Teenage Reader - Tumblr Posts

Slashers as fathers with a (teenage) reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is a young teenager (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART TWO. Hurt/comfort addition.

Folks who wanted to be tagged. @hope4rain19, @minaxcarter, @brooke-stinson, @urminebutidontwantyou, @gaipplrhot, @gyarukitti, @raphydude, @thelxapeia, @ant1d3pre55ant5add1ct, @decentsoupperson, @kawaistrawberry21.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy sighed as he stomped to your room in search of his laptop. You had been in such a rush this morning to get to school that you had accidentally left it in there. And while he always respected your wishes for him to never enter your room, he really needed his laptop. Sacrifices need be made some times.

However, as Freddy wandered into your room, he was met with a sight that literally stole his breath. Your bed was completely littered with folders and painted canvas boards. There was a large portfolio bag laying on the ground with its contents scattered everywhere. Painting and drawing utensils alike sat scattered over a table with a still wet painting taped atop.

Eyes ridiculously wide, Freddy looked around and deeply observed the area. He didn't know you owned any of this stuff. Paintings, oil canvases, drawings and sketches, and all of them were yours. And each piece looked really, really good. Freddy couldn't believe what was happening right now.

He thought you gave up on art.

Delicately picking up multiple art pieces, a happiness and sense of pride rushed through Freddy's heart, and he found himself grinning big in a mixture of relief and utter joy. You still loved art, and you were so good at it. He hadn't destroyed your passion after all. That being said though... Why would you hide this from him?

Later that day when you came home, Freddy asked you to go to the kitchen. When you went inside, you froze right on the spot. There, scattered all across the kitchen table, were multiple art projects of yours.

"Dad..." You choked, your heart racing in fear, your words stolen from you, "I..."

"I needed my laptop and uh... Accidentally found these," Freddy explained, a happy smile covering his face as he went to grab your shoulders, "Sweetie, why would you hide this from-"

"I told you not to go in there." You almost shouted, tears blurring your eyes as you pulled away from him.

"Sweetie," Freddy took a step back, hurt by your defensive attitude.

You went to the table and quickly began to gather up your art work. Freddy chased after you to try and get you to stop, "No, stop it. Don't do that- just-just wait a sec, I-"

"I get it, dad, you hate it. You've always hated my art. You-just... J-just leave me alone. Don't touch it, ok," You avoided eye contact while scurrying to protect your work, "I'll put it away."

"No, that's not what I want. (y/n). (y/n), will you please look at me. Hey," Freddy placed a hand on your shoulder and kept you from stomping off, "(y/n), look at me."

With a tense body and watery eyes, you looked at him, art work clutched to your chest and a glare covering your face.

Freddy sighed and said in earnest, "That's not what I want. Your art, I love it. I think it's beautiful an-and amazing! I-I mean, all this time? Really? I thought you gave up on it, I... I thought that I..."

Relaxing, you lowered your arms and looked him straight in the eyes. It felt like your heart had just done a summersault in your chest. "You... You mean it? You... You really like my art?"

"I love it!" Freddy exclaimed almost too quickly, "I love it so much, you have no idea. You have no idea how happy this makes me, (y/n). I thought that I ruined art for you. I... I never stopped feeling guilty about what I did. And I always hoped that one day you would start again, but..."

"Dad," You bit your lip hard in an attempt not to cry. He cared. He actually cared, and he loved your art. He was happy for you.

"Here," Freddy went to grab an old folder off the table.

Suspicious, you set down your art and went to take the folder. When you opened it, you saw dozens of old, un-crumpled papers with very distinct, familiar drawings on them. It took a minute, but you soon realized that these were the very drawings you had thrown away when you were little.

"You... Kept them?" You gaped at your dad, your heart aching in a happy/sad way.

"Of course I did," Freddy's smile wobbled a bit, "I love you and I love everything you do, and I'm so, so sorry for making you feel bad, f-for making you feel like you had to hide this from me."

Lowering the folder, you felt your lips wobble as your heart clenched in great happiness and relief. All this time you believed your dad hated your passion. He had hurt you so badly, but he regretted it. He had always regretted it, and he loved your work.

In a desperate attempt to hide your tears, you rush up to your dad and give him a big hug. Freddy held you as tightly as he could, his arms fierce and protective as he said, "Don't ever give up on your art, (y/n). No matter what, please. I love you so much."

Michael Myers

Michael had wandered out of the garage a few minutes after your friend's dad dropped you off. "Me and (friend's name) are gonna grab a snack real quick, k dad?" You had hollered while rushing into the house.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Michael approached the other man who casually got out of the car. He was grinning big at you and his own kid, seemingly proud and full of joy. "My god, man," He said mindlessly, smiling at Michael, "I tell ya, that was one hell of a game today. Whoo, and (y/n)? My god, they were great."

