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If I Believe You | Alice Chambers

Pairing: Alice Chambers x reader

Warnings: none I think

Summary: The simulation you and Alice live in begins to crumble when you start to remember your true life…

Next Part | Masterlist

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#x reader #dont worry darling #alice chambers #alice chambers x reader

florence pugh was so hot in don’t worry darling

#florence pugh #alice chambers #don’t worry darling #harry styles #jack chambers #yelena belova #gay awakening

she's got a book for every situation gets into parties without invitations how could you ever turn her down?

#daydream #aestethic #art #harry styles hs1 #harry styles #harry styles imagine #jack chambers #alice chambers #jack and alice #don't worry darling #harry styles edit #hs1 #mine

Don’t Worry Darling (2022)

Stranger danger; Jack Chambers

The late afternoon sun of San Diego lay warm and golden across the sidewalks, painting long, stretching shadows ahead of Susan and Roger as they ambled home from school. The air smelled faintly of salt and jasmine, a quintessential blend that usually felt like a comforting embrace. Susan, at eleven, walked with a measured grace that seemed almost too deliberate for her age, her long blonde hair swaying gently with each step. Her light green eyes scanned the familiar route, not with suspicion, but with the quiet attentiveness of someone who felt responsible for another soul – specifically, the smaller, more boisterous soul walking beside her.

Roger kicked at a loose pebble on the pavement. Deep dimples flashed in his cheeks as he grinned, a spontaneous expression of pure, unadulterated childhood. He was recounting, with his usual flair for the dramatic, some injustice from the school day involving a questionable handball call.

"And I told him, Susan, I said, 'That ball was out! You're just saying that because you know I'd beat you otherwise!'" Roger jabbered, his voice rising slightly with indignation. "He's just jealous of my skill, obviously."

Susan listened patiently, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "Well, maybe next time you can explain the rules more clearly, Roger. Sometimes people just make mistakes."

"Mistakes? That wasn't a mistake, that was blatant cheating!" Roger declared, throwing his hands up. He was a whirlwind of contradictions: fiercely intelligent, calculating in his own way, yet prone to impulsive outbursts and overdramatic pronouncements. He resented being treated like a baby, yearning for independence, but still retained a core of childlike innocence and a deep capacity for affection. He was also fiercely protective, though he'd never let Susan see him admit he might need protecting himself.

Susan knew this, of course. She understood Roger better than anyone. She saw the brilliant mind constantly at work behind the dramatic façade, the sensitive heart beneath the feisty exterior. Part of her calm, measured nature was a conscious effort to balance his fire, to provide a steady anchor. It was why she was so protective, a trait Roger sometimes chafed against.

"Alright, alright, I'm sure you'll show them your skill tomorrow," Susan soothed, expertly navigating a crack in the sidewalk. "Did you finish that story for English? Mrs. Davison said they were due Friday."

Roger’s step faltered for a fraction of a second. His secret passion for writing was something he guarded carefully. "Uh, almost. Just the ending, you know. Gotta make it… impactful." He used the word with exaggerated importance, puffing out his chest slightly.

"I'm sure it will be," Susan said warmly, her eyes softening. She knew about the writing, of course. She found his crumpled drafts sometimes, filled with fantastical adventures and surprisingly insightful observations. She never mentioned it, respecting his privacy.

They turned onto a quieter street, lined with neat, modern-style houses typical of the newer parts of town. The houses here were a bit farther apart, with wide lawns and manicured hedges. Less foot traffic than the main road they'd just left. It was a pleasant, unremarkable stretch. Or so it seemed.

As they passed a particularly large hedge, a man stepped out from behind it. He was average-looking, nondescript in a plain shirt and trousers, with thinning hair and eyes that seemed a little too eager. He wasn't tall or imposing, but his sudden appearance made Susan subtly shift her weight, her hand unconsciously moving closer to Roger. Roger stopped kicking his pebble, his vibrant green eyes fixing on the stranger with immediate, calculating curiosity.

