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icarusdoesntdie · 9 months

Text

Non-binary!Reader/JTK

But it didn't feel like you deserved this. Nothing of what you did warranted this. But there, still, in an unfamiliar room, illuminated by what little light creeped in from the hallway, a murderer crouched over the body of your fellow alumni. Your bully. You'd never kill someone. Not unless they were going to kill you, you thought. Not unless it was deserved, not unless their body would disappear afterwards and not leave a single trace. As much as you might want to hurt someone, you never wanted to leave scars. Flesh, once dead, would not seal itself up and rise again to tell a story. It could not pull hair and raise its fist. It could not pull you aside and confess it's love (and yet never confess it's sins). It was dead. And it was dead. And the killer turned his eyes to you.

Explicitly Nonbinary Reader, Amab/Top Reader, Smut [clothed/dry humping], Violence and Lots of Conflicting Emotions Over Said Violence.

Not for the first time, your eyes met. But it'd been for a second, before, when he seemed to almost manifest behind your bully while the latter talked (something about im sorry, but i wanted to fuck you and that explains why i treated you like the problem, can i still hit?) In a swift, practiced motion, the intruder covered his mouth with one hand and slit the bully's throat with a short, jagged blade. Your bully wasn't a small guy, but the intruder held him tight and quiet until his head lolled back and he fell to the floor. The scene played like a movie, like something that was happening far away.

"Sorry for interrupting," the intruder spoke, his hands in the air. His voice was gruff, like he wasn't used to speaking. It made him seem older, but what remained of his features told you he could've been your age. The way he was dressed as well- a dark jacket over a stained gray hoodie, baggy black jeans and ratty sneakers. The whole look seemed oversized, which made him seem smaller. It was a crazy thought. The knife had been small, too, but that meant nothing.

You finally had the sense to take a step back.

"Really touching shit," he spoke, kicking aside the body. "So cute."

His arms were down, but you felt no less threatened. His hands could be tied behind his back and pants around his ankles and you would still feel like an animal caught in a bear trap. His mouth was slit open, the flesh scarred over and over. Burn scars creeped up his neck, though you couldn't tell where they ended under his hoodie. His skin was palid, lighter in comparison to pitch black hair. It was almost white.

"It wasn't," you finally said. That made him pause, and then laugh.

"Yeah, you looked horrified even before I came out," the killer shrugged. "Must be nasty to have another dude confess, huh?"

You blinked- it took you out of the moment. Part of you wanted to defend, to say it wasn't, that it was the person specifically and not the nature of the situation. It was truly a moment of insanity to consider arguing against the casual homophobia, instead of running away.

"I'm not a dude," you said. At least it was worth it to defend yourself.

"Huh? Whatever," the killer said. "You're dead anyways."

He takes a step forward. Your back hits the door. You grab the door handle; You lock it.

The killer blinks as it clicks.

He'd snuck up on your bully from behind, and instinct told you the moment he turned your back, he'd kill you. Now, in his uncertainty, you found inspiration to strike first. You lunged, hitting him like a linebacker. It was jarring how sturdy he was, and he held his ground, merely stumbling back with a noise of surprise. So you ducked, grabbing him by the legs. You felt the sudden, sharp pain of a knife bite into your shoulder, but the adrenaline was rushing, and you pushed through. He toppled over with a grunt, ripping the blade out of your arm as he went. You groaned through gritted teeth, but moved faster than thought. You were above him, and he reared his arm back to strike again. You meant to catch his hand, but instead the blade pierced it. You screamed then, but still, you pinned it down. You gathered his other one and brought them together above his head, leaning forward to put your weight on them. His wrists were bony. Where does that strength come from? There, inches from his face, a name suddenly came to you.

“You're Jeff,” you said. “Jeffrey Woods.”

And he still looked entirely unimpressed.

It was hard to gauge his expression, but you were pretty sure it was unimpressed.

“Surprised you knew that,” He said, tilting his head. “You a stalker or something?”

“No, shut up,” You said. The knowledge was just a remnant of your morbid curiosity. It had been a pretty clear case; a boy bullied and tortured, severely harmed and snapping. There was very little about him, before no hints to his psychology or suggestions of mental illness. He was bullied. Teachers said he was quiet and anxious, but angry. But To kill again, ritualistically, as rumours said Jeff did had to have signaled to deeply rooted issues. He couldn't have just been a regular guy who snapped. You had been quiet, anxious, and angry. So what was the difference?

It had been years. You didn’t keep track of that stuff anymore, though some of your girl-friends did. You bet they’d freak (and wasn't that a misguided thought?) If they heard you had Jeffery Woods like this.

Not even a minute had passed. Your heart was still pounding, and your body had just started registering the pain. And though he was underneath you, he was the one who had you trapped. What moves could you make? Was he not impossibly strong? Your thoughts raced. There was a body next to you both, and the smell of blood was overturning your stomach. Panic threatened your hold on the situation, though part of you knew that was a desperate illusion. You tried to focus, so you focussed on Jeff. He smelled like shit. Like blood and rain. The wetness of his clothes soaked into yours, chilling you further. Oh, you thought, he must've come in to shelter from the storm outside.

You would never kill someone.

But your heart was racing, your blood rushing. There was pain, and there was Jeff, who adjusted underneath you and paused. His permanent grin twitched as his eyes traveled down your body, between you two, where you straddled his hips. Two bodies meet.

He whistled, and your face warmed dangerously.

“Seriously?” he laughed, disbelieving. Flabbergasted.

It was the adrenaline. The rush. It wasn’t what he was thinking. It wasn’t a fucked up fantasy about winning and defeating and devouring. And yet you both could see it, and you were sure you both could feel it. It was mortifying. A reality check. Your arousal pressed against Jeff, the killer, as you pinned him down.

