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Jeff the Killer/Reader Lemon

Angry Jeff/Reader smut. Enjoy

 I threw the fifteenth comic book onto the growing pile. It was all Jeff had in terms of reading material at the moment. I was going through his stash rather quickly, though there was a sizeable amount of comics left, maybe thirty or forty more. He'd been gone all day, leaving me to hang around in his room boredly, cycling between watching tv, reading his comic books, and sleeping. It didn't help that he hadn't even said what he was doing, where he was going, or when he would be back. He'd simply left with his knife in hand.

I'd grown so used to the quiet drone of the tv that I'd left on for background noise that it startled me when the door suddenly flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Jeff slammed it shut behind him, rattling the wooden frame with the force.

His hair was tangled and there was a purple bruise blossoming across his nose. He didn't have blood on him, thank god, but the look in his eyes was nothing short of terrifying. He flung his knife against the wall and it stuck there, embedded in the wood. I slowly put down the comic I'd been reading and slid off the bed to greet him.

"Hey babe... Is everything okay?" I asked, unsure of what he would do. Jeff was a wild card. Would he sleep it off or would he stab the wall? Always a gamble.

"No."

I grabbed the brush behind him and started running it through his hair, gently tugging the knots out. "I'm sorry to hear that," I said in a calm, soothing voice. His shoulders dropped for a single second but he raised them apprehensively when I spoke again. "What happened?"

"Nothing." His tone was icy and even though he was glaring at me, I knew the anger wasn't directed at me in particular.

"Jeff, I know you're lying. What's up?" I questioned, not missing the way he leaned into my hand when I ran it up the back of his head to check for any knots I may have missed.

"Nothing. Just shut up already," he snapped, pushing me away so he could yank his knife out of the wall.

"Really? That's how you're gonna act?" I snarked. He turned to face me, an eyebrow raised. "Stop being childish and just tell me what's wrong so we can work it out."

"I don't need you to help work out my problems," he hissed back. This was probably my warning to shut my trap and not piss him off further but I also wasn't willing to leave the conversation like this.

"You don't? 'Cause I distinctly remember how much more unstable you were before we started talking things out."

"I was perfectly fine."

"No you weren't."

"Why not?"

"Because you're fucking mental!" I blurted out.

He loomed over me threateningly but I met his glare with one of my own. He couldn't shut me out like this. I knew he thought he was showing weakness whenever we talked about his emotions but we'd been doing it consistently for almost a year. Now is when he wants to push me away, to shut me out?

"Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth," he growled out, stabbing his knife into the dresser next to us. It was filled with numerous holes that had been formed in a similar fashion.

"Jeff, seriously, what happened? I thought we were talking about these sorts of things," I pressed, despite the warning. It was a bad decision. Something blurred and the next thing I knew he'd thrown me onto the bed and was pinning me down by my wrists, straddling my hips to keep me down..

"I told you to shut your fucking mouth, now do as I say or I'm going to carve your tongue out."

The threat made it apparent how much deep shit I was in but I'd never stopped fighting before. I didn't say anything but I did struggle in his grip, sitting up part-way to try to help loosen his grip even a little. He made a noise of irritation and tightened his hold on me. If he kept going, it was sure to leave bruises. I kicked at his legs but again he remained unaffected, keeping himself still above me until I got the message to stop questioning him and leave him alone for the rest of the night. In an attempt to knee him in the stomach, my leg slid all the way across his crotch. The way his grip faltered for a fraction of a second was enough to tell me I'd put another idea in his head.