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svnflowervol666 · 4 years

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Ma Petite Chérie: Christmas Now (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Their first Christmas as a family of four. Underwhelming gifts, naughty kitchen counter shenanigans, being suspicious of Santa Claus, baby kissies, oat milk.

Author’s Note: Baby bub is here! I’ve been so excited to finally be able to write about them, and I’m even more excited that you all get to read about them! This is the second part of my Christmas bits for this year. Unlike the last one, this one is obnoxiously adorable and no where near as upsetting (I really hurt my own feelings with that one). Reblogs, likes, tags, and feedback of any kind is always greatly appreciated! If you don’t see me before the year is up, I want to wish you a Happy New Year! Enjoy, take care, and tpwk.

“Two.”

“No. One.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Four.”

“Now that’s just bein’ greedy,” Harry spoke in a wounded tone with his brows furrowed together as if he were genuinely offended.

“But if Santa’s coming tonight and bringing more presents, why can’t I open these ones right now?”

Tallulah was on her knees in front of the sofa, fingers laced together with her chin resting on top of them. She was quite literally begging her father, who sat above her with one leg crossed over the other and an arm slung around his wife, to allow her to open the gifts that were prematurely nestled underneath the festive fir tree in their living room. Well, they weren’t married yet, but Harry couldn’t help that he preferred how the word felt rolling off of his tongue than “fiance.”

“Because they’re Christmas presents,” he stressed.

“Makes no sense t’ open them the day before.”

His freshly six-year-old daughter clearly didn’t like that answer - the pouty jut on her lip and subsequent huff told Harry all he needed to know.

“I already told ya, sweet pea. You can open one tonight. That’s it. The rest are for tomorrow.”

“Fiiiiiine,” the small girl said, although it was implied in her tone that it very much was not.

Tallulah hobbled over to the tree whilst still on her knees, and began riffling through the small litter of perfectly wrapped boxes to inspect which one would elicit the most satisfaction on her end. She seemed keen on a rather large one, decorated with tartan print and a red gift tag that read, “To: Lulah, From: Daddy & Mummy.” What she hadn’t realized, though, was that Harry had already made the selection for her.

“Not tha’ one,” Harry reprimanded over the steaming mug of coffee in the hand that wasn’t rubbing circles on Y/N’s shoulder.

He typically strayed away from caffeine this late in the evening, but he knew he was in for a long night of waiting up until Tallulah was fast asleep so he could take on the role of Santa and deliver all of the gifts he had promised her for being good enough to make an appearance on the Nice List. Knowing how much shit he had packed in his office that stayed locked this time of year, he really wasn’t sure how he was going to do it successfully.

Another exasperated sigh left his eldest child’s lips, to which she replied, “But this one’s the biggest.”

“But it’s not the one we want yeh t’ open, Lulah. ‘S the one with polar bears on it,” Harry stated, though not with full confidence.

“It is the one with polar bears on it, right?” he whispered to Y/N.

This earned a laugh from Y/N, who muttered a quiet, “Yes,” in return. She laid her head in the crook of Harry’s neck, basking in the warmth that radiated from his body. He smelled like cinnamon and the nutmeg-flavored coffee beans he’d ground up just a few minutes before, and maybe a hint like baby barf.

Tallulah scavenged the space under the tree like a predator hunting its prey - all on the lookout for the present fitting the description Harry had given her. Harry and Y/N found themselves thoroughly entertained by watching her overturn almost every gift, and shared a similar giggle when she narrowed in on the box in question before letting out a victorious, “Aha!” into the room only lit by a firelog in the chimney.

“Grab the one for Olive too, please. Don’t want her feelin’ left out,” Harry called out to Talulah.

“Okay, daddy!”

Her small arms stretched to the limit, trying to grab both packages without toppling over onto the others. Tallulah noted that they both felt the exact same underneath the wrapping paper, only her baby sister’s was much smaller than the one addressed to her.

“They feel like clothes,” Tallulah stated matter-of-factly as she took back her place on the floor with both presents in hand.

Harry sighed, leaning down to rest his mug near his feet against the sofa.

“Good grief. Just open it, will yeh?”

She needed no further instruction. Her fingers dug into the paper, piercing it with her nails and ruining the pastel blue parchment that was covered in dozens of cartoon polar bears partaking in various yoga poses. When Tallulah was able to tear the gift away from its wrapping, her hands grasped something soft.

“It’s....pajamas.”

Her tone was flat and unamused. Harry sensed her disappointment, though in his heart he certainly felt like he’d done a great job concocting his plan to have her open this particular gift on Christmas Eve.

“Yeah, but they’re Christmas pajamas. Don’t yeh want t’ look nice when Santa comes to visit tonight?”

This seemed to...disturb Tallulah. That was really the only way to describe how she looked at her dad - with her eyebrows scrunched up and her normally-plush lips pressed together in a thin line.

“...He’s gonna come in my room when I’m sleeping?”

Y/N hadn’t meant to, but a loud cackle erupted from her chest, which jostled the four-month-old baby girl that had the beginnings of sleepiness settling into her body. In contrast to the laugh from Y/N, Olive let out the tiniest of shrills, obviously upset that her mother had interupted the peacefulness she’d felt whilst being curled up against her chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, bubby,” Y/N cooed quitely, quickly moving to pat her daughter’s bum and comfort her.

“Mummy didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Y/N pressed a quick kiss to the sparse tufts of hair atop Olive’s head before returning her attention back to Tallulah.

“Lulah, I promise you that Santa will not come in your room while you’re sleeping. What your dad means,” she snuck a glance in Harry’s direction in which he smirked back at her, “Is that you want to look nice on Christmas morning, don’t you? You know Nana’s gonna take a thousand pictures of you and Olive tomorrow, so now you don’t have to change when she gets here, yeah?”

Tallulah nodded, though it didn’t do much to lift her spirits. She fumbled the cream-colored thermal set adorned with gold stars between her fingers, the motion she was always somehow doing whether it be to her dad’s t-shirt while she laid next to him during a movie, Y/N’s lotus pendant when she was smaller and could fit on her chest, or otherwise.

“Plus,” Y/N added, a hint of irony in her voice, “I’d imagine the presents Santa’s going to bring you are much less boring than this.”

They shared a knowing smile, Tallulah’s cheeks growing rosey and her eyes twinkling at the mention of the magical, bearded man.

“I’m offended,” Harry scoffed.

“Really thought those pajamas were proper cute.”

“They are cute, daddy!” Tallulah chimed in, “I like them a lot. Thank you.”

It appeared that the young girl had realized her moping about not receiving the nail polish kit she’d asked for didn’t do her any good. And whether Harry was joking about being upset or not, she’d never want to hurt her dad’s feelings. He’d raised her too kindly to do otherwise.

“You’re welcome, bug,” Harry smiled at her.

“Let’s help Olive open hers, yeah?”

“I bet it’s pajamas,” Tallulah mumbled under her breath.

That earned her a light tug on one of her two braided plaits on her head from Harry. The two of them chuckled at each other, their faces almost looking like identical portraits of each other.

“Humor me for a second then, Lulah. ‘S your sister’s first Christmas.”

Tallulah scoots over on the floor to stand on her knees, this time by Y/N’s legs as she turned Olive around to sit up straight in her lap. Olive, who was once determined to fall asleep right there on the couch beside her mum and dad, was now awake and had taken an interest in the crinkling sound of the wrapping paper on the gift her big sister placed on top of her chunky thighs.

“Here, Livvy,” Tallulah cooed, “You tear it like this.”

She tried to show Olive how to tear away the present by ripping it halfway open, but her effort proved to be unsuccessful the second Olive managed to get her fingers around a scrap of paper and immediately placed it in her mouth. It appeared that Olive was much more interested in the gift wrap than she was her early Christmas present.

“Well, there goes that,” Harry said as he fetched the then soggy parchment from his infant daughter’s lips, making somewhat of a disgusted face as he wiped the excess drool on the leg of his pants.

Tallulah takes the honor of opening Olive’s present for her, and is unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes when her eyes meet a set of thermal pajamas like the ones she’d just received herself, only Olive’s were green with tiny, silver stars. She’d parted her lips to make an undoubtedly flippant comment, but Harry cut her off before she even had the chance to mutter the first syllable.

“Don’t do it, stink head,” Harry quipped, reaching for the discarded paper that was scattered on the rug beneath him so he could put it in the bin later.

“How about you go put on your lovely new pajamas so we can get everything set up f’ Santa to come, alright?”

“Okayyyyyy,” the small girl grumbled before snatching the thermal set from the floor and darting off to her room.

“That didn’t really go the way I hoped,” Harry mumbled as he reached over to take Olive from Y/N.

“It’s Christmas, baby,” Y/N reminded him.

“Kids want toys, not pajamas.”

“Yeah but,” Harry focused his attention at worming the tight-fitting pajamas up his baby girl’s abnormally chubby legs.

“’S what mum used t’ do for us when we were little. Always got pajamas on Christmas Eve. Figured it’d be nice t’ do it for the girls, too.”

“It is sweet, Harry. Just wouldn’t expect a six-year-old to be that enthused about it,” Y/N snickered.

Harry hummed in agreement, his tongue poked out as he fed Olive’s arm into the tight sleeve of her top, struggling a bit to get her balled up fist through the other side.

“Ahh, there we go. Thank god ya only have t’ wear these tomorrow, Chunk. They’ll be too snug by next week.”

“Leave my fat baby alone,” Y/N scolded.

“There’s nothing wrong with being well fed,” she added, leaning over to lightly pinch on her daughter’s round tummy in an attempt to get her to smile at her.

A gummy grin took over Olive’s features at the sight of her mother, a true mummy’s girl at heart. She was much like Tallulah in many ways, but so different at the same time. Olive was still nearly bald, whereas Tallulah’s hair grew like a sprout when she was Olive’s age. Tallulah had always been teeny tiny, no doubt due to her premature birth, and Olive clearly made up in weight for what Tallulah lacked when she was a baby. They both loved cuddles with Harry and listening to the sound of his voice as they fell asleep, but it always puzzled him when Olive didn’t respond to some of his antics in the way that Tallulah had.

“‘M not bein’ mean. I’d jump on the chance to suck on your tits all day if I could, too.”

“Har-” Y/N began to reprimand him about how she can’t say that because there are little ears in the room, but was stopped short.

“I’m back! Can we set out the cookies now?”

Tallulah breathed heavily as if she just sprinted a marathon into the living room.

“Sure can,” Harry responded.

“Come tell Livvy good night first, though. Mummy’s gotta feed her and put her t’ bed.”

She smiled at the mention of her little sister, whom she was always keeping at an arm’s reach. If Tallulah was awake, she was in the same room as Olive. It made Harry’s heart ache in the best way to watch the two of them interact with each other. The feeling he felt when he first saw Olive in Tallulah’s arms at the hospital never subsided. He was absolutely besotted for his girls.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite soeur,” Tallulah whispered to Olive, reaching down to hug her sister and kiss the crown of her head, which she happily accepted in the form of weaving her pudgy fingers into Tallulah’s braids and pulling them rather harshly.

Before he handed her off to Y/N to be fed and put down for the night, he gave Olive a kiss of his own.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite chérie.”

“‘How do you know Santa likes oat milk? Did he tell you that? Luna at school told me he likes chocolate almond milk.’ What kinda shit is that?!” Harry exclaimed with a mouth full of sugar cookie and in the quietest voice he could muster.

He’d just spent the last hour with Y/N, silently digging Tallulah’s gifts from Santa out of his office and placing them underneath the tree. Thankfully, he hadn’t tripped over his own feet and woken her up or else he would have cried right there on the spot.