"Well hello there, little lady, young fellow," the man said, his voice overly cheerful, like someone addressing toddlers. He held out a crumpled paper bag. "Got some treats here. Just got a fresh batch of peppermints. Would you two like one?"

Susan's polite smile was automatic, a learned response. "No thank you, sir," she said, her voice clear and calm, just as her parents had taught her. Never take candy from strangers. The rule was absolute, ingrained deep within her.

The man's smile didn't falter, but his eyes seemed to linger a moment too long. "Oh, go on now. They're real good. My wife just made 'em. See?" He nudged the bag forward slightly. "Nice and fresh."

"No, really, we can't," Susan repeated, taking a small step back but positioning herself subtly between the man and Roger. Her arm brushed Roger's, a silent signal. She felt him stand a little straighter beside her, his earlier childish energy replaced by a watchful stillness.

"Nonsense," the man chuckled, a sound that grated slightly. "Just a little piece of candy. What's the harm in that? Everyone likes candy." He took a step towards them. "Here, take one. Didn't your mother teach you to be polite?"

The mention of their mother, used in this context, felt like a strange intrusion. A faint alarm bell rang in Susan's mind. This wasn't politeness; it was persistence. The calm measured part of her felt a flicker of unease.

Roger, meanwhile, was processing this differently. His calculating mind was working overtime. The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. His stance was a little too deliberate. He was blocking their easy path forward. And that question about their mother... it felt like a pressure tactic. Roger resented being talked down to, and the man's tone was definitely condescending. He felt Susan's protective posture and, while a part of him was annoyed at being "babied," a larger part recognized Susan was right to be wary. His feisty nature, usually reserved for handball arguments, began to stir beneath the surface of his fear.

"We have our own candy, thank you," Roger said, surprising Susan with the firmness in his voice. He stepped slightly from behind her, facing the man more directly. He knew it was maybe impulsive, but Susan's polite refusal wasn't working.

The man's smile tightened for a fraction of a second before widening again, unnervingly. "Oh? What kind of candy do you have that's better than these homemade treats?" He took another step closer, infringing on their personal space. Now he was only a few feet away. The air felt suddenly colder, despite the blazing sun.

Fear, sharp and cold, pierced through Susan's calm. Her logical brain struggled. Should she run? Scream? The street was quiet. There was no one else in sight. Her heart began to pound against her ribs. She gripped Roger's arm, her fingers digging in slightly. "We need to go now, sir," she said, her voice less steady this time.

The man ignored her, his gaze fixed on Roger. "Maybe you should just try one. Just to see. No one's watching." He winked, a slow, conspiratorial gesture that sent a shiver down Susan's spine. He took yet another step, closing the distance. Now he was too close, looming over them slightly. The crumpled bag seemed menacing.

His hand, holding the bag, started to reach out towards them, towards Susan, towards Roger.

In that instant, something snapped in Roger. The fear was overwhelming, crushing, made worse by the feeling of being trapped, by the man's condescending tone, by the sight of Susan's usually calm face etched with stark terror. He didn't think. He didn't calculate. His temper, his impulsiveness, his protective instincts – all converged in a single, explosive burst.

His vibrant green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or insight, flared with a raw, primal fear and fury. His face, usually softened by dimples, was contorted in a way Susan had never seen.

And then Roger screamed.

It wasn't a frightened whimper or a childish yell. It was a piercing, ear-splitting shriek, filled with pure, unadulterated terror and outrage, designed to carry further than anything his nine-year-old lungs should have been capable of.

"GET AWAY FROM US!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with the force of it. He didn't stop there. The dramatic, over-the-top part of his brain, the part that invented elaborate stories, kicked in, fueled by adrenaline and panic. "HELP! HELP!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing a trembling finger at the man. "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED! HE'S KIDNAPPING US! HELP!"

The effect was instantaneous and shattering. The man froze, caught completely off guard by the sudden, deafening noise and the outrageous accusation. His eyes widened in alarm, his overly cheerful façade crumbling to reveal something ugly and panicked beneath. The hand holding the candy bag recoiled as if burned.

Susan, jolted out of her paralysis by Roger's scream, didn't hesitate. Her grip on Roger's arm tightened, and she yanked him. "Run, Roger! Run!"

