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tilebytiles · 6 months ago

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infallible beliefs - a.t. (part 1)

summary: as it turns out, professors are actually capable of feeling things, and alex feels more things for you than he’d like to. word count: 7.8k warnings: age gap (reader is 21 and alex is 30), mentions of violence, abuse (physical, emotional and financial) a/n: the reason he's 30 is bc i personally didn't feel comfortable writing an age gap bigger than that ! lets all just use our imaginations and pretend that the looks are there </3

You liked to consider yourself the kind of person that had everything together. To some degree, you thought you did - you went to school and kept your grades up, you had a part-time job at a local pet store that you loved, and you shared a lovely flat with your boyfriend of three years. By all appearances, you had your life together. But that was the exact issue, wasn’t it? What good were appearances supposed to be when you constantly felt like you were on the brink of falling apart?

Coffee in hand, you rushed into the English building and made a beeline for your British Literature professor’s classroom. Due to the smaller size of your class, it was never in one of the lecture halls, meaning lessons always felt more intimate. You knew everyone’s names - you couldn’t say the same for the astronomy class you’d taken during your first year, or the nutrition class you were taking this term in an effort to chip away at your electives. You were normally one of the more participatory students, asking questions and answering any your professor posed to the class. Your love for literature ran deep, hence why you intended on getting your degree in English. It was easy for you to be invested in the lessons.

“Good morning, Ms. L/N,” your professor called from the desk at the front. He was doing something on his laptop, presumably trying to get the slides for today pulled up.

You smiled softly at him. “Good morning, Mr. Turner.” You walked to your usual seat and set your bag down on the floor, settling down into the chair. Your coffee felt like it would run cold soon if you didn’t finish it.

You were in your third year of university - in the middle of the spring term - and Mr. Turner was the nicest professor you’d ever met. You’d taken one of his classes before, and when the term had ended, you were half-tempted to sign up for every class he was offering. Would half of them even fit into your schedule? No. Did you really care? Also no. There was something about him that made his class actually enjoyable; maybe it was the way he spoke - soft yet sure, polite even when he was being forced to listen to the stupidest thing he’d ever heard - or the way he presented material, like he was genuinely interested in it and he wanted you to be, too. Whatever it was, you were utterly captivated.

The clock struck 10am, and Mr. Turner shut the door to the room before turning to the class. “Good morning, everyone. Today, I thought we could discuss Charlotte Brönte and the impact of her writing, most notably Jane Eyre.”

Rent was due soon. You needed to remind John to pay it. Speaking of John, he’d told you to ask for a raise at the pet store, but you really didn’t think you needed it. Your current wage was enough, wasn’t it? Plus, you didn’t want to come off as money-hungry by demanding more pay out of nowhere. Was he concerned about money? You knew the two of you had enough. You took a sip from your coffee and tried not to make a face; it was lukewarm. In your eyes, coffee either had to be piping hot or freezing cold to be enjoyed. You preferred iced coffee, but the risk of frying your taste buds prevented you from chugging hot coffee as soon as you got it, so you tended to opt for it instead. You were suddenly glad you didn’t try to get John coffee; he would be as displeased by the temperature as you were. He only liked hot coffee. Would you see him for lunch? If you did, you could remind him about rent then. You hoped he wouldn’t want to go back to your flat to eat.

“Ms. L/N?”

The sound of Mr. Turner’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up at him. “I’m sorry?”

His expression didn’t change, but you could have sworn you noticed a subtle shift in his eyes. “I asked what you thought of the feminism in Jane Eyre.”

“Oh, uh …” Silence filled the classroom, the kind that was all-consuming and threatened to swallow you, your classmates and your professor whole. There was a metallic thunk as someone near the back set their water bottle down. You looked down at your notes, as if they’d save you, but you’d written a whole of three sentences before clocking out. Speaking of clocks, what time was it? How long had you been deep in your own thoughts?

You finally acted as your own saviour and managed a meek, “I think it’s a product of its time.”

Mr. Turner’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly, and he nodded slowly. You were waiting for him to point out your spacing out to the rest of the class, but he said nothing of the sort. All he said was, “That could be argued, yes. Brönte didn’t write Jane as a hyper-feminist that smashed all stereotypes and expectations of women in the 1800s. In fact, many have argued that Jane Eyre has no true feminism due to Jane’s submission to gender roles by the end of the novel …”

The rest of the lesson went by in as much of a blur as the first half did, except now you were actually trying to pay attention. Eventually, Mr. Turner dismissed all of you, and the room was filled with bags unzipping and the clacking of pencils and pens being picked up off desks. You got your things together and stood from your seat, preparing to head out (and throw out your disgustingly cold coffee on the way). You were stopped, however, by the sound of your professor’s voice as he said, “Ms. L/N, could I have a word with you, please?”

You made a quick trip to the bin beside the door and tossed out your coffee cup, then circled back around and stepped towards the desk at the front of the room. Mr. Turner had looked down for just a moment, marking something on a sheet of paper, but as you grew closer, he looked up, offering you a small smile. It did nothing to calm your nerves. Gulping slightly, you said, “You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes. It’s about your …” He looked off to the side as he searched for the right word. “… inattentiveness in class recently.”

The alarm bells sounded in your head, and your brain was a breath away from sending a signal to your legs to get you the fuck out of there. Sensing your impending panic, he quickly added, “You’re not in trouble, I promise.”

Your brain halted. “Oh. I’m not?”

“No. Believe me, you’re not the first student I’ve had to zone out during my lessons.” He waved his hand dismissively as he spoke, as if trying to shoo away your worries. “However, it is strange coming from you. You’re normally a very active participant, but recently, you’ve hardly spoken. I just wanted to know if something was going on.”

You didn’t know if you were relieved or even more scared. “No, I’m fine,” you replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind, is all.”

“Well, you can always talk to me if you just need somewhere to dump your thoughts. You’re one of my best students, and I wouldn’t want to see you fail.” He smiled again, and you managed a small smile in return. You appreciated his offer, although you weren’t sure if you’d be using it anytime soon. You didn’t want to burden him in any way.

You hadn’t noticed the way his gaze latched onto your wrist. At least, not until his brows furrowed. He raised his hand, but didn’t touch your wrist, just gestured to it. “Where did that come from?”

You looked at your wrist, equally as confused as he was, and saw the small bruise that had formed just below where the bone protruded. The alarm bells started back up, and your brain began drafting up that signal for your legs. “Oh.” You gulped. “It’s nothing. I just bumped into a table in my flat.”

His eyes narrowed, and his hand dropped back to his side. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Turner,” you said quickly, already turning around to leave. “I appreciate the concern, really, but I’m just clumsy. I have to go now.” You beelined for the door. “See you on Friday!”

“… Right. Have a good day, Ms. L/N.”

It took everything in you to not run down the hall and slam through the doors. You forced yourself to keep your pace at a brisk walk, gently pushing the doors open once you reached them. You spotted John’s car in the nearby parking lot with relative ease and headed towards it, cursing yourself internally for the shitty excuse you’d made for Mr. Turner. Bumping into a table? Really?

As you slipped into the passenger seat and settled your bag into your lap, John leaned over the console and kissed your cheek. “How’d your class go?”

“It went okay.”

You secured your seatbelt, and John reached over, gently grabbing your wrist. He turned it over, examining the bloom of purple by the bone. “Why didn’t you try to cover this up with makeup?”

“I was in a rush this morning. I didn’t think to.”

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into the bruise and making you wince. “No one saw it, did they?”

“No.” You didn’t dare mention your professor’s questioning.

“Good.” He released your wrist, then put the car in reverse and looked up at the rearview mirror as he began backing out of the parking spot.

The car ride was silent as John drove the two of you to wherever he planned to take you for lunch (not your flat - you’d already passed the street he would normally turn onto). You were content to stare blankly out the window the whole time, but he had other ideas. “You know I love you, right?”

You looked over at him, a little surprised. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I know.”

“I would never intentionally try to hurt you like that, baby. Last night was just …” He sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I was just frustrated, that’s all.”

The frustration in question arose when you had asked if you could buy the Starry Night Lego set. Van Gogh was one of your favourite artists, and you’d been dying to get the set since it had first released. When you told him what the price was, though, John was practically seeing red. The bruise did come from a table, but it was less because you’d bumped into it and more because he had shoved you and sent you crashing down against it. You had apologised and promised to never bring the set up again.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, dragging you out of your thoughts and back into the car.

“I know,” you repeated. You couldn’t remember the last time you had said you loved him.

The car eventually came to a stop, and you looked up, spotting the café he had brought you to. The two of you had eaten there a few times before; you quite enjoyed the food, although John wasn’t very fond of coming because he was convinced the male waiter stared at you. The last time you were here, you’d made a point of checking for stares, and every time you looked, the waiter’s eyes were nowhere near catching yours. You kept that to yourself, though, not wanting to have a shouting match with your boyfriend in the middle of lunch.

As you both headed for the door, you wondered if this was his way of trying to make amends. You knew it would take a lot more than a lunch date for you to forgive him, but you at least appreciated his efforts; it was better than him doing nothing at all, right? His fingers were stiff between yours as he held your hand just a bit too tight to be comfortable, guiding you through the café as the employee behind the counter led you to an open table. You sat down across each other, and the employee informed you your waitress would be with you in a couple of minutes before disappearing, presumably to return to her post. You picked up one of the menus and opened it up, quickly scanning the options available to you.

Sure enough, your waitress came just a couple of minutes later, notepad in hand. “Hey, friends,” she said with a warm smile. You liked her already. “My name is Alina, and I’ll be your waitress. What can I get you guys to drink?”

“Can I have a margarita, please?” John asked, looking up from his menu.

Alina nodded and quickly jotted it down before looking to you. You did your best to return her smile and said, “Just water, please.”

“Alright, a margarita and some water. I’ll be back with those drinks as quick as I can, and then we’ll get going on food, okay?”

“Thank you,” you said, watching as she departed from your table. You eventually looked back over at John, doing your best to mask your mild disapproval. “Are you sure you should be drinking this early in the day?”

He scoffed. “Y/N, I can hold my alcohol. I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re driving-”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated, his voice growing cold. You nodded and looked back down at the menu, pretending to suddenly be interested in the café’s sandwich selection.

Eventually, Alina returned with John’s margarita and your water and set both drinks down on the table before getting her notepad back out. “What can I get you guys today?”

“I’ll have the salmon Benedict with a side of chips, please,” John said, looking down at his menu before looking up at Alina.

She nodded and wrote down his order before turning to you. “And for you?”