All Y/N could do was giggle back at him from where she sat on top of the counter, bare legs swinging as she had a mouthful of the very same oat milk in question swishing in her mouth.

“She’s asking too many questions n’ I don’t like it one bit.”

“Think she’s just growing up, babe. The magic doesn’t last forever. She’s about at that age. Probably only have one or two more Christmases before she figures it out.”

Harry stared at the remaining half of the frosted cookie Tallulah left for Santa in his palm, eyes quiet and sullen.

“Don’t like that one bit, either,” he muttered.

“I know you don’t, bubby,” Y/N cooed, pulling Harry into her so he stood between her parted legs on the countertop.

“But you’ve still got Olive.”

He seemed to perk up at that, looking up at her through thick lashes with a smirk.

“Just Olive? We stoppin’ there?”

“I mean,” Y/N pursed her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind trying for a boy.”

Harry placed his hands on either side of her thighs, stroking her skin with his thumbs.

“Might not happen on the first go, though,” he tisked.

“Could take havin’ a few more for that t’ happen. Yeh alright with that?”

“As long as you’re not tired of me by then, then sure,” Y/N jested.

“’M never gonna be tired of you.”

He leaned in close to her, touching his forehead to hers. He was a split second away from kissing her, but then Y/N spoke up again.

“Harry,” she called out.

“Hmm,” Harry’s voice oozed with desire and darkness beginning to turn his eyes a deep shade of juniper.

“Can I please have a bite of your cookie?”

He softly bumped his forehead against hers as they both broke out into a fit of chuckles.

“Allumeuse,” Harry uttered, raising the sickeningly sweet cookie to her lips.

She chewed the baked good tantilizingly slow, making a scene of rolling her eyes back and moaning as if the taste was euphoric.

“Tu aimes ça,” she snided.

“Je fais.”

The two sat in silence after that, finishing up what was left of the small plate of sweets Tallulah had left by the chimney. It wasn’t often that the house was this quiet. Normally, there was a crying Olive to attend to or a needy Tallulah begging for one of them to get more paper out of Harry’s office printer so she could draw pictures of the plants in their garden out back. It would have been eerie, had the multi-colored lights from their Christmas tree not illuminated the majority of their open living space. The twinkling bulbs brought a sense of peacefulness about them. Maybe it was the season, or maybe it was because they’d been feeling so grateful for their small family as of late.

“Honey,” Harry broke the silence.

“What?” she looked up from where she’d been fussing with the hem of her shorts decorated with tiny snowflakes.

“Yeh got a little,” he gestured to her mouth before bringing his thumb to the corner of Y/N’s mouth.

Harry swiped a rogue dollop of blue frosting that rested there and pressed it onto her tongue. She wrapped her lips around his digit, sucking lightly to remove the sticky icing from his skin. Her eyes met his, not once straying as he applied just the slightest bit more of pressure with his thumb. He noted the way her breathing slowed and how she gently shuddered when he tightened the grip of her jaw with the rest of his fingers.

“So pretty,” he purred, marveling at the sight in front of him.

God, how Harry wished it weren’t just his finger resting on the soft, welcoming warmth of her tongue.

Y/N slid off his thumb with a calculated pop of her lips, licking them to ensure she’d rid herself completely of any stray crumbs.

“Kissy?” she posed, smirking.

“I’d be pretty rotten if I said no,” Harry replied before pressing his mouth against hers.

She wrapped her arms around him, forcing him to stand flush against the counter and even closer to her body. He teased her with this tongue, gliding it along the plush skin of the inside of her lip. Y/N welcomed him and parted her lips enough for Harry to get through. Both of them taste the saccharine remnants of the cookies they’d shared, and soon all that’s heard in the house are the suckling noises and heavy pants coming from Harry and Y/N. It’s not loud enough to be a disturbance, but it’s just enough to have them both yearning for more.

“Talk t’ me, lapine,” Harry broke away from her for long enough to mumble one sentence, still pressed against her lips.

“Tell me what yeh want.”

“Want you,” Y/N said in a shaky exhale, chasing Harry’s mouth to reconnect with her own.

“Yeah?” he taunted.

“Want me right here in the kitchen?”

“Ideally, no. But I wouldn’t stop you.”

She parted her legs even wider, attempting to rut against the thick fabric of Harry’s fleece sweatpants. Her center met something stiff and Harry pulled her even closer by the flesh of both bum cheeks, massaging them with his massive palms in a manner that he knew drove her mad.

“That’d be pretty naughty of us, wouldn’t it? Not sure if Santa would approve of that one.”

Before she’s given a chance to respond, Harry snuck his hand between their thighs and began softly petting Y/N over her shorts. Her head fell back in pleasure, temporarily detaching her lips from Harry’s. She knows she can’t make a single sound or else she’ll wake up the entire house so she just sits there with her brows furrowed, silently gasping and letting these sweet, broken moans spill from her throat that spur Harry on even further.

“Can feel you even through your fuckin’ shorts, Y/N,” he grunted, slowing grinding against his own palm that was the only thing separating him from her heat.

This time, it’s Y/N that reached between them, feeling for the stifness that lies between his legs. She wraps her fingers around him through his sweatpants, leisurely tugging at his cock. Harry’s all but forced to begin sucking on the sensitive skin of her neck to keep himself from crying out at the contact, working at blossoming deep lilac and mulberry colored bruises there.

“Bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you?” he muffles into her collarbone.

Y/N hummed, crossing her legs around Harry’s back as he began to focus his attention to rubbing her clit over the material of her shorts.

“Bet you could too,” she whined.

“’S that what you want, hm? Want me t’ make you cum without even touchin’ you right?”

“‘M not gonna have a choice if you don’t do something else pretty soon.”

She sped up the work she’s doing near Harry’s crotch, paying mind to what she can make of his tip between his boxers. With her thumb, she rubbed expert circles around him, massaging him in the way that he’s doing to her. Both of them could feel it, the slow build up of pressure deep in their abdomen - a coil winding tighter and tight with the threat of snapping.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N.”

He was biting her neck now, completely consumed by the feeling of both the damp patch seeping through Y/N’s shorts and onto his fingers and the precum dripping onto her more delicate ones through his sweatpants.

In an attempt to not embarass himself like a horny teenager, Harry withdrew his hand from in between her thighs and places it around her bum all in the same breath. Y/N sighed defeatedly at the loss of friction against the place she needed it most, dropping her head into Harry’s shoulder and whining rather noisily. Before she even has the chance to curse him for stopping, he scooped her off the counter with all of his strength and began walking both of them to their bedroom so he could fuck her properly.

Their lips detach when Harry drops her onto the bed and a woosh of air leaves the down comforter, causing the hem of Y/N’s top to fly up and expose her tummy. She still wore the deep, almost-metallic stretch marks she’d acquired when she was pregnant with Olive, but it wasn’t with shame. Her and Harry had a talk not that long ago about how much he loved them because it reminded him of how much he cherished watching his baby girl grow before she made her grand, earthside appearance. She’d not mentioned the slightest bit of disdain for them after that.

Just as Harry tugged his jumper over his head and threw it off somewhere that he’d worry about in the morning, his eyes caught the digital clock that rested on the wooden night stand on his side of the bed.

“’S past midnight,” he said with a lopsided grin, climbing on top of the girl he vowed to spend his last dying breath beside.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, for the life of her unable to understand why that was relevant when just minutes ago, he was rutting into her hands and aching for release.

“Yeah,” Harry smiled against her lips.

He pulled up once more to add, “Happy Christmas.”

She had half the mind to smack him, but all she did was shake her head and smile.

“Happy Christmas, Harry. Will you please fuck me now?”

“Think I can manage that.”

It was the first of many Christmas presents for Y/N.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #dad!harry #dad!Harry styles #dad!harry styles x reader #dad!harry x reader #harry styles smut

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kpop-zone · 4 years

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Blackpink reaction when their s/o takes care of them when they are sick

Jisoo

A disturbing noise woke you up from your peaceful slumber, but you were too tired to open your eyes. Blindly, you patted down the bed in order to find your girlfriend because you missed her warm body against yours. But your hand searched in vain, finding nothing but her pillow. Confused, you finally forced your eyelids open and looked around. Her side of the bed was indeed empty, causing you to sit up. It was completely silent now, making it impossible for you to figure out where the weird noise from earlier had come from and where your girlfriend was currently located.

“Jisoo?”

You called out and a moment later the door to the bathroom swung open, revealing your girlfriend who was looking like she had just had the worst night of her life.

“What’s wrong?”

Suddenly you were wide awake and jumped off the bed, but Jisoo held her hand out to stop you from coming closer.

“Nothing. I’m fi-.”

Before your girlfriend could finish her sentence, she slammed her hand in front of her mouth and stumbled back into the bathroom to hang her head over the toilet bowl. Reflexively, you rushed to her, but once more Jisoo pushed you away.

“Go away, Y/N. I’m gross.”

If your girlfriend didn’t look so miserable right now, her statement would have probably made you laugh. But because she did, you simply folded away her stiff-arm that was keeping you away, so that you could stand directly behind her. Gently, you tugged some loose strands of hair behind her ear and rubbed her back soothingly.

“You are not gross, Jisoo. You are sick which means that I have to be there for you even more now.”

You replied determined, ignoring the weak protests of your girlfriend.

Eventually, you helped her back to bed where you rolled her shivering figure into a blanket, making her look like a burrito.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll get you some tea to calm your stomach.”

You said quickly before rushing to the kitchen.

Not even ten minutes later you were back in the bedroom, putting a cup with steaming hot tea and a bowl on the nightstand, just in case your girlfriend had to puke again. Jisoo looked at you heavy-lidded and you slid in behind her, wrapping your arms around her and pressing her gently against your body.

“I’m gonna call in sick first thing tomorrow morning, so I can take care of you. You’ve probably been infected by the kids when you visited your sister last week.”

You thought out loud, causing Jisoo to whip her head around.

“Nooo, you don’t have to stay here. I can take care of myself.”

She interjected and you looked at her disapprovingly.

“And who’s going to cook you a nice soup and be your medicine? You know, I’ve heard that cuddles can improve your health up to 110%”

You replied seriously, causing Jisoo to giggle silently.

“No backchat. I’m staying.”

Realizing that you weren’t going to change your mind, your girlfriend turned in your arms and buried her head in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that.”

She mumbled after a while and you squeezed her lightly.

You knew that she would probably apologize a thousand times for forcing you to stay home but leaving her alone wasn’t even an option for you. Even if she always pretended to be strong, every once in a while, she also deserved to be taken care of. So you would be putting all your love into her recovery.

Jennie

“It’s fine, Y/N. You can leave me alone. Go to your meeting.”

Jennie weakly pushed you to the front door, asking you to finally leave. Your calendar was fully packed today, and you were already late for your first appointment. But you refused to head out. She had woken up with a nasty headache and a sore throat and you were concerned beyond belief.

“But who’s going to take care of you?”

You protested, trying to wiggle out of her grasp.

“I can take care of myself.”

She answered confidently, although only the thought of being alone today made her depressed.

“I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to...”

You replied and Jennie looked at you helplessly, not knowing how to refute your argument. Using the chance of her speechlessness, you turned the tables and pushed her back towards the living room.

“Please, let me take care of you.”

You said softly and Jennie sighed. How could she say know to that? If she was being honest, she always needed a lot of love whenever she was sick and if you hadn’t decided to stay, she would have probably called her mum. But the thought of getting pampered by you all day definitely sounded better.

With a lot less resistance, Jennie let you pull her to the couch and laid down obediently. When you tried to walk away, however, she tightly held on to your arm.

“Jennie, I have to make you breakfast and get you some medicine from the drug store.”

You chuckled, but Jennie immediately shook her head.

“Noooo stay here.”

She pouted, causing you to laugh.

