Jeff the Killer Headcanons
Unfortunately, I can't format this the same way I did in Canva, where I have pictures and text, so I guess just use your imagination. Go to Pinterest; that's what I did.
WC: 2.8k
Warnings: Language, smoking, drinking, jail, scars + burns, disrespectful!Jeff, shameless!Jeff, gore, mentions of Mayhem, reckless driving, mentions of shotgunning.
...yeah, have fun.
Masterlist
There are some hot takes in here. Get ready.
Yeah, yeah. Jeff is a metalhead. Grew up an emo boy and blossomed into a moshing maniac. But what does he really listen to?Well, Slipknot. Duh. I mean, have you seen him? He likes Megadeth, maybe a little Anthrax, but he’s not much of a Slayer or Metallica guy. He respects Ozzy, but the music just isn’t for him. He’ll laugh if you put Motley Crue on. On a rare occasion, you might catch some Mayhem or Type O Negative. Rammstein is a frequent flier in his headphones.
Maybe this is too niche, but I think he’d absolutely love Shockwire.
Sometimes, he’ll go back to his roots. Falling in Reverse, Linkin Park, maybe even a little My Chemical Romance. He’d never admit it, but The Sharpest Lives will always have a special place in his heart.
“You ever heard of Linkin Park?” He asked, popping a bud out of ear and turning to Jane.
“No. Is that where the Lincoln Monument is?”
Jeff laughed, then shook his head. “Figures. Of course you’d think that’s what Linkin Park is. You’re so cute.”
~~~~~~~~
Raise your hand if you’re surprised that Jeff loves horror movies? You? How?
He’s not big into paranormal or psychological movies. But slashers? He’s seen them all. He thinks Ghostface is pretty stupid (and, let’s face it, overdone), but Chucky? He loves that freak. He’s funny, he’s crazy, plus his wife’s pretty hot. The only bad part about Child’s Play to him is the fact that someday, Brad Dourif will die, and the series won’t be right without him.
His all-time favorites are whatever Rob Zombie gets up to. They’re filthy, they’re bloody, and Sherri. God, he loves Sherri. Especially in the Firefly trilogy. Her laugh drives him up the wall, but everything else is just perfect.
“Isn’t she great?” Jeff asked, resting his chin on his fist. “Total babe.”
“What about the movie?”
“What about it? Sherri’s here. I don’t care about whatever they’re getting up to anymore.”
~~~~~~~~
Part of Jeff’s natural stink comes from the fact that he’s always got a carton of Marlboro Reds in his pocket. He’s not a chain smoker, but he still knocks out a couple every day-- more than he knows he should.
His favorite thing about smoking is shotgunning. It’s intimate, but still so hot to him. Just the idea of controlling how much he gets to share is enough to get him a little worked up. Unfortunately, shotgunning is a little hard, considering the gashes in his cheeks, but as long as they’re covered up by someone else’s hands, it’s his favorite part of a not-so-casual encounter.
“I don’t get how you like those things,” Jane grumbled, snatching the stick from between Jeff’s lips and stamping it out on the porch. “And you wonder why we’re always complaining about how you smell.”
He blew the residual smoke out in her face, smiling. Not like he had a choice. “The more I smoke, the less time I have to spend around you.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff was a boy scout. There’s simply no other option. He’s a total outdoorsman. He’s the guy at the bonfire with the big stick. But aside from the firepit, he can pitch tents, identify tracks, and navigate like it’s second nature.
His favorite thing about being outdoors? Trees. They supply the bonfire sticks, but they’re also fun to climb. He’s had his fair share of encouters where a seemingly-sturdy branch has given out under his weight, but that doesn’t stop him. Nothing will get between an insomniac in the woods and seeing the sunrise from twenty feet off the ground.
“How far up do you think I could get?” Jeff asked, pointing to a large spruce tree. “I reckon... all the way to the top.”
“I give you ten before you fall and break your ass,” Ben challeneged.
A boyish smirk crossed Jeff’s face. He was never one to back down from a challenge, especially not from the screenager.
“Oh, yeah? Check this out, then.”
~~~~~~~~
OOOH the side eye this man gives. Anytime, anywhere, he’s casting the most bombastic looks your way. If you pull a prank and you get that look? You’re cooked. Publicly roast his ass? Consider yourself spit-roasted.
He almost never acts right away. That side-eye is your warning. He’ll wait and let you stew on what he could do in return. He’ll strike when you least expect it, even if you’ve gotten all worked up about what he’s capable of. When you’re brushing your hair. When you’re eating. When you’re simply sitting on the couch, watching TV. He’ll get you. This side-glance is only the beginning, but it’s nasty.
“Really? Really?” He scoffed, his permanent smile twisting into a sadistic smirk. “I’ll get you for that one; just you wait.”
“Wha-- oh, come on, man; I didn’t--”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head in an almost demeaning manner. “No, you made your bed. Now lie in it.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff LOVES his alternative jewelry. Ear piercings galore, a lip ring, vertical piercing on the outer edge of an eyebrow; my man is bejeweled. Airport security is a total pain in the ass-- and jail, too. But he’s almost always got a ring or three on, just to be fancy.