“She’ll have the Caesar salad.”

She looked back at John, slightly surprised, but nodded and wrote it down anyway. “Will that be all for you two?”

“Yup.”

“Alright, I’ll get this to the kitchen.” She smiled at the two of you and collected your menus before departing once more.

John reached over the table and lightly tapped your nose. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” You looked up at him. “Nothing.”

“You could try to look happier, you know.” You sighed through your nose and forced your best smile. He rolled his eyes. “Not like that.”

“I’m not unhappy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” You kind of would, but you didn’t tell him that. “You haven’t even thanked me for bringing you here when you know I hate coming here.”

“Thank you, John.”

“For?”

The image of you dumping his margarita right into his lap flashed through your mind, but you quickly shooed it away. “Thank you for bringing me here even though you don’t like being here.”

He nodded, as if to say your thanks was satisfactory enough. “You’re welcome, Y/N.”

You were beginning to wonder how much longer you could do this for.

•••••

“Alexa, I could’ve come here on me own.”

“You could’ve, but I wanted to come with you. You can shop for your cat, and I can shower the animals in attention.”

Alex sighed and pulled the door to the pet store open, allowing Alexa to step through first before following her inside. It was the middle of the week and just shy of turning to 6pm, so there weren’t many other customers inside. He kept running through the list he’d made in his head, not wanting to forget anything, and headed for one of the aisles while Alexa flagged down an employee to ask about petting the puppies.

He hadn’t intended to become a cat owner, but during an outing (with Alexa, funnily enough), he’d come across a stray black kitten shivering to death in a cardboard box. The sight of its small, furry form teetering between life and death was too much to bear, and it’d taken hardly any convincing on Alexa’s part before he was picking up the cardboard box and carrying it back to his car. They’d immediately gone to the vet and had the cat taken care of, and it turned out to be a male. Alex named it Herbert.

That was a couple of weeks ago. Although Herbert had the basics - food, a collar (for when he was actually big enough to fit in it), a bed (that he didn’t really use because he always slept with Alex) - he didn’t have much in the way of entertainment. Alex wasn’t sure which toys he’d like the most - which toys any cat would like the most, actually. He wasn’t used to taking care of animals.

He slowed to a stop in front of a shelf full of cat toys and bent down to grab a small plush mouse. He turned it over and over in his hand, trying to decide if Herbert would like it. It was a mouse, and cats were obsessed with mice, weren’t they? If the wild misadventures of Tom & Jerry had taught him anything …

“Mr. Turner?”

He looked up at the sound of his name and locked eyes with one of the employees over the shelf. “Ms. L/N,” he said, blinking a couple of times in surprise. “I didn’t realise you worked here.”

You smiled at him, perhaps a little shyly, and he instantly recognised it as the kind of smile you donned in class whenever you were invested in the topic at hand. For a brief second, he questioned why he even remembered what that smile of yours looked like, but he tried not to dwell on that for too long. “I’ve worked here for a little over a year now,” you told him, dragging him back out of his own head. “It’s a nice excuse to deal with animals all the time.”

You liked animals, then. He made a mental note of that, although he wasn’t sure why. “That’s entirely reasonable,” he replied, managing a small smile that mirrored your own. “I became a literature professor because … well, I love literature.”

You laughed at that, a small, soft laugh that bordered on a giggle. “I don’t imagine you’d become a literature professor because you love science.”

He chuckled. “No, certainly not. Science was never really my thing, anyway.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Ah, I needed to pick up some things for Herbert.” When you stared at him in confusion, he realised his error. “My cat, I mean. I wanted to get some toys for him, but, er, I don’t really know what cats like.” He held up the little mouse toy in his hand for emphasis, and your confusion quickly morphed into understanding.

He watched as you walked around the shelves and made your way to the aisle he was on, coming to stand beside him in front of the row of cat toys. “Do you know how old he is?”

“Uh, not even a year, I don’t think. He’s a tiny little thing.”

You nodded slowly and seemed to think on it before reaching out to grab a toy that perfectly resembled a fishing rod. It was one of those sticks with the line of string at the end and something attached to the string, but the something in question was a little stuffed fish. Clever marketing, really. “Kittens tend to be more energetic, so he’ll probably get a kick out of something like this.”

You held it out to him, and he took it from you. “Thank you, Ms. L/N.”

“Oh, you don’t have to call me that,” you said quickly. “You can just call me Y/N.”

His brows raised a little, although he didn’t object. He knew your first name, of course - he knew all his students’ first names - but he always opted to refer to everyone by their last name, seeing it as the polite thing to do. Calling a student by their first name felt … foreign, admittedly. If you wanted him to, though … “Right,” he said, smiling faintly. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You returned his smile, and he hated the faint flutter he felt in his chest at the sight. “Of course, Mr. Turner.”

Silence settled between the two of you, although it wasn’t necessarily awkward. A question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. He wasn’t sure if it was even his place to ask (it probably wasn’t). Still, before he could catch himself, the words tumbled from his mouth. "Are you ... doing any better?" He had half a mind to run out of the store and quit his job.

The way you were staring at him wasn't helping.

"Oh, um ... yeah," you said, your voice quieter than it'd been before. "I mean, it healed." You held your wrist up, and his gaze dropped to the smooth skin beneath your wrist bone. Sure enough, the purple blemish that had been there before was gone. A part of him was relieved, but another itched to know why you'd even had a bruise in the first place.

"That's good," he murmured, his gaze flickering back up to meet yours. "Y/N ..." He paused, then sighed. It really wasn't his place to ask, but - "If you're alright with me asking, where had that bruise really come from?"

He watched as your own gaze fell upon your wrist. You slowly turned it over, as if you were expecting to find some new mark you would need another half-assed excuse for. Nothing was there, though. You eventually opened your mouth, a syllable of a word escaping your throat, and he was immediately bracing himself for the answer - one he knew he wouldn't like - but you never got to tell him. At the same time you began to speak, Alexa came over, nudging her shoulder against his. "Did you find anything?"

He jumped slightly at the sudden contact and looked over at her, blinking once or twice. "Oh, er ... yeah. She helped me." He gestured to you, making Alexa glance over at you. "She's one of my students," he added.

Alexa smiled at you and held her hand out for you to shake. You did so and offered her a small smile. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Ms. Chung in the design department, but you can just call me Alexa. I don't think I've seen you around campus before."

"I'm Y/N," you told her. "I'm going into literature, so that's probably why we haven't crossed paths."

"Alex didn't have to bully you into that, did he?"

You laughed and shook your head. "Not at all. I'd already decided a while ago what I wanted to study. He's been a wonderful professor, though."

You thought he was wonderful?

It was stupid, and he felt like a teenager again, his head partway in the clouds and partway stuck to reality as he bought the cat toys and some extra food for Herbert. Stupid and reckless, that's what it was. You were his student, and as far as he knew, you were that nice to everyone. You considering him a wonderful professor didn't mean a damn thing, and it was insane of him to think it did - no, scratch that, to want it to mean something.

Those feelings of his weren't entirely out of the blue; he'd just gotten good at ignoring them and maintaining a professional boundary between the two of you. Even if it wasn't illegal - you were 21, and he 30 - it was morally reprehensible and went against everything he stood for. Sometimes, though, he still found himself staring at you for just a second too long, and sometimes your enthusiasm in his class made his heart skip one too many beats. Throughout the term, he had done his best to never cross the line he'd personally drawn, but when he'd seen the bruise on your wrist ... it was difficult to deny the feelings it stirred up within him. He didn't like the worry he felt seeing it, and he didn't like the cloud of concern that followed him for the rest of the day as your shitty excuse and your forced smile played on repeat in his head.

"Earth to Turner."

Alexa waved her hand in front of his face as they walked down the sidewalk together, heading back to his car so he could deposit the bag of goods for Herbert inside. He blinked in surprise and looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're thinking awful hard over there."

"I've just - got a lot on me mind, is all," he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't press him for answers. She just shrugged and sighed, redirecting her gaze to the world in front of them. "Whatever you say, Al." He knew she could see right through him, although he was silently grateful she didn't say anything else; frankly, he wasn't sure he even had any answers for her.

What were you doing to him?

•••••

You weren’t fond of bars. You didn’t mind alcohol - although you usually kept your drinking restricted to special occasions - but having to deal with other drunk patrons wasn’t the greatest way to spend your time, you thought. Having to deal with your drunk boyfriend wasn’t great, either.

You weren’t fond of bars, but when John wanted to go to one, you weren’t really in a position to say no.

Although your boyfriend seemed to go all-out every time the two of you left your flat, you couldn’t be bothered. You pulled on a white skirt that went down to your knees and a grey jumper than had some American university you were unfamiliar with printed on it (you had gotten the jumper from a charity shop, if you were remembering correctly). Despite it being spring, days were still cold in London, and the nights weren’t any better. Plus, you preferred to show as little skin as possible, especially if you had to be around drunk men.

You stuffed your phone, wallet and keys into your bag and double-checked that you had everything before zipping the bag shut and slipping the strap over your shoulder. John finally re-emerged from the bathroom and ran a hand through his hair, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“I don’t see an issue with it,” you said. Your voice was a bit curt, showing that you weren’t in the mood to deal with his persnickety bullshit, and he seemed to get the message. Instead of responding verbally (starting an argument), he just nodded and grabbed his keys.

Fifteen minutes later, after an uncomfortably silent car ride, you found yourself sat beside John in one of the booths at the back of the bar, nodding absentmindedly and giving false hums in an effort to make yourself seem like you were paying attention to whatever it was he was rambling about. You were only really picking up bits and pieces - his older brother was disappointed in him, he was convinced his parents didn’t love him even though you knew from firsthand experience that they very much did, all things you’d heard before. It wasn’t that you didn’t care; to a degree, you did sympathise with him. But it was only to a degree.

As he drunkenly babbled on in your ear, you glanced around the dimly lit bar, your eyes scanning dozens of faces you didn’t recognise. You could pick out a couple - students you’d seen around campus before - but the rest came together to form a sea of unfamiliarity in front of you. You sipped from your glass, wincing as the alcohol carved a burning trail down your throat. The bar you were in had live music on the weekends, and tonight, the performer was someone you hadn’t caught the name of. He had a shaved head, wore what appeared to be a leather vest with nothing underneath and a pair of black skinny jeans, and his eye makeup was leagues better than anything you could pull off. He seemed cool, and you liked the sound of his voice. You made a mental note to figure out who he was before you went home with John.

“I have to use the restroom,” you said suddenly, standing up from your seat and cutting John’s sentence short. You looked down at him. “I’ll be right back.”

