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comphy-and-cozy · 1 year

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Glittery - Andrei Svechnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)

Summary: The holidays are an important staple in your relationship, and this year, you’re at the top of Andrei’s wishlist.

Word Count: 4.7K

Author’s Note: This was originally inspired by another hockey, but fits everyone’s favorite Russian winger all too well. Title by Kacey Musgraves, but definitely listen to this song for additional inspiration (s/o to @suitandtys for this discovery). Feel free to use your own imagination for the necklace/lingerie, but if interested, here and here are the links to what inspired them.

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY) & fluff. Hastily (and poorly) translated Russian, Christmas-specific celebrations/themes (minimal but still referenced), swearing, unprotected sex, choking, oral sex (m + f receiving), brief size kink, creampie. A few very poor holiday-themed puns that I will not be apologizing for.

Masterlist / Moodboard

December in Raleigh isn’t quite as magical as in Russia, or even further north in North America. There’s no snow, and the air is a balmy 60 degrees, which makes it very difficult to get in the holiday spirit.

Naturally, Andrei is busy, but when you started dating he’d made it a priority and a tradition to deck out his (now your shared) apartment to make it feel like more festive, even if it didn’t feel that way outside. Every year, he brings out the garland, the tinsel, the festive snowmen to place around the house, and, of course, going to pick out the perfect tree — and decorate it — is an all-day affair. He does it for you, to keep things feeling warm and cozy even while he’s away, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of home with his family and brother.

Gifts quickly became a staple for the holidays, too. He’s a giver, always purchasing small little souvenirs for you from his travels, and he loves to shower you with gifts for holidays, birthdays, and really any celebration. Growing up with very little, Andrei knows how it feels to receive next to nothing, and now that he has the means, he wants to make sure that none of his loved ones ever have to go without a gift ever again.

So, it’s safe to say that your gift exchange day is all but sacred within your apartment. He insists on both of you wearing matching pajamas, with holiday music playing through the speaker and the only light in the house coming from the string lights hung up all over the place.

This year, he’s gone all out, purchasing you a lounge set, a new purse, some books, and no shortage of skincare from your Sephora wishlist. He never fails to make you feel completely pampered — something you’ve long since insisted isn’t necessary, despite the fact that he is a multi-millionaire now.

The hot cocoa on your coffee table has gone cold, the marshmallows floating in the liquid melted into what’s left in the bottom of your mugs. There’s a trash bag full of torn open wrapping paper, an equally large stack of boxes of each of your open gifts beside it.

“I have one more for you,” Andrei smiles, reaching for a small box tucked away underneath the tree. It’s neatly wrapped – certainly not by him – with a small white bow on top.

The package is light, and while your fingers carefully tear the paper, not wanting to damage the elegant design, your mind is running with the possibilities of what could be inside the box.

Your brain registers the dark navy of the box before the gold ‘HW’ that’s stamped into it, and you gasp when you realize. Inside the box is a gorgeous diamond choker, sparkling brighter than anything you’ve ever seen, and you are helpless to do anything but gape at the jewelry sitting in your lap.

“What do you think?” Andrei probes, a smile flitting on his face as he watches your reaction.

“Andrei, this is — a Harry Winston is —” you swallow, suddenly nervous to even be holding the box in your hands lest you damage the necklace inside. The box alone surely costs more than what you pay in rent, and you shudder to think how much he’d dropped on this. “It’s so expensive.”

“Don’t worry about the price, baby,” he says. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s the least I can do to show you.”

You can feel the tears welling up before you see them on the rims of your eyes, watery and emotional and overwhelmed. Carefully, you set the box on the table before lunging at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He chuckles, the sound deep in his chest, rumbling against your own as the gratitude falls in droplets down your face.

“Andrei,” you whisper. “This is so… so generous. You — I — it —”

There’s a pause as you let out a sob, letting his hand rub soothingly on your back.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, kisa,” is all he says back, his arms pulling you in to squeeze you tighter.

He’s patient, allowing your sniffles to subside before he pulls away, smiling warmly at you as he wipes your happy tears away. Leaning to the table, he picks up the box and looks at you as he picks the necklace up out of the grooves to keep it in place, holding it toward you. “Want to see it on you.”

“Drei, I have my pajamas on,” you remind him, gesturing to your flannel set, far from complementary to a diamond necklace that’s worth a small fortune.

“I don’t care. You’re still beautiful.”

With a bashful smile, you turn and gather your hair, allowing him to place the piece around your neck, fastening the hook in the back. It’s heavy as it rests against your chest, and when you look down, all you can really see is the brightness from the way the Christmas tree lights reflect in the diamonds.

When you turn around to show him, Andrei’s lips curl into a grin, wide enough that you can see the missing tooth that you love so much. His eyes are warm, falling to the sparkle on your neck, before he looks back up into your eyes. “You look so beautiful, dorogoy.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, shy, your fingers gently touching the diamonds. Leaping up from the couch, you dash into the bathroom to look in the mirror. It feels entirely out of place in your regular bathroom and your dinky pajamas, but the sparkle makes everything else around it less vibrant. It’s beautiful.

“I thought you could wear it to the holiday party,” Andrei’s voice says from behind you. He appears in the mirror before his arms slip around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he admires your reflection.

“Of course, Andrei,” you agree with a smile. “It’ll be perfect.”

Soon enough, the party day arrives. Your dress is hanging neatly on a hanger in the closet, carefully steamed by you the day before. It’s green, satiny smooth, falling at your mid-thigh and hugging your curves in all the right places. When you step out of the bedroom all done up, Andrei has to stop in his tracks to stare.

“Malyshka…”

Heat rises in your cheeks under his gaze, his eyes roving over your legs, up your body, over the deep red on your lips, finally coming to the Harry Winston necklace laying beautifully on your décolletage. The sound that leaves his throat is a combination of a groan and a whimper, speechless at the sight of you.

“You are fucking stunning,” he finally manages, his own cheeks tinged pink. “You look so beautiful.”

You step forward until you’re standing in front of him. Your hands find his tie, Windsor-knotted neatly around his neck, the deep green matching your dress almost perfectly. His breath hitches in his throat when you run your hands along the material, feeling the softness beneath your fingertips, admiring your man and how nice he cleans up.

Ghosting his lips with yours, you dodge him when he presses forward to kiss you, smiling when you hear his whine. “My lipstick is still drying, Drei. Don’t want you to get red all over.”

Andrei’s grumble is low, murmuring something like, ‘want you to get red somewhere’ that has you stifling a giggle.

Eventually, though, you do grant him a kiss, a chaste one against his pretty lips to ensure not smudging your lipstick or getting it on his face. And as much as you’d love for him to smudge it and take off the dress you’d just put on, duty calls, and you begrudgingly put your desire to the side as you follow him out the door.