“But aren’t I here to take care of you?”

You tried to pull away, but Jennie didn’t let go.

“Exactly! You’re here to cuddle me all day.”

Jennie grinned and tugged on your arm. You shook your head in amusement, but finally gave in to her and laid down next to her. Automatically, Jennie’s limbs wrapped around you and she sighed satisfied while nestling her head against your body.

“Will we every leave this couch today?”

You chuckled while running your hand up and down her arm and Jennie chuckled.

“Nope.”

Chaeyoung

Hey Y/N...don’t be mad, but I think you shouldn’t come over

For at least a minute you stared at the message of your girlfriend blankly, wondering whether you had done something wrong in order to have her say something like that; not once had she ever told you to stay away from her. But no matter how deep you dug in your memory, you couldn’t think of any moment that could have upset her. Therefore, you quickly dialed her number to call her. Whatever the meaning behind her message was, you needed to know.

“Y/N?”

Pretty much after the first ring, Chaeyoung picked up the phone, but her voice caused your eyes to widen in shock. It was barely above a whisper and sounded as if she had screamed for hours beforehand.

“Chaeng? What’s wrong?”

You asked concerned and you could hear your girlfriend clearing her throat on the other line.

“Nothing.”

She answered quickly, trying to sound normal, but her voice was still hoarse.

“Nothing? Babe, no offense, but you sound awful. Are you sick?”

After your question, the line went quiet, making you wonder whether the connection had broken, but then Chaeyoung spoke up again.

“Yes...I have a nasty cold. That’s why you shouldn’t come over. I don’t want to infect you.”

She sniffled and your heart sank. You didn’t like the thought of your girlfriend feeling unwell and being alone.

“You will not infect me. I’m coming over.”

You answered without hesitation while already leaping to your feet and walking to the front door of your apartment.

“You are not, Y/N! I’m serious. Stay at home. You have a lot on your plate lately; you don’t need a cold to make everything worse.”

Your girlfriend kept rambling, but you only listened with half an ear as you already put on your shoes.

“Hm...”

You hummed into the speaker before quickly saying goodbye and hanging up.

Not even an hour later, you stood in front of the girls’ dorm with a soup that you had picked up on the way and some medicine in your hands. You let yourself in with the key that Chaeyoung had given you a while ago and took off your shoes.

“I’m home!”

You yelled like you always did, but this time you weren’t greeted by the excited voice of your girlfriend. Instead, you heard footsteps pattering before Chaeyoung stepped into sight with a dumbfounded look on her face.

“Y/N! I told you not to come.”

She whined before breaking out into a fit of coughs.

Unimpressed by her protests, you walked into the kitchen and put the soup on the counter. Chaeyoung followed you silently but kept her distance from you while you unpacked the food. Soon, however, you felt her presence directly behind her and you could see in the corner of your eye that she was glancing over your shoulder.

“Is that my favorite?”

She asked and you chuckled in amusement.

“Yup, I thought you deserved to be spoiled today.”

You answered, smiling to yourself when you felt Chaeyoung wrapping her arms around your waist.

“Hm you could be right. I couldn’t sleep a second tonight; I coughed all through the night.”

Your girlfriend pouted as she put her head on your shoulder and you nodded understandingly.

“I’m all yours today.”

You grinned and Chaeyoung blushed lightly.

“I’ve warned you though! It’s not my fault if you get a cold now.”

She replied quickly before walking to the dinner table to hide her flushed cheeks, causing you to chuckle.

“I know, I take full responsibility. Eat now.”

You urged her while putting the soup down in front of her.

Excitedly, Chaeyoung slurped the noodles and hummed in satisfaction.

“I think, I’m already feeling better.”

She mumbled and you laughed.

“Because I’m here?”

You wiggled your eyebrows and Chaeyoung looked up from the soup.

“Of course. Thank you for coming, Y/N. Turns out you’re much better at taking care of me than I am.”

She smiled while reaching out to take your hand. Proudly you grinned before lifting her hand and kissing the back of it softly. Of course, you were better at taking care of her; after all, it was your favorite thing to do.

Lalisa

“I’m not sick!”

Lisa yelled chipperly over her shoulder before slamming the front door shut, not leaving you the chance to talk back.

For the past three days already, your girlfriend struggled with a sore throat and pain in her limbs, but she refused to admit that she was sick. Every day, she dragged herself to practice and gave 110%. You tried to tell her that her behavior would eventually get back at her, but she didn’t want to listen. In her opinion, this was nothing but a harmless cold that would go away by itself.

She would change her mind today though.

Right when the door to your apartment opened that night, you knew that your prediction had come true. Lisa sniffled and coughed violently, causing you to immediately rush to the entrance. She looked ten times worse than this morning; her face was pale except for her cheeks that were burning bright red and it seemed like she would collapse any second. As soon as she saw you, a small pout formed on her lips.

“Y/N...I think you were right. I’m sick.”

She whined with slouched shoulders and you immediately walked up to her. Dramatically, Lisa let herself fall into your arms and you giggled amused.

“You know this could have totally be prevented if you had stayed home today, right?”

You scolded her jokingly, causing her to whine even more.

“I knoooow. I don’t like being sick.”

She huffed frustrated and you laughed before pulling her into the apartment.

“Don’t worry. Your private physician is here to take care of you.”

You grinned while pointing at yourself and Lisa’s face lit up.

“Will I get a special treatment?”

She asked cheekily, looking a lot less depressed than she did just a second ago.

“Of course. You’ll have access to an endless source of homecooked meals, cuddles, distraction...”

You began listing all of her benefits and with every word your girlfriend got more excited.

“Maybe I should be sick more often...”

Lisa commented eventually, causing you to chuckle. Of course, she would use this chance today to get absolutely spoiled by you. But you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Therefore, you walked into the kitchen to start making some comfort food for your girlfriend all the while she clung to your body tightly. You knew that it would probably better if she laid down, but you also knew that you didn’t even have to bring up that suggestion. Lisa would follow you wherever you went today anyways.

#blackpink reaction #blackpink #blackpink imagine #jisoo #jennie #rose #chaeyoung #lisa #girl group imagines #girl group reacion #girl group #kpop reactions #kpop

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hilarioushilarity · 4 years

Text

(not) lost in translation pt. 2

{I am a lying liar who lies, 2-3 days my ass. You can read Part 1 here.}

The second time Alexei meets Kent Parson is at the All Star weekend that season.

When Mama and Papa had flown back to Russia, Alexei had rapidly realised that he was effectively a thousand miles away from everything he had ever known, and that:

1) Nobody around him spoke Russian; and 2) He couldn't speak English.

Alexei hates English. With a passion. He's not stupid enough to tell anyone this particular fact, but he thinks it every time he sits down for his English classes and wrestles with prepositions and adverbs, or heaven forbid, attempts to conjugate a verb. Every rule had a million exceptions, so what was even the point of the rule? English as a language was just unfair, he had decided, and he tells Mama this over the phone one month in.

She is sympathetic, in her typical Spartan manner. "You'll learn," she tells him. "Practise for at least three hours every day."

Alexei is appalled. "Mama, when am I meant to get three hours of practice each day?"

"There is always time."

He honestly doesn't know what else he expected. "Okay Mama," he says, and then turns the conversation to how stupidly big portion sizes were in America. Criticising the diets of North Americans was always guaranteed to catch her attention.

To his dismay, his father just laughs at him.

"Papa." Alexei may or may not be whining.

"Your Mama told you to just find time, didn't she," he says, when he's finally stopped cackling for long enough to take a breath.

Alexei hangs up on him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Papa says, when he calls back a minute later. The wheezing laughs have stopped, which is a relief.

"Okay," Alexei says warily.

"I mean it." His father is abruptly serious. "I'm sorry for laughing, you're in a tough situation right now. English is not an easy language to learn." They both know that his father never truly gained fluency in it - never had the chance to need it.

"It's really hard, Papa." He doesn't think he's just talking about English anymore.

"Things worth doing usually are, Alyosha," his father says gently.

Alexei chews his lip. "I don't know if I'm doing anything right."

"Are you playing good hockey?" Papa asks.

"Yes, Papa."

"You aren't bullying anyone on the ice?"

"No -"

"Working hard? Doing your English lessons? Going to all your practices on time, practising anything your coach says you need to work on?"

"Yes -"

"Then you are doing it right. And I am proud of you."

His father's voice is warm, and it curls around Alexei. He suddenly, desperately, wishes he could hug his father tightly. "Okay Papa."

"Now go and practice your English," Papa says, and Alexei does.

So hockey is the only thing he has besides torturous English lessons, and he devotes himself to it. He racks up goals and assists every game, plays a clean defensive game, and keeps his stats glowing. English smalltalk remains his nemesis but he's getting there, one pleasantry at a time. Before he knows it, he's being invited to the All Stars Weekend. He dithers over the invite for a few days, until the head of Capitals PR eventually corners him on his way out of the locker rooms.

"You should go," LaRue tells him. "It's good for building up your fanbase." He continues to go on at depth about social media presences and ticket sales. Alexei dutifully nods his way through the lecture, and ends up promising to go just to escape.

For some unknown sin in this life or a past one, he is roomed with a D-man from the Aeros who talks loudly and snores louder than a chainsaw. Alexei realises this on the first night when he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling as the red digits on the bedside clock tick over from 11 to 12, then 1. There's a snore once every three seconds, accompanied by whistling through some gap between teeth. Alexei kills half an hour searching up English sayings to describe snoring and deciding that his roommate "snores like a foghorn" before he finally gives up and rolls out of bed.

The hotel they've been put up in has an indoor gym and swimming pool. Alexei slings on a towel, sneaking out of the room before taking the lift down. On first glance, the gym is deserted, because any sane person is currently asleep. Alexei, running on no sleep, does not qualify.

Except, when he's halfway through his reps on the elliptical, a quiet voice behind him says: "Um. Hi, Alexei?"

Alexei turns around and comes face to face with Kent Parson.

What they are is nebulous at best. More than acquaintances - Kent Parson had talked to his Mama and Papa and his Mama had said Kent was a Very Nice Person. But less than friends, certainly. After the draft, Kent had gone west to the Aces and Alexei had gone east to the Capitals. He hasn't really kept track of Kent's career, but he would have to be under an actual rock to not know Kent is the only other rookie at the All Stars weekend and the NHL's current leading scorer.

"Hello," Alexei replies. There's a drop of sweat slowly rolling down his face and he's painfully aware that he probably stinks a little. Meanwhile Kent Parson looks fresh as a daisy at one in the morning. The limits of his smalltalking abilities in English remain breathtakingly small despite the benefit of six months of English tutoring, so he kind of hopes Kent takes pity on his poor, sweaty form.

Kent does not. "It's been a while. Good to see you."

Goddamnit, they're smalltalking. "Good to see you, too."

Kent looks unbothered at the lack of scintillating conversation. He rolls onto the balls of his feet, fiddling with the strap of the duffel slung over his shoulder. "So uh. How's your mum?" he says, then immediately blanches. "Shit. I didn't mean - I just -"

"Good," Alexei says, mostly to put him out of his misery. "She good."

Kent looks earnest. "Oh, that's really good to hear." And then he seems to waver a bit.

"How is family?" Alexei says, when the silence stretches on. "They come visit after draft?"

"Ah yeah." Kent visibly brightens up. "They did! It was great, we had dinner and hung out a bit, and I gave my sister your mum's autograph - she's so cool by the way, but I bet you already knew that - I'd love to thank her again."

There are just - so many words. Alexei takes a few seconds to work through the sentence. "Glad to hear sister like. Maybe you see Mama again at game with Aces?"

"Definitely," Kent says, and Alexei's heard so many people say that over the past six months, but he thinks this time he could believe it. "So, uh. What's keeping you up?"

