Chapter Text
Eyeless Jack x Reader--"Naive"
Shoving his belongings in the corner of the room, you heaved a sigh of relief. Now that his items were out of sight, you could officially relax since the break-up. It was difficult leaving the relationship, just as difficult as it was to get him to leave the home you two used to share.
You couldn’t sleep, knowing the essence of him was still lying about the house. So, in the dead of night, as a storm waged a war in the sky, you gathered his belonging in the darkness: movies, razors, deodorant, toothbrush, clothes— alcohol especially—into one big cardboard box in the corner of the living room, hiding it under a blanket for good measure. You laughed to yourself, looking at the big box and how ridiculously out of place it looked. Perhaps you should put a flower vase on top to make it look more decorative.
The absurdity overshadowed the painful memories weighing at your mind, at least for now.
Before you could think of heading back to bed, the sound of a window breaking met your ears, followed by a deafening ‘thud’.
Did a tree fall into the window or something?! What the hell?!
Stupid storm, breaking your property.
Guard up, you followed the sound into your kitchen. What you didn’t expect was a shadowy figure lying on the floor, bleeding profusely.
Did he….. just smash through your window?!
Ah! He’s injured…!
Was it from breaking in? Should I help him if he broke in?
Of course I have to help him! Even if he meant to rob me, I can’t just let him bleed out on the floor and die….!
The figure twitched, grunting in pain as he attempted to get up.
“H-hey! Hang on, don’t move!” You scampered about in the darkness, moving for a light switch. It clicked up and down uselessly, the room still bathed in darkness. Stupid storm…! Power's still out.... Straining to stumble towards the bathroom, you snatched a flashlight and a first-aid kit. By the time you returned to the kitchen, the figure seemed to be in even more of a panic, trying desperately to slither away from you and your beaming light.
“D-don’t worry! I’m not going to hurt you! I just want to patch you up, that’s all!”
Pausing, the form seemed to settle slightly, but not quite enough to allow you to get close to him.
Yes, ‘him’. You determined from the flash of your light that the figure was male. While trying to get a look at his face, you jumped back at the sight of an eerie mask staring back at you. Black holes for eyes with goop dripping from the sockets, a luminescent blue shining from the flashlight’s glare.
The storm’s ferocity tumbled into the kitchen and the man’s bleeding refused to stop, so you didn’t have time to question his mask or his motives for breaking in.
Grabbing an almost unnecessarily large amount of paper towels, you knotted it into a ball before rinsing it under the sink. “Where are you hurt?” Practically shouting over the storm, you knelt down beside the stranger. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea….
To your relief, he complied, pointing at his chest. His blood-soaked hoodie was pulled up, and as your flashlight shined against his skin, you found something else incredibly off about him.
His skin. You swore it looked grey ….
And the amount of what looked to be bullet holes in his chest not only terrified you but amazed you. How the hell was he alive?!
Perhaps you weren’t the right person for this job. You knew little to nothing about how to properly treat anything other than a paper cut.
Just what the hell were you thinking, trying to save this man that would clearly die thanks to your inexperience…!
“Oh fuck,” you breathed out in horror, eyes wide at his various wounds. Was it your imagination or did he just chuckle at your reaction….? Or maybe it was a wheeze, as if he wasn’t used to laughing.
Before you could say any false reassurances, he took the paper towel out of your hands, snatched the first aid kit, and expertly treated himself. All you had to do was shine the light on him.
Soon enough, it was as if he hadn’t been shot at all. He even cleaned up the blood stains from the floor…!
But why did he get shot in the first place….?!
You stayed up all night with him until the storm ended at the ripe time of five a.m. Finally the landline was available.... because no way were you turning your phone on to see missed text after text, call after call from him. Besides, he seemed okay, despite his injuries… When you asked if he needed to call any family members or an ambulance, he fervently shook his head. In hindsight, calling the cops would have been the best course of action, instead of indulging this would-be burglar.
When you pressed the stranger with questions, he’d respond with a head shake or shrug, never speaking. Assuming he was mute, you got him a pad and paper to write on. Luckily he could read and write, as sparse and sloppy as it was. You managed to learn he was homeless and was shot by a resident thinking he was trying to break in. While wandering around with his wounds, he got caught in the storm. Apparently, he panicked in the midst of the violent storm and tried to find shelter. The lights were off in your house, so he assumed no one was home or was at least sleeping. He apologized for breaking your window.
