End. (Jason)

End. (Jason)

Nothing. You felt nothing. Nothing to keep you here. Nothing to tie you. It was all just... nothing.

You parked your car and looked at the illuminated sign. Camp Crystal Lake. Whatever.

You sighed and shoved your body out of the car. Door shut.

How many times are you going to sigh? Idiot.

Slump your stupid body against the edge of the dock. And you wait.

And you wait.

You feel footsteps, behind you. Finally.

You wait for the slash of the blade. It does not come.

You can’t even get this peace.

A loud, heavy thump beside you.

It is him. He is here. Why won’t he kill you already?

He sags beside you. Why won’t he kill you already?

You wait. The blow never comes.

A heavy hand. It places itself on your shoulder.

He smells awful. He slides you close.

He smells worse.

He says nothing.

You begin to shake. Your eyes fill with tears.

He knows why you are here. You wished for your end.

He won’t give you that.

He refuses.

But he lets you lean into him.

Your tears soak his filthy coat.

Your sobs tear through the silence.

He does not know.

But he does.

You are safe here.

You are home.

Continue. (Jason)

He lifted you up, from the dock. Took you off guard and you clung to him, embarrassingly, but, whatever.

He still smelled revolting. It didn’t really bother you, somehow.

He gripped you to his person, making your face accidentally smush into his neck. He still smelled. Why didn’t it bother you?

He began to move, and your nails dug into him. He didn’t seem to notice or care.

You looked over at where he was taking you... a small cottage.

His cottage.

You didn’t get a moment to react before he brought you inside and put you on a ratty couch.

He motioned for you to stay put as he reached over and grabbed a dirty blanket, draping it over you.

You could still see his good eye, watching you.

He almost looked... sad.

You reached up and put your hand on his arm, and noticed how he tensed.

You asked him to lie with you... and he froze for a moment.

Just a moment. Why was he waiting so long..?

Jason shook it off and picked you up again, over his shoulder and then into his lap, sitting onto the couch with you on his lap.

He seemed... nervous.

He still smelled disgusting.

You could feel the beat of his undead heart.

You rested your head right above his heart, and gripped his coat, nodding off.

He noticed.

He didn’t sleep, he didn’t need to, nor did he want to.

Instead he watched you. He watched you breathe him, even though he smelled horrid.

He wanted you.. near him. And he would make sure you would be.

How wonderful it is, to find someone like this...

writing a thomas hewitt/reader about self harm scars. or attempting to

Daily billy lenz! tried to draw him like most people do but I kept the green sweater as my own personal touch. little shadow billy.

wonder what he’s thinking about :^)

for the next few days imma be watching all the scream movies just so i have a broader range of slasher/reader character pairings for asks or blurbs

Panic

You’ve been lost for hours. Literal hours. Your clothes are muddy, your shoes are absolutely soaked through. Where the fuck. Are you.

Your shoe caught on a stupid root and you fell face-first into the muck. Absolutely great. You go to pick yourself up, and...

A boot. A boot belonging to a leg. The leg belonging to... the guy in a hockey mask.

Jason. Jason Voorhees was staring down at you, iconic machete in hand. And you were at his foot.

You were overcome with numb panic for a minute... before the tears set in.

“I’M SO SORRY! I’M S-ssorry!” you wailed out, scrambling to curl up into a ball.

“T-they... they dumped me here- I didn’t even want to COME to their STUPID p-p-ppparty! I-I...” you managed to sob that out before grasping your own head, howling out your apologies and waiting for the inevitable.

But the sharp, sudden stab of his blade never came. You sniffled and look up. He was just looking down at you. You could see one of his eyes.

You tried to babble out another apology before he suddenly dropped to one of his knees, with a loud thump. And he offered a hand to you.

You... had to stare at him for a moment before scooting up into a kneeling position. With extreme softness he used the offered hand to pull a rather clean looking handkerchief out of his pocket and gently patted your cheeks with it.

 You were absolutely confused. Here you were, faced with an absolute behemoth of a man, the killer of Crystal Lake, and he was dabbing your tears away...?

Jason put the cloth in his pocket and offered you his hand once more. You have no idea why, but... you took it. And he stood you up, sniffling and all, and rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

He, with as much gentleness as he could, gestured for you to come with him. You.. don’t know why, but.. you did. He was being sweet to you. 

Jason led you to his little cottage in the woods and put you on a dirty, but soft loveseat, motioning for you to stay put.

He went off behind a small corner, likely something like a closet with no door, and came back with a ratty blanket, wrapping it around you.

You swallowed. He’s a killer... why is he being nice to you?

“T-...thanks...” you managed to mumble out, looking up at him with nervous eyes.

He reached forward with a gloved hand and, even though you both flinched, rubbed your cheek.

You don’t know why. But. You feel safe.

You bunch up in the blanket even further, and look at him once more.

Jason gets up and puts another log on the fire, letting his shoulders rest.. before settling on the seat next to you. He’s... warm. He smells really weird, but he’s warm.

This could be the start of something wonderful.