The party itself is festive and fun, string lights decorating the room that’s filled with a softly-playing Christmas mix. After a few drinks, Andrei does finally take his hands off of you, though he never strays far, finding your eyes over the sea of heads and offering a wink or a dimpled smile that never fails to melt your heart.

Before long, though, the gathering dies down as the consumption of alcohol increases. You and Andrei bid your goodbyes, unable to deny the desire to get home and take off your heels — along with all of Andrei’s clothes.

When you step back into your apartment, he helps you shrug your coat off to hang it in the closet. Before you step too far into your living room, you turn to him with a smile.

“I have one more gift for you,” you purr, enjoying the intrigue in his eyes, lit up like the Fraser Fir standing in the corner of your living room. “Wait here.”

The way his eyebrows furrow is endearing, confused at your mystery, watching you disappear into the bedroom. The look on his face when you emerge a few minutes later is even more priceless, jaw dropping in shock at seeing your body encased in red silk, the lingerie doing very little to disguise your curves. Ribbons wind up your torso, culminating in a large bow that’s nestled between the swell of your breasts. On your neck lies the necklace, glittering against your skin while you’re wrapped up like the best present he’ll ever receive.

“Merry Christmas, Drei.”

Andrei exhales slowly, breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. He doesn’t know where to look, can’t get enough of your skin and your curves and the way the diamonds look sparkling underneath your smile. His breath is shaky, broken, as he rises to his feet to meet you, swallowing thickly against the collar of his dress shirt.

“Malyshka, you – wow.”

A large hand extends out to you, and you slip your own into his palm, allowing him to twirl you around for a full view of your backside that’s barely covered by cheeky lace and more silk. You can hear the growl that leaves his throat before you return to face him, his eyes darkened as he watches you.

“All for me?”

Your lips, painted red, curl into a smile. “Always just for you, Drei.”

His hum is a satisfied one, and suddenly the anticipation is fully palpable, practically tangible in the air, as he pauses and waits for your cue. It isn’t until you gently tug at his hand, pulling him away from the door, that he smirks, backing up until the back of his thighs hit the arm of the couch.

His smirk grows even wider as he watches you sink to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. The twitch he gives as your gaze moves toward his belt is involuntary, as is the groan that he emits as your hand runs along his length through his dress pants.

“Is this my last Christmas present?” you ask cheekily, and he can barely choke out a laugh at your cheesy joke. He’s almost too focused on the warmth of your palm to give his own cheeky reply — almost.

“This package is too big to gift wrap.”

If it wasn’t for the way he throbs in your hand, you’d smack him playfully for the stupid pun, but instead you just laugh and roll your eyes before returning to your task at hand. After all, he isn’t entirely wrong.

Andrei doesn’t breathe as you work on his belt, the smooth sound of the leather slipping through the belt loops, the buckle clinking as it falls to the floor. Your eyes glitter when you tug the zipper down, allowing him the space to hastily kick the slacks the rest of the way off. Before long, his sweater joins the pile of clothes on the floor, and his white dress shirt is unbuttoned, green tie hanging loosely over the cut lines of his abdomen.

You can’t help the way your hand itches to run along the firm muscle, feeling each ridge beneath your fingertips and admiring his body. While you’ve certainly done your fair share of complaining when he’s up at 6am to workout in the summer, you can’t deny that there’s a very clear benefit that you take plenty of advantage of.

When your hand trails back down his stomach, your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers, pausing with a teasing smile. His erection is tenting in the front, more than ready for you to touch him, a small wet patch on the fabric that you yearn to kiss. So, you do, seeing the way his hands clutch at the duvet out of the corners of your eye.

Eventually, though, your need outweighs your desire to tease, and you shed his boxers, too, feasting your eyes on your favorite appendage of his. It’s tall and proud, weeping at the slit in a silent beg for your mouth.

The sounds Andrei makes when you take him between your lips are always otherworldly, usually a strangled groan or a sharp intake of breath. Today’s no different, with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth when your jaw hinges to take him deeper. He’ll never know how he got so lucky, to be able to call the beautiful woman who gives the best blowjobs on planet earth his.

Your lips close around his length, working up and down in a practiced rhythm. If you like the sounds he makes, he loves the sound of you gagging on him, the wet sound of him hitting the back of your throat and the way he slides against your tongue. It’s sinful and sexy and never fails to make his balls tighten.

It takes all of his willpower to do it, but Andrei eventually nudges you, pulling you off of him with a grunt. He can’t afford to finish early, not tonight, when you’re looking so sinfully beautiful and dressed up just for him, literally wrapped underneath the Christmas tree.

When he shifts to sit on the couch, tugging you quickly into his lap, his eyes are hungry as they gaze up at you. You’re so close to where he wants you, and you can feel him — and yourself — throbbing at the proximity.

His expression quickly changes, though, when your arms reach up behind your neck to remove the necklace, not wanting to damage it before the real fun begins, but Andrei’s voice stops you. “Leave it.”

Freezing, your eyes shoot to Andrei’s, frantic. “Andrei, we’ll damage it —”

He pulls you closer to him, closing the gap between your bodies and suddenly you’re distracted by the heat radiating off of his body and the darkness that’s swallowed his normally beautiful hazelnut irises. His hand moves toward your neck, fingers brushing delicately against the diamonds, feeling the way the glittering stones glide beneath his fingertips. Then, he repeats, “Leave it.”

Swallowing, you lower your hands obediently, sensing the shift in the dynamic with just two words muttered around a thick Russian accent.

Andrei’s hands continue their path over your collarbones, down your arm, sliding over your sides before coming to rest on your hips, a trail of goosebumps following. He’s gentle, like you’re a sculpture made of porcelain, a stark contrast to the rough hands he knows you love.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. His hands move over your neck, coming to cup either side of your jaw, and you shiver when his lips ghost over yours in the same way you’d teased him earlier. “M’the luckiest man in the world.”

When he finally presses his lips to yours, you can’t help the sigh that escapes your throat, the feeling of relief almost overwhelming as he kisses you hungrily. His tongue is quick to find the seam of your mouth, delving into it with the passion you awoke in him as soon as you stepped out in your party dress tonight.

His arms hold you, hands roving over your curves, feeling the smoothness of the silk in his hands. Painstakingly, he tears himself away in favor of looking at you. His eyes dart over your body, admiring the piece one last time, committing the sight of it to memory, before one hand reaches forward to slowly tug at the end of the bow on your chest. The material is soft, slippery, sliding apart with ease to reveal your cleavage.

Andrei grins, tipping you backwards gently until you’re on your back on the couch. The vibration in his chest transfers to yours when he hums, his lips pressed to your sternum. He plants kisses all along your chest, dotting along the hem of the bra — if you can even call it that — reveling in his ability to make you squirm.