Only the loudest snorer on the entire American continent. "Roomie." Alexei searches for the words. "Snoring like foghorn."

Kent winces. "Jeez, I know what you mean. Did you try poking him to get him to roll over?"

"To scared to poke," Alexei admits. "Big guy."

"Who are you rooming with?"

"Winkler?"

"Fuck, yeah, he's a big dude. Better not poke him."

Alexei sighs. "Snore so loud - and whistle too. Like train." At Kent's blank look, he tries: "Choo choo?"

"Choo - oh god, you mean like a steam engine?"

Alexei pulls out his phone in answer. "How spell that? Steam engine?" He dutifully plugs in the letters Kent rattles off, and hits translate. "Oh. Yes. He steam engine."

"Heh," Kent says. "I double dog dare you to say that to him." He must catch the look of utter incomprehension on Alexei's face, because he quickly backtracks. "Not up with the slang yet? Sorry. I meant, you should tell him that."

"But why?" Alexei doesn't want to get punched.

"As a joke," Kent adds hastily. "It's funny, because we know it's stupid so we wouldn't do it."

English was just ridiculous. "Okay," Alexei tries. "Double dog dare you cycle on elliptical, see who faster."

"That's not..." Kent trails off. He smiles, then shakes his head. "That's not how it works. But we'll work on it," he assures Alexei, with a firm pat on his shoulder.

It's worlds away from the way the Caps' coach tends to roll his eyes heavenward when Alexei goes left when he should go right, or his English tutor, who is nice enough but is prone to banging her head against the table a little when Alexei fumbles the conjugation on a verb. "Not now," Alexei says. "Later?"

Kent checks his watch and he actually looks surprised, like the complete lack of other people didn't clue him in. "Wow, it's pretty late, isn't it?"

Unbelievable. "Why you up?"

"Got caught up practising."

Alexei sideeyes him. "Practising?"

Kent flushes a little. "Practising my stick handling. Shooting accuracy."

Alexei can't help but boggle at him. "You practising? At 1AM?"

"I couldn't sleep," Kent says, a little defensively.

"You crazy," Alexei decides, but there's a lot of fondness that must be apparent to even Kent, who looks less offended than he does a mildly grumpy, like the family cat when he accidentally stepped on her tail as a child. "But you wipe ice with everyone, so you champion crazy."

"Damn straight I'm the champion crazy," Kent says, planting his hands on his hips like a dork. "Yeah, laugh it up, I'll definitely be wiping the ice with you."

Alexei pretends to cower. "Okay, Kent Parson, I try best not cry on ice then."

"You will be bawling your eyes out," Kent says with promise, and then looks so affronted when Alexei just doubles over, breathless with laughter.

"I believe you," Alexei says to the ground, from where he's still bent over trying to catch his breath. "Cry many tears."

"You better," Kent says, but then he's laughing helplessly too, dropping his duffel. "Oh god, I really am champion crazy."

Alexei reaches over to pat him on the back. "Is okay, still like, even if Kent Parson practice hockey at one in morning."

"You don't think I'm too crazy?" Perhaps it's meant to be joking, but Alexei can't help but look up sharply.

"Never. You think Crosby best because he slack off?"

"I don't think he's ever stayed up until 1 because he was nervous about All Stars," Kent says, then bites his lip.

"You nervous?" Alexei asks. Kent hesitates. "Why you nervous?"

"I just - it's been a lot," Kent finally says. He's looking to the side, staring at the elliptical. Alexei waits, and Kent says in a rush: "I feel like I have to be the best, or - or else -"

"Not have to say what," Alexei says gently. "Not make you say."

Kent scowls. "It's stupid. Everyone's thinking it, they just don't say it. That I'm the second choice."

At the Draft, Alexei had known vaguely that Kent Parson and another boy called Jack Zimmermann had widely been slated to go first and second - in either order. It was true that every analyst had put the latter in first place, and that when Aces called Kent Parson's name there had been a slight pause in the audience's murmuring. Kent's smile had been strained as he left their table.

Alexei's stood across from Kent on the ice before. He's watched countless hours of tape of the Aces' play and by proxy, of Kent. Kent Parson on the ice is a force of nature, skating circles around defence and sinking pucks into the net as easy as breathing. And in his heart of hearts, he thinks the margin between first and second had been far smaller than most people thought.

But now, under the harsh gym lights that highlight the remaining softness of his jaw and the dark patches beneath his eyes, Alexei realises that Kent's still just a kid. Alexei's just a kid. They're both just teenagers. And there's very little of the player who had breezed past Alexei at the last Caps game with the Aces, or of the player who had mercilessly crushed their four game winning streak without batting an eye. Under the padding and past all the hype, Kent was far from the figure he cut on ice and as vulnerable as any other human.

"Even if people say second choice, what matter?" Alexei says. "You first. You here now. Play well. Maybe bit annoy on ice but not bully. And seem nice, polite to Mama. Thinking of sister even at draft. Get autograph for her. That matter. Not other people."

He hopes he hasn't overdone it - perhaps Kent wasn't looking for a heart-to-heart in the hotel gym at 1AM. But instead of taken aback Kent looks - a little watery.

"Why you cry?" Alexei is horrified.

"I'm not crying," Kent sniffs. "I'm not."

Alexei bites his tongue. "Uh okay." He politely looks away as Kent wipes his eyes.

"I'm not saying I can't cry," Kent begins, which Alexei takes as his cue that it's safe to look back at him. His eyes are just slightest bit red, and even that's only if you know what to look for. “I just try not to cry in front of others.”

"Okay," Alexei says cautiously.

Kent takes a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Welcome," Alexei replies automatically, then says: "But. For what?"

Kent stares at him. "For - listening? For not being an asshole about the fact I'm still some nervy rookie?"

Christ. People thanked each other for things like that in America? "No need thank," Alexei says. Then, desperate to change the subject, he adds: "So we agree! No need for nervous! You real KVP."

"The what?"

"KVP." Alexei gestures. "I see on Twitter - they calling you 'the Real KVP'".

"That's not - " Kent splutters. "That's my name, Alexei."

Alexei tries not wince. "Oh. Oops, sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Kent brings out his phone, thumbing at something on the screen. He eventually holds out his phone, open to a websearch. "See? It's a joke on MVP. That's 'Most Valuable Player'."

"Oh," Alexei says again. "Make sense. Sometimes miss reference - thank you for explaining."

Kent stows away his phone, corners of his mouth twitching upwards again. "You've only been in the US for what, six months? Your English is great. If you put me in Russia I would probably just turn around and go back to the US."

"You miss good food then," Alexei tuts. "Russian food is best food."

"Hell no, I've seen what you guys count as soup. I'm not touching borscht with a ten-foot pole."

"Borscht is best soup!" Alexei tries to sound outraged.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that anything that pink should not be eaten."

Blasphemy. "You try pirozhki then? Small, baked -" He gropes around for the word, then gives up and calls up the translator app on his phone. "Dumpling."

"I've never had that," Kent says, but he at least looks intrigued. "What did you call it? Pay-roz-kay?"

His accent is actually appalling. "Pirozhki," Alexei corrects.

Kent frowns. "Poe-roz-ki?"

"Pirozhki"

"Poh-rosh-ki?"

Alexei nods in approval. "Good, sounds good."

"I like the sound of baked dumplings," Kent says. "Mm. Pirozkhi. I might go see if there's any places that do it in Vegas."

"Let me know if yes." Alexei nudges him. "I come try when Caps play Aces."

"You got it."

Alexei cuts off any further conversation with the embarrassingly loud yawn that escapes him then.

"Shit, it's like 1:30AM." Kent winces. "We have to get up at like 7 tomorrow - today? Holy crap we better go to sleep."

Alexei levers himself up, gathering his towel and bottle. "Hope not fall asleep on skates tomorrow."

"How about I check you if I see you dropping off," Kent suggests, then snickers at Alexei's raised eyebrow. "Bad idea?"

"Sure can check me?" Alexei makes a show of looking Kent up and down. He holds his index finger and thumb about ten centimetres apart. "So small."

"You asshole," Kent says, but he's laughing. "I'm not short, you're just a giant."

"If say so," Alexei shrugs. They start towards the elevator banks. "If help sleep at night."

"Fuck you, I sleep really well at night," Kent says petulantly. Alexei eyes the shadows beneath his eyes.

"I believe, I believe," he says instead with his best shit-eating grin. They get in the lift. "Okay, floor?"

Kent reaches over and pushes the button for 15. "You?"

"Twelve. Thank you." Kent nods, and they start moving up.

"So see you tomorrow, yes?"

"Yeah." Kent shoulders his duffel a little more firmly. "Be prepared to cry like a baby."

Alexei flaps his hands, just as the lift doors open on his floor. "Yeah, yeah, I cry so much."

The smile Kent gives him is small, but very real. "Good night Alexei."

"Good night," Alexei says, stepping out and turning to wave goodbye. The doors shut on Kent's smile, and Alexei stands there for a second, the airconditioning cool against his slightly sweaty neck.

"Hopefully not cry too much," he says to himself, before heading back to his room.

#kent parson #alexei mashkov #(not) lost in translation #patater #capichewrites

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jovialyouthmusic · 4 years

Text

Special Delivery 3

I’m going to start with an apology here. This is not great literature, it’s just an exercise in writing about what I know and wrapping it up in a fluffy romance that will never happen. It’s pure self indulgence, but if you’d like to read some fluff with a bit of British culture thrown in for good measure, go ahead and read. If you want me to take you off the tag list, please ask, no offence taken. If any of the words or terms are unfamiliar, please ask, as I make no changes to suit American readers.

Word count 2572

Previous chapters can be found here and here

Fabio and I visit the local fish and chip shop, and I explain what’s on the menu.

Warning - mentions the death of a parent.

3 Takeaway my heart...

Once parked outside my terraced house, I unlocked the door and Fabricio helped bring our rucksacks in. He left his boots and jacket by the door, which opened straight onto a room that had once been two small rooms, now knocked into one large one with the stairwell exposed. I was looking forward to moving to a place that had a porch where wet and muddy clothes could be left, although I was fond of my cozy little house. I went to the kitchen to unpack the lunch boxes after directing Fabio upstairs to the bathroom. He was soon back downstairs as I let myself sink into the couch by the window that looked out onto the street.

‘You have a nice place.’ he said ‘It’s small, but this room is…’ he searched for words and gave up ‘I like it.’

‘I chose it a few years ago.’ I answered. ‘It was hard making enough money to get a mortgage, but my parents helped’

‘Ah yes. They are - not here any more?’ I shook my head.

‘No, Dad died just after I bought it. If I hadn’t got this place I might have moved in with Mum, but I think we would have driven each other crazy, much as I loved her.’

‘Family is muy importante. Mi madre, mi padre - I love my parents, they have helped me so much.’

‘Me too.’ I smiled ‘Mum passed away a few months ago. I can pay my house off now, and I’m going to rent it out for a little more income’

‘Passed away?’ he asked.

‘Uh - she died.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. You said before. You are sad?’ his expression changed to one of concern.

‘It’s okay Fabio, she was getting older and a little confused. I was just beginning to think of moving in to look after her, but I went to visit one morning and she’d passed away in her sleep – very peaceful.’

‘I think we would all like to go like that.’ he said. ‘Now, you are hungry, yes?’ he patted his stomach.

‘I am.’ I replied ‘Tired and hungry, but I really enjoyed our trip.’

‘Yo Tambien – me too.’ he smiled ‘It is difficult to travel, there are not many busses’

‘It is easier if you have a car.’ I admitted ‘But sometimes it gets very crowded with visitors.’ He nodded.

‘There are some takeaways near here?’ he asked ‘Perhaps we should not have pizza this time.’ he grinned.

