough in the oven. They’ll be ready in ---” he checked his watch behind your head, “--- exactly two minutes.”

“Dear god, how did I get so lucky,” you said as you turned around on the couch to face him, and kissed his cheek. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and he helped you sit up, despite you only being three months pregnant. Van walked into the kitchen backwards, pulling you by your hand, orange glow from the fire cast on his face.

Sitting there at the kitchen table eating warm, gooey cookies with Van struck a warm chord in you; it reminded you of your first date with him. He had stood there at your doorstep, snow in his hair, rubbing his ice cold hands together so they wouldn’t shake when he looked you in the eye. He’d taken you to a nice dinner at an upscale restaurant in London, made you laugh so hard you teared up, and afterward, he’d held your hand and walked you down the watery streets lined in Christmas lights. Car lights and shop windows reflected neon at your feet, and the lights around you shined brightly in his eyes as he leaned down to peck your cold lips with his for the first time. When the snowy streets’ concrete coldness had crept into your bones, Van had whirled you both into a small corner shop, and bought you as many warm cookies as he could carry in his hands. He’d thrown them down onto a set of napkins he’d strewn across the diner-style table, and slid across from you in the booth, and helped you devour the delicious sugary pile with the widest, most playful grin.

He had that same playful grin on his face now as he watched you silently recount the memory.

“What?” he asked around a mouthful of cookie in that happy, flirtatious voice of his.

“Just… I love you,” you said, stepping off your chair to come wrap your arms around his waist, your rings almost getting snagged in his black sweater.

“I love you too,” he whispered into your hair.

****

“Can ya bring me a ladder, Van?”

“Fuck no, there’s no fucking way you’re getting on a ladder,” he said, lowly, as he attached a few sparkly red ornaments higher than you could reach on the silver tinsel tree.

“But I want to put the star on!” you whined, plopping down on the sofa, absentmindedly staring at the fire twirl and twist in the hearth. After a few moments between that and watching Van silently load red, blue, silver ornaments onto the tree, you sighed. He turned his head and looked at you pointedly, urging you to speak.

“It’s my tradition,” you said softly, sadly. You got off the sofa, and went to the kitchen. You ate a cookie left over from a few days ago while you dejectedly prepared some hot chocolate with salted caramel, yours and Van’s favorite. You knew it was just pregnant hormones making you upset; but then again, what you feel in a moment is what you feel. So in that moment, you felt sad.

While you were waiting for the almond milk to heat on the stove, Christmas music started playing through the speakers in the other room; Van’s doing. Hearing the little bells jingling and the upbeat music turned your mood to a lighter, happier one. You definitely married the right man.

Two mugs of piping hot chocolate in hand, you carefully walked back into the living room to deliver to Van. He had covered most of the tree in ornaments now, and was doing an adorable little wiggle to the music as he darted around the tree to hang them.

Van took the hot mugs from you and set them on the end table to cool, and then held your hands, warmed by the mugs, in his.

“Ms. McCann, oh, and little McCann -- care to dance?” he asked (the both of you apparently), and you nodded, smiling coyly at his unnecessary chivalry.

You couldn’t help but snicker as he began to lightheartedly dance with you. He swayed his hips as he moved closer to you, and twirled you around. Those were his two dance moves. Hip sway to the left, hip sway to the right, a little wiggle, and a twirl. A coquettish grin plastered to his face, always.

The song changed to a slower one, and he broke away from holding your hands to wrap you to his chest. Your belly poked his, and he had to lean forward a little farther to hug you fully. You both swayed against each other, just enjoying the company, while Van rubbed circles into your back. Suddenly, he spoke up.

“How ‘bout I go get the ladder, but ya have to promise me that you’ll let me spot you and that ya won’t reach out too far and fall on the tree and die? Or fall backward into the fireplace and die? Or --”

Your eyes rose to meet his, and you cut him off. “Deal.”

***

“I was gonna wait til Christmas to give ya these, but I figured if I did, we wouldn’t get to enjoy ‘em,” Van said when he entered your bedroom a couple of weeks after that, just days before Christmas.

Your eyes brightened at the mention of a gift.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I said I wouldn’t let ya open anything, but this is a different kind of gift.”

He held a box out to you, wrapped pristinely in newspaper with a big red bow. You couldn’t wait to tear it open.

You put it on your lap, and reached around your small baby bump to unravel the ribbon. The paper crinkled and fell to the floor, and you reached inside the box.

One little concert ticket framed, and on the back, Van’s handwriting: “Your first Catfish concert. 20XX.”

One small disc of baked white clay, with the imprint of a key, and Van’s handwriting: “Our first house. 20XX.”

And one small frame with a tiny print of the ultrasound photo you’d received last week, and on the back, Van’s handwriting: “Our first baby. 20XX.”

Your mouth had fallen open by the time you got through each item in the box. Van, who had sat next to you, held you in a one-arm hug.

“Ornaments, for the tree, see,” he said, pointing to the holes he’d made in the tops of each.

“This is….”

“I know, I did amazin’,” and with his flirty comment, you rolled your eyes and half-scoffed, half-laughed, and led him out of the room to put the ornaments on your tree.

***

“My bump is really showing now,” you whispered, a little unsatisfied with your appearance as you stared at your stomach in the mirror. Even under a flowing black dress, you could tell. You ran your hands along its contours, feeling the hard skin beneath, wishing it could go away just for the holiday party.

“You okay in here?” Van questioned as he entered the closet, tucking his shirt into his pants with his belt half-on. He stopped mid-tuck and stood straight. “Y/N?”

“I feel so… gross. Disfigured.”