Puzzled and confused, Michael could only tilt his head in wonder. Game? What game?

The man shook his head and gave Michael an even more puzzled look than he himself sported, "Hey, how come I never see you at any of their games? Rough job or something?"

Michael's silence and confused expression urged the man to explain more.

"You know, the (sport) game? Just had one today- what a show I tell ya. But, I just- I never see you there, you know?"

At that, Michael's eyes went unspeakably wide. (sport)? You were playing (sport)? What? For how long? Why didn't he know about this? He thought you quit playing that when you were little. What was going on?

A week later and Michael was sitting amongst the crowd that was watching your (sport) game. You didn't know he was there. You didn't even know that he knew all your secrets like the fact that you had been playing (sport) for years, how you had won two trophies, the fact that this is where you spent most of your time at, and so on and so forth.

While watching the game, Michael couldn't help but to feel a deep sense of pride, relief and great joy at seeing how passionately you played and how much fun you were having. And you were so talented at it. The other team didn't stand a chance. You had grown so much since you were little. To this day his own actions still haunted him.

He hurt you. He 'scarred' you. And, although you continued doing what you loved, you had still felt the need to hide it from him, for years. He did that. He had made you feel so anxious and insecure that you felt the need to hide your greatest passion from him.

What kind of father does that to their child?

Unsurprisingly, your team won the game, and Michael couldn't be more proud or excited. Once the crowd and commotion calmed down, he patiently waited on you to exit the changing rooms. The way you hid yourself...

Michael gazed around at all the happy families congratulating and/or comforting their kids. It crushed his heart thinking about the sheer loneliness you expressed after the game ended and you had no one to celebrate with aside from your team mates.

When you came out of the changing room, Michael straightened his posture and faced you. It took you a minute, but eventually you looked up, saw him, and froze. A gasp escaped your mouth while your backpack fell from your shoulder to your shaken hand.

Michael's chest ached at the sight of your frightened, horrified face as you frantically looked around as if for an escape. Quickly he approached you and said in sign language, "That was a good game."

"Dad," You stepped away from him, panicked, "I-it's not what you think-I... I-I was just-I'm..."

You were scared, Michael realized, guilt beating on him like a hundred hammers. He waved his hand at you to get your attention, "Why didn't you tell me you were playing (sport)?"

"I..." You stare at him in great panic that melted into sadness and fear. You dropped your backpack and covered your face, saying brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I... I didn't mean to. Don't be mad, please, I-I... I'll stop playing it."

What? Micheal rushed to you and went to gently pull your hands away from your flushed face. What had he done? "No, I'm not mad. Please stop panicking. I'm not mad. Not at all."

Confused, you look at him through tear colored vision.

"I just found out you were playing (sport). You even have trophies. (y/n), why did you keep this from me?"

"Because," You winced, "You said I wasn't good at it. You... You hate me for it. I... I just wanted to be happy. I... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't believe how upset you were, and all because he found out that you were doing what you loved. Marching up to you, Michael pulled you into a big hug that lasted for several minutes. When he noticed you calm down, he moved back a bit and explained.

"I was an idiot back then. I never should have said those things to you, (y/n). I've always felt bad for how I made you feel. You're not bad at (sport) and I never wanted you to stop playing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."

You were shocked speechless, so Michael pulled you into another hug. You hugged back, relieved. He wasn't mad at you. He apologized. Everything was going to be alright.

Bo Sinclair

Bo lived in a very, very small town. Everyone knew each other and every piece of information that existed on the surface. Rumors spread and gossip filled the air like pollen. So it didn't take very long for Bo to learn that you had been practicing engineering with the car shop just down the road.

At first Bo had been ecstatic. You were still interested in engineering? He thought you didn't want to do that anymore; you said so yourself. Ever since the incident when you were little, you hadn't helped him with anything physically constructive- not even stuff as simple as hanging a picture on the wall.

Pretty much everyone praised you and said that you were doing a tremendous job. Your skill towards fixing vehicles was a natural, golden talent. You were an impressive, fast learner and everyone loved and appreciated you.

But when Bo tried to approach you about this exciting news, he was confused to hear you deny all of it. You shut his exclamations off and said that the towns people were lying. You claimed to have nothing to do with engineering. Yes, you hung around the car shop, but nothing was going on, you were just bored.

Bo didn't understand it. Why would you lie to him about this? He knew that the towns people weren't making this up- just ask the guy who took a picture of you and your buddies covered in grease while working on a truck engine. You looked so happy. Why was that something to lie about?

For the life of him, Bo could not figure out what was going on with you. Obviously you were lying to him, but he couldn't get you to explain why. It was as if you were completely and utterly avoiding him now, and it was driving him crazy.

So Bo reached out for help.

"Well," Your engineering teacher said in a tense tone, "I talked to em an' they said it's 'cause they don't wanna make ya mad."

