Work Header

Between the Scenes

Chapter Text

Humming a little song to yourself, you crack two homegrown eggs into a mixing bowl and turn on the electric beaters.  You’re not much of a gourmet cook, but you do like to make the effort during Christmas and your birthday to bake yourself a little festive something-or-other.  And since today is your birthday, you’re attempting a batch of chocolate cupcakes with rich, cream-cheese-based frosting.  You don’t have a lot of ties with your family - most of them are dead, and even when they were alive you rarely got together except for funerals - but you did manage to acquire a few recipes from your late grandmother, who was an excellent cook.  This recipe is one of them, and just as you’re pouring the batter into the cupcake tray Jason wanders into the kitchen with yet another sketch to present you with.

You tilt your cheek up towards him and he leans down and lifts up his mask so he can give you a little kiss.  “Hey sweetheart, what’ve you got there?” you ask as you set down the mixing bowl and wipe your hands on your apron.  He holds up a pencil drawing of this years kids - a boy and a girl - head-butting each other.  It’s extremely good, as are all of Jason’s drawings.  He’s captured the feel and the movement of playful baby goats in a way that can only come from hours and hours spent observing them firsthand.  You suddenly think that you should buy him some colored pencils to see if he’d like to expand his artistic repertoire… perhaps as a gift this Christmas.  “That’s so beautiful, Jason!  You’ve really got them down perfectly, it’s incredible.  You’re sooooo talented at drawing!”  He stands up taller and even puffs out his chest a little bit, and you can see him practically bursting with pride.  He looks like a child who’s just brought home a straight-A report card or won a blue ribbon for his artwork in the county fair, and your heart bubbles over with affection for him.  He’s just too damn adorable.

“Let me just put these in the oven and I’ll find a good spot to hang up your drawing.  It’s so cute, I want to put it somewhere I can see it all the time.” you say, and when you pick up the cupcake tray Jason tilts his head curiously and points at it.  You look down at it as well - surely Jason knows what cupcakes are?  You realize he died when he was quite young, but if he’d never eaten a cupcake in that brief time then that would be yet another tragedy in an already tragic life.  “Have you eaten a cupcake before?” you ask, and happily he nods.  He remembers his Mommy giving him a cupcake for one of his birthdays - it was so delicious, and the little rainbow sprinkles on top were his favorite part.  Thank god for small favors, at least, you think to yourself.  So what else could he be confused about right now?  You realize that this is probably the first time he’s seen you bake something like this, so perhaps he wonders why you’re making them.  “Today is my birthday, so I just felt like making something a little special to mark the occasion.” you explain, and Jason’s eyes go wide.  It’s your birthday!  He remembers enough about birthdays to know that there are two very important requirements: a cake and presents.  It looks like you’re taking care of the cake part, which is probably for the best since he can’t bake.  He supposes that it might be possible for him to go to town and break into a bakery to steal one (and maybe fit in a few more murders as well…) but leaving his territory is a sure-fire way to end up getting hurt way more than even he prefers.  He also knows by now how much it upsets you to see him hurt, so he tries to minimize the risks of that happening for your sake.

But that still leaves the presents part of having a birthday.  And while he can let slide the fact that you’re baking your own cake, he can’t tolerate the idea of you having to get yourself your own present.  What was the point of that?  That defeats the entire purpose of a present, in his opinion.  As you close the oven door and set the timer, he’s wracking his brain for something he can give you.  He brings you drawings all the time, but this time he wants to do something special… something he hasn’t given you before.  But what?  He suddenly feels extremely frustrated, but tries not to show it in case you misinterpret his frustration somehow.  So instead he slides his mask back down into place and nods before opening his arms in an invitation for a hug.  “Thank you, sweetie,” you smile as you accept his hug.  Being hugged by Jason is one of the best feelings in the whole wide world - his arms are so big and strong but wrap around you so gently, and he’s so thick that your fingertips can’t touch when you wrap your own arms around his torso.  Plus he smells fantastic, and you smoosh your face into his chest for a nice, deep inhale.  Now that the two of you are having some sort of sexual or otherwise intimate interaction every day, Jason has started taking showers as often as you do - and often at the same time as you, as well.  While he still smells of the forest and earth and lake (which is pleasant enough as it is), his own unique, masculine, more-human scent has become much more prominent - and much more attractive as well.

After you hang up his latest drawing he gives you another nod and squeezes your hand, then heads back outside.  “See you later, love!” you call after him before going back inside.  He’s probably off to visit his Mother’s grave as he does every day, so you sit down at the kitchen table with a book and your coffee to keep an eye on the cupcakes.  But when you open up the book you wind up just staring at the first page, lost in thought.  When is Jason’s birthday?  You now know the date of his drowning thanks to the newspaper archives at the local library, but those same articles never mentioned his birthdate.  Does he even remember himself?  And even if he does, how could he possibly communicate to you when it is considering he can’t read, write or speak?  Even if you showed him a calendar he couldn’t point to the date for those reasons.  You sit there thinking as you sip your coffee.  How much fun would it be to throw him a birthday party?  Despite being an absolute beast in the bedroom (in the best way possible) and an absolute brute to his victims, Jason is very childlike in many ways and you can’t help but think that having his birthday celebrated would make him very happy, indeed.  You could just randomly decide on a day and announce that is when you’ll be celebrating his birthday from here on out, but that just doesn’t feel authentic or satisfying.  Suddenly you figure out the solution: it might take some time, but you’ll just verbally run through every single date of the year, all 365 of them, until he nods.  You smile to yourself, already making plans for this future party.