‘Yes, there are two fish and chip shops and a couple of Indian curry houses, but we can ring them.’

‘Oh.’ his eyes lit up ‘You can tell me what to order in a fish and chip shop. My friends and workmates are not English.’ I smiled, and the thought of going into my local chippy with him suddenly overcame my aching feet and stiff legs.

‘We can go together’ I suggested ‘Perhaps a cup of tea first, and I’ll be good to go’

Walking along the narrow high street with Fabio got me a few curious and envious glances, and together we walked into my favourite chip shop. I went there sometimes as a treat, but too many visits and I would soon be overweight as just about everything they sold in there was deep fried. The shop was long and narrow, and a high stainless steel counter stretched for about three quarters of the length of the shop, the remainder of it being a normal height counter where customers paid and picked up their orders. The air was warm and humid and smelled of the hot fat and frying chipped potatoes and other savouries. Various pieces of battered and fried fish, sausage and other savouries were on display in the glass cabinet.

We entered at the back of the shop to queue. A young couple were in front of us, waiting for someone to take their order, and an older man sat on a ledge in the front shop window, obviously waiting for his. Fabio looked at the food sitting out for display as one of the shop employees, dressed in a white coat and white hat, got a wire basket of cut potatoes and lowered it into a vat of hot fat. Sizzling sounds filled the air and a great cloud of steam went up as the basket was shaken to get everything evenly distributed. The employee, Chris, looked up at the queue of people waiting as another woman with a small child had come in behind us. Fabio made a silly face at the child, who hid behind his mother’s leg, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

‘We’re just waiting on chips.’ Chris explained as Fabio nodded to the woman behind us.

‘You go first.’ he said ‘I don’t know what to have. It’s my first time.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ the woman smiled warmly, and gave me a wink as she squeezed past us, the child trailing after her and staring up at Fabio with wide eyes. He stuck his tongue out and the little boy grinned self consciously. Fabio looked back at me.

‘He’s just like my sister’s boy.’ he said fondly ‘I miss mi familia’ He nodded his head at the glass cabinet ‘So, tell me what all this is.’

‘Okay, this all cooked in advance – if it’s out here it’s not spoken for – it hasn’t been ordered. You’ll want chips of course; I’ll get a large portion to share…and you need some protein – some fish or chicken or sausage, and maybe a salad.’ I pointedly looked at his belly ‘You’ll need to work it off afterwards.’ He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

‘You look okay.’ he said, looking me up and down, making me wobbly legged again. ‘Do you eat here a lot?’

‘Oh no!’ I said I’d be the size of a bus if I had chips all the time. I just have it as a treat every now and again.’ He laughed.

‘Size of a bus?’

‘It’s just a saying’ I explained sheepishly. ‘I do use a lot of them, sorry if it’s confusing.’

‘No no, is good to hear things like that.’ he insisted. Again he looked at what was on offer. A huge board behind the counter formed a menu with prices clearly marked.

‘Okay, not all chip shops serve the same – here they serve not just fish, but sausage, pies, chicken, burgers and patties. It’s all fried apart from the chili con carne, which is probably the closest you’ll get to the sort of thing you eat at home – I think.’

‘What are you having?’ he asked.

‘I’ll have cod, if it’s big we can share it. I love curry sauce but it doesn’t really go with fish.’ I noticed he was frowning in concentration ‘Perhaps if you have a piece of chicken?’ I suggested. ‘You might like chicken breast, or you could try the sausage’

‘Okay, Chicken breast, and we share’ he decided

‘Right, we can have a side of salad or baked beans, or mushy peas’ He looked even more confused, and I had to suppress a laugh ‘Okay, I don’t like mushy peas or beans with chips anyway. Salad it is. Oh, we can have the curry sauce on the side and dip our chips…’ This time I couldn’t help chuckling as he looked completely lost. ‘Don’t worry, I know just what to get.’ I said reassuringly.

When I ordered the food, Steve told me it would take an extra ten minutes to get the chicken ready, so I took my visitor to the off licence a few doors down to look at the beer and wine available. I picked a couple of bottles of real ale for him to taste, and he chose a bottle of white wine, pleased that they stocked a passable bottle of Argentinian Sauvignon Blanc. I wondered if he would be walking back to his flat that night when he had eaten and drunk what we had bought.

It wasn’t long before we walked out of the chip shop with one bag that clinked and another full of food, heavy and fragrant with the scent of oil and potato and fish. We got back and set out the boxes and packets on the table. I heated up some plates, got out some knifes and forks, and Fabio started opening up the boxes. I put out the chips, and divided up the fish and chicken. He looked at it askance.

‘This is a lot of food.’ he said.

‘I know’ I sighed ‘Chris was very generous with the chips, and the fish and chicken…’ I patted my stomach, recalling the way Chris had shovelled chips into the polystyrene tray and wrapped it up in paper. ‘We don’t have to eat it all, you can take some home.’ He sat up straight and seized his fork, his expression grave.

‘Okay, let’s do this.’ He started to attack the meal, and I did too.

‘Mmm the fish is good.’ he said with relish ‘This is – batter?’

‘Just flour and water. They dip the fish in batter before frying it. It goes crispy and keeps the fish hot. You saw them doing it, remember?’

‘Mmm’ he said, swallowing, and took a gulp of the beer I’d bought ‘Deliciosa – tell me some words you would use.’

‘Okay – you can say the fish is tasty, or delicious – or yummy, or scrumptious.’

‘Scrumptious? I like this word.’ he said before trying the chips.

‘You can put all sorts of sauces on the chips’ I explained ‘Hold on, you can try some’ I went out to the kitchen and returned with some bottles ‘Now I like their curry sauce’ I opened a pot they had given me, and dipped one into the pale brown substance, and held it out to him with my fingers. He took a bite and rolledit around his mouth appraisingly.

‘Not so bad.’ he said. I showed him the tomato ketchup and the brown sauce, and offered him vinegar.

‘Lots of people like to have vinegar put on the chips straight away’ I said ‘but I think it makes them go soggy. I like them crisp.’

‘I like this.’ he pointed to the brown sauce when he had sampled them all ‘It’s spicy but not too much. It’s yummy.’ I nodded.

‘Your English is good’ I said ‘You just mix up the order a little, but I suppose I’d do the same if I tried to learn Spanish. He grinned.

‘I teach you’

‘You should say I will teach you or I’ll teach you’

‘I will teach you, Lisa.’ He waved a chip in the air ‘Say after me Fabio es muy guapo’ I narrowed my eyes at him.

‘That’s a word I see a lot on your Instagram feed in the comments’

‘Say it’ he challenged me. I sighed.

‘Okay, Fabio es muy guapo.’ He laughed, flashing his white toothed smile.

‘Is it a rude word?’

‘Nooo.’ he laughed. ‘It means you think I’m handsome.’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Fabio, you’re a model, of course you’re handsome.’ I tapped away on my phone ‘Okay then – Fabio me engañó, él es travieso’ He laughed harder, shaking his head.

‘Yes senora, I tricked you and I am’ he furrowed his brow, then tapped the word into his phone ‘Naughty - that is a strange word in English. Did I say it right?’

‘Almost perfect, but I went for ‘mischievous’, it means the same.’ I replied. ‘How about me – is my Spanish good?’ He put his hand palm down in mid air and waggled it from side to side.

‘A little not good.’

‘Not so good, or so-so’ I corrected him. ‘We’re close to France here, so at school we learn French – I know in the USA they learn Spanish rather than French, so I don’t know a lot. A lot of British people go to Spain on holiday, but I haven’t.’

‘My parents made sure I learned English.’ he explained ‘It has been useful for work – around the world many people speak it, but British English is different to American English.’

‘Our cultures are very different too, but American culture is taking over a little.’ I said. ‘It’s sad some things are changing or getting lost.’

‘You can show me what is different.’ he smiled ‘If you like – if you have time.’

‘Of course, though moving house is going to be difficult. I’ve taken time off my classes.’ He looked at me in query. ‘I teach Yoga.’ I explained ‘I drive to villages and take classes. It doesn’t pay a lot, but I enjoy it, and I manage. My parents helped me out, and they’ve left me the house and some money, so I can relax for a while. Renting this house will help too, and I might have enough to buy a flat too.’

‘I help you move.’ he frowned and corrected himself. ‘I will help you move – is that right?’

‘Yes, you’re learning fast.’ I said. We carried on eating until Fabio declared he couldn’t eat any more. We hadn’t managed to eat everything, but to do so would have been painful. I heard the catflap slam shut and my ginger tomcat came in to investigate the smell of fish.

‘Ah, el gato!’ Fabio exclaimed. ‘He is yours?’

‘Hello there Ginger, about time you showed up.’ I greeted him. He froze in alarm and stared at my guest, who leaned down, flicking his fingers and making little kissy sounds. After a cautious sniff, Ginger decided he wasn’t too much of a threat and approached him. When Fabio reached out and scratched his ears, he had a new best friend as Ginger melted, just like I had, and fell at his feet, rolling over and exposing his belly.

‘He’s cute.’ he smiled. ‘Ginger.’ he made more clucking noises and carefully stroked the cat’s belly. Ginger writhed on the floor, completely under Fabricio’s spell, but like the typical cat he was, he suddenly decided he’d had enough and leapt to his feet, shaking himself. Fabio took his hand back swiftly.

‘It’s okay, he doesn’t scratch or bite – or hardly ever.’ I said. ‘Come on Ginge, let’s see what’s left in your dish.’ I went through to the kitchen and gave him a fresh dish and a handful of kitty kibble. He set to eating it, noisily crunching, and I straightened up with a groan, my full belly announcing its discomfort. Fabricio stood in the doorway.

‘I will go home.’ he said.

‘You can find your way? I’m sorry, I’ve drunk too much to drive.’

‘Is okay, is not far and the walk will be good.’ he replied. There was an awkward silence and I remembered his promise not to touch me with some small regret. He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Thankyou Lisa, I’ve had a very English day.’ My heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. As I blushed, he stepped back ‘Like a brother.’ he said gravely. I took a shaky breath and followed him to the front door.

‘See you tomorrow.’ I said as I opened it and he stepped out onto the street. He made a mock salute.

‘Hasta mañana, Lisa.’ he grinned, and walked off to his digs.

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star-light-sims · 3 years

Text

Coming to terms

Nani: Are you excited for your first year of school?”

Reina: More nervous than anything actually... I’ve never really known much outside of Oasis and Selvadorada, but I’ve fought way to hard to go, I'm going to do my best to be excited.”

N: I still can’t believe your mom let you attend private school, I still can’t believe she even lets you visit Sulani.

R: I know, I can’t stay over night like most of the other students, so Its a three hour drive everyday, but Its a small amount of freedom, from her Majestad. *sighs* It took more convincing than it should have from my aunt, uncle and Padre, to get her to budge we had to use the excuse of diplomacy and Ceci for her to let us visit Sulani as often as she does.

N: I’m not surprised about that, she is a very strategically minded woman.

R: It makes her a great Empress, but it doesn’t make her many friendly allies. Though that’s not her main motive.

N:Fair enough, Tutu respects her immensely, she says your mom reminds her of my late aunt.

R: How is your Tutu doing? Last time I saw her, her eyesight was going, I’m assuming your cousin Lia is taking care of her?

N: Yeah, its harder and harder for her to see, right now the world is blurry for her, or at least that what she says still nothing gets passed her nothing I swear she doesn’t need her eyesight to see.

R: *giggles* Sounds about right.. *looks away to hide giggling*

N:Theres something else going on in that wonderful head of yours Pulelehua?

R: One day you are going to tell me what that means, but its mostly about my impending nuptials, and what that means.

N: Wait she told you who it is?

