Eyes of the Divine (Yandere!Eyeless Jack X GN!Reader)

Words To Live By

The wooden shack was something that you had never noticed before. Although you had spent quite a bit of your time exploring the woods, you had somehow never wandered to the edge where the shack stood, a lone piece of human presence amongst the overwhelming sea of nature.

The door only took a little push to swing open, revealing the shadowy, musty interior. It only contained a bed, a box, a fireplace, and a cupboard that was tucked away in a corner. One of the cupboard doors was ajar, almost as if it were inviting you to look inside.

You couldn't help but hesitate when you pressed your fingers against the smooth, polished wood. No-Face didn't really tell you anything about the cabin—was someone living in it? Is it full of traps? Is the entire thing a trap that you willingly walked into? Despite No-Face's seemingly innocent intentions, you couldn't bring yourself to trust him completely.

Not giving yourself time to panic or back out, you opened both the top and bottom cupboards, scanning each and every item with a light muttering of, 'What the fuck?'

The bottom half of the cupboard was full of clothes: your clothes. A hoodie, a jumper, and a pair of shoes that you were sure you put in a charity bag. The top half contained a stack of crumpled paper, a broken mug, a sock with a hole in, and a photo. The picture itself was covered by a folded note, and you could make out your handwriting on its inside.

Naturally, it piqued your curiosity, and you took it, scouring its contents as your blood charged to your face and ears, heating them up uncomfortably quickly. You only made it about three-quarters of the way through the letter before swiftly folding it back up. You had never ever written something so heartfelt before, and seeing your exact feelings compiled in a letter to the exact person you had feelings for seemed to bring forth a torrent of memories that you weren't even aware existed.

The force with which the memories returned made you stumble a bit, and you slumped down on the ground, your back pressing against the ruinous frame of the bed for support.

Casserole. Warmth. Breathing against your neck. An arm over your sleeping form. They were so vivid that you could practically feel the weight of someone's head on your shoulder. All the memories were benevolent, and if you could have touched them, they probably would have felt like marshmallows—delightfully squishy. Not one memory stood out to you, but that doesn't mean you didn't take interest in each and every one of them, because you did. If you could have played them out on a screen, you would have done. You would have sat there for hours until they started to loop, and you were drunk on nostalgia.

Then came the guilt.

Knees pulled up to your chest, you hugged them tightly as your mind asked a dozen questions you weren't sure if you would ever get the answer to. How much did it hurt Jack to realise that, after everything, your memories of him had been taken away by a malicious force? How did he manage to keep a smile on his face every time you were in his presence?

The tears were impossible to stop. It was like living in a romantic tragedy: whenever the two of you finally get close to being happy, something saunters in and ruins everything, sending you both right back to square one. How unfair was that?

You got to your feet, trembling, hands desperately grasping for the stack of crinkled paper like you needed them to survive. Shuffling through them, another broken cry echoed around the cabin as you read some of the things that you had said to Jack before you sacrificed a part of yourself.

'I don't mind just staying here with you.'

'You'll be fine.'

'You're so warm.'