Out in the forest, Jason is feeling incredibly frustrated as he paces along one of the paths, thinking so hard that it hurts his head.  What can he possibly give you as a birthday gift?  He has nothing to give you but his heart, soul and body, and he already gives you those things every day… plus you can’t wrap up a heart or soul in a box and put a ribbon on it.  He supposes he could put a ribbon on his body, but that just sounds weird.  And on top of that, he doesn’t even own any boxes or ribbons anyway.  He stops in front of a tree, closes his eyes and thuds his forehead once against the bark in frustration.  When he opens his eyes again he’s staring straight down at a little clump of pretty wildflowers growing at the base of the tree and it suddenly dawns on him - you love nature, both animals and plants, and when the two of you take walks together you often point out and tell him the names of many of the plants and flowers that you pass by.  And now that he’s thinking about it, he vaguely remembers his Mommy sometimes putting a vase of flowers in the windowsill or on the kitchen table.  Maybe he could bring you some flowers to put on your table or windowsill?  It’s not much, but at least it’s something.  Then he suddenly worries that maybe you would be sad if he killed flowers?  But you don’t seem to mind that he kills people… and besides that, his Mommy never did anything bad so if she picked flowers then clearly it was okay.  His mind made up, Jason bends to gently pluck the little clump of flowers from the ground and continues along the path to search for more, starting to feel excited and hopeful that perhaps this will make you happy, will help you realize how special you are to him.


He returns just before dinner like usual, and you smile when you hear the front door open and close.  Even though Jason doesn’t eat, he always sits at the table with you while you do so you can enjoy one another’s company.  “Hi, sweethe-“ you begin, but your word is cut off with a tiny surprised gasp.  Jason is standing in the kitchen doorway holding one of the five-gallon buckets that you use for various farm chores, only this one is filled to overflowing with wildflowers - and a few weeds as well.  He holds it out to you just as he does with his drawings, and the look in his eyes is equal parts affection and nervousness.  He’s not sure what you’re going to think of his present.  “Are those for me?” you exclaim, absolutely delighted.  Jason nods, a little bit shyly, and holds them out even closer to you.  “For my birthday?” you ask as you walk towards him to accept the bucket, and he nods again.  “Thank you so much, sweetheart, that’s so thoughtful of you!  They’re so beautiful, I absolutely love them!”  Relief washes through him and he lifts up his mask and bends down to kiss you as you take the bucket of flowers.  You can’t keep the big, stupid grin off of your face as you sit it squarely in the middle of the kitchen table.  It’s an absurdly large bouquet, and while the fact that it’s approximately 30% weeds and is in a big blue plastic bucket that most likely has some dried manure stuck to the bottom of it would probably put off a lot of people, to you it’s absolutely perfect.  It’s big and unrefined and slightly awkward like Jason himself, but just as lovely and sweet as well… and the feeling behind this simple offering is way more heartfelt than any cold, expensive, professionally-prepared dozen roses could ever be.  “What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful, loving, handsome man like you?” you say sweetly, and Jason stands up a little taller before walking over to you to wrap his arms around you and nuzzle his face into your hair.  He thinks you are the most wonderful, loveliest, most beautiful woman in the whole world - who isn’t his Mommy - and in his opinion you deserve the very best just by existing.  He doesn’t understand why someone as wonderful as you has chosen him, but he’s always striving to make sure that you don’t regret your choice.

You grab the largest measuring cup you have to fill up the bucket with water - Jason’s forgotten that little detail - before sitting down together while you eat your pasta with homemade goat meatballs.  You eat with one hand tonight, because Jason can’t seem to let go of your other one and keeps gazing at you with soft, completely-infatuated eyes behind his hockey mask.  He takes it off when you’re in the shower together or making love, but beyond that he keeps it on.  So far you haven’t questioned him about it, assuming (correctly) that he still feels self-conscious about his deformities.  But despite the fact that he’s quite conventionally ugly, you wish he felt comfortable enough with you to keep it off all the time… or at least when he’s not out hunting.  You feel a little bad about this potential abuse of your power, but right now he seems so exceptionally enthralled by you - and therefore perhaps more susceptible to suggestion - that you decide to make a request: “How would you feel about taking off your mask when we eat and watch T.V. together, sweetie?”  His eyes immediately dart down to the table, but then back up to yours as he shrugs.  While it’s true he takes it off when in the shower and bedroom, that’s only because he wants to be able to kiss you and feel your hair and skin directly against his face… and while he knows by now that you love him, it’s still hard for him to be seen without that protective fiberglass shield.  Why would you want to look at him?  No matter how much you may love him, that doesn’t make him any less ugly.  His uneasiness is palpable, so you try to talk him down: “I love you.  And that means every part of you.  Every single part of you is handsome to me, and every single part of you makes me feel good.”  He shrugs and looks back at the table again, but you can tell his resistance is breaking down a bit.  You give him a mischievous little smile and add, “Some parts of you make me feel especially good, but I’m not going to ask you to walk around with no pants on.  So how about you take off your mask for me instead?  That would make me so happy, sweetheart.”  It takes Jason a second to realize your innuendo, but when he does his face feels like it’s been lit on fire.  He thinks he’d actually rather walk around with no pants instead of his mask, but he’s incapable of refusing what he interprets as a direct order from you - even though that wasn’t your intention - so at last he nods.  He doesn’t understand why this would make you happy, but making you happy is the most important thing in the world to him, outside of punishing bad people for his Mommy.  He lets go of your hand so he can reach up to unbuckle and remove the mask, and you smile reassuringly at him.  “Thank you, Jason, I love looking at you even more than I love these beautiful flowers you brought me.  You’re so handsome to me.  This is the best birthday present ever, thank you.”  He gives you a self-conscious little smile and you beam at him.  “See, I love being able to see you smile at me.  I love to see you happy.”  He smiles even more at that, then takes your hand in his again while you finish your meal.