Warmth, followed by goosebumps, floods your skin in the path of his lips, your nipples pebbling. His lips itch to touch, torn between continuing their path south and attaching themselves to your breasts. He opts for the latter, wrapping his lip around a nipple while his tongue flicks at the bud, his hand massaging your other breast gently.

Andrei’s mouth explores your chest, paying equal attention to each bud, before trailing his lips over your rib cage, your stomach, your hips. He leaves a wet trail, coolness overtaking each spot on your skin where the air touches it, a sharp contrast to the fire that burns inside of you.

The next thing you know, Andrei’s hands are roughly flipping you around, tugging you into a kneeling position with your hands resting on the arm of the couch. You’re exactly where he wants you, bent over, your lingerie half undone while he stands behind you admiring the view.

His lips work their way up your calf, thumbs stroking the muscles in your legs until he finally reaches the place where your ass meets your thigh. He grips your ass in both hands, fingers running along the seam of the lace that barely covers your modesty. His mouth returns to his hands, pressing more kisses along the globe of your ass, and you whine impatiently.

“Patience, kisa,” he murmurs. “Aren’t you going to let me unwrap my gift? My pretty little vixen.”

It’s only when you feel the bow at the base of your back loosening that you whine again. Both of his hands holding tightly onto your hips make you deduce that he’s using his mouth to tug at the fabric, teeth pulling the satin smoothly until the ribbons fall at your sides. He’s torturing you now, his warm breath cascading over your back causing a heavy throb between your legs.

All that’s left are the strap of your bra and the flimsy lace of your panties before Andrei gets to the gift he really wants: your molten center, dripping just for him. He can’t help but salivate as his fingers drag the material down, slowly, giving himself a last show before he gives into his desires.

Your pussy is glorious, he thinks, perfect and glistening as it’s revealed to him. He swears he can see the reflection of the lights on the tree in the wetness of your folds, and his dick twitches at the sight, itching to be sheathed inside it.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, tongue darting out to taste.

“Andrei,” you moan. Your brain is fuzzy, trying to find the words to desperately beseech him to keep going.

He does, because he always knows exactly what you need, and being the generous boyfriend he is, never fails to provide. It is Christmas, after all.

The sounds of his mouth slurping against your core are nothing short of filthy, grunting into your center at the taste of you. His tongue delves into your folds, probing you with the perfect amount of pressure, never forgetting to grant your clit the attention she desperately craves. Large hands grope and pull at the globes of your ass, holding you open for Andrei’s face to make its home between them, groaning against you.

It’s like this that he makes you come first, aided by two fingers that he plunges into your sopping core. Your cries are muffled by the cushion of the couch, which he doesn’t like, so once he’s let up, he’s quick to flip you around and pin your arms over your head.

“I want to hear you,” he murmurs, the remnants of your orgasm glistening on his chin. You taste it when he kisses you, messily, his tongue covered in you as he pushes it into your mouth.

Andrei shifts on the cushion, his large hands pulling apart your thighs so that he can gaze at his handiwork. Part of you thinks the rest of your tryst would be better suited in bed, but the seconds wasted moving into the bedroom are not worth sacrificing the opportunity to have him inside you now.

You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips when he lines up with your center, dropping a heavy wad of saliva onto your aching clit. His eyes are glittering when he looks back up at you, smirking.

“Don’t even need it ‘cause you’re already dripping for me, Malyshka,” he breathes roughly. The swollen head of his dick probes at your entrance, teasing you, before he’s rutting between your folds with a groan. An obscene squelching noise sounds from the contact of his skin against your soaked slit. “Hear that, dorogoy? That’s how sloppy your pretty little cunt is. All for me.”

A whine bubbles in your throat at his words, your hips rolling to try and catch him, desperate to have him inside of you. His muscular forearms strain on either side of your head, silver chain dangling loosely on his chest, and you grip the cool metal in your hand to tug his mouth to yours in an attempt to goad him. He plays your game, kissing you back, humming into your mouth when your tongue desperately seeks him out, but he ignores the way your body rolls.

“Andrei, please,” you whisper, your eyes looking up into his, the warm brown in them now a molten chocolate. “I need you.”

“You want it, kisa? Need it?”

“Please, Drei.”

“Say it,” he demands, his voice firm but soft. It’s velvet, almost soothing when he runs the pad of his thumb over your lip. “Tell me what you want. You know I’ll give you whatever you want, malyshka. You just have to tell me.”

Your voice is shaky, though the ardor in his eyes gives you the courage to speak confidently. “Fuck me, Drei.”

Andrei smiles then, handsome in a way that would melt your heart if you weren’t throbbing for him. He presses his forehead to yours, a sweet gesture despite the lewd position he has you in, his breath puffing out over your lips while he runs his length over your entrance one more time.

When he presses into you, all air in your lungs is quickly pulled out. You’ll never get used to the feeling of him, thick and throbbing, stretching you out in the most delicious, toe-curling way, one inch at a time until you’re stuffed completely full of him. He loves it, too, muffling his grunt in the crook of your neck as he holds himself still for a moment, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You’re patient, taking the time to wrap your arms around his broad and muscular back. Savoring the feeling of his muscles beneath your fingertips, you admire how big he is – in all aspects of the word. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, warmed by Andrei’s love and heated under his touch.

Andrei begins to move without warning, your walls gripping him tightly as he pushes in and out. The action alone is enough to render you speechless, your entire body fluttering when his thumb brushes your cheek, his lips ghosting against yours. His breath is warm, as are his eyes, pulling moans from you with the finesse of his hips.

One of his hands slides down your body, his steady rhythm never ceasing. With ease, he tugs at your legs until they’re resting over his broad shoulders, then presses forward until you feel the stretch deep in the back of your thighs. He’s deep, almost deeper than he’s ever been, lodged completely within your snug walls.

Soft murmurs in Russian are whispered against your jaw, nonsensical fragments of a sentence that drive you wild. He knows you’re close by the way your hands clutch tightly onto his shoulders, leaving marks for you to admire tomorrow.

He says something in Russian, then chokes out his own translation. “Come for me, Malyshka.”

You do, his words the final bit of permission you need to fly into your own bliss. Andrei grunts, feeling the way you contract around him, working you through it like he does every time. He grins, pleased with himself.

“So pretty.”

“Drei,” you sigh, not ready for him to part from you just yet. “More.”

For once, he doesn’t argue or make you beg, probably too desperate himself to bother. The way he can maneuver your body so easily will never not be hot to you, his muscles barely working to tug you back into his lap. He twitches against your center when his eyes latch onto the diamonds onto your neck.

“Ride me, dorogoy.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, your body scrambling to sink down onto his waiting length with a sigh. His hands flex on your waist, encouraging you to keep going, though his eyes never leave your neck.