And he ground up.

You yelped, stupidly taking your hands off him and sitting back. The knife slid out of your hand, sending new shocks of pain up your arm. He sat up, his hood falling down, revealing much longer hair than you thought. It curled over his shoulders, dirty and wet. He grinned -more, he grinned more, the muscles of his face pulling the scars up.

You would never kill someone, but in the face of a killer, in the same room as the body, you would get aroused. And that was probably worse. Definitely worse. Definitely had some wires crossed. You thought it'd be better if he killed you then and there, but he didn’t.

“I'm flattered,” he said, pressing a bloody hand against his chest.

“Shut up!” you said, trying to fall back and away, but he caught your shirt. You clutched your hand to your chest. You were dizzy, blood in all the wrong places.

“Are we embarrassed now? Aw,” he chuckled, sitting up. His free hand brought the knife to your neck, and you flinched at the cold bite. “You’re a little fucked up, huh? That’s cute.”

He pulled you in closer. There was gore on his breath, which came in faster pants.

“It’s been a while since i've been put on my back,” he said, looking you up and down.

If there was no going back, you thought, then you’d move forward. You decided you could bury this tomorrow- if Jeff didn’t do you in first.

You slapped the knife away and surged forward, pushing him back by the shoulders. Gritting your teeth, you used your uninjured hand to grab the back of his thigh and push his leg up and to the side, so you could slot yourself between them. You fell back over him, pressing your hard-on against him. And on top of every bad decision you've made (and will make), you kissed him.

That, he did not expect. He made a little noise, and it made you feel feverish. I'm crazy. I'm going crazy. I've been crazy. His lips were somehow chapped and wet at the same time, and when you licked his mouth, you immediately tasted blood. There was a chance you’d never get the taste out. You seperated, just for a breath, before diving back in. One of his hands gripped onto your hair, tugging at the base. You moaned in pain, mostly pain, not entirely, and felt him smile against your mouth. So you bit down on his lower lip in retaliation.

“Mmpf-!”

Christ, you thought. Oh my god.

You sucked on it, and he bucked up. You licked a wet stripe over his lips before parting again. Underneath you, Jeff looked… crazy. As he was, not that you were any better. Frenzied, chest heaving. His face was red, and you thought color suited him more than dead-white. He leaned up on his elbows, and if he was going to say something, you interrupted him by grinding into him. Holding one leg and pressing down on the other. The way the injured hand stung felt like nothing, like a garnish, when you thrust forward. Jeff hadn’t been hard before, but he was definitely hard now. The temptation to pull his pants down was there, to be just layer closer, but the fever was all consuming. So you continued to dry hump him, hips frantic. To continue. To finish. In your cloudy thoughts, either option sounded great.

And then he started making noises- “yeah, ah, ah, ah.”

You shifted, spreading his legs further and leaning down again. Your hands found his hips and encouraged them to angle up. His own hands scrambled, dragging and clawing at the floor like he didn’t know where to put them. The knife was gone, probably just dropped and still close by. You mounted him like you were stupid teenagers who weren't afraid of being caught, with no reason or goal other than getting off as fast as you can.

Pleasure built up, but still wasn’t enough. Though the sounds, the knowledge of who you were pinning, was encouraging. Enlightening. You slowed down to grind hard, watching Jeff shut his eyes and bite his lip. It was filthy, this taboo. He tensed under your hands, letting go of his own bloody lip to moan silently. His leg kicked and his eyes shot open, and before you knew it, you realized he was cumming. With something between a moan and a wheeze, Jeff went rigid- before falling back, head falling to the side.

Shocked, you stopped.

“Did you,” you swallowed, “did you cum?” That fast- was left unspoken.

Jeff took in ragged breaths as he side eyed you. It wasn't a nasty look. When he dragged his eyes away, it was almost shy.

"It's been a while," he said, and then mockingly; "Not a lot of freaks like you to go around."

You considered biting him. But, more pressingly, you weren't dead, and therefore had consequences to think about. The whole reason you were up there in a stranger's room was because there was a party going on downstairs, and your bully wanted to speak in private. It was a miracle no one had checked, though maybe they hadn't heard the scuffle over the thrumming music. Worst, they probably assumed you two were… hooking up. It would never occur to them that he was dead, and you still got your rocks off with the killer.

You hadn't come, actually. Which was good. Id never recover, you thought. The line you wouldnt cross kept getting pushed back until you were there, with not cumming on Jeffrey Woods as the final straw. Anything to make you feel better.

As turned on as you were, you were dizzy. Blood loss and shock set in, and your vision blurred. Jeff sat up, and unceremoniously shoved you off. It was easy to just fall back. You watched as he stood up and found his knife. When he crouched down in front of you, he was smiling with teeth. Like an animal. This was a murderer.

"Freaks like us are a rare breed," he said, and that us hit you hard. You didn't want to think you were equal to this killer. "So I'll do you a favor. Or maybe living is worse, huh?"

"You're-" you struggled. "You're a monster."

He feigned hurt and pouted.

"And here I thought you liked me," Jeff cackled.

The world threatened to tilt. He stood up and pressed the heel of his shoe on your shoulder, kicking you onto your back.

"Yeah," he said, and it sounded like he was talking to himself. "Just go to sleep for me, babe."

You really, really wanted to. It was cold, and your body was heavy. You wondered how long it'd take before someone checked on you two. Vaguely, you heard the sound of water running. You were asleep for a minute, or maybe an hour, when you were barely roused by the feeling of Jeff's hands on you. He pulled your phone from your pocket, and whatever he did next, that was for the next unfortunate soul who came across the scene to find out, because you were out like a light.

#jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta x reader #there IS a continuation #and an ao3 where it will eventually be posted #my work

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