And I know he’s got a whole collection of studded belts, from diamonds to rings. He’s the sort of guy to stand over his drawer and stroke his chin going, “Hmm, what to wear...” And he always makes the right choice.
“Aw, shit. Hey! Hey, can you help me?” He called.
When you glanced over, you noticed a man in a dire situation. One of his rings-- the one with the sterling antlers-- had gotten caught in his helix ring. If he hadn’t looked like he’d kill you if you coughed next to him, you would’ve laughed.
“Anytime now, would be great!”
“Let me take a picture first.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff and his tattoos... they’re something. There’s almost nothing with real meaning, other than “I thought it looked cool.” Tattooing over his skin is a challenge, considering all the scars and the burns. That’s part of the reason why he takes such good care of them, even after they’ve healed. His skin is bad enough; he doesn’t need his ink to look like shit, either.
They’re not always visible. Sometimes, the one on his neck peeks out from behind his hair. If he reaches for something up high, the intentionally illegible script on his ribs makes an appearance. His personal favorite are the ones on his collar bones. Barbed wire, twisting like vines until they taper off by his sternum.
“See something you like?” He taunted, reaching his arms over his head to prolong the exposure. “You’re sure giving my ribs an awful lot of attention for someone who claims to find me absolutely hideous, as you said.”
~~~~~~~~
Having a conversation with Jeff is damn near impossible, especially when he’s feeling playful. To him, flirting and messing around are the same thing, so he’ll end up flirting with little regard for the recipient.
His body language is the big tell. It’s closed off to the rest of the people around, but it’s locked in on his target. The remnants of his lips try to tug into a smirk, cracking at his scabbed-over scars. His eyes are always one of two ways, because he doesn’t blink: they’re either attentive and intrigued, or blank. That’s the only way to tell if he’s flirting. If he really wanted your attention, you could tell. Otherwise, they’re as cold and blank as ever.
“Is that so?” He hummed, folding his arms and leaning against the back of his chair. “Never would’ve taken you for someone like that.”
He tilted his head when you didn’t immediately respond. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. “Oh, is somebody flustered? What did I do?”
“You looked at me,” you muttered.
“Well, isn’t that pathetic.”
~~~~~~~~
Let’s talk about post-shower Jeff. He’s not that unhygienic. He stinks naturally, like everybody else, just a little more. Sure, there’s cologne, and it does smell nice, but Jeff after a shower is something different. There’s something so docile about that usually feral man, and it can’t be ignored.
He ties his hair back so it doesn’t stick to his neck. He hates that feeling more than he can describe. Yeah, it shows the full extent of the damage he did to his face, but it also shows off his jaw. He knows he has a nice jawline. He’s got nice features in general, aside from... well, the damage. For just a while, he doesn’t stink, he’s not as uncontrolled. He’s just Jeff. An older, more put together Jeff.
“I just think that maybe it’s a bad idea, leaving Sally alone for that long,” he opined, brushing the stray bangs behind his ears. When they didn’t stay, he huffed, reaching for his hair tie. “What do you think, kid? You want to be alone for six hours?”
"No."
"Case closed."
~~~~~~~~
Maybe it’s the instinctive urge to protect the innocent after what happened to Liu. Actually, it probably wasn’t that. More than likely, it was the fact that Jeff saw himself in the kids that didn’t know how to fit in. How to be loved. But with some select kids, Jeff is the softest person on the planet.
Usually, he’ll just spend time with Sally. He’s not big into playing pretend, but if he gets an invitation to a royal tea party, he’ll make an appearance. If she falls asleep on the couch and magically wakes up in her bed, it’s almost always Jeff that got her tucked in. You couldn’t waterboard it out of him, but he really does love Sally.
“Take your pick,” Jeff said, settling his hands around Sally’s ankles as they dangled off his shoulders. “They’ve got Captain Crunch, Apple Jacks, Honeycombs--”
“I want Lucky Charms.”
“Then get Lucky Charms. If that big octopus says no, we’ll just tell him they’re for me. He doesn’t need to know. Our little secret.”
Sally grinned, gripping the box like it was her most prized possession. “Thanks, Jeff.”
“Anytime, kid.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff absolutely knows Jane is a lesbian. He doesn’t have any interest in her whatsoever. But he’s an annoying jackass, so he still flirts with her. It’s purely for his own amusement, and the reactions he gets certainly amuse him.
Jane, however, doesn’t like.it. She’s definitely torn him a new one several times from his flirting alone. She doesn’t care about the audience, and neither does he. Even if he’s not flirting, he’ll do little things to piss her off-- snatch things from her hands, open cabinets in her face, change the channel she was so clearly watching. If it ruins Jane’s mood, he’s down. Anytime, anywhere.
“Aww, you wanna kiss me so bad,” Jeff taunted, patting the top of Jane’s head in an obviously demeaning manner. “Too bad you like women. I’m a total catch.”