By your own observations, he did, in fact, have grey skin. When you asked about it, he wrote down the word ‘argyria’, and didn’t bother writing anything else about it. Frustrated that he wouldn’t explain more, you looked it up. Apparently it was a skin condition that could be contracted from a large amount of exposure to silver dust or the element silver. It supposedly turns your skin blueish-grey, which seemed to check out perfectly with his own skin tone. You presumed his entire get up was to hide that condition, and the homelessness was in part due to said condition. When you asked him this theory of yours, he confirmed that it was correct with a simple nod.
You and your bleeding heart caved, offering for him to stay at your house as long as he liked. His body language implied he was taken back by your offer, but you insisted. In which case, he scribbled onto the notepad that he would take up your offer only ‘for shelter from harsh weather’.
You officially invited a monster into your home, though you didn’t know it at the time.
Sure he might have broken into your home. Sure he was shot multiple times in the chest and turned out just fine. But did you question him further than that? Nope. You were just as naïve as you were when you met him— thinking this man wouldn’t possibly hurt you. That if he wanted to hurt you, he would’ve done it by now. Though you were right in some sense, you weren’t aware of the consequences of it all—of feeding a beast.
————————
It started with an exchange of names. You were [y/n], he was Jack. While around the house, he clutched his little notepad in his hands, making strained grunting noises as his way of getting your attention. You insisted he take his mask off, or at least pick something a bit less… unsettling. He refused. Not pressing the issue any further, you allowed him to stroll about in his eerie attire. Contrasting the attire, however, you found out he was sweet at heart. He’d help you around the house, failing at the simplest of tasks at first, but once you taught him how to properly fold the laundry and wash the dishes, he became incredibly handy to have around. Not once did he hurt you, not once did he steal.
Well, you wished he’d steal some food every once in a while.
He liked the leftover pig’s liver and cow tongues, things you found disgusting while your ex—whose name would not be uttered by you—loved them, but left them behind along with his other belongings (still sitting in the box under the blanket). You eventually did put a flower vase on top of it.
At least, you thought he liked them…? Not only did he manage to eat it right in front of you with his mask on, but he also got sick that night, most likely from the very food you fed him… Was the meat old…? Did you cook them enough…? You felt terrible offering them if they were, but he refused your apology, claiming his stomach just ‘wasn’t used to such quality food’.
Some days you wished he would speak to you, but judging from his grunts and wheezes, he really hadn’t spoken in years. Just how old was he? It was difficult deciphering, considering his mask…. But, he couldn’t be too much older than you, judging by his frame.
Soon enough, you forgot all about ‘him’, your ex, who was easily replaced with a new ‘him’—Jack. You found yourself loving the man, though you’d never seen his face. Was that even possible, seeing as how he was still so shrouded in mystery?
Your friend chatted with you on the phone one day, or more so, listened to you talk about Jack to her. You could practically hear her rolling her eyes at you through the receiver.
While you waved away her worries of ‘it’s only been two months, he’s still a stranger’ and ‘he’s not financially stable if he’s homeless, are you sure he’s the right choice’.
Perhaps worst of all, she questioned, “I don’t know… Is he really any better than [ex name]?”
Pausing at her words, you practically shook with fury, taking it out on the poor clothes you were loading into the washer in your tight grip.
“He is not like him. Jack hasn’t laid a finger on me like he did .” Huffing, you listened to your friend's countless apologies, wondering aloud why you were so bent on defending Jack. In which case, you responded, “Because he’d never hurt a fly!” With your passionate claim, you thrust one of Jack’s hoodies into the washer, one of the many you had bought for him since his outside endeavors never failed in him getting muddy or sopped. Said endeavors you never questioned until you heard a ‘clank’ of metal against metal as something slipped from its pocket.
“What was that?” Your friend asked as you picked the metal object up.
You froze.
It was a scalpel….
Where…. Where did he get a scalpel…?
And why did he need it….?!
Maybe you really should have called the cops that fateful night.
“…[y/n]…?”
You broke out of your trace, nervously laughing and verbally waving away her concerns, changing the subject quickly.
Maybe… you didn’t know him like you thought you did….
As your conversation ended, you felt a presence behind you, and a familiar grunt. Jumping, you swirled around, finding Jack with his little notepad held up.
‘Need help?’
A sigh of relief fell from your mouth.
“Ah, you startled me. And no, I’ve got it covered.”
Should you ask about the scalpel?
“Ehm… Well…. I was gonna ask you… about this….?” You grabbed the forgotten tool and showed it to him, hoping this wasn’t a mistake. He cocked his head to the side. “I-I found it in your hoodie… I was wondering—“ Before you could finish, he started scribbling vigorously on his notepad.