R: *sighs* No, not yet I don’t get to know until I turn 18, then get married at 21, not much time to get to know a stranger that I’m spending the rest of my life with.

N: Fair, but we still have some time left. *Looks down at Reina’s wrist and blushes* Your wearing your birthday present, I’m glad you like it.

R: *blushes* I love it, I’ve been wearing it non-stop much to her Majestads annoyance.

N: Emanuel gave you that neckless didn’t he?

R: * blushes harder* Yeah, I also wear it a lot... Don’t tell me your jealous? You are seeing an engaged woman... to be fair and engaged woman who doesn’t know who she’s marrying, but still.

N: No, not jealous...*takes a deep breath* This sucks, we can’t be together in public, it can’t look like your more than friends with either of us, I... I just...*sighs*

R: Ya lo se, But their isn’t much I can do about it, you know as well as I do our people always come first, and the Empire is still healing after all those years of strife, I can’t rock the boat. If I play my cards right my great grand children will be able to rock the boat.

N: Your 16! You shouldn’t have too!

R: I’m the Heir to an empire full of people that I need to protect... I don’t have a choice. You know that as well as I do, Your a princess too, and you know how rigorous that is for us heirs, just look at everything your little brother has to go through and learn.

N: I know! And it’s still not fair!

R: * looks down, quietly*... I never said it was..

(Note: Emanuel’s hair is meant to be Blond he got his Mum’s blond hair, the Sims ended up changing it to black and I didn’t notice until after I had taken the pictures. If he appears as blond after this that’s why, he didn’t dye his hair, sorry for that)

Emanuel: Hey, Marcus is wondering if you two need anything its getting dark.

N.R: *together* No were good.

E: .... No your not, did you two have an argument again?

R: Yes.

N: No... Yes.

E: About Butterfly's engagement? Nani, you know their isn’t anything either of us can do about it.

N: That doesn’t mean I have to like it.

R: I never said you had to, I warned you about this, and you’ve known about it since we were children I called you crying about it when I found out.

N: Its not fair.

E: No its not, but their isn’t anything we can do, we can just enjoy the time we have left with her.

R: Azul, you make it sound like I’m dying, I’m just going to get married.

E: I know, but its not going to be same for us anymore. * runs ringer thorough his hair and sighs*

N: See I’m not the only one.

E: *speaks up when he notices Reina start fidgeting with her hands* School starts in two weeks, Marcus said Jayda is going to guard you at school.

R: Yeah, she’s not very happy about that, not that I blame her.. she really doesn’t like me...

N: It’s not like you stole her dad, he was your body guard the second you were born.

R: I know, she’s a year younger than me, but he spends his time with us except every other weekend, and on vacation days. So I can see why she doesn’t like me .

E: I mean I live at the school during the school year, I could be your guard, its what I’m training for and my mom is the Empresses head of security.

R: Her Majestad knows how we feel about each other, and doesn’t want it to become and issues or anyone else finding out and causing issues, *turns head and looks at the ocean* so Jayda it is.

R: Sulani is so pretty and calm reminds me of Selvadorada.

N: Does Ceci know about...

R: No, I wasn’t meant to know either, but she noticed how close the three of us were becoming and wanted to nip it in the bud. Her Majestad doesn’t do things without a purpose.

E: Yeah she almost fired my mama, Mum had to calm mama down after she came home form that meeting.

R: I’m sorry her Majestad is very forceful when she deems it necessary.

N: At least Cecelia and Kaimi seem to get along fine.

R: *Looks over at her little sister and crown prince Kaimi*

R: I’m glad, I hope they have a wonderful friendship, and if their lucky fall deeply in love.

N: That would be great, at least you can always use the excuse to visit us once your married.

R: True. * wraps arms around self and shivers* We should be heading in its getting chilly.

E: * takes cardigan off, and drapes it over Reina*

R: Gracias, I forgot how chilly it can get near the ocean.

N: What a gentle man.

N: *teasingly pokes Emanuel’s shoulder* But you don’t offer me a coat, how rude.

E: Hey, you look fine, you’re used to the weather here.

R: You two behave, *laughs at their antics*

N: Just because I’m not cold, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t a appreciate the gesture.

E: No you wouldn’t, you would put it on Reina either way. * tries desperately to hold back laughter.*

R: * tries to cover her laughing*

N: At least it got her laughing.

E: True, lets go inside Marcus had the cook make some steamed vegetable dumplings for us.

R.N: Yes!

Bonus Picture

( Word Bank under Break)

Word Bank

I am trying my best with the different languages I'm using, if something is wrong please let me know nicely and I will do my best to fix it.

Tutu: Hawaiian for grandparent ( in this case grandmother)

Majestad: Spanish for Majesty ( in this context used like, Her Majesty.)

Pulelehua: Hawaiian for Butterfly (Reina’s nickname)

Gracias: Spanish for thank you

Azul: Spanish for Blue ( Emanuel’s nickname because of his eyes)

Ya lo se: I know or I already know

#MyRoyalFamily #sulani #Oasis springs & Selvadorada #OSS RF #sims 4 #Sulani RF #my royal family's

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officialcherubcampus · 4 years

Text

CHERUB at Christmas

The following events take place on December 24th 2004, in-between Class A and Maximum Security.

1. The Old Neighbourhood

Friday December 24th 2004, 10:37 a.m.

James knew exactly what he’d see as he turned the corner into Holloway Villas: six-storey housing blocks, built around a courtyard, with a vandalised playground in the centre and the stench of rubbish as you walked past the giant steel bins.

The only thing James didn’t recognise was the graffiti. PIG41 was the new spray can supremo on James’ old estate. His bright red tag adorned walls, doors, billboards and even the pavement itself.

“You OK, James?” Bruce asked as the two boys walked side by side.

“Yeah,” James said, swallowing a lump in his throat.

But he wasn’t OK. Memories of the night when his mother died fourteen months earlier still had the power to sting.

Bruce handed James a tissue. “It’s a bit crumpled, but there’s no snot on it.”

“Ta,” James said, feeling a little embarrassed as he took it and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know...I mean...I just remembered the ambulance men carrying my mum out and Lauren holding my wrist. It all came flooding back.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Bruce said. “Nobody’s gonna get over their mum dying in any sort of a hurry.”

The boys headed up a concrete staircase. A bitter gust of wind hit them as they stepped out on to the second-floor balcony. James’ sadness was replaced by nostalgia as he remembered his mum yelling down off the balcony with a finger drumming against the face of her watch.

“Eight o’clock, James. You’ll catch hell if I have to come down there and get you.”

James stopped when he reached the living-room window of his old flat and glanced inside.

“Looks like a young couple moved in,” he said as he peered in. “It’s all been done up. Wood floors and that.”

Bruce nodded. “Looks pretty smart.”

“It does,” James said. “But I wouldn’t have paid two hundred and twenty grand to live there.”

“How much!” Bruce gasped.

James grinned. “Property prices round here are insane. Mum owned the flat and her mortgage was paid off by the life insurance when she died. Me and Lauren get to share the loot when we leave CHERUB.”

“You’re jammy,” Bruce said. “My parents died when I was a baby and they owed three grand on their Barclaycard.”

James stepped away from the window and rang the bell of a flat six doors further along the balcony. He waited half a minute, but there was no answer.

“We came all this way and the geezer’s out,” Bruce spluttered angrily. “I’m gonna kick his arse...”

“Keep your wig on,” James grinned. “This isn’t Alan’s place. My old mate Sam lives here. I was just gonna say hi, but it looks like he’s out. Alan lives in the one up the end; he’ll be waiting for me.”

When the door of Alan’s flat opened, James got engulfed in the arms of a grubby-looking man with a mass of black body hair down his arms and a giant beer gut.

“Hey, Alan,” James grinned, pleased to be reacquainted with a friend, but slightly less pleased at being hugged into a white vest that smelled of three-tins-for-a-pound body spray from Holloway market.

“You look good,” Alan gasped. “Quite a handsome young man now. You’ve got taller and thinned out. Come inside. Where’s the little lady?”

“Lauren couldn’t come. She’s back at our foster home with a stinking cold,” James lied. “This is my mate, Bruce. He’s gonna help me carry all the gear home.”

Alan led them down the hallway. “That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing Lauren. I hope being sick doesn’t spoil her Christmas.”

“I reckon she’s over the worst of it,” James said, as the boys stepped into Alan’s living room.

There was no space to sit because the entire room was stacked up with bags of stolen items. Only the tip of the Christmas tree was visible behind a stack of X-Boxes and PS2s.

Alan had been James’ mum’s number two before she died and now he’d taken over her shoplifting racket. James had grown up around the business and wasn’t impressed by what he saw.

“You want to be careful, Alan,” he said, as he spun around looking at the piles of stolen goods. “My mum would never have anything freshly nicked in our flat. If the police see all this lot, they’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

“I know, I know,” Alan said defensively, sounding like he’d already heard this advice from other quarters. “But you know how mental everything gets at this time of year, James. I’ve got so much coming and going. I’ve got two lock-ups piled with stuff. There’s nowhere else to put it all.”

James nodded. “Mum used to tell everyone to get their orders in early, but it still went mad every Christmas.”

“You boys look half-frozen, would you like a hot drink? All the stuff you ordered is in those three bags over by the door.”

While Alan headed out to make tea, James dragged the bags into the centre of the room to check that everything he’d ordered was there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Alan, but with the place in a state of chaos he could easily have made a mistake.

Bruce read down the list, “Burnout three, five copies, Gabrielle’s make up, PDA for Kerry, Lauren’s clothes, my extra-large nunchakus, Predator footy boots size six, Dior perfume set for Kerry, FCUK stuff for Bethany, two pairs of ...”

The bags contained most of the stuff James, Bruce and their pals were getting each other for Christmas.

When Alan came back holding two steaming mugs, James had a roll of fifty-pound notes in his hand.

“Half the shop price for this lot comes to five hundred and eighty quid,” James said. “It’s all there.”

Alan snatched the money and started counting it. Every seat in the room was covered in shoplifted goodies, so James and Bruce had to squat down on the carpet with their hot tea.

“So, what are you up to over Christmas?” James asked.

Alan shrugged. “Gonna visit my sister and her ‘orrible offspring, same as always.”

“Cool,” James nodded.

Alan held out three hundred from the money James had just handed him. “There you go boy, split that lot with your sister.”

James waved his hands in front of his face. “Don’t be daft, Alan. I told you I had the money to pay for this stuff when I rang up. I’m not asking for charity.”

Alan smiled. “James, your mother was very good to me over the years. She would have wanted me to look out for Lauren and you.”

“No,” James grinned.

But Alan dropped the money in James’ lap.

Bruce laughed and made a grab for it. “I’ll have it if you don’t want it.”

James reluctantly picked the money off the carpet. “You’re a good geezer, Al,” he grinned. “My nan always said she couldn’t understand how my mum ended up marrying that idiot Ron when you lived just down the balcony.”

Alan burst out laughing. “Old missus Choke, I haven’t thought about her in ages. She was a tough old bird, your grandmother. Didn’t stand any nonsense from anyone.”

James clambered off the carpet and reached out to shake Alan’s hand. “I’m gonna take a piss, then we’d better be going back to cam... erm, our foster home.”

“Oh,” Alan said, sounding a touch disappointed. “You can stay a while if you want. I’ll take you down the shops and get you both McDonalds or something.”

James shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Alan, but we’ve got a fair journey back and you know how mental the trains get if you leave it till last thing on Christams Eve.”

2. Muddy Pups

12:08

In the main building on CHERUB campus the bell had rung for the end of lessons and the kids were free until the second of January. Some had gone off to the dojo to watch the Christmas Karate tournament, some had gone out to play football, but most kids headed off to their rooms to dump their schoolbooks and change out of CHERUB uniform into normal clothes.