“I do not want to kiss you! Not with that jacked-up mouth! And I’d rather get dinner with Ben, because he’s at least funny!”
~~~~~~~~
The thing that irks him the most is that people assume he’s dumb, just because he ditched his education to pursue his passions. But he’s not. Jeff was a smart kid. He’s a total history buff. Ask him anything about the Civil War, and he’ll give you every single battle in chronological order.
As for math, that’s a little harder. He made it through geometry, and he can do basic algebra, but he might explode if you showed him a unit circle.
“So, what-- why are there two different formulas for the one thing? And why are they called ‘quadratics’ if there’s only three figures?” He asked in a huff, brushing his hair out of his face for probably the fifth time.
“Because--”
“Actually, I don’t care.” He announced, rising to his feet. Get EJ to help you. I’m useless here. Come back when we’re doing American history.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff knows how to drive. Sort of. He knows how to operate a vehicle, but not safely. Or legally. He never got his license, but that doesn’t stop him.
Being in the car with him is genuinely terrifying. You’re going thirty over the limit, blowing through stop signs, taking turns at a speed that isn’t anywhere close to safe. The radio blares, and he’s just in his own world, jamming out and cutting through lanes. God forbid somebody else be a terrible driver, though. He’ll throw out insults like Clark Griswold and honk for about ten straight seconds. You’re convinced the only reason law enforcement hasn’t pulled him over is because they’re scared of him.
“Come on... You’re totally exhausted! Let me do you a favor, and you can just close your eyes. Please?” He reached for the keys on the table without waiting for permission.
“I’d rather drive tired than let you behind the wheel,” Masky snapped, slamming his hand down over the keys. “Get your ass in the trunk. I can’t have you anywhere near me when I drive.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff gets people flustered with a technique that has never once failed him. If it can be done from behind, he’s doing it from behind. Need something from the top shelf? You’re temporarily trapped between Jeff and the counter. In his way? He’ll move you by your hips, then slink past.
He’s not a hugger, but he loves the affect it has on people when he comes up from behind. Nobody knows how to behave when the freaky-looking murderer is suddenly clasping his hands in front of their abdomen, his chin settled on their scalp. If he feels bold, maybe he’ll tug the recipient right against him. It’s truly his worst trait, and he relishes in it.
He hummed, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. His hands pressed against both iliac crests. “Hi,” he muttered, hot breath brushing your neck.
~~~~~~~~
Jeff doesn’t drink. Ever. If alcohol hadn’t been a part of his accident, he definitely would. But he gets grumbly whenever anyone even has a beer around him. He’ll never admit how nervous liquor makes him.
The only time he got drunk was the first time he had hard lemonade. He didn’t know what the “hard” part of it was. He just thought it was just really good lemonade. Of course, he learned the difference when he woke up feeling like he got hit by a truck, but aside from that one incident, Jeff will remain sober for the rest of his life.
“A bar, huh?” He mused, eyeing the table. “Kind of a lot for a birthday.”
“You’re just jealous that those people know how to have fun,” Hoodie taunted, taking a sip of his own cocktail.
“Yeah, right. Sure. Take a look at my back and tell me that alcohol’s fun.”
“That wasn’t just vodka. That was bleach and fire.”
“Two things that we don’t drink. They’re already unsafe. Alcohol is no different.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff and Ben are too similar. That’s why they hate each other. They hold the same values, but are disgusted by the other. If Ben thinks that girl is pretty? Jeff thinks it’s a serious reflection of Ben’s mommy issues. Jeff makes this joke? Ben thinks it’s lame and that he could have done much better with the concept and Jeff’s never funny.
The biggest point of tension between them is privacy. Ben is always in Jeff’s business. He’ll sit right next to him, read over his shoulder, poke at him. He knows it irritates Jeff, but it’s basically the same thing that he does to Jane.
“Why are you always touching me?” Jeff groaned as Ben slid in right against his shoulder. “You stink! I don’t want to smell you all the damn time!”
“I think that’s just your breath you’re smelling,” Ben replied casually, snatching the phone from Jeff’s hands. “What are we looking at? Tinder?”
“Ben!”
“Ooh! Who’s this!”
“Ben!“
~~~~~~~~
We’ve seen this guy’s outfit. We know he’s filthy. But his mouth? Hide the whole church. He’s got the nastiest fucking mouth ever. He curses enough to put sailors to shame. No word, aside from slurs, are off limits. Suprisingly, that’s where he draws the line. Any swear, any insult. At the end of the day, he’s said them all at least twice.
Language aside, he’s a freak. He’s a flirt, but it goes way beyond that. He loves coming up behind people and whispering the most vulgar things before moving on casually, as if he didn’t just say things you wouldn’t dare repeat to your diary.
You dropped your glass as Jeff’s hot breath glazed over your ear. One hand braced himself against the countertop, the other finding its way to your hip. Your cheeks turned bright red as he briefly tugged the lobe between his teeth, then gave your hip a pat and reached over you.
“You dropped that, by the way,” he announced, shutting the upper cabinet. “Might want to pick that up.”
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