They turned as one, their schoolbooks momentarily forgotten, and bolted. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, their sneakers slapping against the pavement, their breath coming in ragged gasps. They didn't look back, not immediately. The image of the man's startled, angry face was burned into their minds. The sound of Roger's scream echoed in their ears, mixing with the frantic pounding of their own hearts.

Behind them, they heard a frustrated exclamation, perhaps a curse, and then the sound of rapid footsteps – not chasing them directly, but seeming to move away quickly in the opposite direction, back the way the man had come, or perhaps into the hedges again. He was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.

They ran for what felt like an eternity, around a corner, up a short, gentle incline, their lungs aching, stitches forming in their sides. It wasn't until they reached the next block, a longer, more open stretch of street with houses that seemed blessedly closer together, that they dared to slow down. They stumbled to a gasping halt, leaning against a low stone wall, their chests heaving, their legs trembling.

Susan clutched Roger to her, her heart hammering against his small back. She buried her face in his hair for a second, whispering his name like a prayer. "Roger... oh, Roger..."

Roger leaned into her for a moment, the feisty bravado gone, replaced by the lingering shock and terror. He was shaking. But then, true to his nature, he pulled back slightly, trying to regain some semblance of control. He wiped a hand across his mouth, trying to catch his breath. His eyes, still wide and scared, darted back the way they had come.

"Is... is he gone?" he whispered, his voice thin and shaky.

Susan pushed her own fear down, forcing herself to appear calm for his sake. Her protective instincts overriding everything else. "I think so," she managed, her voice still trembling slightly. "He ran the other way."

Slowly, cautiously, they turned back towards the corner they had just rounded. Their street was two more blocks away. Home felt impossibly far. The world, just moments ago warm and safe, now felt cold and full of unseen corners.

They peered around the edge of the house they were leaning against, their eyes scanning the street. The sun had dipped slightly lower, casting longer shadows. Everything seemed still, quiet. Normal.

But then, in the distance, further down the street they had just run from, near where the man had first appeared, they saw movement.

Just a flicker, behind the same large hedge the man had emerged from. It was too far to make out clearly, but it was there. A shadow that didn't quite belong, a shift in the stillness. It was gone almost instantly, melting back into the green density of the hedge.

They stared, holding their breath, their eyes fixed on the spot. Was it him? Or just the wind? Or their imaginations, playing tricks on them after such a fright?

Another second passed. Nothing.

They started to relax, a fragile wave of relief washing over them. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was truly gone. Maybe they were safe.

But then, slowly, deliberately, a single object was rolled out from beneath the hedge and left lying on the edge of the sidewalk, clearly visible from where they stood.

It was a small, brightly colored strip of paper. A candy wrapper. A familiar peppermint candy wrapper.

It lay there, innocuous and terrifying, a silent promise in the gathering shadows. And Susan and Roger knew, with a certainty that chilled them to the bone, that he hadn't gone far at all. He was still there. And he was watching them.

The brightly colored strip of paper lay on the concrete like a discarded jewel, yet its message was one of chilling malevolence. A peppermint candy wrapper. The same kind the man had offered.

Susan squeezed Roger’s hand tighter, her own trembling. His fingers were cold and small within hers. The candy wrapper wasn't just litter; it was a statement. He was here. He had seen them.

“He…” Roger’s voice was barely a breath, the feisty spark completely extinguished. His vibrant green eyes, so much like his father’s, were wide with a fear that mirrored Susan’s own.

Susan didn't need him to finish the sentence. He hadn’t run the other way. He had simply hidden, waiting. Watching. The thought sent a jolt of pure terror through her. Home felt impossibly far, a distant mirage in this now-hostile landscape.

"We need to go," she whispered, pulling him gently but firmly away from the wall. They didn't dare look back at the hedge, at the innocuous, terrifying piece of trash. They just turned, their eyes fixed on the path ahead. Two more blocks.