Everyone was in high spirits at the prospect of a week-long break, except for eight kids inside the basic training compound and two others who were serving a punishment over on the far side of campus. Kyle Blueman was being punished for smoking cannabis, Lauren Adams for battering CHERUB’s head training instructor with a spade.

***

Lauren lost her footing as she clambered up the side of the ditch. Her wellington slid down the muddy embankment and she collapsed forward, unable to save herself because she was holding a bundle of branches in her arms. Kyle ploughed through the thirty-centimetre deep sludge and put out his hand.

Lauren could feel cold water trickling inside her waterproof trousers as Kyle hauled her up.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

Lauren was a picture of misery as chunks of mud slid down the front of her waterproof jacket. She gathered up the branches she’d dropped around her feet and began lobbing them up on to the embankment a couple at a time.

“I’m so knackered,” she said, breaking into a yawn before glancing at her watch. “And there’s still five hours to go.”

Kyle pulled his shovel out of the slurry. He scooped up a load of soggy leaves and dropped them into a heavy plastic sack.

“At least we’ve got the next two days off,” he said.

Lauren nodded. “Yeah, but you can forget about enjoying Christmas. I’m just gonna go to bed and sleep. I don’t even care about my presents.”

Kyle felt sorry for Lauren. They’d landed the same punishment, but it was tougher on ten-year-old Lauren than on Kyle, who’d turned fifteen a week earlier.

“I reckon we deserve a break,” Kyle said.

“It’s not one o’clock yet.”

Kyle turned backwards and looked at the section of cleared ditch behind them. “I reckon we’ve done a good morning’s graft, don’t you? I dug out all those leaves, you stripped down all the branches and chopped up that tree trunk.”

Lauren smiled in agreement. “Maybe you’re right. There’s nobody around and we deserve an extra fifteen minutes’ lunch after all that.”

They were in a particularly deep section of ditch, so Kyle clambered up the muddy embankment first, then gave Lauren a hand up so that she didn’t slip over again. The dining hall was over a kilometre away and they wouldn’t have been allowed in without stripping off their overalls and washing, so packed lunch was their only practical option. Lauren slumped down with her back against a tree, pulled off her gloves and wiped her muddy fingers on a damp flannel.

She grabbed a flask filled with hot soup from her backpack, poured soup into the lid and dipped in a hunk of bread. The extra-thick soup was made in the CHERUB kitchens and Lauren was starving. Kyle dunked his soup with a ham and tomato roll as a man’s voice came out of the trees.

“What’s this then, slacking off?”

Ken Crane was the CHERUB groundskeeper supervising Lauren and Kyle’s punishment. Lauren thought about jumping up and pretending to work, but Ken was close by and he was a decent bloke as long as you didn’t muck him about.

“Is it early, Ken?” Kyle said weakly. “My watch must be fast.”

“Must be,” Ken smirked, as he squelched up to the edge of the ditch and looked at what they’d done.

“Not a bad show,” he nodded. “You two make a good little team. I’ll be sorry when your punishments are over.”

Lauren smiled. “We certainly won’t be.”

Ken laughed. “Anyhow, I came over here to tell you both to scoot off.”

Kyle grinned. “You serious?”

“Yep. Take your tools back to the shed and hose the mud off your boots and overalls. I’ll pick up the branches and sacks of leaves with the tractor later on.”

Lauren interrupted. “But Dr McAfferty’s very strict. He said...”

“Do I look concerned about Dr McAfferty? It’s Christmas Eve and I’m telling you to buzz off. Go and have a good Christmas and I’ll see you back here in a few days.”

Lauren chucked away the last of her soup, screwed the lid back on her flask and stood up, grinning.

“Thank you, Mr Crane. Have a good Christmas yourself.”

3. A Final Look

12:40

Ancient memories washed over Marcus Thompson as the taxi wound down the road leading to CHERUB campus’ single entrance.

In particular, he recalled a summer’s day nearly fifty years earlier. Back then he was a newly qualified CHERUB agent, walking along this very stretch of road in plimsolls and cotton shorts, with a couple of young pals for company. They were heading for a nearby lake that was the closest thing CHERUB had to a swimming pool in those days.

Everything, except the twisting outline of the road itself, had changed. The dirt track that got churned into mud every winter had been widened, tarmacked and fitted with street lighting. The small farms that had surrounded campus back then had gradually been bought up. Where Marcus remembered a view over open fields, there was now a ten-metre breeze-block wall, topped with razor wire and CCTV cameras. Every twenty metres there was a yellow warning sign:

DO NOT ENTER

Any attempt to climb this wall may be met with deadly force.

By Order Ministry of Defence.

“Gives me the spooks this road,” the taxi driver said, as he took a sharp bend slightly too fast, pressing Marcus against the car door. “It’s like the X-files, or Area 51, or something. Everyone goes on about it in the pubs and that. I even know a couple of ladies who work in the kitchens, but they never say a word about what goes on inside.”

Marcus allowed himself to smile. Fifty years hadn’t changed some things: the locals still wanted to know what CHERUB campus was all about.

“It’s probably better you don’t know,” Marcus said.

The driver laughed. “You’re probably right, old-timer. I’ll give you lot one thing though, this place is good for business. The run between here and the station is one of my biggest earners.”

The taxi took another bend uncomfortably fast, and when they were round it the metal gates of CHERUB campus were visible. The cab driver pulled up in front of the gate and walked around to the boot to grab Marcus’ suitcase. His elderly passenger was struggling to get out of the car, but turned down an offer of help.

“That’s six-eighty, guv.”

As Marcus fumbled in his wallet, the chairman of CHERUB emerged through a riveted door at the side of the main gate. He spread his arms out wide and the two men hugged.

“My god,” Mac shouted. “Marcus Thompson, I haven’t seen you since...”

Marcus smiled. “I was here for the fortieth reunion, back in eighty-six.”

13:32

Gabrielle O’Brien knocked on the Chairman’s door and got called in immediately.

Dr McAfferty - commonly known as Mac - sat at his fireplace holding a tumbler of whiskey. Gabrielle didn’t recognise the black man sitting opposite. He had a few wisps of grey hair on his head and a can of Heineken in his hand. He turned to Gabrielle and gave her a gap-toothed smile.

“By gum, you’re beautiful,” Marcus grinned, standing as quickly as his frail body would allow and kissing the back of Gabrielle’s hand. “Will you marry me?”

Gabrielle backed off uneasily, sensing that the man was a little drunk. “I think thirteen is a bit young to be getting married.”

“Thirteen, but you’re a giant,” Marcus smiled. “You look at least fifteen. Is it me or are you kids getting bigger these days?”

Mac laughed. “They’re bigger. That’s why they eat so much and grow through so many clothes. I got a letter from the Intelligence Services Procurement department last week. They wanted to know why I’d spent over sixty thousand pounds on footwear over the last year.”

“Sixty grand,” Marcus spluttered, shocked. “In our day we had hob nail boots and white plimsolls that got handed from one kid to the next till the soles wore through.”

“Tell me about it,” Mac grinned. “The combat boots these kids wear for training are a hundred and twenty pounds a throw. And every kid these days has to have designer gear for their casual clothes.”

Gabrielle smiled guiltily. “Well, kids on the outside wear that stuff and we have to blend in when we’re on missions.”

Dr McAfferty nodded. “Gabrielle, Marcus here is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We were both CHERUB agents together back in the nineteen-fifties. He’s been living in Barbados for most of the last twenty years, but he’s caught the nostalgia bug and asked if he could visit us for Christmas. I’m afraid I have some paperwork to finish up before the holidays, so I’d like you to treat Marcus to the grand tour. Show him all our new buildings and facilities. Access all areas, I think we can trust him.”

Gabrielle would have preferred to hang out with her mates, but Marcus seemed a nice enough old bloke and you can’t really say no when the Chairman asks a favour.

As Marcus walked slowly towards the door, Mac whispered in Gabrielle’s ear. “I appreciate this, Gabrielle. Take Marcus round in one of the golf buggies, he’s a very sick man and I’m led to believe that he’s only got a few months to live. He just wants to take a last look at the place where he spent most of his childhood.”

4. GMT+8

16:03 UK time

It was past midnight in Tokyo, but Kerry was jet-lagged and couldn’t get to sleep. She threw back a corner of her bedding and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table: 00:03, Christmas Day.

It was a miserable feeling, being trapped in a hotel room with only a snoring mission controller for company. Kerry’s first big solo mission was a golden opportunity to establish her reputation amongst the elite corps of recently qualified CHERUB agents.

She’d spent weeks polishing up her Japanese language skills, hours reading mission briefings and detailed texts on the Yakuza. She wanted to succeed more than anything else in the world; it was just a shame that she couldn’t have flown out a couple of days later and spent Christmas with her friends on campus.

Kerry closed her eyes again, but quickly realised that she wasn’t even close to feeling sleepy. It might have been dark outside, but as far as her body clock was concerned it was four in the afternoon. She stepped up to the window and opened a tiny crack in the curtains. The room was fourteen storeys up and the streets below glimmered under a mixture of streetlight and neon signs. Flocks of ant-sized people moved along the pavements and the traffic remained solid, even at this early hour of the morning.

If the room had been larger, Kerry might have flicked on the TV or bedside light to read by, but the two single beds were separated by less than half a metre and she didn’t want to disturb her mission controller. Instead, she stepped into the bathroom and pushed the door closed quietly before turning on the light.

The cramped space had a slight disinfectant smell. There was barely enough room between the shower, toilet and sink to take two steps. She sat on the toilet lid and noticed that there was a telephone attached to the wall beside the tissue holder.

***

James had been picked up at the station nearest to campus by mini-bus, along with a bunch of other cherubs who’d managed to wrangle Christmas Eve as a shopping day. He was waiting for the lift up to his sixth-floor room, holding two big bags of presents, when his mobile rang.

He flipped it open. “James Adams, super stud speaking.”

“Super what?” Kerry giggled. “Super idiot more like.”

“How was the flight?”

“Ten hours, economy class. Two days before Christmas, so you can imagine. Heathrow airport was a nuthouse, the plane was packed. It’s already Christmas Day over here. Well, we’re ten minutes into it anyway.”

“I’ve just been down to London with Bruce,” James explained as he stepped into the lift. “I’m holding your present in my hands actually.”

“You know this is a really long mission, James. It’s gonna be at least April before I get to open it.”

“I’ll tell you what it is if you like.”

Kerry thought for a second. “Nah, it’ll be a nice surprise when I get back.”

“I just hope I’m not on a mission when you do. We could end up not seeing each other for yonks.”

The lift doors opened at the sixth floor and James stepped out.

“Well,” Kerry said, “I only rang to wish you a happy Christmas and I bet this call is costing a packet. I’d better go.”

James made a kissing noise. “I wish you were here, Kerry. Christmas is gonna suck without you around.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Kerry said sadly. “Goodbye, James. Tell Gabrielle and everyone else that I wished them a happy Christmas.”

James flipped his phone shut and put the two bags down on the carpet outside his room.

Bruce grinned at James and blew him a kiss. “Bye bye Kerry, smooch,” he grinned, mocking James’ voice. “I miss you sweetie cakes, smoochy, smoochy.”

James tutted as he pulled his room key out of his tracksuit bottoms. “Shut up. Just ‘cos you haven’t got a girlfriend. You’d better help us sort out all this shopping. I’ve got tons of wrapping-up to do.”

As James headed into his room, he heard his name being yelled out from Meryl Spencer’s office at the end of the corridor. He knew it couldn’t be Meryl herself. She was at a TV studio in London.

He realised it was her assistant, Christine.

“James Adams,” Christine repeated angrily. “Get your sorry butt down here right now!”