Your body moves up and down, hips moving so that his tip strikes just the right spot that has you throwing your head back. A low growl leaves Andrei’s throat, his hand moving to wrap around yours. Though you can’t see it yourself, you know the contrast between his large hand next to the dainty necklace is powerful, judging by the darkness that has seeped into his eyes. He’s never been particularly possessive, but he does show small flashes — particularly in the bedroom — that drive you wild.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, accent making him barely comprehensible. “So perfect. All fucking mine.”

Andrei’s other hand grips your hip while his mouth latches onto your breast. He’s all over you, completely invading each of your senses and surrounding your body in everything Andrei. He curses in Russian, the vibration of his voice shooting through your body as you ride him harder, seeking out your crest that’s just over the horizon.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, unwilling to move his hands from your body to do it for you. “Make yourself fall apart all over me, kisa.”

You’re helpless to obey, hand falling between your legs and brushing at your clit. His grip on your throat tightens, and it’s the squeeze of his fingers that send you flying over the edge, vision going fuzzy as your body shudders on top of him.

You’ve barely had time to recover before he’s finally moving his hands to grab onto your sides, holding you in place while he thrusts his hips upwards, rapidly, seeking out his own release. The red silk ribbons dangle from the bra that’s haphazardly tugged around your middle, forgotten as they ripple from his forceful movements. Involuntarily, moans fall from your mouth as he pounds into you, wordlessly encouraging him.

With a loud, forceful grunt, he stills when he’s buried completely inside of you, twitching as his release floods your center. His hands are still holding tightly onto your sides, forehead resting against your chest as he catches his breath. In an effort to soothe him, you allow your hands to run through his hair, earning a purr against your sternum.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, dorogoy,” he murmurs, the words falling from his mouth like he can’t be bothered to speak or even think in English. You’re still learning, Andrei teaching you when he can, but you know enough to know what he’s said, and you smile softly as you gently pull his head backwards in favor of pressing a kiss against his lips.

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, Drei. Merry Christmas.”

#andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov smut #hockey fic #nhl imagine #andrei svechnikov fanfic #andrei svechnikov fanfiction #a. svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x y/n #andrei svechnikov x reader

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why-not-movies · 4 months

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Twilight Secret Gift Exchange 2023!

this is my entry for the @twilight-secret-gift-exchange for @jasperhaleobsessed !! here’s a playlist of a you and jasper love story🩷 i don’t use spotify but here’s the youtube music link and the songs listed below in playlist order!!!! (as well as a little moodboard because i couldn’t help myself) im really into the whole new age americana modern cowboy type vibe so this was SO fun to make!! i tried to keep the country music to a minimum because it didn’t seem like ur vibe but i couldn’t help myself since it’s jasper😭 trust that i only listen to good country and have a very merry swiftmas!!

Track List:

style- taylor swift

lacy- olivia rodrigo

(can we be friends?)- conan gray

roses are falling- orville peck

the last one- maisie peters

how you get the girl- taylor swift

paris- taylor swift

i’m only me when i’m with you- taylor swift

be your husband (live at sin-é, new york 1993)- jeff buckley

butterflies- kacey musgraves

paper rings- taylor swift

she calls me back- noah kahan

hey stephen- taylor swift

love is a wild thing- kacey musgraves

the wedding song- reneé rapp

cowboy take me away- the chicks

our song- taylor swift

cowgirl for christmas- drake milligan

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linzsaw · 4 months

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My Monthly Favs What’s in my cup:

Every morning I drink iced coffee made from my one & only Nespresso machine. The past few months I can’t get enough of the double espresso blend, and then I add a bit of whole milk (happy cows only) and sweet cream. I can’t find anything better from Starbucks or anywhere else. Sometimes if I’m craving a hot drink, I’ll head to Dutch Bros for a hot Carmelizer and it is totally worth the cringy 9 minute forced convo with the DB crew. I also start my day with electrolytes, currently in the watermelon flavor. It’s surprisingly really delicious but I miss the Electrolyte Synergy blend that I was drinking for a long time, which has been sold out for almost a year now. :’)

What’s on my plate:

Dinner lately has been the laziest in America. After our trip, Drew & I either have the same ole chicken, rice and veggies, a spicy “mexican bowl” or some form of pasta, usually with Raos Arriabatta sauce. This week we’ve been stuffing our faces with Trader Joe’s frozen meals. We promise to be better next month, but we are really exhausted and the last thing we feel like planning are meals. However, for the last week of December we actually have some things planned for the holiday weekend. On Friday, we’re hitting up the town as we do every year to walk around and see the lights, and find festive little bars to try out new Christmas cocktails. We plan to spend Christmas with just the two of us. For Christmas Eve we are making our annual corn beef, cabbage and carrots because apparently we are super Irish (confirmed by 23&me which btw leaked all my genes to hackers). On Christmas we are having tri-tip, garlic & butter brussel sprouts, and mashed potatoes. The Christmas cookies we’re making this year include White Chocolate Cherry Shortbread cookies, Peanut Butter Blossoms, & Holly Leaves. Okay and now that I’ve told you all that, the Christmas cocktails we decided on this year are The Mistletoe Kiss (a vodka, soda water, rosemary & cranberry drank) and Bad Santa White Russians. I also heard that Moon X Pinot Noir from Trader Joes was really good and lately the Redvolution just isn’t doing it for me. Let me know if you want any of these recipes, ladies. I will make sure to find GF, DF, and V options.

What’s on my bookshelf:

I’ve finished two of the Colleen Hoover books, and now I’m reading another one of hers called Verity. It’s kinda depressing but that’s kinda the vibe as of late so I’m into it.

What’s in my playlist:

We love the Sia Christmas album. It’s so fun and happy. Believe it or not, Andy introduced me to it lol. It’s so good!! Other songs I’ve been into are I remember everything by Zach Bryan and Kacey Musgraves. It reminds me of a family member rn which is very depressing to me. Fun to cry to. Bubble - STAYC, Surround Sound - JID 21 Savage, Baby Tate, Adora Hills - Doja Cat.

What I’m up to:

Making our house into a winter wonderland of lights. Watching hella hallmark movies. Being seriously lazy, not working out or eating healthy. Walks with Snoop around the park. Mandala scratch off nightscapes. Reading at 3am when I was jetlagged. I had a sleep study this month too, no sleep apnea for me, back to mouth taping! It really does help with quality of sleep for me. You should try it! Also magnesium spray on my feet (shout out to Aly). This has helped with my restless leg syndrome that we’ve all experienced. This weekend, we’re making all our foods and cocktails, going downtown, driving around with hot choc to look at lights, and heading up to Rocky Mountain to hike a bunch of mountains.

Skincare Saviors:

My skin gets so dry in Colorado, its TERRIBLE. And now that I’m saving for a house, I had to break up with my amazing esthetician, who by the way I stole this template from. I’m obsessed with Dermlogica thanks to her. I use a miscellar water if I wore any make-up. If not, I just double clease with my face wash. In the AM I’ll use my Rosehip Triple C+E Firming Oil, followed by COSRX snail mucin essence, and a magical mix of calm water gel and intensive moisture balance.