"Huh?" Bo shook his head in exaggeration. What did that even mean?

Your teacher gave him a wearisome look, "I think they're afraid you're gonna blow a gasket on em if they do somethin' wrong. I take it that... you got a short temp?"

At that question, Bo was immediately rushed with memories of the past, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed with guilt and dread. That time he got mad at you when you were little, you didn't just give up on engineering. You gave up on everything that had to do with him. Was this why? Because you were afraid that he would get mad at you if you messed up or made a mistake?

You were afraid of his temper.

Coming to realization, Bo spent quite a while trying to figure out how he should approach you. He wasn't the best at emotions or having deep conversations. If he tried to explain himself he feared he would just say something stupid and cause you to be more upset with him.

So he waited for the perfect moment.

A couple weeks later, Bo dragged you to his shop to show you something that caused your mouth to fall open in awe. "Ram 3500, 2018. An' look at'er license plate."

Gasping the name of the state the enormous truck was from, you faced your dad with absolute excitement and disbelief, "Why's it here?"

"Ah, a little transmission trouble on the road," Bo smiled and slung an arm around your shoulder, "Nice huh? She's a beauty. Needs lotta' work, fast, an' I want 'you' to help me."

"What?" Your behavior changed drastically, "Dad-"

"Look, I've already heard all the gossip. I've seen ya work at the shop. I know you know what you're doin', (y/n)," Bo went to stand in front of you. "But what I don't understand is why ya don't wanna work with me."

"It's not... I just..." You sighed and looked at the ground, lost on what to say. A pain filled your chest as you admitted quietly, "I ain't perfect, dad, I... I make mistakes."

"And?" Bo pushed for a better answer.

His impatience and lack of understanding made you snap, "An' you can't handle that. Every time I mess up even the tiniest bit, you get mad at me. What do you expect me to do, huh? I'm only (age)."

Going silent, Bo relaxed upon learning what exactly your insecurity was. You were avoiding him because you were afraid of him getting mad at you for making mistakes. He did this. He put this fear in you, made you this way. And because of that, you were both teetering on the edge of complete life separation.

"(y/n)," Bo reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Your entire body froze.

"I... never meant to make ya feel this way. I know ya ain't perfect. You're still learnin' an' you've got a long ways to go, but... I wanna be there for you, (y/n). I wanna help you. I wanna watch ya grow, an' I can't do that if ya ain't around... I'm better than I used to be. So if you mess up, I ain't gettin' mad. I'm helping you, because that's what fathers do."

Shot by your dad's moving words, you find yourself staring at him for a long moment before a large smile bloomed across your face. "Right dad," You say, "Let's take a look at her."

With his heart skipping over the moon, Bo grinned and thanked the very stars themselves for this moment, and he lead you to your first shared project since you were a mere, little kid.

Hannibal Lecter

One night Hannibal got bored and lonely and decided to go to Will's house which was where you liked to spend lots of time at. He didn't mind you staying with Will, but some times he himself felt a little bit left out.

When he arrived at Will's house, he quietly made way up the stairs of the porch and temporarily paused just outside of the window. Casually peeking in, Hannibal spotted Will sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while you stood in front of the stove in the kitchen. Your sleeves were clumsily rolled up and you had a apron on.

The motions of your arms and the state of the kitchen did not lie. You were cooking. You were quite literally cooking food right in front of him. Hannibal couldn't help but to release a small shudder of mixed emotions. It had been years since he last saw you cook- years since he demolished your feelings and forced you away from the passion you both once shared.

To see you cooking now? It made Hannibal erupt with questions and emotions. How long had this been going on? What were you cooking? Why were you cooking? How come he didn't know? Were you happy? Was this why you always spent so much time with Will?

Speaking oh whom, Hannibal watched as you handed out a spoon to which Will stood up to receive. Taking a taste of the spoon, Will made a bright face and reached out for a container of spice. You smiled, laughed and nodded, happily going to add some of the recommended spice to your dish.

Grinning, Hannibal couldn't help but to feel great pride. So, you could handle personal opinions and constructive criticism? What an astounding chef you turned out to be, and you looked so happy too.

Regaining his composure, Hannibal straightened his hair and went to knock on the door.

It took over five minutes for Will to answer.

By that time, things had grown to be rather chaotic. Now only did Will claim that you had gone to bed, but that he also was the one responsible for the late night meal.

Hannibal knew better though.

Whilst you pretended to sleep in the guest bedroom, Will and Hannibal stood in the kitchen gazing around at all your hard work.

"They told me what happened when they were little," Will said, a disappointed look on his face, "How could you say that to them, doc?"

Hannibal stared down at your unfinished dish, his heart clenching in memory of the past. "I spoke out of impulse. I didn't mean to cause them this much insecurity." To think you would go out of your way to lie to him. "How long has this affair been going on?"

