| Don't Play With Your Food -> Eyeless Jack x Fem!Reader |Teaser
𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 (𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝟷𝟶𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜) 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛, 𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟸𝟿𝟶 | 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝚗/𝚊
Far from the dregs of modern society and the plight of humanity lay your home. A reclusive–much like you–modest cabin, nestled amidst towering oak trees and far off the main trail. It had taken you a few years to establish your self-sustaining sanctuary, but now it was a thriving homestead.
Vibrant green leaves sprouted up in even rows of dirt beside your house, a few paces away from a fire pit you had dug yourself one Spring evening. You would, of course, travel into town for luxuries like AA batteries and processed chocolate, but your trips became few and far between–eventually optional. You found yourself leaving less and less. You didn’t miss the drone of rush hour traffic, overly congested sidewalks, empty night skies, or ever climbing prices.
If anything, the quiet felt earned.
As your disdain for your old way of life grew, your want to stay dwindled until you ditched it all and went off the grid.
Everyone assumed you would last a week, perhaps a month, and you hated to admit you had held similar sentiments. The initial move was hard, but once you had set up a decent router and a generator, you became settled much more quickly.
That was the word you used, anyway.
The only absence you felt was a social one. As days of silence stretched into weeks, the realization of your isolation became harder to ignore. Your shopping ventures hardly fulfilled your needs, filled with mindless small talk and passing remarks purely for the sake of politeness–and in hopes of earning a tip. The remaining connections of substance you did have all but eroded with the separation, not only physical but emotional as well. Quitting your job all but severed your connection to former coworkers, up and leaving your friends had earned you their ire, and your family was a complicated mess that all but caved in on itself after your decision.
So, there you were. Your best friend may have well been the ground hog that had made itself a home beneath your porch, and your only conversation came from the few and far between hikers in dire need of directions.
They never stayed long, and you never asked them too.
It was, at least, easy to be of service; the criss-crossing of trails was familiar as all of the forests’ odds and ends were second nature. That muscle memory carried you from your cabin and down the steep slope of your backyard.
The grass around you grew slim and short from the limited sunlight that made it through the thick canopy of trees. Sparse green patches faded into smooth pebbles and sandy mud as you closed in on the shallow stream cutting through the woods. It was just deep enough to house small fish with a healthy population of frogs at various stages of life. Because of its frail inhabitants, you avoided fishing there–however, the water did attract a decent amount of other wild animals ripe for hunting.
That wasn’t your particular intention today, instead you were simply scouring the area for any plants you had yet to harvest. So, donning chunky rain boots and worn gloves you began searching. Parting shrubs and shifting stones you were greeted with the expected wriggling earth worms, scurrying ants, and–
Before you was a huge pair of work boots, made of worn black leather caked in mud with straps galore. Tucked into them was black cargo pants, plentiful with pockets which were all stuffed full. As if that was not enough storage, a utility belt hung from his waist. In one of the loops a serrated hunting knife caught your eye, stirring some surprise and apprehension.
You hadn’t heard him approach.
Taking a tentative step back for your own safety, you weren’t sure what was more shocking–the appearance of another person or the fact that they were decked out in tactile gear like the world was about to end.
How odd this truly was began to set in. How had you not heard anything? Why was he so close?
Your heart rate picked up a bit as you stood up, eyes flitting from his black belt to his black hoodie–
Wow. This guy had a favorite color.
Underneath his baggy sleeves was, you guessed it, black gloves which seemed to be pulled over bandages of some sort. And then–best of all–was a dark blue mask, stained with heavy black tear streaks.
You had been discovered by an edgelord with a knife which was basically a would-be serial killer–assuming you were his first victim. If that were the case you were fucked.
For one, he had no discernable features, save for a mess of dark curls peaking out from beneath his hood. And, secondly, he was huge.
The stranger was easily the tallest man you had ever seen, pushing seven feet tall with wide shoulders and a soft stomach.
He spoke firmly, his formal voice much smoother than you would have expected.
“Hi…” You croaked out in turn, wishing you had brought a more substantial weapon with you than a spade. Clutching the shovel like a life line you did another rapid once over. He was at least a head taller than you and could probably snap you in half like a twig. Swallowing the lump in your throat you waited anxiously for his response, a bit too scared to prompt him yourself.
His choice of words left you dumbfounded. He stated it, like it was a fact–which it was, technically–but how the hell did he know that?
“Yes, I do.” You replied, the words coming out more like a question than an answer.
A hum of understanding left him, a deep rumbling vibrato. He raised his hand stiffly, more like an animatronic than a man. It paused midair, fingers twitching once before settling, pointing at you.
“Yeah…?” What the fuck was wrong with him.
“What do you do for food” he continued. “Is it…easy, to hunt? Are you ever interrupted?”
The question seemed oddly pointed considering the awkwardness of his wording, but you found yourself answering anyway.
“I grow my own stuff–tomatoes, carrots, easy stuff mostly. It's not the best place to catch anything here” you gestured towards the stream. The stranger simply tilted his head in response. “But uhm, no. If you go after animals it's not like another one is going to stop you from doing it or anything.”
He tensed–subtly, but surely.
Like something in your answer hadn’t aligned with what he expected. “I see. I meant, more so, are you ever interrupted by people?”
That got a laugh out of you.
Not because it was funny–but because it wasn’t.
“Oh god no–I mean, not really.” You tried to recover, still on edge. “People, like, rarely come through here. Usually just hikers and stuff, so they don’t go off the trail.”
Your explanation seemed to please him this time, earning you an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, I’m glad I could help.” Your response carried more warmth than before, offering a small smile you hoped he returned beneath his mask.
He turned to leave, taking a few steps before pausing.
Not at your face, just at you.
Taken aback by the awkward interruption, silence fell between you both for a few painful moments.
Then, your laughter broke the tension, easing him to relax his shoulders–just slightly.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”
He didn’t respond right away, he just stood there for a second longer than necessary.
Then, without another word, he left.