His brows furrowed, and he grabbed your wrist. “I’ll go with you.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise. Just wait here.” You pried his hand off (due to his inebriated state, he wasn’t gripping you very hard) and slipped out of the booth, heading straight for the bathroom. You kept your head down, doing your best to avoid eye contact with anyone.

The music was muffled and, admittedly, a little less headache-inducing in the bathroom. You stood in front of the row of sinks and sighed, rubbing at your face with your hands. You examined your reflection in the mirror, immediately noting the dark circles under your eyes and the almost gaunt appearance of your cheeks. Had you lost weight recently? You hadn’t noticed. You’d been too busy with everything else …

“Fuck you!” a shrill voice screamed, bounding into the bathroom as the heavy door swung shut behind the owner. You jumped at the sound and turned your head, watching as a girl stomped behind you, stopping in front of the sink beside you. She was huffing, her chest heaving, and for a second, you swore you saw steam pouring out of her ears.

It wasn’t really your place to get involved, but she looked like she was a breath away from blowing the building up. Slowly, you asked, “Are you alright?”

She slammed her bag down onto the countertop - that, too, made you jump - and began rummaging through it, pulling different things out. Ah, she was fixing her makeup. “My stupid fucking boyfriend started chattin’ with some other girl and thought I wouldn’t fucking notice,” she said, opening up a pack of makeup wipes. “It’s not even the first time he’s done it, I’ve just been too nice and let him off.”

“Did the girl know you-“

“If she did, I’m rippin’ her fucking face off,” she muttered.

Fair. You turned the water in your sink on and let it warm up for a few seconds before leaning down to splash your face. “Is he still your boyfriend, then?”

She scoffed. “Absolutely not. I told him he can go find some other girl to be a wanker around since he’s so desperate to get away from me.”

As you rinsed your face off, you wondered if you should have been grateful that John wasn’t a cheater. As far as you knew, anyway. Sure, everything else he did was … less than ideal, but at least he wasn’t going behind your back. Right?

“Men are shite,” the girl said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned the water off and reached for the paper towel dispenser. “Yeah. They are.”

You could only think of one man (besides your father) in your life that wasn’t utter shite.

You left the bathroom after drying yourself off and intended to head straight back to your booth, but the sight of a familiar head of hair gave you pause. It wasn’t like he was the only one with that haircut, and for all you knew, you were about to look creepy as hell walking up to some random bloke and asking if he was someone else. Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from quietly approaching, hesitating before reaching up and tapping the figure’s shoulder. His head turned, his eyes seeking out yours, and for some reason, you felt comfort in being right in your assumption.

Your literature professor, the only man in your life that wasn’t utter shite, got up from his stool and turned to face you fully. “Y/N,” he said, raising his voice a little more than usual so you could hear him over the music, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m here with my boyfriend,” you told him, and if you weren’t paying attention, you easily would’ve missed the subtle shift in his expression before he schooled it back into a state of neutrality. “I could say the same of you.”

“Professors need a break, too, you know.”

He had a point.

You awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say now. You felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t; like you were a child finding your teacher in the supermarket. You were both adults, sure, but the scene gave you the same feeling you’d had in the pet store. Encountering him outside of lessons just felt odd.

He seemed to feel the same as you, struggling to find anything to say. Eventually, he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by the sound of a voice behind you. You immediately knew who it was, and the way his gaze hardened confirmed it.

You turned and came face to face with John, who was nothing short of seething. “You said you were going to the restroom.”

“I did.”

“So then why the fuck are you here, chatting up some bloke instead of talking to me?”

“John-“

“Answer me,” he demanded, reaching out to grab your wrist. His grip was much tighter this time, almost bruising, and you winced at the pain that shot through you.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Mr. Turner began. “I’m just her-“

“You’re not a part of this, you fucking wanker,” John spat, glaring at him before looking back down at you. “Why are you talking to him?”

“He’s just my professor,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. “John, please.”

“Just your professor?” he echoed, ignoring your plea. “Why the hell’re you talking to your professor in a bar, hm? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Gettin’ him off for a good grade? Is that it?”

You felt sick to your stomach. “John, stop it, now.”

“I always knew you’d do this to me, Y/N! Can never fucking trust you with anyone! Am I not good enough for you? Everything I’ve done, and you’re shaggin’ your goddamn professor?”

“John, shut up!” you shouted, the last bit of your restraint slipping.

With your restraint went his - or what little he’d had left. Eyes wide, he lifted his free hand and quickly swung it in your direction.

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the impact, but it never came. The musician’s guitar stuttered. The drums missed a few beats. You opened your eyes and were met with the sight of Mr. Turner gripping John’s wrist, the veins in his forearm protruding with how hard he was holding it. His brows were furrowed down in rage, and you could see the anger that swam in his eyes, threatening to drown him and you and everyone in that damned bar. “Let go of her,” he said quietly, “and get the fuck out of here. Now.”

You’d never heard him swear like that before.

John stared at him, then at you, then at him again. He yanked his wrist from Mr. Turner’s grasp and finally released your own, turning to leave. Not, though, before saying to you, “Don’t bother coming home.” And then he was gone.

The loud chatter within the bar’s walls had been reduced to mere murmurs by the scene that had just unfolded. You were shaken up - quite a bit. You were used to him exploding, hurting you, but not in public. Never in public. He had gotten good at making sure his outbursts were kept behind closed doors.

“Y/N.”

You jumped at the sound of Mr. Turner’s voice and looked up at him. Your heart was thumping in your ears. You felt shaky. You needed to sit down. He could tell you were on the verge of a panic attack, and he put a hand on your back, murmuring something about finding you a seat as he led you to one of the back booths. It was a more secluded spot, away from the stares and whispers of the other patrons. You were grateful.

Murder was illegal. Murder was illegal. Murder was illegal.

That was the only coherent thought Alex was immediately capable of making. He let you slip into the seat first before slipping in beside you, making sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. You stared down at the table, and he stared down at you, thinking of a million things to say and not finding a single one of them appropriate given the circumstances. The more empathetic side of him wanted to dance around the issue, tiptoe around what had just happened, but he knew he’d never get any real answers if he tried to play nice. This couldn’t go on.

“Y/N,” he said again, crossing his arms and setting them down on the table, “how long has this been going on?”

You were silent for a few moments, making him panic internally and wonder if he’d already fucked up in his line of questioning. Eventually, though, your answer came to soothe his worrying brain. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“A year?” Murder was illegal. “Has he been hurting you this whole time?”

“He doesn’t usually hit me. That’s only when he gets really pissed about something.”

“When did this start?”

“When we moved in together. He had always been kind of … kind of rude before that, I guess, but once we saw each other every day, it was like he just snapped. I guess he realised he finally had power over me.”

Of course. If the flat was in his name, then he could kick you out at any point he wanted. One wrong move on your end, and you would be out on the streets. He’d backed you into a corner; a corner you hadn’t left in over a year. Alex’s heart felt heavy. “He’s always been kind of rude, you said. What … what do you mean by that?”

You sighed and sank a little further down in your seat. “He makes comments on my weight sometimes. He never calls me ugly or fat, but the implication that he’s unsatisfied with how I look is always there. He likes to poke fun at the books I like and the music I listen to and the films I watch. It’s like - like he wants me to be a carbon copy of him.”

“Y/N, your weight’s fine,” Alex said with a frown. “You look like you’ve lost weight, actually. I’m worried about you.”

You looked up at him, and the resignation in your eyes added extra weight to his heart. “I’m fine, Mr. Turner.” Even though you clearly weren’t.

Silence fell between the two of you, leaving Alex to swim in the pool of his thoughts. Realistically, the most he could do by the school's terms was offer you resources for abuse and maybe help you get your boyfriend reported to the authorities. The issue, though, was that as far as he knew, your boyfriend wasn't a student. You being one - one of his, for that matter - didn't immediately give him the right to get involved in your private life, even when you were clearly in danger. There was also the matter of whether or not you even wanted him to get involved - that one, he wasn't really sure on. He didn't want to betray your trust and interfere with your relationship if you asked him not to, but he also hated the thought of turning a blind eye to what was happening.

Alex had never been one for violence. That wasn't to say he was a total pacifist, but he typically believed things could be talked out rather than resorting to fists (or worse). When he had seen your boyfriend grab you, though, and prepare to hurt you in public with such ease and no shame, he was pretty sure he was a breath away from knocking that bastard to the floor and giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“He didn’t mean it when he told me not to come home,” you finally said, dragging Alex back out of his thoughts. “I just have to give him some time.”

Time. Of course. “If you’d like, I can drive you home.”

“I would appreciate that, Mr. Turner. Thank you.” He offered you a small smile, and you did your best to mirror it. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, but he appreciated the effort.

You would have given a more genuine smile, but you were embarrassed and still shaken up, and really, all you wanted was to curl up in bed and cry for a while. You knew that, realistically, it wasn't embarrassing to be in an abusive relationship, and you knew that Mr. Turner was one of the last people on the planet that would ever be judgmental over it. You certainly wouldn't judge anyone else for being in one. When it came to yourself, though, it was just ... you couldn't help but wonder if this was all your fault.

You weren't sure how long you and Mr. Turner sat in that booth, but it had at least been long enough that you were sure John had either cooled down or passed out in your flat. The pair of you got up and headed for the door, but not before he stopped to say something to the musician that'd been playing, who was now sitting at a table and nursing a beer. "Sorry I can't stay for the rest o' your set," he told him, "I've got somethin' I need to take care of."

The musician glanced at you, and understanding flickered in his gaze. "Course, Al. Don't even worry about it. I'll see you 'round, yeah?"

"Yeah." Mr. Turner flashed him a smile before turning back to you and leading you outside.

As he took you to his car, you asked, "Who was that?"

"Miles Kane. He's a friend of mine. We go way back."

"Oh." Miles Kane - you did your best to remember his name for later. "I like his music."

"Me, too." He opened the passenger seat of his car for you, and you quietly thanked him and slipped inside. He went around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat, turning the car on and fastening his seatbelt. You did the same.

After you gave him your address, the two of you fell into yet another bout of silence, although this one wasn't as uncomfortable as it'd been in the bar. Mr. Turner fiddled with the radio, eventually settling for a station playing rock songs from the 80s. You recognised a few of them, although you were more familiar with the general tune than the lyrics. You could occasionally see him tapping out the beat against the steering wheel from the corner of your eye.