Jason always helps with the dishes now, so as you stand at the sink together - you washing, him drying - you enact Operation Birthday Date Discovery:  “Jason, love, do you know when your birthday is?” you ask, and happily he nods.  “Great!  Can I ask you and you tell me when I get it right?”  He nods again, starting to feel a little excited.  He can’t believe you asked, can’t remember the last time anyone cared about his birthday, and right at this moment he loves you so much that he would throw his mask right into the fireplace if you asked him to… though he hopes you won’t.  You start on January first, and it actually doesn’t take as long as you’d anticipated for you to run through the dates until you reach the correct day.  “June thirteenth?” you ask at last, and Jason nods.  “That’s only in about two months!  I’d better get started on planning your party right now.” you smile at him, and Jason actually gives you a genuine big, toothy grin at that.  He suddenly looks about ten years old again, just like that child in the blurry old photograph on his dresser shrine.  You laugh affectionately and pop open the container where you’d stored the cupcakes, and suddenly you’re both sharing the same thought: can he eat one of them with you?  Jason has been wondering this about himself ever since you made your lunch in front of him for the very first time, but back then he was too shy to take off his mask.  But now… maybe he could try it?  You see him looking at them with an odd, pondering sort of expression, so you ask, “Do you want to try one?”  He hesitates for only a second, then nods.  You hand him one before taking one for yourself, then look each other right in the eyes as you both take a bite at the same time.  You watch him chew for a moment and then swallow, and his eyes close in what you hope is bliss.  “How is it?  Does it taste okay?” you ask a little sheepishly.  You like to think that you’re at least competent in the kitchen, but you recognize that you’re no professional.  And if Jason’s mother worked as a cook at Camp Crystal Lake, perhaps she was an amazing chef… so what if your efforts don’t match up to Jason’s memories or expectations of food?  But your worries are needless, because Jason is indeed in bliss.  The feel and taste of the cupcake is sending him flashing right back to that birthday cupcake he’d had so, so long ago, and yours just as delicious as the one his Mommy gave him.  All it’s missing is the sprinkles, but that doesn’t matter.  Just the fact that he’s eating anything is amazing on it’s own - he’d forgotten how pleasurable it is to eat something delicious.  And on top of that, to be eating something made by the person he loves is better than all of the sprinkles in the world.

He opens his eyes again and nods enthusiastically, then takes another giant bite.  You grin and grab a plate and pile it up high with the cupcakes, then lead him to the living room to watch a movie and eat your birthday goodies together.  Something tells you that these cupcakes aren’t going to last very long between the two of you, and that’s just fine.  It’s more than fine.  It’s wonderful.

Chapter Text

While there is quite a lot of grass, brambles and leaves for the goats to eat during the summertime, they still need a little hay to round out their diet.  So off to the feed store you go, and when you return you open the barn door and back up your truck to begin unloading it.  Usually Jason helps you with this task if he’s around, but you haven’t seen him all day so he must be out hunting.  It is the middle of summer, after all - his busy season.  It’s hot outside, very hot, and after unloading just three bales you’re already sweating.  You stop for a moment to close your eyes and wipe your forehead with the back of your forearm to avoid your thick leather gloves, and when you open your eyes again you see Jason beside the truck, already reaching for the next bale of hay.  Somehow he snuck up on you, though you’re sure it wasn’t intentional.  He’s just uncannily good at moving silently despite how gigantic he is.

“Oh, hi Jason!” you say happily and step out of his way, and he nods as he brings over the next two bales to add to your stack, one in each hand.  He’s still wearing his mask and you see a fresh smear of blood all down the front of his ragged old jacket. Clearly he’s just finished dispatching all of the current intruders. You wonder how he’s managing to wear both a jacket and a sweater in such sweltering heat without sweating to death… though considering he’s already dead you suppose he’s not exactly at risk of getting heatstroke.  Still, you can’t help but say, “Aren’t you hot?  I’d be dying if I had on all those clothes!”  Jason looks at you for a moment and tilts his head.  Now that you mention it, he supposes it is a little bit warm… the bad people he’d just slaughtered had been skinny-dipping in Crystal Lake - an offense that Jason finds particularly aggravating - so apparently they felt it was hot outside, too.  You yourself are wearing shorts and a tank top so clearly you must be feeling just as hot.  He does suddenly feel a bit overdressed, so he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over the side of the pen… but then the goats come over to chew on it so he drapes it over the side of the truck bed instead while you laugh quietly.  He keeps unloading the hay for you so you decide to do some other jobs around the barn that need doing.  You take off your gloves and pull the water trough out of the pen and drag it outside to dump the remaining water, then retrieve your scrub brush and goat-safe soap to give it a good cleaning.  The task requires you to kneel slightly and bend at the waist, and you don’t even think about the fact that this position makes your ass stick out a bit and that the vigorous scrubbing of the brush makes it wiggle in a rather provocative manner.  Jason stops in his tracks, still carrying a hay bale in each hand, and just watches you for a moment.  His face starts heating up beneath his mask and his pants start to feel a little tight - while he loves all of your body and finds all of you intensely attractive, he has a particularly strong reaction to that part of you and he can’t help but stare.  You notice that he’s stopped unloading the hay so you look over your shoulder to find out why… and see him standing there looking at your butt while holding two huge bales by the twine and sporting half an erection.  You’re instantly turned on as well, and give him a seductive little smile and wiggle.  “Like what you see?” you playfully tease him, and even though he’s blushing beneath his mask because you caught him staring, he nods - lying to you is impossible.  You’ve been suspecting for some time that he might be a butt-man rather than a boob-man considering how much attention he pays to that particular part of your body.  He can’t seem to keep his hands off of your ass when fooling around and he’s clearly so turned on already just from looking at you that you decide to try playing a little game with him.

“I don’t know how you’re still not too hot wearing that sweater,” you say lightly, looking him up and down and hoping that he’ll get the hint.  Jason may not be the smartest man in the world, but he’s certainly not stupid and he’s experienced that look you’ve just given him and the tone of your voice enough to know what you want him to do… and where it might lead if he does it.  So he instantly yanks off his sweater and throws it on the ground, not even caring that it’s just landed in the dirt.  “That looks much more comfortable,” you say sweetly, drinking in the sight of his broad, well-muscled chest and stomach, and you suddenly feel even hotter and rather wet between your legs.  You shift your thighs together a little, wiggling your ass a bit more, and you can see his chest rise and fall with each heavy breath he takes.  You know he’s waiting for permission to come over and touch you, and while you want nothing more than for him to throw you onto a hay bale and fuck you senseless you decide to make him wait a bit… and building up to it makes it more fun for you as well.