Love you long time,

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deadcactuswalking · 4 months

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 30/12/2023 (Christmas Garbage)

Content warning: Brief references to murder, racism and unlawful sex acts. Merry Christmas!

Yawn, it’s a Christmas episode. It’s not even Christmas anymore - the tracking week included Christmas Day. “Last Christmas” is #1, of course it is. Skip this one is my personal advice. Christmas Christmas Christmas. REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

So, there are a few new arrivals today, but it’s also a week of mostly just festive music the week after festive music mattered so I’ll have a bit of a different approach, one I’m sure will be made up for with next week’s: Less than a fifth of this week’s chart are non-Christmas songs, I’m going to be mostly in chart nerd form rather than expressing much of my opinion, which is kind of how this series has been moving towards lately? Next episode will be the rush of new and old songs thanks to the end-of-year gains and Christmas collapse, so that will be more of a classic episode when it comes to dishing out intros and opinions on different genres and artists, the usual. For now, well, let’s just run down what we have here. Rounding out the top five are Brenda at #5, Ed and Elton at #4, Mariah at #3 and Sam bloody Ryder still hogging up #2.

Let’s continue with rounding up the Christmas songs. The songs entering the UK Top 75 for the first time this year in this week, but have already entered the top 75 previously, are “Cozy Little Christmas” by Katy Perry at #70, “Mistletoe and Wine” by Cliff Richard at #69, “Please Come Home for Christmas” by the Eagles at #68, “Santa’s Coming for Us” by Sia at #66, “Santa Baby” by Kylie Minogue at #64, “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses at #62 (one of my personal favourites) and “My Only Wish (This Year)” by Britney Spears at a new peak of #59, “Come on Home for Christmas” by George Ezra at #56, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas” by Perry Como at #54, “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” by Bruce Springsteen at another new peak of #47, and “Christmas Tree Farm” by Taylor Swift at #46… and speaking of new peaks, “What Christmas Means to Me” by Stevie Wonder at #76, “Jingle Bells” by Meghan Trainor at #48, “Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt at #44, “Little Saint Nick” by the Beach Boys at #43, “A Holly Jolly Christmas” by Burl Ives at #40, “The Christmas Song” by Nat King Cole at #34, “Winter Wonderland” by Laufey at #26, “Sleigh Ride” by the Ronettes at #20 and “DJ Play a Christmas Song” by Cher at #18, as well as Jorja Smith’s cover of “Stay Another Day” at #16 and “Let it Snow” (three times) by Dean Martin at #13 and finally, it took a while but “Santa Tell Me” by Ariana Grande reached the top 10 at #8.

I questioned the point in listing the notable dropouts - songs exiting the UK Top 75, which is what I cover, after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40 - since they’ll all be back next week but hey, if I can list a bunch of Christmas songs by dead people in succession, why not secular songs by those very much still with us? With that said, we bid adieu to that terrible cover of “I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday” by “Creator Universe”, and then bid a probably temporary farewell to “Stop Giving Me Advice” by Lyrical Lemonade, Jack Harlow and Dave, “You’re Losing Me” (From the Vault) by Taylor Swift, “Surround Sound” by JID featuring 21 Savage and Baby Tate, “Lose Control” by Teddy Swims, “exes” by Tate McRae, “Northern Attitude” by Noah Kahan with Hozier on the duet version, “Runaway” by Ye featuring Pusha T, “Can’t Catch Me Now” and “vampire” by Olivia Rodrigo, “On My Love” by Zara Larsson and David Guetta, “Water” by Tyla, “Strangers” by Kenya Grace, “I Remember Everything” by Zach Bryan featuring Kacey Musgraves, “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift and finally, “Sprinter” by Dave and Central Cee. So, yeah, big bloodbath this week but one that involves a revival for the next.

So, time to “review”, isn’t it? We have some new arrivals, most of which are Christmas songs, let’s trodge through them.

NEW ARRIVALS

#74 - “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” - Dean Martin

Produced by Lee Gillette

So, firstly: I’m going to be getting the vast majority of my info from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, the Official Charts Company’s archive: it may sometimes be inaccurate or awkward in its formatting but I know charts well enough to notice when something doesn’t seem right - for the most part - or when it contradicts with Wikipedia or other sources. You can find the vast majority of this info elsewhere, I’m not doing intense research, but hey, it’s good to have a little backstory and that’s what most of this episode will be: stories. We start with a fictional one, that of Rudolph’s.

Now he may be a tradition now but he’s more recent than you think, pitched in 1939 by a retailer in New York known as Robert L. May. He’s a newly-created Christmas character that is a bit of wholesome children’s content with a good message, insanely basic character design and therefore incredibly intuitive marketing strategy. The song came 10 years after the character, and whilst Gene Autry probably recorded the most well-known version, it’s never charted in the UK. In fact, Dean Martin’s version, which debuts this year at #74 - it’s its first week in the top 100 even - is the first version to chart, despite American success of versions by Autry, Bing Crosby and even the Chipmunks and the Temptations, both inspiring 60s vocal groups. This 1959 cover from A Winter Romance, the same album with “Let it Snow” on it, is a completely fine, very cliché Christmas-sounding tune with a weird German accent for Santa’s dialogue. Whilst it may be somewhat surprising the song’s not charted, I do understand. I sang “Rudolph” as a child in assemblies at school, sure, but I’m a much later generation than a lot of the people listening to Christmas music this time of year in this country, and it’s always felt like a specifically American export, especially that stop-motion TV special that may have re-popularised the tune. The only other “Rudolph” song to chart is Chuck Berry’s 1958 classic, “Run Rudolph Run”, which peaked at #36 in 1964 and is currently at #49. When it peaked, “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles, another rock-and-roll classic, was #1. Mr. Berry of course would later go on to film women peeing, so maybe someone should make a festive rock and roll remix to “Ignition”.

#72 - “Carol of the Bells” - John Williams

Produced by John Williams

Spotify actually credits more than OCC does here: John Williams is listed here as he’s the only performer listed on the chart itself but on streaming services, the lead artist is actually Mykola Dmytrovych Leontovych, the Ukrainian composer for the song, originally arranged as a very non-Christmas piece “Shchedryk”, which I guess is still about Winter as when translated, one can read lyrics about how a swallow flies into a home promising wealth for the upcoming spring. It’s connected to a folk holiday in Ukraine celebrated on New Year’s Eve known as “Malanka”, somewhat similar to Christmas in its festivities but with a depth of its own traditions unique to eastern Europe, and it wasn’t even the intended holiday of Leontovych’s original composition, first performed in Kyiv in 1916. An American composer, importantly one descending from the Rusyns of modern-day Ukraine, heard the composition, which made its way to New York in the 1920s, and wrote English lyrics relating to Christmas though, interestingly, Peter J. Wilhousky is nowhere to be seen in the artist credits for this version, being relegated to a writing credit on Spotify.

