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

Two Birds, No Stone. Please Don't Kill My Birds

'I don't think I can do this,' EJ announced, his grip on the cushion tightening.

You looked across at him, eyebrow raised ever so slightly. 'Yes you can,' you stated, 'you're gonna be fine.'

'I'm not.'

'Yes you are.'

'No I'm not.'

'Yes you are. I'm too tired to argue with you, dude.'

After Socks had left on Monday afternoon, you had spent the rest of the evening and all of Tuesday morning in a rush preparing your house for guests. You didn't have enough food for a cooked meal for two, so you'd suggested takeout. Greg had agreed quite happily, and said he would pick up a Chinese on his way there to save you from going out to get it and making yourself even more tired.

Your tiredness wasn't anything unusual. It was probably a side effect from your little excursion on Sunday night, as well as being tense every time you went outside. What was unusual, however, was EJ.

When you had opened the door to let him in that morning, the first thing he did was step inside and practically leap into your unsuspecting arms, head nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The door was slammed shut before his arms were thrown around you in a bone-crushing hug.

You put a hand against the wall to steady yourself, your other hand automatically resting on his back. He was breathing heavily, every few breaths shaking as he exhaled into your skin.

'Hey, EJ, what's up? You aren't usually this huggy,' you wheezed, straightening your legs and removing your hand from the wall.

His grip on you tightened. He mumbled something that sounded like, 'Got scared...thought you were gone.'

'Gone? Gone as in how?'

'Dead. Gone.'

Oh.

You didn't question why he thought you had died, but moved your free hand and patted him on the head in what you thought was a comforting way.

When he felt your fingers in his hair, he nearly short-circuited, and a barely audible whimper filled his throat. He was clutching the fabric of your hoodie as though it would disappear at any second and turn into dust in his arms. He focused on your breathing and on the beating of your heart in your chest, trying to calm down the racing thoughts that used his mind as a circuit—never stopping or slowing down.

He had never felt so terrified at the prospect of losing someone. Usually, fearing for a friend's safety wasn't of the utmost important in his line of work—if you could even call it 'work'— as everyone he knew could defend themself against anything a human could attempt to attack them with. But you weren't a henchman of Slenderman; you could get killed so easily by something as simple as a single stab or gunshot wound.

He had had visions of you, dead in a million ways. A spear through the head, strung up on the ceiling, disembowelled in bed...those were the first three visions his brain had thought of in an attempt to torture him. (In fact, when he saw your face after you had opened the door, all the thoughts of your death flashed through his mind again and didn't stop until you were securely in his arms. But that's the safest place for you, isn't it? Near him, where he can see and touch you to make sure you're alright. Heh...perhaps he should take the keys for your place and lock you up so you can never get into any harm...ah, God, what's he thinking? He can't do that, no matter how much he would love it. That's just too mean.)

'It's okay,' he heard you whisper, 'it's okay. I'm okay. Look at me. EJ, look at me.'

He slowly lifted his head, letting go of you and stepping back. However, he stopped in his track when he felt your hands cup his face. Your eyes held a sorrowful look that made his stomach twist.