“Now could you please finish unloading the hay for me like a good boy?” you say even more sweetly, knowing that this particular pet name goes straight to his crotch - and sure enough Jason instantly obeys, quickly stacking the bales he’s holding where they belong before practically running back to the truck for the next ones, now feeling so hard that he’s considering taking off his pants as well just so he can walk more comfortably.  But you haven’t told him to do that yet so he suffers through it, and you set down your scrub brush and sit on the side of the trough to watch him work, legs crossed so you can continue to rub your thighs together.  “You’re so strong, Jason.  I can’t believe how big and strong and sexy you are.” you coo, and it’s the truth.  While most people besides yourself would consider his face ugly - not to mention his oddly grayish, bluish-tinged skin - you doubt that anyone in their right mind could deny how fucking gorgeous his body is.  He’s truly the paragon of masculine beauty from the neck down, in your opinion.  He’s still blushing beneath his mask at your compliments, but he decides to play a little game with you right back and starts flexing his muscles beyond what is required to move the hay, trying to give you a show.  It has the desired effect: suddenly you decide to hell with the teasing build up and blurt out: “Jesus Christ, I can’t wait for you to get all that hay unloaded so you can come over here and fuck the hell out of me.”  Jason doesn’t need telling twice, and now he does start actually running to finish the job and you almost laugh at his eagerness.

He finishes the task quickly, and before you can even say another word he runs to you and lifts you right up off of the water trough to deposit you on the stack of hay and starts feeling you up all over - he considers the last thing you said to be a literal order, so he assumes that no further waiting is required on his part - and he’s correct.  You run your own hands all over his body as well, and after the hard work you just put him through he’s just as sweaty as you are.  The hay smells earthy and sweet and scratches the skin on the back of your thighs as you wiggle around on top of the bale.  A literal roll in the hay, you giggle to yourself, though really that would work better if it was loose instead of in tightly-bound bales.  For a moment you wish you had a big barn with a hay loft so you could do just that, but for now you’ll make due with what you’ve got.  Unsurprisingly, Jason grabs your ass with both of his big hands and pulls you right to the edge of the bale so he can grind his crotch against yours, squeezing your cheeks and nuzzling your neck with his masked face while you cling to his sweaty shoulders and back.  It feels feral and animalistic frantically rubbing against one another out in the barn like this, but it’s also extremely, extremely arousing and suddenly you think of the time you and Jason had walked in on Billy and Nan breeding, way back when the idea of sex still sent Jason into a panic - he’s certainly made progress since then.  Then heat flares up inside of your already-overheated body as a sudden, vivid image of Jason bending you over these very hay bales and fucking you like an animal flashes through your mind.  You haven’t tried that position together yet, but now feels like the perfect time - plus if you’re correct about his particular appreciation for your backside then it seems likely that he’ll enjoy it… and you suspect you will as well.

“Let’s try it like this,” you say a little breathlessly, and he steps back just far enough to allow you to hop down from the hay, curious about what you’re going to do.  You unzip your shorts and wriggle out of them before turning around and bending over, your elbows digging into the scratchy hay, and you look over your shoulder at him again.  He pauses for a few seconds and you worry that perhaps this is a little too naughty, a little too raw for him… but on the contrary he’s so aroused that his brain is temporarily short-circuiting.  It had never, ever occurred to him to do it this way, and the sight of your luscious, gorgeous ass tilted towards him in invitation is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.  He snaps out of his lust-addled stupor and grabs each of your cheeks, one in each hand, and squeezes them before thrusting and grinding his clothed erection against your panties.  He’s ready to enter you right this very second, but there’s no lube handy out here in the barn and he wants to make absolutely certain that you’re nice and warmed up for him.  Happily for him, you’re slick and more than ready for him right now.  “Take them off,” you moan, reaching one hand awkwardly behind you to tug at your panties so he quickly obeys, dragging the fabric down your legs and you raise each foot in turn so he can slip them off over your sandals.  He gently strokes your legs all the way back up, but your patience is at an end and before he can latch his hands back onto your bare ass you demand, “Now get in here, fuck me with your huge cock like a good boy, I want you to fill me up.”  You used to feel a little awkward ordering him around like this, but he’s shown you time and time again that he loves it and sure enough Jason makes an excited, eager sort of noise and fumbles with the fastening of his pants with slightly-shaking hands, trying to get himself freed and inside of you as quickly as possible.  He has to lift you up a bit to get you lined up with his cock, and when your feet leave the ground and you tilt forward so your forearms take more of your weight a gush of wetness floods your already-soaked cunt.  Feeling how effortlessly he can lift you turns you on so much, just like every other display of his raw power.  He rubs the head of his cock through your slippery folds for a few seconds, coating himself with your slickness and his own pre-cum, then slides into you with a groan.  You moan in pleasure as well, but then yelp when he bumps your cervix sooner than usual - then you remember in your online research that this position allows for particularly deep penetration.  Jason instantly pulls back out and apologetically strokes your hair and back, completely mortified.  He’s tried so hard this entire time not to hurt you, has always made sure not to enter you too deeply, and now he’s fucked it all up… but you quickly look over your shoulder to meet his worried eyes.  “It’s okay, it didn’t hurt, it just surprised me,” you reassure him and he relaxes a little, though he still feels bad about even just surprising you.  “Looks like you can’t go quite as deep this way.  Is that okay?  Do you still want to do it like this?”  He nods, gently stroking your back to assure you that he’ll be more careful this time.  “Good, because I do, too.”  You smile and wiggle your ass against him again, feeling his cock slip between your cheeks a bit and the animalistic naughtiness of it all makes your face burn.  “Now get back in here and make me feel good, sweetie,”  He does as you say, sliding into you again but slowly enough this time that he can feel exactly how far to go.  Once he figures it out he begins thrusting more quickly and you moan in pleasure and your head drops down to rest against the sweet, scratchy hay.  You feel a trickle of sweat running down your sternum and your skin feels sticky and damp beneath his hands, now clutching your ass again as he holds you up and fucks you.  “Shit, Jason, that feels so good… fuck, you feel so good inside me, you’re such a good boy…”  He makes an excited little noise between panting breaths, then leans over you so he can rub his face against your hair and his chest against your back.  He kind of wishes he’d thought to take his mask off so he could feel your softness against his face, but there was no time for it - at least he can still smell you, and the combination of your shampoo, your sweaty skin and the comforting, earthy scent of the hay - not to mention the smell of your combined sex growing stronger and stronger with each thrust inside of you - makes him moan.  You, on the other hand, don’t mind his mask at all - somehow it just feels right for him to keep it on while you’re in the barn since he always wears it when he’s outside.  Plus it goes along with the fact that you’re still wearing your shirt and bra and he’s still wearing his pants, shoved just far enough down his hips to allow him to fuck you.  It’s the most clothing either of you have kept on while having sex, and it only adds to the frantic, delicious, desperate feeling.