The second sprint wasn't born of aching lungs, but of raw, desperate fear. They ran with a frantic energy, their legs pumping, the pavement blurring beneath their feet. The houses seemed to rush past, each window a potential pair of watching eyes, each shadow a hiding place. Roger, usually so independent and resistant to being outwardly babied, clung to Susan’s hand, his small frame vibrating with unease. Susan, usually measured and calm, felt a frantic, animalistic urge to simply reach the safety of their front door.

They rounded the final corner onto their street, the familiar tree-lined avenue a welcome sight. Their modern-style house, with its clean lines and large windows bathed in the soft, late-afternoon sun, stood like a beacon. Only when they were halfway up the front path did they dare to slow again, their breath coming in ragged gasps.

The heavy front door seemed to swing open before they even reached it, revealing Alice in the entryway. Her blonde hair was tied back neatly, her usual elegant composure slightly ruffled. Her eyes, usually so calm and warm, were filled with immediate concern as she took in their flushed faces and trembling bodies.

"Susan? Roger? Good heavens, what happened? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Alice exclaimed, her voice a gentle wave of relief mixed with worry.

They tumbled inside, Susan practically dragging Roger behind her. The familiar scent of Alice’s baking and the comforting hum of the refrigerator were like an anchor in the storm. Jack appeared from the living room, a book in his hand, his dark brown hair slicked with its usual side part, a warm, characteristic smile starting to form on his face. But it faltered instantly as he saw the children. His eyes, usually so cheerful and full of deep dimples when he smiled, narrowed with alarm.

"Hey there, you two turtles," he started, but the light tone vanished. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He knelt instantly, his hands gently checking them over. He was always so quick to protect, his warmth a tangible thing.

Roger, leaning against Susan, just shook his head, still unable to speak. He buried his face against her side for a moment, the feisty bravado completely gone.

Susan, forcing herself to take a deep, shaky breath, found her voice. "We... we were coming home, Mom, Dad."

Alice knelt beside Jack, her hand resting on Susan’s arm. "Yes, darling? Did something happen?"

Susan recounted the walk, the shortcut, the man behind the hedge. She described how he looked – tall, nondescript, just a shadow in her memory now. She described how he offered them candy, the bright cellophane wrapper. She described their refusal, their quick escape.

As she spoke, Jack’s hand clenched into a fist on his knee. His smile was gone, replaced by a hard line. Alice’s face remained calm, but her eyes were dark with a silent, growing dread.

"He... he offered you candy?" Jack’s voice was low, dangerous.

Susan nodded, clutching Roger closer. "We said no, like you told us. We ran."

"That's right, angels, that's exactly right," Alice said softly, her hand moving to stroke Roger’s hair. "You were so brave."

"But then," Susan continued, her voice barely a whisper as she reached the terrifying part, "we ran around the corner, really far. And when we peeked back... we saw him. Or... something. And then he rolled out the candy wrapper. From where he was hiding."

The air in the entryway seemed to freeze. Jack’s deep dimples were nowhere to be seen, his jaw tight. His face, usually so open and kind, was a mask of protective fury. Alice’s composure cracked slightly, a faint gasp escaping her lips.

"He... he laid it out?" Jack repeated, his voice dangerously quiet, his eyes blazing. The temper Alice knew was lurking beneath his gentle exterior was starting to surface.

"Yes," Roger finally managed, his voice small. "Like... like he wanted us to know he was still there."

Jack surged to his feet, his movements jerky and sudden. The protective, doting father was momentarily eclipsed by a raw, territorial rage. "He what?" His voice boomed slightly, making both children flinch.

"Jack, darling, calm down," Alice said quickly, standing and placing a steadying hand on his arm. "They're safe. They're home."

He didn't look at her, his green eyes fixed on some point beyond the door, his mind clearly replaying the scene. "A man offering candy... hiding... leaving a message..." He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, messing up the perfect side part. "The nerve! The absolute nerve!"

"You did absolutely the right thing," Alice told the children firmly, her gaze steady and reassuring. "Running away was the smartest, bravest thing you could do. I am so, so proud of both of you."