There are many versions of this song but by far the most popular is the rendition by John Williams, an icon in film scoring who arranged the song alongside a children’s choir performance for the 1990 film Home Alone, which has aged pretty well - mostly because it’s practically just slapstick of a kid torturing these two idiots - and has become a Christmas classic, particularly in eastern Europe, where its release lined up pretty nicely with more lenient restrictions on western films, so it became one of the first western family films seen by many children beyond the Iron Curtain just as it fell, which does make the use of Leontovych’s composition come full circle in a way. Personally, I’ve always found this song a tad eerie and intense, but Williams’ version of “Carol of the Bells” is the only one to have charted in the UK, and it first reached the top 100 in 2018. Additionally, the main theme from Home Alone, “Somewhere in My Memory”, spent one week at #69 in 2019. The #1 that week was “Sweet but Psycho” by Ava Max, and John Williams has charted a few times with singles and many, many other times on the albums chart, for his work in film scoring. Last year, the Home Alone soundtrack made its very first appearance there at #100, and this year, probably assisting with the new peak of this song, the actor who played the boy Kevin McCallister, Macaulay Culkin, received a star in the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the film itself was inducted into the Library of US Congress’ National Film Registry.

#71 - “Entrapreneur” - Central Cee

Produced by Chris Rich and Caleb Bryant

Alright, let’s cut the Christmas crap for a second as we do have a new song from Cench charting, and whilst Jeezy has made that awkward pun before, this is still a completely fine, maybe even pretty good, drill track with a very energetic performance from Cench here and despite some very odd mixing that makes the percussion feel stiff and the bass less present than it should be, I still think it hits hard amidst the soaring strings and keys at the back of the mix that is surprisingly dynamic at times, it almost feels like it’s going for a cloud rap vibe but instead of fully submerging the listener, Cench submerges any need for the instrumental by bringing a lot of charisma, some funny lines and a whole lot of triumphant flexing that given the motivation in his voice here and some genuinely likeable lyrics, actually feels pretty deserved. Sure, he sticks to the same flow, but it’s one that works and seems to serve his best interests lyrically as he can fit all of his wordy bars into it, so I’d say this is ultimately a success.

#67 - “Deck the Halls” - Nat King Cole

Produced by Lee Gillette

Another Lee Gillette production in the same week, huh, I guess the guy was the go-to for soulful Christmas tracks. I’m never going to complain about hearing Nat King Cole’s rich voice… except for this song, misspelled as “Deck the Hall” on Spotify, where it feels like everything’s a bit too fast for the guy, I almost feel bad. It’s a very spritzy and string-heavy song that just ends up too chintzy to give Nat King Cole any time. Hell, I’ll be honest - this one sucks, it’s way too busy and barely anyone could pull off this dead-on-arrival fa-la-la-la song anyway unless you’re a cartoon character but I haven’t seen the Animaniacs chart in my lifetime so this is a carol I’ve never preferred. As for this song’s chart history, this is its second week on the chart, and only this version has ever charted to my knowledge, debuting at #84 last year. That’s not to say people haven’t recorded and performed this song that aren’t named Nat King Cole because by God, they have, though not nearly as much as a song we’ll be talking about in a few paragraphs’ time. As for the original composition, it dates back to the traditional Welsh carol “Nos Galan”, which is actually about New Year’s Eve and both its tune and lyrics were written around the 1700s, but English lyrics by Scotsman Thomas Oliphant in 1862 brought us the carol we know today, so this one is a bit more historied than Rudolph, especially with popularising the now universal phrase of “’tis the season”. I don’t even like the slower, original Welsh version of this, it’s just a pestering little song to me. Never done well to my knowledge. Next.

#63 - “This Christmas” - Donny Hathaway

Produced by Ric Powell and Donny Hathaway

This is a pretty weird one because yes, this version of the song has never charted in the UK’s top 100 before. That much is true… but I have reviewed it, and in 2020 in fact, so dig up that old episode, right? Well, maybe not, because the only reason I reviewed it is because a Jess Glynne version charted that year, and it was an Amazon original version, that I ended up comparing to the original, one of my favourite ever Christmas songs, in complete despair and almost disgust. Hathaway has a buttery but unabashedly joyful voice, he came up with that iconic gleeful horn line and that clever, sleek title-drop in the verses, and like I said in 2020, lest we forget the bongos. It’s a detailed, beautiful song that was first released in 1970, with the B-side “Be There”, which is probably why OCC questionably lists this song as “This Christmas Be There”. Said B-side is the other holiday single tacked onto his self-titled album and whilst not as catchy or canonical, it is more of a melodramatic tune with just as many intricacies, it’s really an underrated gem to be honest. It took a while for “This Christmas” to latch on, only really resurging in 1991 when included on a reissued Christmas compilation record. It didn’t chart on the US Billboard Hot 100 until 2020 and has finally made it to the UK’s singles chart in its original form. The malformed Jess Glynne butchering made it to #3 in 2021, and “Last Christmas” was #1 that week too. It briefly returned in 2021 but only peaked at #52 that year and has not appeared again so I’m assuming the UK has come to their senses and made the correct decision about which one to enjoy from this year onward.

#60 - “Jingle Bells” - Frank Sinatra

Produced by Voyle Gilmore

It is a disgrace that Meghan Trainor’s version outcharts Frankie, but there is some solace in knowing Trainor’s version may be like Jess Glynne’s “This Christmas” and end up as a one-year-only success. It’s not like it matters though, “Jingle Bells” may be the most-recorded song in human history, and is definitely at least one of them, even though it was never explicitly about Christmas… though the song was originally titled “This One Horse Open Sleigh” so part of me thinks that James Lord Pierpoint, the song’s writer and Confederate soldier - yikes - had at least Father Christmas in mind when composing the jingle. Pierpoint even wrote music for the losing side in the Civil War and ended up on the opposing side of his father in the Union Army - Jesus, the less we know about the guy who wrote the song, the better, what a loser. Anyway, like 70,000 Goddamn people have dashed through the snow to get to the studio and record this track, so it’s safe to say the song has reached beyond its obscure writer at this point. It’s been broadcast from space, for God’s sake.

Sinatra, or more accurately Gilmore, extends the song with an unnecessary spelling section from a choir, but otherwise the 1948 recording is a lot of fun with a classic, swingin’ performance from Frankie as one would expect, especially when he has some fun with the cadence of the track, even if he doesn’t do it all too much. The song is such a staple that it’s been implemented into other Christmas standards for years, and not just “Jingle Bell Rock”, which I consider so separate to be its own song so I’ll wait for another cover of that next year before I get into that chart history, but also it’s a motif heard in Bing Crosby’s “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas”, the guitar… solo(?) in Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song” and even Joni Mitchell’s “River”. As for the original, I mean, it’s been covered by everybody from Herb Alpert to the Beatles to the Barenaked Ladies to Barney the Dinosaur to Eric Clapton to Gladys Knight to Pearl Jam to the Wiggles to CBeebies’ Goddamn Alphablocks but the versions that charted are as follows.