“God, Jason, do it faster, please, fuck me harder, god, you’re gonna make me come so hard…” you moan against the hay, tasting the grassy sweetness of it as it rubs against your cheek.  You’re probably going to look like you’ve got road-rash all down your face and forearms after this but you don’t care.  You grip onto the twine with both hands to anchor yourself so you can meet each of his quickening thrusts, and your climax is just on the horizon.  “Be a good boy and rub my clit for me, sweetheart.  Touch me just how I need it to come all over your big cock,” you pant, and Jason groans loudly and lets go of one of your cheeks to reach around in front of you to do as you’ve commanded.  He quickly finds your hard, aching little nub and expertly circles it with his large, rough fingertips and you moan out more praise and encouragement.  Little beads of sweat are trickling down his chest and it’s so hot and humid beneath his mask from the summer heat and his heavy panting that he feels like he might actually pass out from lack of oxygen, if that's even possible for him.  It's never happened before, so he's not really sure... but he’d rather die again than pass out before bringing you to orgasm.  Fortunately for him you’re right on the edge and after a few more thrusts you feel your climax rearing up.  “Jason, I’m gonna come, fuck me a little harder, please, please baby, I need it faster,” you beg, and he rubs your clit and pushes into you as hard and fast as he can without going too deep.  It’s a challenge, but somehow having to hold himself back actually turns him on a bit - plus having to pay more attention to the depth of penetration has no doubt helped him last longer, because the jiggle of your soft, smooth ass with each of his thrusts and the animalistic rawness of this position is driving him wild.  Within seconds you’re clenching and keening and shuddering against him, and with a few more frantic thrusts he lets himself go, groaning and grunting as he releases inside of you.  You feel his semen fill you up to the point where there’s no more room left, and when you squeeze your muscles around him you feel some of it spill out of you to trail down his cock and between your own thighs.  That sensation and knowledge that he’s filled you up so completely actually triggers a second orgasm, which has never happened to you before so quickly.  “Oh fuck, oh god, Jason!” you gasp, clutching the baling twine like your life depends on it.  His hand that isn’t rubbing your clit is suddenly beside your head as he braces himself against the hay and drops his face to your neck, and for one wild second you imagine him biting you there the way that lions and other wild animals do when mating.  The fiberglass squeaks against your sweaty skin as you tremble beneath him and finally go still except for your panting breaths and he slows and then stops his fingers - by now he knows when to stop stimulating you.  You take a deep breath, intending to lavish him with the praise that he so appreciates for doing such a good job of pleasing you… but you accidentally inhale an errant piece of hay and start violently coughing instead.  Startled, Jason immediately pulls out of you before he’s even completely soft and picks you up off of the hay and turns you around.  He looks absolutely terrified, but you pat one hand gently against his chest and nod, trying to reassure him that you’re okay.  “I’m alright,” you finally gasp between hacking coughs, looking up at him with squinty, watery eyes.  “I just breathed in some hay like an idiot.”  Then you start laughing between coughs because the contrast between the steaming hot sex you just had and your awkward, ugly coughing is suddenly hilarious to you.  While Jason’s not sure what’s so funny, he’s at least glad you’re not hurt, and once you finally recover enough to speak properly you finally tell him how much you enjoyed your little romp in the hay - before you’d sucked some of it into your lungs.

It’s right then that you both notice that you have an audience: the goats are all standing with their front legs up on the bottom board of their pen, just watching you with interested-but-uncomprehending expressions and you can’t help but laugh out loud.  “I guess that’s payback for watching them do the deed, huh?” you chuckle as you button up your shorts again, and Jason tilts his head at the goaty voyeurs and chuckles softly as well while tucking himself back into his pants.  “Naughty goats… though I guess they’re not as naughty as we are, huh?”  You wink at him and beneath his mask he’s smiling.  While his Mommy would scold him for being naughty, if this is what being naughty with you is like then being naughty is his new favorite thing to do.

Chapter Text

“Hey there, excuse us, Miss!” comes an unfamiliar, masculine voice from just behind you, and you immediately tense and pause in your task of pulling weeds out of the new garden bed that you and Jason are starting together.  You turn cautiously around and see two men walking down your driveway, right past the ‘No Trespassing’ sign and onto your property.  They look about your age or maybe a little younger, and are dressed in expensive-looking summertime hiking gear with big backpacks strapped to their backs - the kind that are meant for multi-night stays in the woods.  They appear to be in excellent physical condition - clearly they’re pretty serious hikers.  Not serious enough to have done their research on camping locations, apparently… you think to yourself, desperately hoping that Jason has seen them and that he will turn up at any second to save you the trouble of having to talk to them.  But Jason is nowhere to be seen as the men come uncomfortably close and you grip your trowel a little tighter and back up a few steps, feeling extremely exposed in your shorts and tank top with no bra.  You’ve always hated wearing them, and since you live so far out in the woods and never get visitors - until now, apparently - you rarely bother to wear them at home.  Jason certainly doesn’t mind it.  But these strange men have you feeling exceedingly vulnerable and you’re relieved when they finally stop walking towards you.

The blond one leans his side up against your truck about ten feet away and says, “Boy are we glad to see you, we didn’t know anyone lived this far out in the woods, we thought we were up shit-creek for sure.”  The brunette one comes to a stop in front of you, not more than five feet away - far, far too close.  You vaguely notice that they are both extremely conventionally handsome, and they both give you big smiles that you can tell are meant to be charming but instead just look smarmy to you.

“Who are you and what do you want.” you say flatly, eyeing them suspiciously and feeling more and more unsafe by the second.  You wonder if you would be able to outrun them and get to your rifle if things go south.  You wish you had the guts to snarkily ask them if they know how to read since they walked right past your sign, tell them this is private property, that they should get the hell off your land, but you’re too afraid.  They have already shown you that they don’t respect boundaries.