Unlike the drive to the bar with John, which had felt like an absolute drag, the drive to your flat with Mr. Turner was much more bearable and hardly felt like ten minutes, let alone fifteen. Once his car slowed to a stop in front of your block of flats, you undid your seatbelt, the soft click seeming to echo in his car. "Um, thank you," you said quietly, popping the door open. "I really appreciate it. Sorry if I ruined your night or anything."

"No, no, it's fine," he said quickly, shaking his head. "You didn't ruin anything, alright?"

"Okay." You nodded.

You stepped out of the car, bag in hand, and were about to close the door when he suddenly said, "Y/N."

"Hm?"

"Can I put my number in your phone?"

Ashamedly, your brain immediately jumped to what you deemed the most logical conclusion: he was proving John right and hitting on you. "Huh?"

"So I can check on you, I mean." He smiled apologetically at you when he noticed the brief flash of panic that darted over your features. "I'm not, er ... I'm not like that, I promise."

"Oh. Yeah." Now you felt foolish. You unzipped your bag and fished your phone out, handing it to him. He was quick to create a new contact for himself and handed your phone back to you. His contact name was 'Alex Turner', and you didn't know why it surprised you. Maybe you were just so used to calling him 'Mr. Turner'.

"If anything ever happens, please don't be afraid to contact me, Y/N," he said softly. "I may just be your professor, but I'm also a human being. You can talk to me."

You nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Turner."

"Of course. You should go inside now, it's getting cold out."

After exchanging a final quick goodbye, you headed into your block of flats, taking a silent trip up in the lift to the floor you lived on. You retrieved your keys from your bag and unlocked the front door to your flat, immediately noticing that the lights were still off. You slipped in, shutting and locking the door behind you, and crept through the living room, being careful to not wake a sleeping John on the sofa. As you'd suspected - he must've fallen asleep after he got back. Had he been waiting for you?

You threw a blanket over him before continuing to your bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as you could behind you. You let out a small sigh and leaned against the wood for a few moments, shutting your eyes. This was not how you'd anticipated your night going. You eventually reopened your eyes and turned the light on, depositing your bag into the armchair in the corner. Out of curiosity, you stepped up to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if Mr. Turner's car was still there. He was already gone, though.

After getting changed into your pyjamas for the night, you collapsed onto your bed and held your phone over your face, peering at the screen in the newfound darkness. You kept reading Mr. Turner's name over and over, the image of his quiet rage permanently seared into your brain. You were so used to him being calm and collected at all times - quiet, too. Granted, he hadn't exactly raised his voice, but somehow, that was scarier than him shouting could ever be.

And it was all because of you.

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #the car era #arctic monkeys #am #fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #divider by plutism

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qwimblenorrisstan · 5 months ago

Text

Stitching Us Together

Chapter 1: Caught

Summary: Brianna Riley, Charlotte Garrick, Isla MacTavish and John Price Jr, a close group of childhood friends, investigate a strange shadowy figure that had been poking around Isla’s front yard with a flashlight.

Word Count: ~ 5k

Warnings: Being watched, mentions of military, family arguing, internal conflicts, police, etc, nothing terrible, also just a note: simon is not abusive dad, just sort of distant/ strained relationship w daughter.

A/N: this is my longest fic yet…can y’all tell it’s what I’m hyperfixating over?? sorry I haven’t been posting much, schools been killing me, but I hope you enjoy this super specific au <3

OG Post | Character Layouts

It had all started with Price, the captain leading the way to something that eventually happened to all of them.

His missus had gotten pregnant, and he’d left service not even a month after, deciding that he was getting too old for it, anyway.

Johnny had been next, honorably discharged after taking a shot to the head, barely surviving, but deemed too fucked up to go back into service.

Then Gaz had quit, claiming he was going back to London, to help run his parent’s quaint little restaurant since they were getting older. All of them really knew it was because of the pretty lady now in his life, though. They'd seen the picture he kept of her in his wallet.

Simon, the stubborn bastard that he was, had only thrown in the towel once he learned that a fling he’d had a few years ago had resulted in a kid he’d never learned about. He’d left after scrolling through the random alcoholic he’d fucked a few years ago’s Instagram, finding a blond haired-blue eyes kid in the background of one of her posts.

He’d gotten custody of the girl, named Brianna, which wasn’t surprising considering the kid’s mom had been a substance and drug abuser.

The old captain had a second kid, a little girl named Josie, with his older boy, John. Everyone just called him Jr, though.

Gaz had a sassy little girl named Charlotte and affectionately called her Charlie.

Soap had found himself a Scottish wife and settled down in London as well, where her family happened to live. They’d had a girl too, naming her Isla, though friends called her Is, or Isa.

They’d grown up together in London close by, their parents just calling each other members of 141 their “uncles.” No one questioned it, and considering the tiny bits of questionable information each of you had on your father’s, no one wanted to ask questions.

Poor Jr had been the oldest by a year, but still the “baby” of the group, since he was constantly bullied by Isa and her quick wit. It didn’t help that Brianna’s little snorts and Charlie’s laughs only encouraged the menace.

“Seriously, I don’t see what’s so funny.” Jr muttered, a hint of pink on his cheeks as his voice cracked. Isla was relentless, mocking his cracking voice while she cackled.

“Righ’, nothin’ wrong with me. All normal over here.”

She said, making her voice much deeper, and forcing little kinks and cracks that Jr scowled out. Charlotte smirked and snickered quietly, and Isla saw Bri’s shoulder shake in silent laughter.

“It’s not funny.” Jr replied, a little frown on his face unlike his usual scowl, a hint of insecurity in those big, brown eyes. A small sign that he was slightly upset, or getting close to it anyway. Bri’s silent laugh immediately disappeared, and Charlie frowned.

Isa clapped him over the shoulder from beside him, where they were sitting in Kyle’s parent’s restaurant that he mainly ran now.

“Ay, didn’t mean it y’know? Jus’ playing with ya, Jr.” She said, a grin still on her face, but a bit more apologetic this time. He shrugged her off, relaxing back into the booth.

“‘S fine, wha’ever.” He said, a sure sign of his forgiveness. He forgave easily, a bad habit of his. Charlie reached a slender hand out, snatching a cheese and bacon bit-covered fry out from the bright red and white paper basket they were in at the center of the table. The cheese stretched, long and warm.

She took a bite, humming at how good it was.

“Tha’ good?” Bri asked, raising a brow. Charlie gave a little nod, chewing before speaking.

“Good as hell, if I do say so myself-“

Kyle’s head poked out from the kitchen, where his parents were both back cooking up whatever orders were up. Plenty of kids came by after school, because of how close it was, and how quick the food came out. Charlie would know since she was here every day after school. Sometimes she got to help out in the kitchen.

He raised a brow at Charlotte.

“Language.” He said, before going back into the kitchen.

Jr smirked, happy to have something to get back at his friend for now.

“Yeah, Garrick, watch your language~” He drawled, dragging the sentence out while Isla snorted in amusement, some water accidentally coming out of her nose.

“Ewww-“

“Not on the fries!”

Brianna only watched in what looked like mild amusement as she pulled the fry basket away just in time, using the stereotypical brown restaurant napkins to wipe the water up. Loud, booming laughter came out of Isa after she’d swallowed or sprayed whatever water had been in her mouth. Her leg bounced under the table while she rubbed her nose.

“Hurts me bloody nose,” She said with a crooked grin they had all come to love.

“Hurts my eyes,” Jr said in a wry tone, giving a tiny little disgusted look to the soaked pile of napkins now near Isa on the table. Charlie made a gagging sound.

“Now the fries are ruined!”

“Now, don’ be dramatic, they’re just fi-“

“You sprayed snot water on them-!”

“Would ya quit cutting me off?!”

As the others bickered, Bri casually grabbed a fry and took a bite, unbothered. The others watched and sighed, deciding that if Brianna wasn’t falling over dead from it, then maybe they were all right. Jr watched carefully as Charlie took a fry and a hesitant bite, then followed and did the same.

“See, told’ya.”

“Shut it, MacTavish.”

Isla rolled her eyes, devouring the fries at an unprecedented rate. Her shoulder-length brown hair was held back behind her ears, glinting just right in the setting sun that it looked almost red in some strands. The diner was going to close soon. Then Bri was going to walk them home, per usual. Probably because of the knife she kept on her, paranoid as she was. Isla kept a Swiss Army knife on her with a tiny knife, scissors, and even a nail file on it.

Charlie sometimes used it in class to file down her nails into shape when the teachers weren’t looking.

John would always give them disappointed looks from the side of the room where he always sat. Closest to an exit, always.

Being children of ex-military did lead to a bit of paranoia always, even if you didn’t know what it was that your father’s had done to be so secretive or have such bad PTSD. Maybe it was that paranoia that had Isla up so late at night, pushing the button on the hilariously pink Disney Princess walkie-talkies they’d all gotten one year.

“Anyone up?”

She asked, peeking out of her window and gazing out at a light in the street. Looked like a flashlight to her. A voice responded a minute or two later, interrupting Isa’s leg bouncing. Her hands fidgeted with the walkie.

“Why.” Bri’s gravelly, I-just-woke-up voice was the one to reply. She’d always been a light sleeper, so it didn’t exactly surprise Isla that a walkie message would keep her up.

“Someone poking around outside m’ house. Any o’ your family out visiting, or sumethin?” Isa asked, frowning as she saw the dim flashlight turn away, the shadowy figure not fully visible against the yellow streetlight’s beams. The light turned her way, and she dropped to the floor below the window, breathing now a lot faster.

“No.” Bri said bluntly.

Jr suddenly decided to join the conversation then, it seemed, as he spoke up, his staticky, cracking voice echoing over the radio.

“Why the bloody hell would anyone be out this late?” He groggily asked, and there was some silence on both ends as Isla watched the shadowy figure walk down the street, in the direction of Charlie’s house, but also the school. They were down the same street, after all.

“Wan’ to go find out?” Briana’s voice, now a bit more awake and alert, asked over the radio. Bri wasn’t one for late-night adventuring, or anything really for fun, Isa thought, so she must either be concerned or mildly curious. Her dad would kill her if he knew she was sneaking out to spy on suspicious people.

“We really shouldn’t-“ Jr began before Isa cut him off.

“Sure, meet me at the house. All black clothes, you get the deal. Bring the walkies, too.”

“What about Charlie?” Jr asked.

“Yeah, what about Charlie?” Charlotte’s voice then spoke up, and Isa could already picture the little snort Bri would give at that, and the way Jr’s cheeks would go slightly pink.

“Meet you in five.” Bri replied, no hint of shame or apology in her tone for almost leaving Charlotte out. That started the race against the clock to get ready before the mystery person got too far to track.

