Panic

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.

what da hells horror movie is this

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

BAHAHAHAHAHA

just some jason gifs i’ve made. i’ll make more, i always do

coming at u with the filthy stuff: i want bubba to show me what true love and genuine affection is 😏

oh he will! and you’ll feel it for,,, a while,, 🥴