"I don't know. Few years?" Will shrugged, "I was cooking macaroni one day, they asked to help and... The ship set sail, I guess."

"You reignited their flame," Hannibal huffed and smiled, "I'm grateful."

"Ever thought about apologizing?" Will asked.

"I have," Hannibal said softly, "However, they refuse to have anything to do with cooking."

"You told them that they were a horrible cook and a waste of time in the kitchen. What did you expect would happen?"

Hannibal bowed his head in shame. He hurt you, more than he had ever imagined. After all these years he believed that you had moved on and found different passions, but instead you clung to cooking and desperately sought hiding it from him because of fear. What kind of father was he to do that to you?

The next morning after the drive home, Hannibal kept you in the car to say, "(y/n). I know it was you who cooked at Wills the other night. I saw."

Having been dreading this exact conversation, you flushed darkly and turned your head away in great shame, sadness and fear. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not apologize," Hannibal cursed at himself for how anxious he made you feel, "I am more grateful than you could ever know."

That stirred a confused reaction from you.

"(y/n), you do not have to accept my apology, but I want you to promise me that you will continue to do what you enjoy, especially if it is cooking." Hannibal looked to you hopefully. "Seeing how happy you were... You have no idea how much joy it brought me. I thought I had destroyed your passion, but..."

Now completely facing your dad, your mouth was agape and your heart pounding furiously with emotions.

"I've always regretted what I said to you that day. It was rude and improper, and most certainly untrue. You are an astounding cook and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but, even if you do not wish to forgive me, I hope that you will always continue to do what you love."

Looking at your dad with watery eyes, you blinked and fought for the right words to respond with. All these years you had been terrified of your dad's wrath and disapproval when it came to cooking. He was right, he did hurt you, and the pain was still lingering inside you.

Even though what he said now brought you some form of relief and comfort, you couldn't help but to still feel a little bit of lingering hurt. "I... I need time." You reply quietly.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, "And time you shall have. I will always be here to support you."

-

If I made a part three, it could be about the reader still suffering some anxiety while doing their passion around their dad. And the slasher dads' will be nothing but happy, supportive and proud. You know, just casual comfort and fluff.

Jack Celliers: Beautiful Eyes

Imagine your best friend/crush(Jack Celliers) discovers that you were a girl the whole time:

Jack Celliers, that's a name I haven't heard in quite a while. He was one of my closest friends, my best friend even, and he's the only one to ever figure out my secret.

The secret I try so hard to hide is that I am actually a girl, I just dress up and act like a boy so that I could go to the good schools, and eventually join the military. I don't know who my parents are since I've been on the streets my whole life; no one knew me before I put on my disguise, so it was the perfect idea, at least until I met Jack

I cut my hair short, but long enough that it will fringe over my forehead and in front of my eyes. I do this in fear that if I truly look someone in the eye, they may discover my horrid truth.

I have boyish features, a passably low pitch voice, wide shoulders, and a lean body, all of which aid me in keeping up appearances. I didn't have to wrap my chest when I was younger, but I started to when I reached my teenage years; this of course caused some problems, especially during physical education classes.

_______

The first time I met Jack was during my first day at school, no one knew me, and that was just how I liked it.

I had managed to get special entry into the school based on my high test scores, which are due to my self-education and extensive reading of all forms of literature. I hadn't been in a real school for years, and I was joining in at the age of 15; so I had grown into my more feminine features. Which seemed to solidify a permanent nervousness that emanated continuously throughout my bones.

Before I began my walk to school I looked in my broken mirror, rechecking the wrap around my chest to assure it was snug. I turned to the side and pulled my white uniform shirt tighter, just to make sure I was well hidden, and to my relief I was. Releasing a shaky breath I straightened my tie and shrugged on the gray jacket, smoothing it down before ruffling my hair and turning to leave.

The longer I walked the more my mind wandered. Do I still look convincing, my lips have filled out more, does my face look too feminine? I try not to smile or laugh as much, and I try to keep my talking to a minimum. Sometimes I'd accidentally break out of my facade, my true tone grabbing the attention of passersby; so I've learned to just not talk whenever possible.

_______

As I entered the school my attention was ensnared by the old charm of the buildings, the architecture, the plants, as well as the boyish atmosphere. I've never been in such a nice place before, I lived in an abandoned building most of my life, so this school feels like heaven.

I was so busy observing everything that I ended up tripping, having gotten my foot caught on a stone; I was about a second away from slamming into a brick wall when strong hands surprisingly grasped my shoulders at the last moment. They pulled me back up and safely onto my feet before relinquishing their grip, I felt anxious as I began to turn around, the stumble already had my heart racing.