Practically ripping her pajamas off as quietly as she could, Isa changed into a pair of black sweats and a black hoodie. Better to blend into the streets. Her Swiss Army knife remained in her pocket, clasped onto some of the fabric.

Her fingers wrapped around the cold bottom of her bedroom’s window, slowly sliding it up and cringing at the creaking it made. She needed to oil the thing or something, before it woke her dad up one of these days. He was a light sleeper, after all. Always waking up to the tiniest sound, like when she got random 3 am motivation to rearrange all the furniture in her room or organize her bookshelf by color in the middle of the night.

Hoisting herself up onto the window’s ledge, the cool night air kissed her tan skin as she slowly crept out, closing the window but leaving it just a bit open. Just enough for her to get back in. She’d done this before, it was more like muscle memory at this point. Sure, sometimes she’d switch it up so nobody got suspicious of why there were fresh marks of fingerprints disturbing the dust on her window’s ledge.

Her dad would surely notice.

The grass cracked lightly under her feet as she walked carefully out, the cold biting against her ankles where her socks and sweatpants didn’t overlap. It was dark tonight, the moonlight not shining nearly enough, and the streetlights dimmed from their constant use. Lord knows no one would replace them with newer ones. Not in this area.

Creeping down the street, keeping eyes out for anyone nearby, not seeing anyone other than a few homeless, or some skeletal-looking drug addicts with glazed-over looks in their eyes. Cutting down an alleyway, and hopping a few chain link fences, she eventually found their little meeting spot.

It was a boarded-up building, something that had previously been a home but had been foreclosed when the old woman owning it had a stroke and died in it. The stench of death wasn’t very noticeable now, but it was bad enough that no one bought it, and it had been foreclosed on, windows and entrances boarded up.

Of course, no one had noticed where the back window was missing a little plywood.

Isla crouched down, walking over to the house. A loose branch from one of the overgrown bushes snagged her hair, at which she grumbled and tugged it free, hissing when she felt a few pieces of hair rip free from her scalp.

She put her hands on the cold brick ledge of the house, hopping in as the brick scraped against her fingertips. Her hands patted at her pants for a moment, cursing when she didn’t feel a flashlight she could’ve sworn she brought. The house was pitch black at this hour, and smelled like moldy carpet and old people, a faint hint of rotting, too.

She slipped her phone out of her pocket, turning the light on, only to yelp and jump back when Bri’s face greeted her, an amused smile on her lips.

“Hell’s balls, you really gotta stop w’ that, Bri-“

“I think it’s hilarious.”

“‘Course you do.”

With a sigh, Isa turned her flashlight on, finding the little wooden table with some dents in it in the center of the demolished kitchen that they always sat at, she took her walkie-talkie with Tiana’s face on it and set it down there. Brianna’s Mulan walkie-talkie followed.

Pausing a moment as she thought, Isa then turned to face Bri.

“How did ya even get here ‘fore me?”

Brianna paused, a hint of something like deliberation in her eyes before she spoke. The blond began popping her fingers, a nervous habit.

“Had an argument wit’ m’ dad. Needed some air.” She said with a shrug, blue eyes now watching to see what Isa would think. Always watching, always thinking. Sometimes Isla thought she was more paranoid than Jr, and that was saying something.

She simply gave a little bob of her head, not asking anything further. If she’d wanted to share more, she would’ve. It was like watching a flower slowly bloom and open up, if you forced it, then it wouldn’t look right, and it would die quickly.

A heavy silence ensued, which was quickly interrupted by muffled cursing and feet lightly hitting the floor. Charlotte was here.

“We ought to trim that tree, keeps snagging my hair.”

She muttered under her breath, and Jr arrived almost right after, sliding into the window’s brick ledge where he sat, eyes strained, not yet adjusted to the darkness, as he looked down. The poor lad was afraid of heights, they all knew.

“It’s 4 feet, Jr.”

Bri spoke, the tone being more sardonic than anything. Jr sighed, and Isa saw his eyes close as he winced, sliding off the ledge, and releasing a tiny squeak when his feet hit the ground. To think that this was a 17-year-old. He did not act it.

He sighed, walking over to the table, where everyone had now gathered. His Cinderella walkie was placed on the table next to Charlie’s Elsa one.

“What’re we here for, again?” The boy asked with a slight yawn in his voice, rubbing his eyes. Isa rolled her eyes at his apparent exhaustion.

“I saw someone dressed in all black, poking around my front yard with a flashlight in the dead of night, that’s why.”

She said, giving him a look, as if to say that was obvious, while Charlie frowned, lips pressing into a line.

“That’s not terrible, I mean, we’ve done worse and our neighborhood didn’t freak out.” She pointed out with a shrug, and Bri nodded.

“Much worse.” She agreed with a grin in her tone.

This was much better than the time you’d all tried to fry some dead roadkill you’d found by throwing it at an electrical box, only to accidentally make the local's electricity go out for almost an entire week. The electricians must’ve been confused when they found a dead goose beside a smashed control panel. You’d all dipped after accidentally breaking it, anyway.

Or the time you’d all gone to a haunted house, and Charlie had faked having a panic attack so convincingly that one of the girls dressed up as a vampire began crying and called her parents to come pick her up. Poor Charlotte had tried to redeem herself from there, but the damage had already been done.

Brianna had also intimidated a teacher into changing her schedule, once. All of the group had relatively the same schedule in your little high school of around 500 people, but for whatever reason Bri had gotten none of the same classes, so she’d gone on down to the principal's office and forced the principal's hand somehow. How she did it, none of them knew, all she’d said afterward was that she “Knew things.” as if that explained anything.

And Junior…poor Junior, he was always the slowest of the group, for whatever reason, always being found or caught when you all pulled some ridiculous shenanigans. Or there was the one time Josie had put hair dye from her mum’s closet in Price’s shampoo, which had been disastrous. Josie blamed Junior for the entire thing, and Price had been so mad, he’d believed it. Grounded for almost three weeks.

“Let’s just check it ou’, and shave her head if it ain’t worth our time.” Brianna suggested, and they all glanced at each other, nodding their heads in mild agreement. Isla blinked at that, before her face contorted in disbelief.

“Really? I thought you were better than thi-“

“Any ideas on where they went?” Jr interrupted, and Charlie spoke up.

“Mentioned somethin’ on the radio about down the road, right?”

Isa sighed, seeing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with trying to protest the head-shaving in her possibly near future.

“Aye, they went down the road.”

She replied in a slightly annoyed tone, and Bri nudged her shoulder a bit, grabbing her walkie and shoving it into her pocket.

“Perk up, maybe we’ll find somethin’. Got a plan, Jr?”

At the mention of a plan, Jr perked up, picking up pieces of broken ceiling and rocks to represent each of them, and a large stick to represent the school.

“Well, if they went down the road then that’s towards the school. I was thinking we could split up, me and Charlie, Isa, and Bri. We take the alleyways down, I take the right, you all take the left, and we meet at the school, where we can recombine in the back.”

He spoke quickly, fingers drumming against his thigh, working himself into a frenzy while talking. Everyone gave nods, before they split into their separate groups, all taking the same window out, before splitting into their groups. They each gave one last goodbye, a little mock salute before heading out into the darkness.

Junior and Charlotte

“I'm starting to think Isa’s just paranoid.” Charlie said, glancing at the surroundings of the alleyway around them. Scurrying rats, bugs, little grimy posters, and pictures posted on the walls or the dumpsters. She didn’t see anything.

Junior sighed, continuing to walk. He wasn’t the most quiet, which made sense, considering his size. Even if Brianna was taller than him and deathly silent.

“Look, we’re all a bit jumpy. Pretty normal for us, considering our dads.”

He said quietly, crouching down as he walked, eyes darting around to look for anyone. It had been almost fifteen minutes and they hadn’t spotted anyone yet. Charlie stepped on an empty can, crunching it beneath her foot, and Jr jumped at it, immediately looking for something to change the subject before Charlotte made fun of him.

“What did they even do? I mean, obviously, they were mili’ary, but my dad never talks about it.”

He said randomly, and Charlie continued walking through the alley, him clumsily following along. She did pause the slightest moment though, head cocking slightly to the side as he watched her take in his words. It must’ve caught her interest, and he’d gotten lucky.

“They were special forces. Dealing with terrorists, and covert shit.” She said quietly, in an almost hushed tone, temporarily pausing.

He raised his brows.

“How do you know?” Junior asked in the most innocent tone he could muster. Sure, he could see his dad, and definitely Bri’s dad as special forces in the military, but sweet little Kyle? Or Isla’s rowdy but affectionate dad? No wonder they never talked about their pasts.

“Went through some files on my dad’s computer when I was bored. Whole lotta locked stuff, so I found a back door into it, and read it.” She said in that same quiet tone but with a bit more shame in it this time.

“I shouldn’t have, he would’ve told me when he thought I was ready, but-“

“Hey, it’s fine.” Junior interrupted in a soft tone. He wouldn’t let her stand there and talk bad about herself. Not when…

“I would’ve done the same thing if I’d known how to.”

She glanced back at him when he said that, a bit of shock on her face. John Price Jr was the good kid, the one who listened to what he was told and was nice, strong, and compassionate, always helping out. She never took him for someone who could be nosy or disobedient. She guessed she still had a lot to learn about him. A muffled voice came from the walkie by her side, but she ignored it. They were almost to the school anyway.

Not knowing what to say, she stayed silent, looking to change the subject, when the school appeared in view from the left side wall. She peeked her head out, looking at the school a second before Junior. Blue and red lights. Cars. People. She shut the walkie off. Jr’s must’ve died by now.

“Hey, there’s the-“

A hand slammed over his mouth as he was pulled down into the alleyway. His mumbled protests against Charlie’s hand quickly stopped when he heard the footsteps, and then the voice that came.

“And you were alone in the school?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Brianna.

Brianna and Isla

They were crouched in the old, crumbling alleyway, moving as quickly and quietly as they could whilst keeping their eyes out for anyone nearby.

Isla had been rattling off for almost fifteen minutes about something, Brianna couldn’t even figure out what she was talking about half the time, but she was trying to listen. A good friend would listen patiently, even when they had a pounding headache and wanted to scream at someone. Her patience was waning.

She already had anger problems in the first place, and that thought only led to another, one that infuriated her more than anything.

The argument.

“Hey, are you even listening?”