“Hey now, no need to be so unfriendly!” chuckles the brunette in what you’re sure he thinks is a tone as charming as his smile, and it makes you clench your teeth.  “My name’s Chris, and that’s Jim.”  Jim waves from your truck and Chris holds out his hand, but you just give them each a stony nod.  Fortunately Chris retracts his hand and continues in his oh-so-charming voice: “We’re just trying to make our way down to Camp Crystal Lake and we got a little bit lost, that’s all.  We’re hoping you can tell us where we went wrong.”

“Or maybe you can take us there yourself.  We’d love to have a pretty lady like you come along with us.” chimes in Jim from your truck.  Then you notice that he’s got his thumbs hooked in his front pockets and is running his index fingers up and down along either side of his crotch - it’s subtle, but the sleazy smirk on his face makes it clear that it’s intentional.  You try not to pull a disgusted face - clearly these men aren’t to be trusted and you don’t want to risk provoking them too much.  

“I don’t know how to get there.  I never go down there.  Why don’t you check your map.” you say even more stonily, nodding at the Crystal Lake tourist map that is very clearly sticking out of Chris’s pocket.  

“Bullshit,” chortles Jim with a smirk, “You’re telling us you live way out here in the sticks and you don’t even know how to get to the main attraction around here?  I think she’s just playing hard to get, Chris.”

Chris smirks as well and says, “Agreed.  Besides, live guides are better than maps, and we’d love the company.  We’re fun guys, you should come along with us, it’ll be a good time.  We’ve got beer and we’re gonna build a bonfire and take a swim.”

If you weren’t so uneasy right now you’d be laughing.  While you’re not sure how he feels about alcoholic beverages (though you imagine it’s not positive), bonfires and swimmers are two things that piss Jason off almost as badly as people fucking on his land - people who aren’t you and himself, that is - and if he finds these two douchebags they’re going to be in for a world of hurt.  Instead you just keep your face neutral and say, “No thank you, I’m really busy and I don’t like swimming.”

“You don’t look that busy to me,” Chris says casually, and your heart starts beating a little faster when he takes a few steps closer to you.

“You got a boyfriend or something?” snickers Jim, and the first tremors of real panic start coursing through you when he pushes himself off of your truck and starts walking towards you as well while taking off his backpack.

“Yes.” you say truthfully.  You hate having to say it, hate that ‘no’ isn’t a good enough answer for so many men, that they will only leave uninterested women alone if that woman is already ‘owned’ by another man.  But at this point you’ll say anything to get them to go away.

“He should come along too, we’ll all have fun together.” says Chris, also removing his backpack.

“Yeah, just leave him a note or something and come along with us now.  We’ll all get camp set up by the time he joins us, and Chris and I will show you a good time till then.” Jim says smoothly, and you take another step back only to bump into the other garden bed and nearly fall over backwards into it.  You don’t know what to do, don’t know what to say.  Maybe if there was only one of them you could try attacking them with the trowel, but your odds of even taking on one of them successfully are pretty low considering how physically fit they obviously are.  While they’re nowhere near as tall and bulky as Jason is, they could still easily force you into submission and you start to tremble a bit…

But then.  Then your savior appears in the familiar, beloved, hulking form of the love of your life: you look over Chris and Jim’s shoulders and see Jason moving stealthily out from behind the barn.  Even though he’s still a fair distance away, the rage in his eyes looks like it could set the intruders heads on fire.  Hell, he looks so angry that he could probably level entire cities with the power of his fury.  Now you’re trembling for a different reason, and you can’t help but smile a little bit wickedly as Jason breaks into a run - still somehow moving silently in that eerie way he has - and you see your pitchfork in his grip.

“You shouldn’t go down there.  It’s haunted, you’ll end up dead.  In fact, you shouldn’t even be here.” you say matter-of-factly through your wicked little smile, but Chris only grins even more predatorily.  

“Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll keep you safe.” he says smoothly, but before Jim can add his own no-doubt asinine remark Jason is right behind him.  You glance up into your lover’s eyes but Jason’s not looking at you - instead he’s focused somewhere around the smaller man’s torso and suddenly there is a noise that you don’t know how to describe… and then the very tips of the pitchfork tines come poking right through Jim’s REI-brand, moisture-wicking hiking shirt.  Little blood flecks land across your own shirt as Jim’s eyes bulge and he makes weird, wet choking noises, then a dark red stain begins rapidly spreading from the wounds in his chest.  Moisture-wicking in action, you joke rather stupidly to yourself, but then you gasp when Jason actually lifts the gurgling, struggling Jim right off of the ground, spearing him on the pitchfork and holding him aloft as easily as a marshmallow over a campfire.

“What the fuck!?” shrieks Chris, taking a startled step away, and it seems to take him a few seconds to process what’s happening.  His eyes go from his friend twitching and jerking at the end of the pitchfork in midair, then down to the enormous, undead beast of a man holding him up. “JESUS CHRIST, WHAT THE FUCK!?” Chris screams, and Jason turns his head to glare at him.  It’s the most furious and hateful you’ve ever seen his lovely, expressive, hazel eyes look and he’s completely, utterly, pants-shittingly terrifying… and equally sexy.  Well, sexy to you, at least.  You’re pretty sure that Chris doesn’t agree as he actually trips over his own feet and scrambles backwards on the ground several paces, his shrieks now achieving a rather impressive falsetto.  He finally manages to stand up again and takes off running, but Jason doesn’t seem concerned.  He just swings the pitchfork to the side so fast that it’s a blur, slamming Jim into the ground head-first and there is a very audible crunch as his neck is shattered beneath his own torso.  You stare at the now clearly-very-dead body laying in an unnaturally disjointed, crumpled heap not more than three feet away from you, and even though you’re not generally squeamish this one is a little bit gross even for you.  Jason steps on Jim’s back so he can yank the pitchfork out of him as if he was pulling a chunk of meat off of a skewer, and still without looking at you he turns around and hurls the pitchfork through the air like a javelin, just like you’d seen him do a few months earlier… only this time the target is Chris’s retreating form rather than the compost pile.  Your heart skips wildly as the farm-tool-turned-weapon hits its mark, and there is a shocked, agonized scream as intruder number two falls to his knees and then face-first into the dirt.  Jason had started speed-walking after him as soon as he threw the pitchfork, and when he catches up to him Jason pulls it out of his back and then viciously stabs him with it over and over - way, way more times than is actually required to end Chris’s life.  He looks completely out of control, more so than you’ve ever seen him.  Jason takes all incidents of bad people invading his land personally, but this one… this one is extra personal because not only are they responsible for him and his Mommy in his mind, but they had threatened you as well.