Finally, he held it up.
‘Protection. Found it at abandoned asylum. Stayed there for a while before it got closed off.’
“R-right….”
Noting your doubtful tone, his head cocked again in confusion as he wrote down, ‘Wondering ‘why not a knife’?’
You were taken back by his assumption, but nodded slightly.
He responded via pen and paper, ‘Too bulky. Too intimidating. Not useful. Can kill.’ His short, staggered sentences gave you relief. Ah…. Of course… Just like I expected. He wouldn’t KILL anyone….!
“So… You just want to protect yourself….?” He nodded. With all your thoughts and emotions, and a potentially naïve trust towards him, you approached him, handing him the scalpel with the utmost faith in him. “Then…. Would you… protect me too….?”
WhatamIsayingwhatamIsaying! That sounds 110% lame! Was this my dumb way of confessing to him?!
That damn mask, you couldn’t read his expression!
The long pause was unbearable, until he responded with one swift movement.
Panic briefly fell over you as he grabbed you, despite it being hesitant and gentle. He pulled you into an embrace, the disjointed fluidity of it showed how unfamiliar it was to him. But he tried, at the very least. It was adorable, if you were being honest with yourself.
A wide grin spread across your face hearing him strain to say instead of write, “C…our…se…”
————————
The news started scaring you. Some sort of madman was drugging people and stealing their organs late at night. You warned Jack to be extra careful because of it, knowing just how often he’d leave in the night.
……What was he doing anyways…?
Nevertheless, Jack’s schedule was the least of your concerns. The phone calls and texts showed up again three months after the break up, just as you’d let your guard down.
Soon enough, he wasn’t asking for permission anymore. You got home from work and found him waiting on the recliner, the spare key you hid under the mat for Jack in his hands.
“Miss me?” he purred as you stared at him in horror. “You’re cruel for not answering my calls, [y/n]. Did you think you could avoid me for that long….?”
You stood frozen at the door, watching him hop up and disappear into the kitchen. The tense, quiet air was cut short as you listened to him scrounge through the fridge.
Eventually, he gave up, grumbling a bit about his missing alcohol.
“If you came to grab your things, I’ve got them packed up—“
“Oh no, I’m not leaving. This is my house too, after all.”
Freezing up, you clenched your fists, “It’s mine, actually, according to the mortgage. I thought I told you to leave—“
“You aren’t the boss of me, [y/n]. I thought you knew that?” he said, tauntingly. “I left to give you your space, let you clear your mind and realize what a terrible mistake you made trying to dump me…. ”
I’m done. I’m done I’m done I’m done with you. Leave. Leaveleaveleaveleave—
All of which was what you wanted to say, but your tongue was scared of his fists.
“I’ll call the police if you don’t—“
He snatched the collar of your shirt.
“If. You. Don’t. What…..?” he spat threateningly. Mouth tightening, you didn’t respond, which was apparently the right answer. “Good.”
He let go, waltzing throughout the house. You followed anxiously, noting the scowl on his face once he realized his belongings were no longer scattered about.
Finally, he got to the bedroom, starting to shuffle through the drawers randomly.
“W-wait—don’t—“ You started, knowing very well that drawer was for Jack’s—
“….These aren’t mine….” He looked through the small drawer, filled with a few extra change of clothes for Jack that you had bought. Turning to you in anger, he grabbed your wrist forcefully. “Whose. Are. These!? You been sleepin’ around while I was away?! Fucking whore!” His palm slapped across your face. In the blur of your vision, you caught a familiar blue in the window. It disappeared in the millisecond that you saw it.
Jack.
Do you remember…?
How you said you’d protect me?
Please…
I need it now…
I need that protection now…
I’ve worked too long to rid him from my life.
But it didn't work.
Now, I need you to help.
Please…. Help….
————————
You managed to convince your ex to let you sleep on the couch that night, knowing that was Jack’s designated spot. He was always so quiet moving around… you hoped he could meet with you undetected.
Without fail, he showed up as silent as ever.
A hand fell on your shoulder, causing you to jump. Turning to find the now comforting sight of Jack’s mask, you let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding.
Jumping up, you tackled him in an embrace, a quiet sob wetting his hoodie.
“He…He’s back… My ex is back… He’s just going to hurt me again if I can’t get him to leave—“ You hated dragging him into this. But who else could you turn to right now? The police couldn’t arrest him for violating a restraining order you hadn’t filed yet. Your friends were just as useless as you were in convincing him to leave. Something about Jack… made you think maybe… just maybe … he could save you. The man with multiple bullet holes in his chest, yet lived. The way he tried so hard to learn household chores for you. How he held you in his arms, murmuring a ‘course’ with such a gravely, unused voice—
Something made you think he could save you.... And you were right—
But at a cost.