Isla was prone to her anger as well, but hers wasn’t as destructive. Isa could express herself openly, something Brianna was more than jealous of. She made it seem so easy, but anytime Bri tried to open up, the words got stuck in her chest, and her heart stopped beating. It was like a giant wall stood between her tongue and her mind. It refused to be saddled and obey properly.

It was so frustrating, so annoying-

“I said, are you even-?”

“Just shut up.”

She ground out without even realizing. A hint of annoyance and hurt flashed on Isa’s face, before going back to normal. Bri paused. Stopped. Isa looked back, stopping too, as if hopeful.

And the words got stuck.

They were stuck and refused to come out. Like a clogged pipe that no matter how you pumped at it, refused to unclog. It made her want to rip everything to shreds. But maybe, just this once, she might be able to say something.

“I’m..”

She began, words unsteady. Isa’s brows rose, confusion and hope in her gaze. She was that confused, just because Brianna might be apologizing? It made her angry all over again, angry at everything, angry at her father, angry at anyone she could be angry with.

It was one word, it shouldn’t be hard, really.

Sorry.

Five letters.

Just get five letters out, she told herself. It shouldn't be this hard. She should be able to do this. Opening her mouth to speak, her throat suddenly dried up, and she began to whisper something.

“I’m..s-“

There. A flash of movement in the corner of her eye. A shadow. A tiny, dimmed light. The same kind of light that would come from her flashlight when she took one battery out, just so it wasn’t as bright, so it wouldn’t hurt her dog’s eyes when she went to get a midnight snack. Turning the lights on always woke up dad.

She needed to stop thinking about dad.

Isla caught it too, a look in her eye saying they would continue that conversation later, but now, they were on the hunt. A little wave of her hand, and they were both moving, crouched down, interweaving between the alleyway’s dumpsters and trash piles.

The shadowy figure with the dimmed light moved exactly where they thought it would go, into the school. Their entrance? Hopping the chain link fence and using an unlocked door in the side to get in. The school locked all of its doors at night.

Brianna would know.

She and Charlie had once attempted to break in when Charlie had left her notebook in her locker by accident when she needed it for the test the following day. All the doors and windows were secure and locked. Especially the one on the side of the building that the shadowy person was now using.

“They must have keys to the buildin’.” Bri muttered, and Isa nodded.

“So either staff or student.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Wha’ever. Let’s follow ‘em.”

They crept up to the door, still partly ajar but closing rapidly on its own. Isla reached there first, using her foot and wedging it to stop the door from closing further. Bri nodded and walked further in.

The school looked as normal as it could at night. Lights off. Everything undisturbed. No sign of anyone, other than the tiniest distant footsteps she could make out. Towards the front of the building. Maybe the stairwell?

Jerking her head to Isa, they both began carefully walking, rolling on the balls of their feet to make their footsteps as silent as could be. They’d need it.

The footsteps abruptly stopped, and they did too. Peeking around a corner into the main entrance area, Isa saw the front office’s door open.

“In the front office, we should tell the others.” She murmured as quietly as possible. Bri shook her head, and Isa silently asked why with her expression.

“Walkies are too loud. Don’ want to scare ‘em off before we see anything useful.”

It was reasonable, Isa would admit. The others could catch up later. They’d arrive here soon, anyways, and probably quietly take a back exit. Considering Jr’s chronic planning out things, he’d get it all figured out.

Seeing that the stranger wasn’t getting out of the office, the two of them dared move closer and closer, until both of them were right by the door. Peeking in, Brianna found…nothing.

There was no one there. No shadowy stranger, or any odd people.

But the filing cabinets were open. Files and papers were strewn everywhere across the room, and a few things were knocked over and broken. There was no possible way the stranger could’ve done this within that amount of time, let alone do it without alerting them. Broken mugs, picture frames, dented cabinets…

“Somethin’ ain’t right. Someone purposefully shined a flashlight in the direction of your house, walked here slowly enough that we could catch up, and then we found the office trashed?”

Brianna said, standing fully up, before kicking around the pile a bit. Bright, flashing lights blinded her vision next, and Isla’s hands yanked her down.

“Police. Someone called ‘em. We’ve got to tell the Charlie and Jr-“

“Give me a minu’e, yeah?”

Something had caught her eye in that stack of files. Names. Numbers. Familiar ones, too.

She heard Isla radioing the others in the background, only for no reply to be heard. Her hand reached out to comb through the files, and Isla sighed, putting the walkie down, and beginning to help her.

“What are you lookin’ for?”

“There was somethin’ in here. Somethin’ familiar.”

“Are you really gonna get us arrested for something ‘familiar’?”

“I’ll do wha’ever I want, and you can right well piss off if you don’t agree.”

“Whatever, just hurry up, they’re coming.”

Footsteps, and keys jingling from outside. She heard the knob for the front door turn. One more second, they just needed one more second to get this file-

And then she saw it.

The words blurred together for some of the first sentences, some were blacked out with marker, and others were simply marked through with a line saying [REDACTED]. But there was one line she recognized all too well.

Simon “Ghost” Riley.

She took the paper, shoved it in a Manila folder, and pushed it into Isa’s hands as she pushed her friend backward, into a storage closet. The door of the closet clicked behind her. Isla didn’t move, not when the police officer caught sight of Bri, the flashlight and gun pointing in her direction.

“Hands! Let me see hands!”

Brianna did what she was told, sticking her hands in the air, and not approaching the cop. It was a woman. Maybe in her mid-20s, looked like the no-nonsense type. Red lipstick. Darker skin. Hair that had been recently silk-pressed.

“Walk out slowly, and keep your hands in the air.”

She obeyed that, too. Walking slowly out, each step measured and purposeful. The hands and arms remained in the air. She was so fucking done for when her dad found out-

Brianna refused to let herself think about that.

“What’s your name?”

“Brianna Riley, ma’am.”

“Why are you breaking into a school after hours?”

“Forgot m’ work, ma’am, figured I might as well come get it.”

The officer glanced over at the trashed office and raised a brow.

“And that?”

“Already there when I arrived, ma’am.”

She didn’t believe her. It was clear. Honestly, if Brianna were in that cop’s shoes, she wouldn’t believe her either. Two intruders in one night, and a teenager found in a trashed office? It was painfully clear what probably happened. Except she was telling the truth.

“Alright, well you’re coming with me, and we’re going to work this out. Keep your hands in the air, and walk slowly.”

Her gun stayed on you the entire time, even as you passed an alleyway, not daring to glance at who you knew must’ve been Jr and Charlie hiding there.

“And you were alone in the school?”

“Yes ma’am.”

When she got into the car, the officer gave her a rundown of her charges, only minor ones since she wasn’t an adult, basically only receiving a fine of $500, something she could pay because of her shitty fast-food job in town, Brianna Riley knew one thing.

Her dad was going to kill her.

Tags:

@seconds-over-first

#writers on tumblr #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #captian price #captain john price #john soap mactavish #john price #dad!price #dad!soap #dad!gaz #dad!ghost

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im-still-here-for-some-reason · 1 month ago

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”You’re just a stranger I know everything about…”

Hiiiiii

My name is Charlotte Maxime {last name}, nicknames are Charley, Char, Max, any other js ask first pls

I use a lot of acronyms most of the time btw

My music taste is Olivia Rodrigo, Cavetown, Chappell Roan, Alec Benjamin, Eminem, Sabrina Carpenter, PEGGY, Everybody’s Worried About Owen, Gracie Abrams, Conan Gray, Dior Goodjohn, Laufey, Coldplay, Melina KB, girl in red, Melanie Martinez, Tate McRae

My current obsession are Pjo, Ramshackle, Helluva Boss, Heartstopper, Brooklyn 99

Emoji anons are welcome

My main is @reyna4ever, but I will post more on this acc from now on, or I’ll try

Some of my moots <3

@chaos-cupid

@ihavehomework2dobutimhereinstead

@emdabitchass

@totally-not-castor

@cloverthesimp365

@daughterofapollo-official

@bookworm-fangirl1

@evry1h8s-me

@mentallyunstablequeen101

@apjofan

@asp3n4ever

@im-on-crack-send-help

@sparky4577

@lunaellamorales

@the-french-fry

@iris-flower1019

@star-dust-shark

@karmaajr

@the-eclipse-is-in-me

@your-dazzling-sun

@willsolace230

@alexadaughterofposieden

@shootingstar-17

@bast-the-best26

@demigod-jack-hearth

@goddess-of-bubblegum

These are js some, I have a lot more

U should definitely go follow them

Anyway, here are my other ooc accs and my oc accs

Feel free to interact with this acc or any other

Im a minor, no NSFW pls

And since I make moodboards here’s my aesthetic but Oliviacore bc it’s my theme-

Enjoy my blog :)

Wanna decorate my tree for Christmas??

<333

#Intro #hello humans #Im here #Oliviacore #Me #Spotify

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reitsportportal · 1 year ago

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Jumping Amsterdam 2024: Charlotte Fry siegt im Grand Prix de Dressage

Charlotte Fry mit Everdale zum Erfolg im FEI Dressage World Cup™ presented by Vriendenloterij Grand Prix de Dressage – CDI-W Im FEI Dressage World Ranking liegt Charlotte Fry zurzeit mit 2080 Punkten hinter Charlotte Dujardin und Jessica von Bredow-Werndl auf Rang 3. Heute konnte sie ihrem Konto mit dem Sieg im Grand Prix de Dressage in Amsterdam weitere Punkte hinzufügen. Mit Everdale erreichte…

View On WordPress

#Charlotte Dujardin #Charlotte Fry #DSP Quantaz #Everdale #FEI Dressage World Ranking #Isabell Werth #Patrik Kittel #Touchdown

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stopper-my-heart · 5 months ago

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Heartstopper library posters: Part 1/3

CW: Images and mentions of Ben Hope. No non-consensual physical touch is shown in the images but short descriptions of actions are given as part of describing the library meeting scene between Ben and Charlie in S1E1.

Yes, the library posters in Heartstopper are complicated enough to need multiple posts to attempt to unpack them.

How many layers are intentional? I can't say. All I can say is that the layers haven't stopped making sense yet.

Here in Part 1, we're taking a fairly straightforward approach to the quotations on the posters in S1E1 with a bit of cinematographic interpretation.

Let's get acquainted with the posters (text below, don't strain your eyes) --

We have:

"I am no bird and no net ensnares me" -- from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë (photo 1, left, above)

"To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance" -- from An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde (photo 2, middle, above)

"To thine own self be true" -- from Hamlet by William Shakespeare (photo 3, right, above)

----------

Here's the context of when we first see these posters, at the very beginning of S1E1:

As Charlie walks into school and enters the library to meet Ben (who doesn't show up that time), he walks in between the first two posters to get to their meeting spot.