The face I met was not what I expected - he looked to be about my age, and unlike most boys, he had a boisterously bright shade of blond hair. I had to look up a bit to greet him, but when I did, I found myself unable to speak. He was beautiful, his skin was light, and his eyes the most calming blue. I immediately noticed a slight peculiarity in his left pupil, but quickly shook myself, having realized that I'd been staring blankly for a few seconds.

I'm about to speak, but he beats me to it.

"Careful there, can't have you hurting yourself on your first day." His accented voice rings out through the noisy environment, and his face adorns a lovely smile with crooked teeth. I'm so entranced by him that I overlook how he knows it's my first day, instead anxiously attempting to form a response.

"Thank you, I really should pay more attention next time." My voice is a little shaky, and I get a nervous chill when I realize that I didn't lower my tone enough. His expression goes from welcoming to curious - maybe even slightly cautious, and a glint of something streamed through his eyes, but it was gone before I could interpret it. His head tilts slightly to the side as he silently gazes at me for a few seconds.

"It's alright, no harm done. Now what's your name? I'm Jack Celliers." He reaches out his hand, the grin reappearing on his face. I force my nervousness away as much as possible, reaching out my hand and carefully shaking his.

"Hello Jack, I'm Shiloh, Shiloh Carmichael."

_______

That was the day I knew I had met my best friend, he was always there for me, helping me with things that I didn't understand, especially when it came to maths and sciences. We were in the same year, which helped out a lot as we had a lot of classes together. I'd end up helping him as well, mainly with literature and history.

It took me a while to open up to him about my past - 2 years to be exact, but I eventually told him of my situation. How I have no memory of my family, that I live in an abandoned and crumbling building, how I learned everything from staying up at unreasonable hours reading as much as possible, how I only have two other pairs of clothing, and that I have to beg for enough money just to get them washed.

Needless to say, he became quite distressed and worried about my situation; don't even get me started on his reaction to learning that my first real meal was the school lunch I ate on my first day. My heart raced at the worry he was displaying for me, I wanted him to care for me, but not in the friendship way. I try to bury those thoughts though, he thinks I'm a boy, there's no way he would ever care for me the way I want him to.

_______

I scrambled into class just before the bell rang, my body shaking with adrenaline as the teacher harshly glared at me, telling me to take my seat in a curt tone. I nod my head as I rush to my seat, Jack immediately looks to me, offering a smile before returning his attention to the teacher.

I was unable to pay attention to any of my lessons, my mind kept straying to what happened last night. I had walked back into my 'home' after a tiring day of school that was followed by Jack talking me into playing a couple of sports games with him and his friends. I just wanted to fall onto my raggedy mattress and drift away, but the sight I was met with was a group of about 3 men.

They were all much larger than me, and ransacking through what little possessions I had. They all turned their heads to me, eyeing my backpack and nice uniform, glancing at one another before grimly smirking at me. One reached into his pants pocket and flicked out a switchblade, but before they could even take a step towards me I had bolted out of the building.

This isn't the first time this has happened to me, but it is no less scary; the last time I was caught they took everything but the clothes on my back.

Being a teen now, I hoped they would give up, but they chased me for a good while, almost catching me a couple of times, but they eventually gave up. I had run into a small store along a busy street, my lungs felt like they had been ripped in half, and my feet were about ready to fall off.

I had nowhere to sleep that night, and I had lost all my other clothes, meaning I was going to be stuck in this uniform for a while. I had taken my chest wrap off when I started walking home too, and I ditched it as soon as I took off, so I'm in a bit of a rough spot. This means that I have my shoulders constantly pushed forward, and my jacket buttoned all the way up today.

As lunch lolled around, I found myself sitting on the stairs away from the lunch hall. I just wanted some alone time to think, to try and figure out how to get spare clothes and a new place to stay. I'm sucked out of my thoughts by something landing in my lap, I glance down to see a soft, fuzzy looking peach. Staring up in confusion, I am met by the concerned gaze of Jack as he offers a quiet greeting. I want to respond, but I really have nothing to say at the moment.

After a second of no response he sighs, dropping himself onto the stair next to me, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks over to me. I, of course, avoid his gaze at all costs, only finally giving in after a few minutes of silence.

"What's wrong Shiloh? You haven't said a word all day, and now you're skipping lunch, you never skip lunch." His voice is concerned, he's sitting so close to me I almost want to blush, but I know I can't allow that.

"Jack... I'm f-" I begin, about to say I was just feeling tired from sports yesterday, but got cut off by him.

"Don't tell me a lie." His accented tone was sharp, almost warning me that there would be consequences. I shy away from him now, he's never talked to me like this, I don't want him to be angry at me, and I know lying will only aggravate him further.

"...When I got 'home' last night.. There were some people there." My sentence comes out hesitantly as I tentatively look at his stoic face, the sternness quickly shifting to concern.

"What?" His voice raises in surprise, he shifts his body to face me as I continue.