The first version of the original “Jingle Bells” to chart in the modern chart was… a reggae version by Judge Dread, who if you know anything about him, is not exactly a wholesome Christmas artist, and of course, it’s actually a vulgar, laddish version using the melody to talk about having sex on Christmas with some girl. I’ve talked about Judge Dread on this blog before in my special episode from 2021 about songs banned by the BBC, in which I included a lot more of his story. To be completely honest, his version is a lot of fun, especially with how carelessly he delivers it all, and it peaked at #64 for two weeks in 1978, during which “Mary’s Boy Child / Oh My Lord” by Boney M. was #1. It’s currently at #51. In 1981, a novelty version by the Hysterics that lasts for only less than a minute and a half, peaked at #44 for three weeks. Subtitled “(Laughing All the Way)”, it is simply a guy laughing obnoxiously to the tune of the song as a cartoon-sounding pop-rock version plays under him. It is profoundly stupid. “Don’t You Want Me” by the Human League was #1 during these three very cursed weeks in British history. In 2005, whoever the Hell was behind the Crazy Frog mashed up the song with “U Can’t Touch This”, which apparently warrants it a separate Wikipedia page, and it peaked at #5 whilst Nizlopi’s “JCB”, a personal nostalgic song for me, was #1. Another EDM version by Basshunter peaked at #35 in 2008, when Alexandra Burke’s cover of “Hallelujah” was #1. It’s safe to say that both 2000s Eurodance versions of “Jingle Bells” are cheap and ridiculous. Last year, Sam Ryder’s Amazon-exclusive version from an Amazon-exclusive Christmas film charted at #41 - “Last Christmas” was of course at #1 that week - and this week, we see both versions by Meghan Trainor and Frank Sinatra charting. He originally recorded it in 1948 but it only started charting two weeks ago. Oh, and of course, Batman smells and Robin laid an egg.

#58 - “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” - Mariah Carey

Produced by Walter Afanasieff and Mariah Carey

Mr. President, a second - okay, more accurately, third - Mariah Carey Christmas song has hit the canon… and I have no idea why you’d listen to this slightly-oversung, dull 1994 rendition over the Darlene Love original, which has a slightly similar story to “This Christmas” though arguably more organic. It wasn’t a single when added to Phil Spector’s Christmas compilation album - he would later murder a woman, of course - but the track, released in 1963 and featuring Cher on backing vocals, who would later cover the song as a duet with the surprisingly-still-alive (especially if she knew Spector, sheesh) Ms. Love, 60 years later - yes, that’s this year - on her own Christmas album. Sadly, that one didn’t chart but Carey’s instead. Love’s version gained popularity simply because in the late 80s, talk-show host David Letterman just liked the song and continued to invite her year upon year to perform it on his show, which is adorable.

In the UK, the original version didn’t chart until after Bublé’s - sigh - which didn’t last, peaking at #47 for two weeks in 2011 and briefly coming back in the bottom-feeder region in 2015. When it peaked, the #1 was “Cannonball” by Little Mix, and then “Wherever You Are” by the Military Wives and Gareth Malone, that year’s Christmas #1. Love’s version first charted here in 2017, though her other Christmas song, “All Alone on Christmas”, featured on the Home Alone 2 soundtrack - starring a man who I’m pretty sure James Lord Pierpoint would have voted for - peaked at #31 in 1992, during which the #1 was predictably Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”. “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” would eventually peak at #22 in 2018 and is currently charting at #31, whilst Carey’s version reaches a new peak this year after first charting in 2021, and with that, we are done with 2023’s Christmas episodes of REVIEWING THE CHARTS. Also, did you know U2 had a version of this? …Why?

Conclusion

This wasn’t really a conventional episode, was it? I can’t really fairly give Best of the Week out, or the worst for that matter, because these are songs I hold very few notable opinions on and spent most of the time just talking about their origins and their chart success. With that said, screw “Deck the Halls”, thank you for reading and I’ll see you next… year!

#uk singles chart #pop music #song review #christmas music #frank sinatra #mariah carey #dean martin #central cee #nat king cole #donny hathaway

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blueskrugs · 1 year

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length: 1.8k words

full fic

may

They fly into Edmonton together on Friday. Tyson seems nervous the whole flight and all the way through the airport. At baggage claim, as they wait for their suitcases, Madison turns on him.

“What’s up with you?” she asks. Tyson blinks at her like he forgot she was there. “You’re not seriously this worried about me meeting your family, are you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know!” Tyson crosses his arms. He’s pretty sure his suitcase just spun past them on the carousel. He lowers his voice. “I don’t really bring girls home, I don’t know. I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

“Oh, Tys. It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Madison tosses her hair, and Tyson manages a weak smile. “Your family is going to love me so much they’ll forget you even exist.”

“Hey!”

Tyson had lobbied hard for taking an Uber from the airport, to give Madison and himself a few last moments of peace before a week with his family, but his mom had put her foot down and insisted on picking them up. She’s already idling at the curb when they step out of the airport.

Madison calls shotgun, leaving Tyson to throw their suitcases in the trunk and slide into the backseat. His mom is in the middle of telling Madison, “Call me Laura, please!” Madison turns in her seat to grin at Tyson as his mom pulls away and starts driving out of the airport. She refrains from grilling Madison on the short drive home, something Tyson is grateful for. He zones out while Madison explains where she grew up and what she does and lets himself relax back into his seat.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling up to the house, and Kacey is sprinting out the front door to greet them. Tyson groans, but he eagerly shoves his car door open before the car is in park and lets Kacey jump on him.

Madison gets out of the car at a more leisurely—and sane—pace, and Kacey turns to wrap her in a hug as soon as she lets go of Tyson.

“I’m Kacey,” she says, pulling away and gripping Madison by the shoulders. “The better Jost sibling.”

Tyson pulls on Kacey’s ponytail. She smacks him in the chest without turning around. Tyson’s about to lunge and get Kacey in a headlock when their mom yells, “Behave,” at them from the front door.

Madison’s looking faintly overwhelmed. Tyson mouths “You okay?” at her over Kacey’s shoulder. Madison just grins and lets Kacey grab her by the hand and drag her inside. He’s pretty sure he hears Kacey telling her how much their grandparents can’t wait to meet her as they go. He shakes his head and retrieves their luggage from the trunk.

He’s missed all the introductions by the time he makes it inside. Madison sits on the couch next to Kacey, the spot on Madison’s other side left conspicuously open. Tyson ignores Kacey’s smirk and plops himself down next to Madison.