The third poster ("To thine own self be true") remains out of focus during this trip to the library. It partially comes into view when Charlie arrives at his and Ben's meeting spot (photo 1, left, below).

After Charlie checks his phone and sees Ben's text ("actually can we meet up at break instead?"), when we then see him start to type his reply, a little bit more of the poster becomes visible (photo 2, middle, below).

The poster's quotation is only fully visible (but still out of focus) once Charlie has sent his text ("okay 😊❤️") (photo 3, right, below). Note that this also corresponds with the start of Headmaster Stephen Fry's announcement reminding students about the new vertical form groups.

It seems like the poster is acknowledging that Charlie's not fully ready to admit to himself the truth of what's happening with Ben or to stand up for himself, but that he's maybe getting closer (or the poster's trying to help, anyway). If nothing else, the poster seems to be gently calling Charlie out, especially with the text he sent. We can see by Charlie's face (photo 3 above) that even he doesn't believe it's "okay 😊❤️".

(Maybe the poster is also indicating hope: hope for the new form group and a certain someone Charlie might meet there, someone who will want Charlie to be true to himself.)

----------

When Charlie and Ben finally do meet in the library later in S1E1, we again see Charlie walk in between the first two posters. Charlie and the posters begin fuzzy and come into focus together. "I am no bird and no net ensnares me"* is especially prominent.

*Note that the full sentence this quotation comes from is: "I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you." More on this in future posts.

This time the third poster ("To thine own self be true") is also in focus, though partially out of frame (photo 1, left, below). Ben's head moves to block some of it and then the camera angle shifts a bit so that the poster is fully obscured behind Charlie while his and Ben's index fingers are interlocked (photo 2, right, below).

After Charlie looks at the smiley face Nick drew on his hand, a little bit of the text of the third poster is again visible in between Charlie and Ben, but it's in the background, out of focus. As Ben kisses Charlie, the words are once again blocked by Ben's head.

Clearly these posters are trying harder and harder to Talk To Charlie -- they want him to love himself, believe he's worth more than how Ben is treating him, be honest with himself and act accordingly, and break free from Ben -- and they finally succeed. Seemingly later on the same day is when Charlie breaks up with Ben.

#And we all cheered #Well #we were upset for Charlie #and obviously he could only “break free” as far as was in his control #but he exerted his independent will to leave Ben #and we were happy Charlie dumped him #Anyway re:#Heartstopper library posters #Good job Alice and/or set designer and/or other people whose names and jobs I don't know. I'm trying to notice your work!#heartstopper analysis #heartstopper appreciation post #charlie spring #ben hope #heartstopper S1 #heartstopper

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incorrecthatchetfield · 1 year ago

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Emma: I didn’t know that air fryers are a real thing. Used to think that they were made up by the internet as a funny joke and that their purpose was to “fry air”.

Charlotte: WAIT, BUT IT FRIES THE AIR TO FRY THE FOOD??

Emma: I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS A KITCHEN APPLIANCE, MY FIRST ASSUMPTION WAS SOMETHING AKIN TO AN AIR CONDITIONER!

Ted: IT’S NOT LIKE AN AIR CONDITIONER????

Bill: You guys clearly don’t own an air fryer.

#submission #source: unknown #incorrect quotes #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #starkid #incorrect tgwdlm #incorrect starkid #hatchetfield #incorrect hatchetfield #hatchetverse

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classificationhell · 10 months ago

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Sneak peek of the fourth chapter of Mon Ange.

Vox sat in his chair as he watched the monitors with rapt attention. The moment Alastor left the perimeter of Cannibal Town, all street cameras and three different drones were already watching him. Usually, the prick would only do some minor glitching with his powers, but the fucker was almost frying his cameras right now. Of course, this only made Vox more interested in what he was trying to hide, so he sent out a few guys along with more drones. Hoping Alastor would miss just one just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of whatever the old bastard was trying to hide. Was he somehow injured? No, then he wouldn't leave the hidey hole of his pal's.

The moment his men approached Alastor, they began disappearing into shadows. Vox was more than slightly annoyed as those chumps were likely soon to be double dead, and he'd have to find more simpleton to take their place. One of them, through the use of their squid like camaflouge was able to get really close, so close that Alastor was momentarily caught off guard though he didn't appear to be as he simply used a tentacle from the ground to impale the sinner and kept walking hand in hand with someone. The blink and you'll miss it half a second of footage was caught in many angles, and Vox gave up watching to see if Alastor would actively slip up in for of analyzing the shot. Alastor was holding hands with a smaller Sinner dressed as what cannibals were usually dressed as in a color matching the radio demon's. Vox stared at them from every angle. They were cute, he supposed, but he'd seen many men and women fawn over the radio demon, and he hadn't given them the time of day, so what was so different about you? And why was he, himself, getting suckered in as well?

That's when he heard a soft coo from his monitor that he instinctually knew was from an Omega. He couldn't tell why you cooed from the camera feed, but when you did, Alastor stopped to reassure you everything was fine, and he heard your sweet, little voice say, "Alright, Papa."

Vox just knew this wasn't some kind of odd perversion of a Daddy kink. No, it made since now why Vox looked at you on the half second images he got, and it made so much sense. You were not even just an Omega. You were a Little.

"Holy shit, Alastor is a Caregiver?!" Vox himself was sure, but he never suspected the old prick was.

Now that Vox knew what you were, though, he found himself doing what he oft does with Alastor, coveting. Whether it be his status, power, or ability to work around almost any situation and still come out on top, Vox coveted almost everything that Alastor had. Sure the idea of a Hotel to rehabilitate Sinners was a fucking awful idea and he wouldn't let himself be caught dead supporting such an endeavor as the sheer ridiculousness could ruin his brand's integrity, even if it worked a program designed to get rid of his customer base was something he'd never support. However, he could envy the way it gave Alastor a perfect in to eventually make a deal with hell's own resident bleeding heart Princess Charlotte Morningstar. Now his sights were set on you, sweet little you, with those lovely doe eyes and adorably small stature. He let a finger trail along your image. He decided then and there that he wanted you to be his. He'd keep close tabs on you and Alastor. The old prick had to let his guard down at some point, and when he did, Vox would swoop in and take you as his own. He'd be a much better option for a Caregiver than that old fossil anyway.

"Don't worry, Sunshine, you'll be home soon enough~"

#sneak peek #fanfiction sneak peak #classification hell au #classificationhell #thank you #mon ange sneak peek #vox may pop up from time to time and get more and more obsessive each time #the little glimpses he gets of Reader just simply are not enough

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the-cult-of-riley · 10 months ago

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Sleeping With Ghosts (Act One: Chapter Eleven)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female OC

[[Masterlist]]

A/N: This one is a short one. Technically, it should have gone at the end of the last chapter, but it felt right putting it on its own. Don’t worry, I’ll be posting the next chapter right after so you won't be waiting long lmao

I'm so excited already to get to Act Two where all the pain and angst is, where Simon is Ghost and I can torture you all with tears o3o Alas, I have more of Act One to get through lololol

Placebo - Come Home

Stuck between the do or die, I feel emaciated Hard to breathe I try and try, I'll get asphyxiated Swinging from the tallest height, with nothing left to hold on to

Every sky is blue, but not for me and you

Come home, come home, come home, come home

Glass of petrol vodka gin, it feels like breathing ethane Throw yourself from skin to skin, and still it doesn't dull the pain Vanish like a lipstick trace, it always blows me away

Every cloud is grey, with dreams of yesterday

Come home, come home, come home, come home Come home, come home, come home, come home

Always goes against the grain, and I can try and deny it Give a monkey half a brain, and still he's bound to fry it Now the happening scene is dead, I used to want to be there too

Every sky is blue, but not for me and you

Come home, come home, come home, come home Come home, come home, come home, come home

Charlotte lay there stiffly, the sun starting to shine through the window. She hadn't slept at all, she hadn't been able to knowing Simon was being shipped off so soon. She felt a lot of things she couldn't quite make sense of, but the biggest one was sadness. Six months was a long time to not be able to see him and she was so used to his presence in her life that she knew she was going to struggle to be on her own again.

It was stupid really, she’d known from the beginning he was military and yet she hadn't even thought about him being deployed, it hadn't even crossed her mind. The emotion weighed her down and clogged up her throat and she knew she was being dramatic and stupid. Or maybe she wasn't since they were official now. She was right to worry about her boyfriend being in a warzone, right? She wouldn't know, her last boyfriend had been a lazy twat.

Simon was fast asleep, soft and deep steady breaths brushing the back of her neck while his arm lay heavily over her waist. He had to be up at 5am, had to leave by 6. Looking at the clock, she saw it was 4.30 and her heart dropped at what little time they had left. She was sure her eyes were red due to lack of sleep and maybe, just maybe, she'd silently cried a few times in the night. There were a lot of disjointed thoughts in her brain over this situation but it always came back to the same one. What if he doesn't make it home?

The idea made her heart go cold and she clenched her jaw tightly as she willed her tears to stay away. She knew deep down what she felt for Simon was more intense than what she was used to. Was this real love? She thought she'd loved Ethan but it had been fleeting and barely there and really didn't take long before it was gone. This was something else. There had been a connection with him since the moment they met, some kind of tether pulling them together. She'd never really believed in soul mates and the whole red string of fate nonsense but Simon was making her rethink a lot of things. She'd never felt such an instant connection before, never felt things so deeply or so quickly.

It felt far too soon to be even thinking about such things yet, but now knowing he'd be gone for half a year, it felt like her feelings were staring plainly at her. She wouldn't tell him, not yet at least. She had no idea how he'd react and she wouldn't risk messing his head up before he left. She needed his head firmly affixed to his shoulders and working soundly when he was over there because the idea of him coming back in a coffin made her feel sick. Would she even get told? Did his family even know about her? So many thoughts and not enough energy, she felt her lower lip wobble again.

She took a few deep and shaky inhales to steady herself, she wouldn't get upset in front of him and make him feel bad. This wasn't a guilt trip, she was just feeling far too much. As she glanced at the clock again, she figured she'd get up since the sleep ship had well and truly sailed. She could at least feed him before he was off. She wasn't sure if a full English would be too much, too heavy for the day he was going to have but you couldn't go wrong with some bacon butties.

Carefully, she tried to extract herself from his grip and started to sit up. His hand snaked back around her though, splaying over her stomach and pulling her back against him with a tired groan.

“Where d’you think you're goin'?” He asked. His voice was deep and raspy from sleep and she tried to relax even though she felt so tense.