"To cut a long story short, I don't have any place to stay, and the only clothes I have are the ones I'm wearing. Everything else is theirs now... I'm just glad they didn't catch me to-"

"Catch you! You mean they chased you!" The shock in his voice is evident, but not as obvious as the distress that's radiating off him in waves.

A silence settles over us as his eyes shift from me to the floor, wringing his hands as he thinks, his mind seems to be running a mile a minute.

"You can stay with me." It takes me a few seconds to acknowledge that he actually just said that. My head snaps towards him, I can't help but be stunned. I open my mouth to argue, but the look he gives me tells me that he won't take 'no' for an answer.

My eyes dart to the floor, a moment passing before I release a sigh and reluctantly accept his offer.

_______

I tried to slip out of school before Jack could stop me; I thought it would be easy to disappear amongst the throng of students, but the hold on my arm tells me something different. I turn to see Jack giving me a warning look, his serene blue eyes holding a protective element in them. I turn my gaze to the students leaving before lowering my head, allowing Jack to lead me away.

The whole day I've felt on edge, maybe because I don't have a chest wrap on today, maybe it's because I didn't sleep last night. Or perhaps it's because I am undeniably attracted to Jack and now he's having me live with him and his family until further notice. How am I supposed to hide my true self now? How am I supposed to hide my love for him? It certainly doesn't help that he towers over me, all the boys at school say I'm short, but at 5 foot 6 I am the average height for a woman.

"I called my parents during break, they're fine with you staying with us, but they need the living room and guest room clear, so we'll be sharing my room." I swear my heart was trying to rip itself out of my chest with how hard it was beating, and I could feel my breath getting caught in my throat, but I tried to cover it with a cough before nodding my head 'okay'.

We stay silent the rest of the time, but I could tell that Jack had something on his mind that he desperately wanted to say, and it's making me nervous.

_______

Jack said his parents and brother were out until tomorrow evening, so we spent our time exploring the house; him showing me his room, the kitchen, where the bathroom and laundry rooms are, as well as showing me the garden. I could tell he was surprised when my face lit up at seeing the beautiful plants. I was so caught up that I grabbed his hand and dragged him around as I named all the plants as well as little facts about them. I couldn't see it, but he had a warm smile on his face as well as a light blush dusting his cheeks.

We spent our time sitting in the garden, doing our homework underneath the shade of the trees. Him helping me with my maths, myself helping him with his literature homework, he always seems to have trouble understanding the assigned chapters.

The sun was beating down a little harsher than usual for this season, and the jackets were making us a little stuffy. I shrugged mine off without a second thought, Jack doing the same thing, he turns and places his jacket beside him while talking to me about the passage. As he looks back towards me he suddenly halts mid-sentence. I look towards him in confusion, but his gaze seems to be even more confused as he looks from my face to my chest in a quick succession.

My entire body goes rigid as I realize my fatal mistake, quickly grabbing my jacket and wrapping it back around me. My breathing stutters as I hurriedly shove my books into my backpack before I hurriedly start walking away. Jack sits there for a second in shock at this revelation before bolting up, running towards me as I too had now begun to run.

I should've known better than to try and run from Jack for he catches me in no time, tightly holding my wrist as he pulls me back towards his house. I tried everything from sitting down to biting him, but nothing stopped him as he dragged me inside, only releasing me to shut and lock the door.

I drop my bag and bolt through the house and up the stairs, trying to find some escape; in my delirium I corner myself in his bedroom. I can hear him right behind me, slamming his bedroom door shut as he grabs both my wrists and pushes me back to the wall. I don't know what to think, he's probably just as confused as I am - maybe even a little angry. I'm also terrified, I could lose my best friend right now.

He hasn't said a thing to me the entire time, and now all the stress and anxiety is just too high, so high that I find myself no longer able to hold back the river of tears. I turn my head to the side, not wanting him to see me in such a weak and vulnerable state. His grip loosens as he surveys the situation, unsure of how to react, especially after what has just occurred.

"Don't.. Please, don't cry, Shiloh." His voice is soft, softer than I've ever heard him speak before, and his tone seems different than his normal caring one. I turn my head away from him even further, but he gently places a hand against my jaw, tenderly turning me to face him. I shut my eyes tightly, fearful of what I might see.

"Open your eyes darling." My eyes open slowly in shock, him calling me 'darling' sets my chest a flare as my attraction for him comes forward with a vengeance, my cheeks burning with a crimson blush, my tears slowing as I gaze up into his doting eyes. My hair still drapes over my eyes, obstructing our eye contact - something that he quickly fixes.

Gently raising his other hand, softly combing his fingers through my hair as he brushes it to the side. My breathing is shallow as I gaze deeply into his eyes, his cheeks also seem to be tinted red as he smiles affectionately at me.

"Much better, I've been wondering what your beautiful eyes looked like."

