rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)

r. drysdale + winter

"babe, are you fucking serious?"

you shove the snowball—big enough to come up to your knees—a few more yards, standing briefly to snap at your boyfriend. "go away."

he scowls at you, in his stupid cute sweater, with his reddish, stupidly adorable face, his hands stuffed in his pockets as you both stand around in the front yard.

you turn your attention back to your task before you see his eyes roll into the back of his head. "let me build my snowman in peace."

he enunciates very clearly: "why are you doing this?"

"it's fun."

ransom tsks as you use all your strength to push your ball the remaining few feet to your half-made sculpture. "that looks heavy, here—"

"no. you made fun of me, so you don't get to help."

you slap his outstretched glove away, causing the snow caked on your mittens to burst out in every direction, making both of you jump.

"don't—" blinking, he watches you bend deep at the knee, bracing yourself to pick up the snow.

before you can, he presses his hand into your shoulder until you fall flat onto your butt, the ground crunching beneath you. an appalled squeak escapes you, and you glare at him.

he's holding back a little smile. it's his twisted version of affection.

ransom kneels on the ground in front of you, ruining his fancy slacks.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles remorsefully. "i was wrong to say this is..." he cringes. "literally the stupidest thing i've ever heard."

"you hurt my feelings."

"i know." he swallows. "i'm sorry."

"you promised," you huff, though your voice is small. "remember? you can be mean to everybody but me."

"i remember." he brings you to your feet then brushes the snow off your back. "go... grab a carrot from inside or something." he gently kicks the snowball. "i got this."