Part of you wants to go over there and ask Jason to please stop stabbing the everloving fuck out of Chris so that you don’t end up with a pile of ground human beef in your yard, but you’re too hypnotized by the display of brutality from the man you love.  You’ve seen Jason work before, but not very often and never with this level of rage.  And when he’s not working, when he’s with you or the animals, he’s impossibly sweet and gentle and even submissive… the contrast is truly stark, and it’s just as fascinating to think about these different facets of his personality as it is to watch his physicality now.  It’s as if a matador was facing off against an angry bull without the benefit of swords or spears - the matador wouldn’t stand a chance without those tools.  At last Jason stops stabbing, then sticks the gore-drenched pitchfork upright into the earth and reaches down to grab the corpse by the neck and effortlessly lift it off of the ground.  It reminds you of picking up a cat by the scruff of it’s neck... a very dead cat.  Then he lumbers over to the crumpled mess of a corpse at your feet and grabs it by one leg, then starts dragging it along behind him.  He’s cleaning up after himself.  You haven’t spoken a word, haven’t made a single noise save for your little gasp when Jason lifted Jim into the air on the end of the pitchfork, and you don’t a say a word now.  Jason is clearly still very focused on the task at hand, so you just wait for him there by the garden bed as he disappears between the trees.


Jason hasn’t been this enraged since that bad girl beheaded his Mommy.  He doesn’t know if they even hurt you or were just having a conversation, but he doesn’t care.  Just the fact that they were talking to you was bad enough and justified severe punishment as far as he was concerned.  He didn’t see your face, didn’t see how uncomfortable you looked - he was too focused on destroying these bad boys who dared to stand in your presence.  He drags the corpses out to the road, still in his territory but far enough from your house that he hopes it won’t seem suspicious.  The last thing he wants to do is implicate you in any way.  He drops them on the asphalt in the middle of the road to serve as a warning to any others who are stupid enough to drive this direction, and before he leaves he kicks the bodies over onto their backs so he can glare down contemptuously at their faces.  Even despite looking a bit bloodied and battered from his rough handling of them, Jason recognizes that they would be considered handsome.  He’s seen enough interactions between the women and men that he’s killed to know that these are the kind of men that women flirt with, fawn over, and have sex with.  They remind him of the older boys at camp when he was a child, the ones who somehow had girlfriends even at that age… the kind of boys who were particularly brutal in their teasing of him.  The kind of boys who pushed him off the docks and to his death while their girlfriends laughed.  And now these bad boys were talking to you.  All of a sudden intense insecurity flares up inside of him to the point where it even crowds out his rage: Were they flirting with you?  And if they were, did you like it?  He’s quite certain that you love him, that you wouldn’t leave him… would you?  Even though Jason would do anything for you, would die a thousand times over again if you asked him to, would kill every last person on earth if you wished it, that doesn’t change the fact that in his mind he is an ugly, stupid, undead monstrosity and you are a lovely, smart, living person who could have anyone that you wanted.  You’ve told him you don’t like other people, have told him how that bad man slashed your face with a bottle and that you have no desire for anyone’s company but his… you tell him every day that you love him and want him, that he’s the only one for you… and while he knows that you aren’t a liar, that you would never deceive him, what if someone better than him just happens to stumble along and you decide to go with them?  Even though it would shatter his undead heart to pieces, Jason would let you leave if you wanted to.  He honestly couldn’t blame you if you did.  As he turns away from the bodies and quickly walks off of the road and back towards your house through the forest, his rage fades into desperation and he’s suddenly struck with the overpowering need to prove himself to you.  To kneel at your feet and remind you how much he loves you, how even though he is ugly and undead and can’t read, write or speak, he would do anything to treat you better than any of the handsome, clever, charming bad boys could ever hope to.

Chapter Text

A solid hour passes before you finally see Jason emerge from the forest once again, now empty-handed.  He must have taken the bodies of your potential-assaulters quite far away, a gesture that you definitely appreciate… though not as much as you appreciate his killing them in the first place.  You stand up from where you were seated on your porch steps as soon as you catch sight of him.  You were too rattled by everything that had occurred to continue work on the garden and instead have been replaying the incident over and over in your mind.  You shudder to think of what could have happened if you didn’t have Jason there to protect you, if he hadn’t rescued you in the nick of time, hadn’t dealt with those intruders so swiftly and decisively and competently… and you’re overflowing with gratitude in addition to love.  The second he steps fully out of the forest you hurry down the stairs and run towards him, and tears suddenly began welling up in your eyes before you can stop them.  You’re just so overwhelmed by a turmoil of emotion: primarily love, gratitude and desire for him, but also that lingering fear that comes from narrowly escaping a disaster.  Right now you just need him to hold you in his big, strong arms that had just protected you, and then you need to find a way to express how much you’re indebted to him… not just for rescuing you from those strangers who doubtlessly meant you harm, but just for being who he is.  For letting you into his life (so to speak), for choosing you as his one and only special person to love and protect.  For whatever kept him from killing you that early spring morning when you’d first met, and for however you managed to eventually win his heart.  It’s more than you deserve… he’s more than you deserve.