“Was gonna make some bacon butties for us before you… have to go,” she explained, clearing her throat, trying to shake the emotion that was stuck there. He hummed, the arm around her tightening as he placed a soft kiss to the back of her neck.

“Five more minutes, yeah?” He asked, not really giving her a choice with his iron grip. She forced herself to relax in his hold, telling herself this would be the last time in six months she'd be waking up in his arms, that he'd be holding her. She wanted to soak it in, to memorize what it felt like. His thumb rubbed circles on the skin of her stomach, his nose rubbing at her neck softly.

“Gonna miss this,” he admitted quietly. Her breathing stuttered at his honest admission and her body went rigid, blinking rapidly to stop the onslaught of tears that were threatening to break free.

“Me too,” she replied with a strained voice. He moved then, rolling her over to face him. Those beautiful dark eyes scanned her face, taking in her tired, red eyes that shone from unshed tears. His brows pinched together a little as he let out a heavy sigh. She felt bad at being so openly sad about the situation, not wanting to make the whole thing worse.

“You not sleep, love?” He asked knowingly. She shook her head, not trusting her voice in that moment when his warm eyes were shining with concern.

His hand came to her face, a finger trailing across her cheek in a featherlight touch before moving back up and along her temple. It danced across her forehead before sliding down the bridge of her nose, all the way down to the tip and then back up. Her eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the feeling and how gentle his touch was. He mapped out the planes of her face for a moment longer before his fingers then trailed down her neck, down her arm until it reached her hand. He took it gently and her eyes opened once more, watching as he brought it to his mouth, placing a sweet kiss on it. He placed it between them both, his hand still enveloping hers.

“Wanted to ask somethin'...” He murmured, sounding unsure. It always surprised her when he seemed unsure of himself for a man such as him.

“What is it?” She asked, watching as his eyes darted across her face.

“Wanted to know if uh… if you wanted to write to me when I'm over there,” there was something shining behind his eyes she couldn't quite place as he asked but she felt her chest warm up at his words.

“I'd really like that,” she smiled.

It was a stupidly romantic thought, one she'd never really considered. She'd always been a bit of a romantic deep at heart but she hadn't been able to pay much mind to it outside of indulging herself in sappy romance novels. Her life hadn't had a place for romance in the past and yet the soldier in front of her had been quite romantic in their short time together. The flowers on her nightstand were proof of that. A handsome smile tugged at his lips at her answer and he leaned in, pressing his lips against hers firmly. It was a chaste kiss, one that carried a deep longing and yearning from the separation they both knew was coming.

“I should make breakfast,” she murmured when he pulled away. She didn't really want to get out of bed, to leave his presence, but she knew time was running out. She wanted to see him off with a full stomach, she wouldn't be selfish. He opened his mouth and she had a strong feeling he'd been going to protest, so she quickly darted out of bed. She knew it wouldn't take her much convincing to abandon her plans of feeding him to stay in bed with him instead.

She sorted herself out in the bathroom before swiping his jumper off the floor, sliding it over her head to stave off the cold and to enjoy the deep, spicy scent she loved so much. She padded over to the drawers to get a fresh pair of knickers before moving over to the kitchen. She busied herself with making the food but her eyes kept darting to the clock. The ticking felt louder and louder with each passing second, like it was mocking her and her aching heart.

She heard Simon rummaging around in his bag but she left him to get ready as she tried to get the bacon just how he liked it. He slid behind her, something she noticed he seemed to love to do, not that she minded, and wrapped his arms around her. One of his hands slid up inside of the jumper to lay over her bare stomach. It wasn't a sexual touch, but one of intimacy and she felt her body melt into him as she tried to continue with the food. It made her feel a little better that he seemed to want to be attached to her, like maybe she wasn't the only one bothered by the whole thing.

“Alright, foods ready,” she murmured, putting it on the plates. He released her then, grabbing the plates for the pair of them before he went over to the couch. Nothing good was on tv at this time so she just left some cheesy infomercials on while they ate in a tense silence. His leave was like a dark cloud looming over them both. He finished before her and once she was done, he grabbed both of their plates and put them on the coffee table in front of him out of the way.

“Come here, love,” he held his hand out to her, gesturing with his head for her to come to him and she did without thought. She was careful when she moved to straddle him that her bare thighs didn't scrape on his belt now he was decked out in his fatigues ready to go. She settled into him and he used his hand on the back of her head to guide it to his shoulder. One of her hands clutched his t-shirt, the other wrapped around him as she snuggled into him, breathing in his scent deeply.

“Just wanna hold you for a bit, yeah?” he asked and his soft and gentle tone broke something inside of her. She felt the lump expand in her throat and she pressed her face into his neck as the waterworks started. She felt so stupid, she promised herself she’d wait until he was gone. He didn't need the drama.

“Lottie… Don’t cry… please,” he begged, his voice cracking as he held her tighter, the hand on her head pressing her closer to him.

“I’m sorry… just ignore me, I’m being stupid,” she sobbed pitifully, her chest stuttering as she tried to suppress them to no avail.

”It's not stupid, love,” he chided but she didn't reply as she stayed put, crying into his neck. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you I’m gonna miss you, as well?” he asked and she scrunched her face up at the pain that lanced through her chest. His fingers massaged her scalp and she wished it would soothe her but it didn't.

“Or that I’ll be thinkin’ of you every day I’m over there? That I have somethin’ to look forward to, comin’ back to you?” he finished and there was a weight in his tone that made her sit up, looking at him with tear stained cheeks. His eyes looked troubled at her emotional state and she wiped her eyes quickly, trying to compose herself. The idea that he’d miss her and was already looking forward to coming back to her eased the knot in her chest somewhat.

“I’m uh… I’m sorry,” she sniffled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She really hadn’t mean to be so emotional in front of him. He cupped her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the residual tears that lay there.

“Don’t need to be sorry, love,” he said firmly, giving her a look that told her he meant it. She was just used to always apologizing for things, it was second nature to her. A habit he was trying to help her break.

She lay one of her hands over his that was still on her cheek, tilting her head to lean into him, seeking out his warmth. He watched her for a long moment, those piercing brown eyes feeling like they could see down to her very soul. She wished she could know what went on in that head of his sometimes. She felt like she was so easy to read and half the time with Simon, she felt lost.

His eyes cut from her to the clock on the wall, a deep frown pulling at his brows that told her it was time. She felt like she’d been sucker punched in the chest. He looked back at her then, his mouth opening and closing for a moment as if he couldn't figure out what to say.

“I uh… I always felt like I was livin’ life in the dark. Just goin’ through the motions, gettin’ on with it. But then… then you came along and suddenly everythin’ was bright light. Every fuckin’ dark corner of my miserable life was lit up and you chased all the shadows away…” his words were rushed as if he was just spewing his thoughts as they came to him and her heart felt like it stopped beating entirely.

Had she really made him feel that way? Did he really like her that much? She felt like he had to be talking about someone else, she felt like she hadn’t done much to get him to feel that way. But his warm and soft gaze told her he was indeed talking about her.

“I’m really glad I have you in my life, Simon,” she admitted, not having such poetic words as he did but hoping it got the message across. A few things flit across his face at a pace she couldn't keep up with but then he smiled and it seemed like his dark eyes were glowing amber.

“I’m glad too, love,” he replied fondly, stroking her cheek again before he moved his hand. She knew that was her cue, knew he didn't really want to say the words that he had to leave. She didn't want to make this harder on either of them so she got up, feeling the cold already. She hovered near the door as she watched him fuss about his duffel bag for a moment before he came over to her with a handful of t-shirts. He handed them out to her and she took them, raising a brow.

“What are these?” she asked even though she knew what they were and she should have been asking why he was giving them to her. He shifted on his feet, running a hand through his short hair.

“I… I haven't washed ‘em. I know you like to sleep in ‘em so I thought…” he trailed off and she felt a blinding warmth hit her suddenly in her chest. It was so thoughtful she almost burst into tears again. She brought the pile of tops up to her face, burying her nose in them for a moment to confirm they really did smell like him. It was so overwhelmingly comforting.

“Thank you,” she swallowed thickly, her eyes shining with unshed tears and his face told her he fully understood how much she appreciated the gesture.

“Could I…” his mouth floundered, his cheeks turning a light pink color that she never got sick of seeing on him. It was rare he blushed but she was still shocked he blushed at all. “Could I have one of yours?” he finally spat out, unable to look at her. She wanted to make a witty quip about how it wouldn't fit him to sleep in but she could see it took a lot for him to ask her that. She wanted him to be able to talk to her or ask her for anything, no judgment. So instead, she nodded eagerly, moving to the wash basket. There was a t-shirt in there that hadn’t been washed yet and she moved over to her nightstand, spraying her perfume on it for good measure. She padded back over to him, handing him the shirt and he gratefully took it, stuffing it into his bag quickly as if he was trying to hide evidence.

“I’m keeping this for now too,” she remarked cheekily, tugging at the soft jumper she’d commandeered from him earlier. She wanted to lighten the mood a little before he left and she didn't want him feeling so self-conscious around her. It seemed to work as his lips quirked up in that lopsided smile she was so fond of.

“Guess I’ll let you since I won’t need it,” he huffed playfully and she smiled up at him.

His eyes danced around her face for a moment before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss. It started off gentle but it was like a sudden urgency had come over him. He grasped her face, deepening the kiss as he explored every inch of her mouth. She moaned softly, clutching onto him for dear life as he tried to suck the soul out of her body. It wasn't just a kiss, it was a whole fucking experience and when he pulled away she felt like she was in another dimension. She blinked slowly up at him and a proud smirk graced his face. It didn't last too long though as the reality seemed to hit him again at the time.

“I’ll let you know the address to write once I get back to base,” he said and she nodded. She was eager to write to him, it was better than no contact at all. She quickly moved to wrap her arms around his middle, squeezing him one last time. His arms wrapped around her like snakes trying to constrict her as he pressed his nose into her hair.

“I’ll see you soon, love,” he murmured and she nodded, giving him one last squeeze before she reluctantly let him go.

“I’ll see you soon, Simon,” she replied, trying to keep her voice from wobbling and failing miserably.

He gave her one last sad look before he turned and left through the door, jogging down the steps. She shut the door quickly, leaning against it as a sob ripped from her throat again. She knew she needed to get it all out after trying to keep herself in check in front of him. So she allowed herself to cry it out, to feel every shitty emotion she was feeling, because she’d never get through six whole months if she tried to bottle it up.

#simon riley x oc #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley #ghost x oc

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