Jack turned back to them, his expression softening slightly, though the anger was still simmering beneath the surface. He knelt again, pulling both children into a fierce hug. He was overdramatic in his affection sometimes, but right now, it felt like a lifeline. "My brave, smart kids," he murmured into their hair, holding them tight. "You listened. You were so, so clever. You didn't talk to him, you didn't take anything, you ran straight home. That's exactly what you should do."

He pulled back, his hands on their shoulders, his vibrant green eyes searching theirs. "Are you absolutely sure you know where it was? Exactly where he was hiding?"

Susan nodded, though a fresh wave of unease washed over her at the thought of going back. "Yes. By the big hedge on Elm Street. The one with the flowering bushes."

Jack stood up again, his expression resolute. "Alright. Alice, I'm going to take them back there. Just down the street. I want to see this place. I want to see if he's still there."

"Jack, no!" Alice’s protest was immediate, though quiet. "Don't go looking for trouble. The children are safe now."

"Precisely," Jack said, though his voice was tight. "They are safe. And I want to make sure he knows this isn't a street where he gets to scare children. I'm not going to start a brawl, Alice. I just need to... to see. To make sure he's gone. And if he's not..." A dangerous glint entered his eyes. "Well, he'll know I've seen him."

"But taking the children back there?" Alice asked, concern etched on her elegant face.

"They don't have to get close," Jack assured her, though the logic felt thin. "They're the only ones who saw him clearly. Just to show me the spot. It'll be quick. We'll drive."

Alice hesitated, her calm demeanor warring with her deep-seated protectiveness. She knew Jack. When his protective instincts kicked in, particularly towards Roger, who he doted on perhaps a little too much, he could be impulsive, even overdramatic. But she also knew the wisdom and strength behind his actions. He wasn't just being macho; he felt a primal need to reclaim the safety of their street.

"Alright," she said finally, her voice steady. "But be careful, Jack. Please. Stay in the car, children. Point from there."

Ten minutes later, the family car, a gleaming sedan that spoke of the era’s optimism, pulled up a block away from the specified location on Elm Street. The sun was lower now, lengthening the shadows further. Jack parked discreetly, instructing Alice to stay in the car while he and the children got out.

"Just point to the hedge, okay?" Jack said to Susan and Roger, his voice calm but firm. He walked beside them, one hand subtly resting on the small of Susan's back, the other near Roger's shoulder, ready to pull them close.

Susan led the way, her steps cautious, her eyes scanning the street. Roger stayed close, his earlier feistiness replaced by a quiet vigilance. They reached the corner where they had peeked earlier.

"It was... it was around here," Susan whispered, pointing towards the large, well-maintained hedge that bordered a neat house on the corner. "He came out from there."

Jack scanned the area. The hedge was dense, providing ample cover. He walked a few steps closer, peering into the shadows beneath the bushes. Nothing. No sign of movement, no discarded wrapper. The world looked perfectly normal again.

He started to feel a wave of something akin to disappointment, followed quickly by relief. Maybe he was gone. Maybe it had just been a scare.

And then, as if summoned by his doubt, a subtle shift in the shadows. A figure emerged from behind the hedge line further down, walking slowly along the sidewalk like an ordinary pedestrian. He wasn't looking towards them, but his presence was undeniable. The man Susan had described – average height, nondescript clothing. He blended in perfectly. Too perfectly.

Jack's body went rigid. The simmering anger ignited. He didn't shout, didn't run forward wildly. Instead, he took a step forward, away from the children, planting his feet firmly on the edge of the sidewalk. His posture, his stillness, the intensity of his unwavering gaze – it was a silent challenge. He didn't need words. His eyes were cold and hard, fixed directly on the man. Every line of his body screamed, I see you. I know what you did. And these are my children.

The man, who had been walking casually, paused. His head turned almost imperceptibly towards them. He saw Jack. He saw the children standing slightly behind him. He saw the fierce, protective glare in Jack's eyes.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other across the manicured lawns and the quiet street. It was a battle of wills waged in silence. Jack, the devoted father defending his territory; the man, the predator exposed.