“W-- No, Y/N, you’re beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. Look at you!” He turned you around to face the mirror from the front, and he stood behind you. He pointed to your bump. “That’s our baby in there! We did that!”

“Yeah.”

He put both his hands around you and rested them on the bump. The warmth radiated from his hands, and you sighed. And then, a thump. Just under his right hand.

“Y/N? Was that --?” His eyes bulged, and he looked over your shoulder at his hands and your belly.

“Oh my god. A kick?” Your eyes started watering. Another thump, in a similar spot. You both gasped.

“Gonna be a good footy player, yeah?” he sniffed, and settled his chin into the crook between your neck and shoulder. You felt one of Van’s tears roll down your exposed shoulder, and let him hold you. You both waited for another kick, but it didn’t come.

“We’re probably going to be late to the Christmas party,” you whispered, breaking the anticipatory silence.

“We have the best excuse,” Van said reverently, wiping his eyes and standing straight again to finish up his outfit. “You let me know if he does it again,” he called.

“We don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet!” you yelled back to him, now somewhere far in the house.

“Whoever they are, they’re gonna play football!”

When you settled into the car next to Van, the warm fuzzy feeling was still very much there.

***

As soon as you’d stepped through the door, oohs and aahs at how much your belly had grown since your friends and family had last seen you made you feel a little uncomfortable, but Van had gone on to say something like “ain’t she the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?” or “she’s got the mother glow!” after each and every comment. You couldn’t appreciate his support more.

“D’you know if it’s a boy or girl yet?” Larry asked the two of you after he handed Van’s parents drinks on the way to the table you were sitting at.

“Nope, but Van thinks it’s going to be a football player regardless,” you said back, and Van smiled.

“We felt the little thing kick today. Just before we left,” he recounted to Larry, and kissed your temple. He was so proud.

“That’s amazing! I’m happy for you,” Larry said with a genuine smile. “And Y/N, you look great.” You couldn’t believe you were afraid to leave the house earlier. At the party, you were fawned over by both of your parents, all of your friends, and the rest of your families. The joint celebration you’d decided to have was “the best idea in the entire universe,” according to Van’s cousin.

The party was a hoot, full of the people you loved being as merry as could be. You all told stories about each other in conversation, and eventually, you piped up when Bernie reminded the group of Van’s penchant for good music since he was a kid.

“You know, ever since we’ve been married, Van’s always sung everywhere we’ve gone. And at sometimes it has been completely annoying… Sorry love… but it’s a true joy. I didn’t know how much I could love music until I met Van. And I didn’t know how much I could love Van until he used that music to sing to the baby.”

Everyone “aww”-ed at that line. Van smirked.

“Recently, at night if Van’s bored, he sits at his desk and writes lullabies for the baby. And then he’ll come to me wherever I am -- probably the couch reading a book, or in the bath, also reading a book -- and he’ll set up camp next to me. He’ll play his guitar and sing ‘loud enough for the baby to hear,’ as he says, but as soon as I swat at him and tell him he’s bothering me, he’ll come up close and whisper to my stomach. Something like ‘mum’s a little irritated with us right now, so let’s be a tad quieter, shall we?’ and I chuckle and pretend to be upset still, but there’s nothing more special than watching him sing softly to my belly. And when he’s done he’ll just tell it about his day, or how much he loves me, and honestly, it melts my heart.”

“Bernie did the same to Van! He’d have music on constantly for him. But let me tell you, as soon as Van popped out, that music ability was transferred immediately. Talk about banging on pots and pans, chasing the boy around to keep him out of the cabinets, having to fight him for volume control on every sound device, and listening to him scream-sing at the top of his lungs constantly. Phew! What a handful for just two people,” Mary laughed, and rubbed her son’s shoulder. Everyone chuckled, and more stories were passed.

But you stayed uncharacteristically silent for the rest of the party until it was time to say goodbye.

***

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you whisper to break the silence on the car ride back home.

“Do what?” Van asked, though he’d already sensed what you were on about. You’d been quiet since Mary had spoken to you about baby Van.

“The parenting thing,” you said, rocking a little in your seat as Van pulled the car into the drive. You gathered your gloves and forewent the jacket considering you’d be in the house in a bit. “You had a reputation of being crazy as hell as a child, Van. And I have no doubt that this kid’s going to have at least part of that crazy. I don’t know if I can do all this by myself when you’re on tour.”

You knew you’d hit a tiny nerve in Van when you said that, but it was a valid fear. He took a deep breath and parked the car.

“We’re gonna be great, love,” he said, pulling the key from the ignition and running around the car to retrieve you from the passenger side. He helped you out of the car, and you sighed at how heavy your belly was starting to feel. You staggered into the house, careful of the ice on the sidewalk, under his wing.

You both took off your boots and left them at the front door; he closed it hurriedly behind you, trying not to let the cold air in. You stopped, looked up at him, and spoke again.

“Despite the holiday cheer and all that, which is a great distraction by the way… I’m scared.”

He gestured around to the fireplace, warm and bright; the Christmas tree, lights twinkling, and filled with ornaments of love; all the unwashed cookie sheets and chocolate mugs and plates in the sink; heavy blankets thrown over the couch in a nest; holiday cards sent by tons of friends and family; wet snowy shoes piled right at the door. And two people who were very, very concerned for their first child.

“I know you are, Y/N, but, honestly….look how much love is in this house.”

#happy holidays from mintyvan #minty fic #fluff #catb fluff #catb fanfic #mintyfic #catfish and the bottlemen #catfish fanfic #catb van #catb van fic #van fic #vanfiction #van mccann #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfic

37 notes · View notes