Lovely - Jeff the Killer x Reader (🚧)

Hiding (2024)

(A/N: Reminder that Jeff has eyelids, and eyebrows/lashes)

Jeff and I sat on the couch, facing each other a bit as I pulled out a notebook, preparing a few questions I'd always wished I could ask him. I'd spent so many nights going over time after file, drinking entire pots of coffee to stay up so I could continue going over the mountains of information. I was desperate to find him.

And here he was, practically on a silver platter.

"Fire away, detective." He gestured towards me, leaned casually against the back of the sofa. Seeing him so relaxed was a terrifying difference compared to what I'd seen of him thus far.

"Okay." I cleared my throat, feeling awkward all of the sudden. I should feel pure fear, considering who he was. He hadn't had an ounce of aggression towards me since our initial meeting, and even that only lasted mere minutes.

"First, how do you manage to escape crime scenes so easily? So quickly?" I didn't really need the notebook, these questions had been on my mind for a long time now. I suppose I just needed to sort out my thoughts after everything, considering the amount of random scribbles I'd done under the questions.

Jeff mulled over his response for a moment, glancing off to the side. "Don't lie to me." I added, to which he scoffed, as if the notion of him lying to me was ridiculous.

"First," he mocked me, making me roll my eyes. "- I don't think your brain could comprehend how I travel." He crossed his arms, the tone of voice he used irritating me. He was speaking down to me, which I didn't appreciate.

"You do realize I have a very high level of education." I raised my eyebrow, hating how downright sassy and arrogant he is. More so hating how I was beginning to find it amusing.

"Okay. Fine, I use a ghost to teleport." Jeff shrugged, a groan escaping me as I rubbed my temples. He laughed at ny annoyance, only making it worse.

"I'm not lying, I do." He added. "I'm just not gonna show you." He sounded so smug it made me want to punch him.

"What ever, don't tell me." I gave up, deciding that it wasn't worth listening to his bullshit. He shrugged again, satisfied with himself.

"How do you pick your victims?" I sighed, questioning him suddenly not feeling like it would be as productive as I'd hoped.

"I stalk them." He replied simply. "Most people - including yourself - are extremely bad at watching their surroundings. You'd think you'd be better, considering your job." He trained his eyes on me, unblinking. I held back a shudder, not wanting him to see how he affected me still. I didn't want him to know I fear him, although he probably knew.

After about 20 more minutes of similarly lame answers, I was thoroughly through. Everything he told me sounded like made up stories.

I gave up, feeling exhaustion hit me like a bag of bricks. The emotional and mental toll of the last few days, particularly today - it was enough to send me to sleep for a week.

However, sleeping around a homicidal maniac who felt absolutely zero guilt about his crimes? That didn't feel particularly smart. At all. But the bastard was in my apartment, and I didn't exactly have a lot of friends or family to go stay with. Nor would I really feel comfortable enough to leave him alone in my space.
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