“Crap,” James muttered to Bruce under his breath.

“Busted,” Bruce giggled.

“Clearly,” James shrugged. “I’m just trying to think what I’ve done.”

He pushed his shopping in the doorway and headed towards the slender woman standing at the end of the corridor.

“Into the office, James,” Christine said tersely.

James headed in, Christine followed. The door clattered shut as she sat down behind Meryl’s desk.

“James, Meryl allowed you to take a Christmas shopping day on the understanding that you were up to date with all of your homework.”

“Yeah,” James nodded. “I am.”

“I had Mr Grwgoski up here looking for you earlier, James. He doesn’t seem to agree with you.”

James looked a little shocked. “Oh.”

“A short essay, written in Russian, on the history of Moscow. I believe it was due to be handed in more than a week ago.”

“Yeah, um...I forgot.”

“James, if I had a pound for every time you’ve conveniently forgotten a homework assignment...”

“Sorry, Chris; but I’ll do it right after Christmas, I swear.”

Christine slowly shook her head. “Oh no, you won’t. You’re going to do it right now.”

“But...”

Christine pointed at a small wooden desk in the corner of her office. It was a really old-fashioned one with an inkwell built in and a place for storing your books underneath.

“James, I took the liberty of going into your room while you were out. I found your Russian books and your pencil case and put them on that desk ready for you to start work.”

“But...”

“No ifs, no buts, James. You’re going to sit at that desk and complete that homework while I’m sitting here watching you.”

“It’s gonna take hours though,” James whined. “It’s Christmas.”

“Then you’d better get a move on. As far as you’re concerned, Christmas doesn’t start until you’ve finished that assignment.”

James reluctantly slumped down at the desk. “So much for the season of goodwill,” he said miserably as he opened his textbook. “Can I at least watch Meryl when she’s on TV later?”

Christine looked at her watch. “James, her show’s not on for another two and a half hours. If you get your act together, you’ll be finished long before then.”

5. Celebrity Madness

18:58

It had been more than five years since Meryl Spencer appeared on television. She’d always had a reclusive streak and rarely made public appearances, even when she was at the pinnacle of her career. She’d told everyone that she’d accepted the offer to appear on the show because it was for charity, but she was also quite flattered that people still remembered her more than six years after retiring from athletics.

Meryl felt self-conscious, sitting behind a neon-lit counter with two other sports personalities for company. She had a buzzer and bank of small screens in front of her. The hot studio lights were pushing up beads of sweat on her neck and a young man leaned in and dabbed them away with a cotton wool ball.

A roar came up from the audience as the warm-up comedian rounded off his spiel.

“Ladies and gentleman, let’s have a big cheer for tonight’s host. England’s all time number one international goal scorer and winner of three premiership titles, Martin Monroe.”

The balding ex-footballer stepped in from stage left in a snappy suit as the audience began cheering. He signed a couple of autographs, before stepping on to the set and taking his seat at the centre of the stage. Meryl heard the director speaking into her earpiece.

“OK people, look happy. Remember, you’re going out live to seven million people so let’s keep it sweet.”

Meryl’s face got another dab with the cotton wool and her glass of water was refilled while the opening titles rolled. The audience went wild as the camera panned in on the host.

“Hello and welcome to this special Christmas charity edition of Sports Quiz. Two teams of three contestants battling it out and, for one night only, every correct answer wins five hundred pounds for charity. Joining our regular team captains Rhys and Susan tonight are four outstanding sports personalities from around the world.”

Meryl stifled a gasp as her face filled up the monitor. Seven million people.

Monroe continued. “Joining us tonight in a rare public appearance, Meryl Spencer.”

The audience broke out into another bout of wild clapping.

“Meryl was the red-hot favourite for a one-hundred-metre gold at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona but tragically pulled up in her heat. But it all came right in Atlanta in 1996.”

The monitor cut away from Meryl’s face to a scene recorded in the Olympic stadium eight years earlier. A close shot opened out to show a line of muscular women on the starting blocks. The pistol fired and the women sprung up. Meryl was first out of the blocks and continued powering away from the field, passing the finish line ten and a half seconds later, three strides clear of the field.

The commentator’s voice, “The Jamaican simply blew the rest of that field away...”

Meryl had seen footage of her victory thousands of times before, but still looked proud as the director cut back to her face.

“Meryl,” the genial host grinned. “That run still stands as the Olympic record and as the third fastest hundred metres ever run by a woman. A truly phenomenal achievement.”

Meryl nodded. “Thank you, Martin.”

Martin smiled sneakily as the audience clapped. “And we understand you went to Japan and made some TV commercials shortly after your victory?”

Meryl covered her face with her hands and shrieked with nervous laughter. “Oh no, you’re not going to show that.”

Meryl knew they were going to show that, because they’d done it in rehearsals a few hours earlier. She heard the director’s voice in her earpiece.

“That’s a great expression, Meryl. You look really shocked, now give the audience a smile just to make it known that you’re not really upset - that’s perfect.”

***

There were more than a hundred and fifty kids gathered in the CHERUB dining hall watching Meryl Spencer dressed in a chicken suit being fired out of a cannon, while an array of incomprehensible Japanese slogans flashed across the screen.

James was laughing as hard as anyone else. “Oh my god!” he snorted. “I wonder how much they paid her to do that.”

Kyle replied, “Meryl did OK, judging by the gold Rolex and that fancy Mercedes she drives.”

James and Kyle sat around their usual table with Bruce, Callum, Connor, Gabrielle and Marcus Thompson. The sixty-two-year-old had turned down the opportunity to join Mac in the staff dining-room. He’d downed a bottle of red wine while he struggled through a plate of fish and chips, and entertained the kids with anecdotes from the early days of CHERUB.

Marcus told the kids that he enjoyed their company because they made him feel young. The kids didn’t mind because most of the stories were funny and Marcus was happy to dish out dirt on some of CHERUB’s most senior staff.

6. Lessons About Driving and Alcohol...

When Sport Quiz ended, the kids had to clear out of the dining-hall so that the kitchen staff could come in and get set everything up for Christmas dinner the next day.

“What are we gonna do now?” Kyle asked. “Someone upstairs must be having a party or something.”

James shrugged. “I’d better go back to my room, I’ve got loads of presents to wrap.”

Gabrielle spoke. “I’m taking Marcus over to the Junior Block. The little kids are doing a nativity play.”

“I’m up for that,” Bruce nodded. “Remember last year when that little shepherdess fell off the stage?”

Kyle nodded. “I felt sorry for her, but it was hilarious.”

Everyone else decided to go over and see the play.

“Come on, James,” Connor said. “Let’s all stick together, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I can’t. I’ve got presents to wrap.”

“Who cares?” Kyle said. “They’re all gonna be unwrapped in a few hours anyway.”

James had bought labels and wrapping paper in town the previous weekend, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised the prospect of sitting on his floor with scissors and tape wasn’t going to be nearly as much fun as hanging out with the gang.

“OK,” James nodded. “I’m in. Lauren should be over there anyway and I wouldn’t mind seeing her for a bit.”

Marcus led the way towards the exit.

“To the Batmobile,” the grey-haired man shouted, taking a swig of rum from a hip flask that had appeared from inside his jacket moments after he’d drained the last of the wine.

As they stepped out into the chill air, Gabrielle was alarmed to see Marcus taking up the driver’s seat of the electric golf buggy she’d been using to shuttle him around campus.

“Marcus,” she said sternly. “I don’t think you’re in any fit state...”

Marcus broke into a big grin. “Hogwash, girl,” he grinned. “I’ve been driving all my life and I’ve not had so much as a scrape. Come on, kids, climb aboard. Next stop the junior block. Have your fares ready to pay the conductor.”

“Shotgun,” James shouted, as he dived into the front passenger seat of the little buggy. Kyle, Bruce and Callum crammed themselves into the back, while Connor and Shakeel had to perch on the small cargo shelf with their legs dangling over the rear of the vehicle.

Gabrielle placed a firm hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Mr Thompson, I really don’t think you should be driving.”

Marcus shot her a mischievous grin. “I don’t want to marry you any more, Gabrielle O’Brien. You’re starting to sound just like all of my ex-wives.”

Marcus hit the accelerator and the overloaded buggy began whirring away without her.

“Frankly, I’d rather walk,” Gabrielle shouted bitterly after them. She was angry at the way Marcus had treated her after she’d spent half the day chaperoning him around campus.

The little buggies were good for thirty kilometres an hour, but not with seven passengers aboard. Marcus lurched the steering wheel sharply to the right as the buggy edged off the gravel path on to the grass verge.

“Watch it, dude,” James yelled.

“I can hardly see where I’m going,” Marcus said, as he pulled back on to the path and began picking up speed.

“It might help if you turned the headlamps on,” James said. “The switch is on your right, below the steering wheel.”

Much to James’ alarm, Marcus took his eyes off the road and began looking for the switch. All six passengers simultaneously realised that Gabrielle had been right about their elderly pilot being in no state to drive.

James grabbed the steering wheel as the vehicle lurched off the road. Marcus flipped the headlamps on in time for James to see that they were going way too fast to make it around a sharp bend less than twenty metres in front of them.

“Oh my god,” James shouted, wrapping his arms over his face as Marcus hit the brake pedal.

The braking did little to stop them careering off the path into one of the combed gravel beds at the front of the Dojo. There was a horrific grinding noise as the buggy ploughed into the loose stones, sending them firing off in all directions.

The battery cut out and the headlamps failed as the buggy nudged a low wall and ground to a halt. James heard the flying gravel settle and breathed a mouthful of dust as they were plunged back into darkness.

“Is everybody OK?” he gasped.

“I think we’re gonna live,” Kyle said dryly, as he clambered out the side of the buggy. “Just.”

Bruce and Connor had both fallen off the back when the buggy as it juddered over the gravel, but it only seemed to be pride that was hurt as they dusted themselves down.

Marcus Thompson began to giggle drunkenly. “You think I should have let young Gabrielle drive after all?”

Kyle whispered in James’ ear, “If I didn’t know the old soak was already dying, I’d kill him.”

7. Goodnight Sweetheart

By the time they’d hauled the golf buggy out of the gravel and reset the fuses to make it run again, James and his friends had missed Mary and Joseph setting off for Bethlehem and the little baby Jesus was dilated to seven centimetres. All the seats were gone, so they had to stand up at the back of the hall..

“I can see the head,” a seven-year-old Joseph squawked from the gloomily lit stage at the front of the hall.

Mary yelled out in pain as an attentive shepherd mopped her brow.

“Come on, Mary, put your back into it.”

“I can see it,” Joseph screamed as he grabbed a plastic doll off the floor and launched it high above his head. “It’s a boy.”

“We’re going to call it Jesus,” Mary said.

James went up on tiptoes and tried to spot Lauren in the darkened hall. He whispered to Kyle, “Can you see my sister anywhere?”

Kyle looked at his watch, “It’s gone nine and she looked pretty beat when we finished digging. Maybe she went to bed early.”

James nodded. “I’ll go check out her room.”

He crept out of the hall and passed down a deserted corridor. He knocked gently before sticking his head inside the door. The room was dark, but he could make out Lauren’s outline rising and falling beneath her duvet. One arm dangled over the side of the bed and her fingertips touched the floor.

James stepped inside and stood watching his sister for a moment. He felt sorry for her, knowing that she faced five more weeks of digging, followed by the horrors of basic training. He wished there was a way he could take some of the burden off his sister, but he knew that the only thing he could do right now was let her sleep.

“Goodnight, sis,” James whispered as he backed out of the room.

At least he knew Lauren would be happy in the morning when she saw what he’d got her for Christmas.

#CHERUB #cherub books #Robert Muchamore

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