“So, how did you two meet?” Tyson’s grandpa asks.

Tyson refrains from glaring at him. Madison laughs next to him.

“He picked me up in a bar, and I had no idea he was a hockey player,” she says. Tyson had almost forgotten about that part. “We kinda just…kept seeing each other after that.”

That’s a delicate way of putting it.

“So you’re the reason Tyson ditched us over Christmas, huh?” Kacey asks next. She’s smirking again, directed straight at Tyson over Madison’s head. Tyson has not forgotten that part, struggling to lie to Kacey and his mom.

“Kacey!” Tyson and his mom both protest, but Madison just laughs again. Something about the question melts all of the tension out of her shoulders. She turns a little to lean against Tyson.

“Yeah, that was me,” Madison says. Tyson can’t see her face, but she doesn’t sound very sheepish. She tilts her chin to look up at Tyson. “I should’ve known something was up when he couldn’t go more than a few days without seeing me.”

“Hey,” Tyson protests again, weakly. She’s right, though. They really should have figured out their shit sooner, but they got to the right place eventually.

Conversation drifts away from the topic of their relationship after that. Tyson drapes an arm across Madison’s shoulders. After a while of catching up—Tyson and hockey season, or Kacey and her school year—mixed in with his family asking Madison questions to get to know her better, Tyson’s mom and grandma head to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

Madison tries to follow and offer to help, but Tyson tightens his arm around her. He kisses her forehead, whispering, “Stay here,” into her hair. Madison stays.

They’re getting ready for bed later—banished to separate rooms, of course—when Madison notices Tyson getting nervous again.

“What’s up?” Madison asks, sliding between him and the bathroom sink. They’re pushing it, probably, spending this long in the bathroom with the door closed.

Tyson shrugs. “Worried about you and Kacey spending all night gossiping.” They’d really hit it off over dinner, which Tyson is simultaneously grateful for and horrified by. From the look Madison gives him, she’s not buying it. “It’s just…the Avs are in town tomorrow night, and I got tickets, and you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, but I want to go, and—”

Madison cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “Tyson, I’d love to go to the game with you.”

Tyson relaxes again, and Madison moves her hand. Tyson takes the opportunity to bully her up against the sink and kiss her. Tyson’s just getting into it when Kacey bangs on the bathroom door. He’s pretty sure he accidentally bites Madison’s lip when he jerks away. Madison grumbles at him, but she ducks around him to open the door. Tyson tries not to whine about it.

Going to the game together the next night is strange. Tyson hasn’t been to Rogers Place and not been playing a game since he was a kid, probably. Madison had never really been to a hockey game before she’d met Tyson, and she’s definitely never gone to a game with Tyson.

They mostly go unnoticed, except for a handful of people who stop Tyson and ask for a picture. Madison hangs back while he politely smiles at the camera. It’s easy to fade into the crush of the crowd, and Tyson keeps a tight hold and Madison’s hand as they make their way through the concourse and to their seats.

After that, it’s just like any other hockey game. Cheering for the Avalanche is familiar, even if the way Tyson is squeezing Madison’s hand at every single scoring chance is not. She’d tease him for his nervousness, especially because the Avalanche are winning easily, except for the fact that she knows it had to be hard for him to come out tonight. To cheer for his old team, his friends, knowing that with every win they’re one step closer to something he can’t be a part of.

So she lets him hold her hand as tightly as he wants. It’s the best she can offer.

They don’t linger after the game. Tyson seems eager to escape the arena, and Madison lets him lead her back to the car. He puts on a Spotify playlist and turns the volume up loud, but he’s mostly quiet on the drive to the house, one hand on the wheel, one hand on Madison’s thigh.

Madison gets caught up talking to Laura when they get to the house, and she loses track of Tyson for a while. He’s not upstairs in his old bedroom, or even bugging Kacey in her bedroom. Madison ventures outside. Tyson has dragged a lawn chair out to the driveway, but he’s laying on his back on the cold concrete, staring up at the dim stars. The moon is just a sliver in the sky.

Madison nudges him with her foot. He wraps a hand around her ankle, squeezes once.

“You alive down there?”

Tyson makes a sound that almost passes for a laugh. Madison is pretty sure his eyes are wet, shiny in the dark. Madison lays down next to him. The concrete is hard against her shoulder blades, and it feels damp through her thin T-shirt.

“This fucking sucks,” Tyson says. It’s too loud for how late it is, and his voice echoes a little around the quiet street. He rubs a hand angrily across his face. “I want to be out there, playing for the Cup, not fucking sitting in the arena watching them. I guess I should be happy for them because they’re my friends, you know? But I kinda want to hate them, too.” He’s quiet for a moment. He reaches for Madison’s hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm, before settling their clasped hands on his chest. “I might not have asked for a trade if I had known it would be this shitty,” he admits.

“It’s okay to be mad, Tyson,” Madison says gently.

“It’s not—I don’t know if I’m mad. I wish I could be.”

“It’s okay to be sad, too,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, voice thick.

They’re both quiet for so long, Madison’s half-certain Tyson’s fallen asleep, if not for his occasional sniffle. He sits up after a while, still holding Madison’s hand. Even in the dark, Madison can see him yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Madison asks.

Tyson nods. “D’you think I can sneak you into my bed?”

He pulls Madison to her feet as she lets out a startled laugh. Tyson kisses her quiet. “I’m willing to get in trouble if you are.”

The house is dark when they slip back inside. They giggle their way through brushing their teeth, close together at the bathroom sink, elbows bumping. Tyson shushes her loudly as they tiptoe carefully down the hall. Madison’s pretty sure he’s being louder than her, but whatever.

Madison wakes to an empty bed and late morning sunlight. She can hear Tyson’s voice drifting up the stairs. That boy truly does not know how to be quiet. Madison has an Instagram notification when she swipes her phone off the bedside table: josty17 has tagged you in a post. Madison frowns and unlocks her phone, wondering what unflattering photo of her Tyson took. Instead, it’s a photo Kacey or Laura must have taken the morning before. Madison’s laying on top of Tyson on the couch, Tyson visibly complaining that he’s being squished, despite the fact that he had pulled Madison on top of him. He captioned it with a black heart emoji.

Madison makes her way downstairs. Tyson sits at the kitchen table, arguing with Kacey over something stupid. He reaches a hand out for Madison without stopping whatever he’s ranting about. There’s a fresh mug of coffee in his hand, already doctored the way Madison likes it. Tyson uses his now-free hand to loop around Madison’s waist and tug her onto his lap. She hooks her arms around Tyson’s neck and sips her coffee, content to listen to this argument, even though she’s still not sure what they’re arguing about. She thinks she hears something about which fruit would make the best weapon.

It might not be easy, but Madison thinks they’ll be just fine.

#cait writes things

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