Jack Celliers: Sadie

Imagine your husband(Jack) finds you in the POW camp:

I've been here for so long that the beatings don't seem to hurt anymore. It's like I'm not quite in my body anymore, instead I'm watching it, almost as though I'm just an onlooker.

I don't know how I managed to get here, all I know is that I tricked my military into thinking I was a man, and next thing you know I'm out here fighting a war, only to be caught. My trial was short, I was nearly sentenced to death, but by a stroke of luck I was detained as a prisoner of war. That's not to say that I feel lucky, most definitely not, you have no idea how hard it is to hide being a female when you are a prisoner.

I've lost so much weight that I no longer have my period, so that is a big help, but I also know that this quick weight loss is incredibly unhealthy. Now the only issues I have include hiding the fact that I wrap my chest, as well as making sure that I consistently lower my tone.

I don't socialize too much with the other soldiers, I barely even talk to Lawrence, and the only reason I do is because he goes out of his way to initiate conversations with me. I think he has assumptions about my true identity, he does have quite the analytical mind, and I would have to be an award winning actress to pull the wool over his eyes; but as of yet he has made no mention of this towards me, my only evidence being the cautious glances as well as a sudden protective nature.

_______

I can't say for sure how long I've been here, but I know it's been at least a couple of months now. I've gotten closer with Lawrence, no longer minding our occasional chats. I seem to be the preferred punching bag for the guards, so I told Lawrence early on, that should anything ever happen to me, I want only him to treat me; I don't care how bad my injuries are, only he is allowed to treat me.

This is the third time this week I've ended up in our makeshift hospital, no one but Lawrence will even come near me in fear that my bad luck might rub off on them. I'm more than sure Lawrence knows I'm a woman, but he still hasn't said a thing about it to me.

All I know is that I can trust him... I hope.

_______

Lawrence's POV:

Bailey Stevens... quite a good soldier from what I remember, but I barely know him really, or should I say 'her'; because I obviously know that this soldier is a woman, and I suspect that she knows of my assumptions.

She's extremely reserved, which is expected from everything she's been put through; the guards here seem to love beating on her. I'm not sure whether it's due to her being physically smaller than everyone, or because she has an intrinsic need to act; probably both.

I can't help but feel a need to protect her, she's like the rebellious sister I never had. I can't allow the Japanese - or anyone for that matter - to figure out that she is a woman. Who knows what they would do to her.

_______

She's been unconscious for a couple of days now, only having brief periods of consciousness where she might drink some water, or says 'hello' before going back under. I don't know what to do anymore, I've told our doctor everything, and I've done everything he's told me to do, but she still sleeps the days away.

To add on, I've got another friend here now, Maj. Jack Celliers, another determined soldier who was born to act. I know I'll have my hands full with these two when they both get back on their feet.

__

It's late into the night when her form begins to stir, I quickly sit up, wondering if today will be the day her strength returns. I must admit that I've missed her rebellious spirit, though I also fear how she will react to having possibly lost sight in her right eye.

Her eye flutters open, wandering around the rundown building before focusing on me. She tugs the covers tightly against her chest, and I can see the underlying fear emanating from within her gaze, I can only offer her a soft smile to try and calm her down.

"I know Bailey... I know. No need to worry, your secret is safe with me." My tone is gentle and friendly, and I can see her body losing the tension that had been building. Releasing a quiet sigh before bringing a hand up to her face, gently running her fingers over the gauze covering her right eye. I feel my body slightly go rigid as she looks to me for an explanation.

"Bailey, during your last beating... you were struck quite a few times to the head... It caught you right in the eye. We're not sure whether you'll have sight in it when it's healed...I'm sorry."

_______

Bailey Stevens' POV:

My chest tightens at the explanation, knowing you might lose sight in one of your eyes is an incredibly scary thing to be told. Especially in a place like this where surviving is already hard. I raise my gaze to Lawrence and see the sadness in his eyes, he looks ashamed of telling me about my injuries, almost as if feeling at fault.

I reach out my left hand, softly resting it atop his.

"It's alright, it's not your fault." I offer him a gentle smile as he gives me his own. Our moment is interrupted by the groaning of another person, I look to him in question as to who it is. He responds with another smile before shaking his head.

"That's another troublemaker quite like yourself, Bailey." His voice contains a sad humor in it, one that makes me want to laugh and frown at the same time.

"What's his name?" My voice is a whisper, but I have switched to my normal tone, it feels refreshing not having to hide who I am.

"That would be Jack Celliers. He quite reminds me of you actually, almost ironically." His tone once again holds that same gloomy humor. I however feel my eyes widen in shock as I hear his name, my heart rate increasing at the thought of it being my Jack Celliers.

"Jack Celliers?" My voice holds confusion as well as surprise, I never thought I would see him again until the war ended, that or in heaven. When he left for the war, I knew he might never return, so I put on my disguise and rolled the dice. It's been so long that I thought I might never see him again, but here we both are, stuck in the same POW camp.