He nodded a bit, helping your trembling form back down to the couch. Pulling a blanket over your form, he told you with great strain to ‘sleep’.
You didn’t know what he was planning, but it was nice to put the burden on someone else’s shoulders for once.
Closing your eyes, you let your heart-rate settle, the bubbling panic from the day exhausting you. Something warm pressed against your forehead and you smiled, knowing he kissed you in his concern.
But that meant he moved his mask—
Your eyes shot open, hoping to see a bit of his face. But he was already turned away, repositioning it back in its rightful place. With that, you shut your eyes, and with Jack’s promise as a comforting lullaby, you fell asleep.
—Only to be woken by screams.
You bolted upright, the sound coming from your bedroom. Fearing for Jack’s safety, you sprinted into the room, a gory masterpiece meeting your eyes.
Blood soaked into the carpet, spewing profusely from…. from [ex name]—
Here you were, worried for Jack—
When you should’ve worried about anyone but him.... For yourself.
Before you was a monster with teeth like daggers and gaping holes for eyes. Similar to his mask, your eyes met with seemingly endless holes, black liquid dripping down his cheeks. Jack. Your Jack… was in the midst of eating what looked to be [ex name]’s intestines.
The sheer amount of mutilation on your ex’s body left his wide eyes lifeless.
Backing away from the beast before you, your hands covered your mouth in both shock and attempts to stop bile from crawling up your throat.
“Oh….. no…. I.. I kn…ew… I.. sh...ould…ha..ve… drugged… him… He… screa….ms… too…. Loud.”
His words were just as strained as they usually were, but the painful slowness of them made the situation all too surreal.
“J-jack…. Jack WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT ARE YOU ?!”
He cocked his head, something you would’ve thought was cute before this incident.
Now it was just horrifying.
“I… pro…tect…ed… you….. like… you… want…ed—“
“I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO KILL HIM! JACK!” But you didn’t know what your request for protection originally entailed. You didn’t know what you wanted him to do, but surely, it wasn’t…. Wasn’t this. “ Shit! Shitshitshitshit—“ Your form slid down the wall as you shook in both disgust and terror. He….. You…
You were too naïve to think you’d get a happy ending.
Instead of an abusive relationship, you were now stuck in one with a monster.
He was not human, that was clear. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have survived those bullet wounds, at least not without a hospital. He got sick when he tried eating anything other than people, and he never took his mask off.
And the news…. the ‘madman’ on the news….
How many of his victims were killed and NOT on the news….?! How many hoodies did I wash not only dirt and mud... but dried blood off of....!?
You would’ve backed away more, but the wall kept you immobile. Frozen in fear, all you could do was avoid the sight of the scene before you.
“Hey…. [y/….n]….”
You couldn’t stand listening to his voice. After constantly desiring it, you wanted it to go away.
“Did… you… know…. peop...le…. ha…ve…. sil…ver… in…. their… bo…dies…” You listened to him shuffle closer… and closer… But your limbs wouldn’t work. Fight or flight forgotten, you sat in paralyzed fear. “And… if… you… get… too… much… sil…ver….” His grey hands were painted with red. They found their way to your cheeks, pulling your face up for you to see the monster before you. “Your… skin… turns…. grey….”
A whimper fell from your lips as you shook your head, “IS THIS SOME TWISTED JOKE?! PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD?!” You pulled your face away from his bloodied hands, burying your head in your arms as hot tears cascaded down your cheeks.
“Not…. Food…” Your eyes widened. “You’re… not… food… you’re…. Diff…er…ent….”
‘Different’….?
“You… took care… of me… I… need… to… pro….tect…. you… don’t… I….?” His head was cocked again as your gaze hesitantly met his. There was a soft expression hidden behind the blood splattered across his face. Taking one last look at your mangled ex, you choked out hysteric tears. For your mistake, for your naïve trust, for knowing that this killer who’s heart you’d stolen was now your new burden to carry—you cried.
Jack wiped your tears, leaving streaks of blood to replace them. A bloody kiss pecked your cheek. Sharp teeth twisted in a smile, a soft contrast to the flecks of viscera coating his chin.
The shock of the night started to tug you into unconsciousness. Arms caught your slumping form, pulling you into an embrace.
You traded one monster with another, an entirely different type of horror.