Hostage | Eyeless Jack x Reader

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(Y/n) wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gasping for breath. She was leaning over the side of her tractor, from where she had been harvesting the last of her frosted crop. Far below her, being soaked up in the chilled dirt, was a puddle of sick. She had just thrown up.

It had come almost out of nowhere. One minute, she was driving her rickety old tractor, dragging the harvester behind it, and then the next, she felt sick to her stomach. The rows of corn were the closest crops to the house, but she had wasted her time considering going in to actually follow through.

Now she leaned back in her seat, cringing at the burning residue in her throat and mouth. (Y/n) threw her injured arm across her lap, incapacitated, and tried to catch her breath.

As she panted, she rolled her head to look towards her house. She could just barely see the upper half of Jack's masked head peeking through one of the living room windows. They were just tall enough for him to see through, and small enough to where (Y/n) didn't have to worry about him breaking out.

He had been watching her run her tractor from the moment she had announced she was going outside. Although she didn't blame him for his staring (it had to get boring in that living room), she still didn't appreciate it. The feeling of those empty sockets trained on her made her shiver against the cold.

But now, it was mostly the shock of vomiting that made her shiver. As she made "eye-contact" with Jack, he raised his hand up into view. He pointed at her then made a thumbs up. He was asking if she was okay.

(Y/n) slowly nodded before turning back to her work. She threw the gear shift back into drive and continued her work.

"What was that about?" Jack asked when she came inside 3 hours later from bundling the corn.

"Nothing," she lied, watching her machine pour her coffee as she warmed her hands on the mug.

Jack gave her a hard stare through the bars of his cage. He was perched upon the arm of her couch, just barely swinging his large feet above the carpet.

"You threw up, (Y/n)." He bluntly stated, "I wouldn't call that nothing."

She ignored him by sipping at her warm drink, rolling her eyes when he repeated himself for the millionth time,

"I am a doctor, you know. I could help. Bite wounds get infected easily."

She set her mug down on the counter, placing one hand on her hip and sending him a glare.

"Name one reason I should trust you," she sighed before quickly cutting herself off, "No— name one reason you trust me? Why do you keep insisting you help me?"

Jack scoffed before letting out a chuckle.

"We've already talked about this," he groaned, rolling back onto the couch on his back, "You're my source of food. If something bad happens to you, I'll starve."

(Y/n) hummed, grumbling her discontent as she picked up her mug and turned away from him. She wasn't going to accept his help. She'd just keep chugging painkillers and keeping her bite wound cleaned. Though, surprisingly, the holes still hadn't scabbed over yet.

She kept shrugging it off as her putting too much stress on the arm, it was her dominant one after all. But, with the last of the crop harvested, all she'd have to do was occasionally shovel snow and hunt. Hopefully they'd heal then.

"I found something earlier."

She looked over the rim of her mug to look at Jack. He was reaching over the far arm of the couch, grabbing at something before he pulled it out. Now sitting in his lap was a battered old photo album, randomly opened to a page plastered with (Y/n)'s childhood pictures.