Then, slowly, the man turned away. Without breaking his stride, without looking back, he quickened his pace slightly and continued down the street, eventually turning the next corner and disappearing from view.

Jack stood there for another minute, making sure he was truly gone. The tension slowly drained from his body, leaving him feeling strangely weak. He turned back to Susan and Roger, managing a shaky smile.

"See?" he said, his voice a little gruff. "Gone."

He ushered them back into the car. The drive home was quiet. The immediate danger was past, but something profound had shifted.

That night, after Susan was engrossed in a book about ancient history (her passion for studies a comforting constant) and Roger, tucked into bed, was likely conjuring fantastical worlds in his mind (perhaps even sketching snippets of stories on a hidden pad, indulging his secret passion for writing), Jack and Alice sat together in their living room. The reading lamp cast a warm glow, but the atmosphere was heavy.

Jack ran a hand over his face. The anger had subsided, replaced by a deep, unsettling anxiety. "I... I wanted to just haul him out and ring his neck," he admitted quietly, his voice raw. "Seeing the fear on Roger's face... and Susan's..."

Alice took his hand, her touch gentle and warm. "I know, darling. You handled it perfectly. You scared him off, without putting yourself or the children in further danger."

"But Alice," he said, "he was just... there. On our street. Offering candy to our children." He squeezed her hand tightly. "We tell them 'Don't talk to strangers', 'don't take candy'... you think it's just rules, abstract dangers. You don't think you'll ever encounter it. Not here. Not in our little corner of the world."

"I know," Alice whispered, her voice equally troubled. "It's like... like the world just got a little bit darker today." Her innate calmness was a strength, but tonight, it couldn't entirely mask the tremor of fear beneath the surface. She was always so level-headed, so composed, but this had shaken her to her core.

They had built a life here, in their modern, comfortable home in a haven of warmth, affection, and cheerful optimism. They had tried to shield their children, Susan with her quiet wisdom and Roger with his fiery independence, from the harsh realities of the world. They were doting, caring parents, perhaps overly protective at times. But today, that shield had felt flimsy.

"He saw them," Jack said, staring into the middle distance. "He singled them out." The thought brought back a fresh surge of protective rage, but it was mixed with fear now. "What if... what if they hadn't listened? What if he hadn't rolled out that stupid wrapper and they'd started doubting themselves? What if I hadn't been able to scare him off?"

"But they did listen, Jack," Alice said, her voice firm, pulling him back from the spiral of 'what ifs'. "They were brave and smart. And you did scare him off. That's what happened."

"Still..." Jack trailed off, the image of the man's retreating figure burned into his mind. The knowledge that such people existed, that they walked the same streets as his children, was a chilling revelation. He felt a profound sense of loss – the loss of a naive innocence he hadn't even realized he possessed. He had always seen the world through the hopeful, slightly overdramatic lens of a loving father. Tonight, that lens felt cracked.

Alice leaned her head on his shoulder. "We just have to keep teaching them, keep reminding them," she said softly, her hand stroking his arm. "We can't wrap them in cotton wool forever, but we can give them the tools to be safe, and the knowledge that we are always here. We can just... be more vigilant. More aware."

They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of this new understanding settling between them. The house felt safe and warm, a stark contrast to the shadowy street where a man had waited. They had done everything right. Their children were safe in their beds. But the unsettling truth remained: the world outside was not always as kind or safe as they had desperately wanted it to be.

And the knowledge of "bad people," once an abstract concept to protect their children, was now a tangible, chilling reality that unsettled them to the core. Their cheerful, devoted world had been touched by a darkness, and they knew, with a quiet certainty, that they would never look at strangers the same way again.

SOMEONE GET THIS LADY A FORK AND PROPER CUTLERY

DON'T WORRY DARLING, 2022 | Florence Pugh as Alice Chambers

#don't worry darling #don't worry darling icons #florence pugh #florence pugh icons #alice chambers #alice chambers icons #fpughedit #icons

"Not everyone gets this opportunity, Alice, and if you keep talking like this, you're gonna put it all at risk!"

DON'T WORRY DARLING (2022) dir. Olivia Wilde

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