"Yes.... Do you know him?" Lawrence looks confused at first, but upon seeing the worry on my face, he quickly contorts into a knowing gaze; a small smirk grazing his features at my lack of response.

"Ahh, so you do know him." His voice raises above a whisper slightly, and I quickly shush him, not wanting anyone to wake up and hear our conversation.

"Yes... Yes, I do know him. Is he alright? What's happened to him? Is he going to be oka-"

"Slow down there Bailey... When he arrived his condition was just as bad as yours, but the doctors say he's recovering quite well and will be good as new soon." My whole body relaxes at hearing he's getting better and will be alright. As I lean back, a strong sense of sleepiness rushes over me, that and the pain of my beatings; but I've never fought harder in my life to keep my eyes open, I know Lawrence can tell I'm struggling.

"Is there anything you might want me to tell him should he wake up before you?" He speaks quickly, wanting to give me enough time to respond before I lose consciousness.

"Tell him.. tell him Sadie says 'hi'." You can practically hear my smile as I tell him to use my real name. He also gives me a smile, and that's the last thing I see before darkness consumes my vision once more.

_______

Lawrence's POV:

Sadie, what an oddly fitting name for the girl who acts to survive.

I quietly walk over to Jack's bed to see if he's is awake. I'm not sure this is the best time to tell him, but at the same time, who am I to withhold this information.

As I reach his secluded sleeping arrangement, I watch as he turns slightly, his eyes fluttering open. Recognition flows through them as we look at each other.

"Hello Jack."

"Lawrence." His voice is gravely, and I can tell his body is exhausted. I slowly sit on the bed beside his own, rubbing my hands together in thought. He looks at me as he awaits what I am clearly contemplating saying.

"Jack... Is there the possibility that you know someone named Sadie?" My voice is hesitant as I speak, but the look of recognition over hearing her name immediately tells me everything I need to know. He carefully nods his head, his eyes now fixed on me with a new sense of focus.

"I only ask because another soldier recognized your name and asked me to tell you 'hello'." I can see the confusion swirl in his mind as to how another soldier knew your name, or why they would ask me to say 'hello'.

"Jack... That soldier is a woman, who goes by the name of Sadie, and claims to know you. Is there something I should know?" When he hears that the said soldier is a woman, his body jolts forward, not only in shock, but concern as well. I don't know their past, but the way they react to hearing about each other tells me they are much more than friends.

"I have to see her." Jack gasps, hurriedly stumbling to get out of his bed. I immediately rush forward, providing support for him as he attempts to stand.

"Are you sure about doing this right now? How about in the morni-"

"No, I need to see her. NOW." He doesn't raise his voice at all throughout his sentence, but the way he speaks is with such conviction, such certainty and determination that I know there will be no talking him out of this. I hesitantly nod my head, helping him walk over to her own secluded sleeping area, carefully setting him down on the bed beside hers.

He just sits there, staring longingly at her unconscious form. He looks sad, depressed even, at the sight of her. His hand slowly reaches out, softly gliding his fingers over the rough gauze that covers the right half of her face.

"How... What happened?" His tone exudes concern, but his face remains stoic.

"She tried to stop the guards from harming another soldier, I suppose you could say she got their attention." My sentence is formatted in a humorous way, but my tone remains serious. She nearly died from this, I don't find anything about that to be funny.

Jack sat there for a few more moments, just silently thinking to himself as his fingers continuously drift along the gauze.

"Will she be alright?" His tone is slightly higher, like what happens when your throat tightens up in the early stages of despair. I can tell that seeing Sadie like this brings him immense pain, maybe even guilt, but I know that he probably doesn't want me to bring it up.

"She's quite the fighter, just like you. The doctor says she should be fine, but we have no conclusive evidence on what will happen to her eye. Odds are 50/50." I try not to sugarcoat anything, but I also try to be respectful of what I say. This is the woman he loves, the last thing he needs to hear is that she might not make it.

Jack solemnly nods his head. I move forward to help move him back to his bed when he suddenly looks up to me.

"Can I stay here? In this bed?" His eyes are pleading for me to say yes, and I know that if the woman I loved were here, I too would want to stay right next to her.

"... Alright, you can stay here. But there are some things you should know first. No one else but us two know that she is a woman, alright? And she goes by the name Bailey Stevens, so when she does come around, and others are awake, just call her Bailey, alright?" Jack's eyes burn with curiosity at hearing her chosen name, but he nods his head in understanding.

I say goodnight to him, before turning and walking off a little bit. Slightly intrigued, I turn and watch from afar as Jack gently kisses one of her hands before laying down in his own bed, not once facing away from her. My mind only has one thought running through it the entire time:

"This could either be really good, or really bad."