You’re crying so hard by the time you reach him that you can’t speak, and instead you just throw yourself right into his strong, solid chest, not even caring that he’s splattered with blood.  You’ve got a bit of it on your own shirt, and who even gives a damn right now?  Jason opens his arms just in time to receive you, and while he’s glad you’re hugging him he’s also taken off guard.  He was fully intending to kneel down at your feet to try and express his utter devotion to you, and he also doesn’t understand why you’re crying.  Are you crying because you’re sad that he killed those bad boys?  Were you enjoying talking with them?  Were you enjoying having handsome men to look at, handsome men who could speak to you?  But if that were the case then why are you hugging him now?  Soon you’re not just crying but sobbing into his blood-splattered sweater and Jason is on the verge of panic.  He’s never seen you cry so hard and he doesn’t know what to do, what’s causing it and how he can comfort you.  Then another thought occurs to him: did those bad men hurt you somehow?  Is that why you’re crying now?  Was he too late, did he not rescue you in time?  If that were the case he would never forgive himself, would spend every minute of every day groveling for your forgiveness… but at last you choke out, “Thank you for saving me.”  You rub your hands against his chest and whimper, “Hold me tighter, please,” so he does just that, squeezing you a little more firmly but being careful not to break you.  He’s feeling so many emotions right now that it’s hard to sort them all out: he’s relieved that you want him to hold you, that you want to be near him, that you said that he’d saved you… but he’s still not 100% sure why you’re crying so hard and he’s terrified that those bad men really did hurt you somehow.  He wishes he could murder them again, and this time make it more slow and painful.  “Take me inside, please, I just need you to hold me for awhile,” you beg him, so he immediately lifts you up even more effortlessly than he’d hoisted up Jim on the tip of that pitchfork, cradling you in his arms and swiftly carrying you into the house.

You lay down together in the dimly-lit bedroom, the afternoon sun filtering softly through the curtains.  Finally your crying begins to ease, and when you pull back just a bit Jason pulls back as well so he can look down at your red, blotchy face with his worried eyes, one hand gently stroking your hair and his other still wrapped around you.  You realize that he’s probably waiting for an explanation for your emotional outburst.  “I’m okay,” you say, still a bit shakily.  “They didn’t hurt me, but I think they were going to.  I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t come rescue me.  Thank you so much, Jason.  I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Jason doesn’t understand your last sentence.  Surely there is a lot you could do without him: you could find some smart, handsome man to love.  One who can speak, one who could be a good Daddy if you wanted children.  One with a normal job and a normal life… the list goes on and on.  But he’s deeply relieved to hear that those bad men didn’t hurt you, is relieved that he could perform that one service for you at least.  He finally pulls away and backs off of the bed, then gets to his knees on the floor and clasps your hands in his like he’d been intending to do out in the yard.  You’re completely confused when he looks up at you with huge, desperate, uncertain eyes.  Your heart breaks and you wish he could articulate exactly why he’s kneeling, why he’s looking at you like a dog who has disobeyed a beloved master or a child who has disappointed their parent when you’re the one who should be kneeling before him.  How could he possibly think he’s disappointed you in any way, shape or form when he very likely prevented you from being raped or robbed or possibly even worse?  You could question him about it, could try to get an exact answer, but somehow the details don’t feel important right now.  What’s important is that he’s radiating insecurity and no matter what’s causing it, you need to put an end to it.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to do that, please.” you beg, sliding off of the bed to join him on the floor.  “Please don’t… I promise I’m alright, you rescued me.”  He still looks a little unsure somehow, and you have no idea why.  You’re showing him that you’re not hurt, that he didn’t come too late to help you… so what else could he be feeling so upset about?  “I love you so much, I owe you everything, please believe me.  I’m so lucky I found you, so lucky that you love me.  I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”  You push his mask up and out of the way so you can take his face in your hands and lean in to kiss him, trying to pour all of your love and gratitude into your touch.  You pull back and gently stroke his jaw, and you’re pleased that at least a bit of his anxiety seems to have eased.  “I don’t want to think about those men ever again, I just want to think about you.  I just want to be with you.  I just want to feel you.  Let’s go get cleaned up, love, please.” you whisper, then take him by the hand and get to your feet.  He stands up as well and completely removes his mask, then allows you to lead him to the bathroom.  He’s feeling much better now, your words soothing his anxiety as they always do.  You would never lie to him.  While Jason can’t completely prevent the possibility of some other smart, handsome man stumbling into your life and whisking you away someday, he can at least keep doing his very best to show you how much he loves you right here and right now, and every single moment of every single day until whenever that dreaded day may come.


While the shower water heats up you reach for his jacket and he lets you remove it before he reaches for your blood-splattered tank top to do the same for you.  You shimmy out of your shorts and underwear and he takes off his own blood-streaked sweater and pants as well, then you take his hand in yours once more and step into the tub together.  Showering with Jason is a bit of a challenge in some ways, since he’s so big he can block the water from hitting you almost entirely unless you get positioned just right.  But you’ve gotten it down to a science by now and you just hold one another for a little while longer under the hot, soothing spray.  As Jason strokes his hands lightly all over your skin you begin to relax entirely, your nerves calming as the faces and memory of those men evaporate like the steam in the room being sucked away into the fan.  You rub your hands all over his strong, muscular body in return, and soon the only image in your mind is of how amazing he looked while dispatching those bastards: his strength, his grace, the way he moved as he effortlessly destroyed them, and the flames of desire begin licking your skin everywhere his hands are touching.  You reach for the soap and lather some up in your palms, intending to show him with your touch just how desirable you find him.  He keeps caressing you as you wash his shoulders and chest, but as you move lower Jason suddenly realizes what you’re up to - and there’s no way he’s going to accept pleasure from you until he pleases you first.  Right now it doesn’t even dawn on him that you want to please him as much as he wants to please you, that you enjoy touching him just as much as he enjoys touching you, and that he’s depriving you of your attempt to thank him right now.  He’s still obsessed with trying to prove himself to you.  He takes the soap from your hand and lathers up as well, then gently washes the remnants of blood off of your chest before moving on to the rest of you.  You’re tempted to fight him for the privilege of making him feel good first, but he’s clearly determined.  Plus you still haven’t figured out what was bringing on all of the insecurity he was projecting in the bedroom, so if this will make him feel better then perhaps he will be able to accept your love more easily afterwards… so you give in and let him do what he apparently needs to do.  

“Jason,” you whimper when his gentle hands pass over your ribs and stomach, then slide over your mons and down the front of your thighs.  He kneels again - which can’t possibly be very comfortable in the tub - and presses little kisses all over your stomach, licking up the rivulets of water that run down your skin once it washes away the suds.  He washes you all the way down to your feet and back up again, then turns you gently around to wash your shoulders and back before moving lower to your ass and the back of your thighs, planting little kisses all the way.  He’s worshipping your body - there’s no other way to describe it - and the contrast between the way he’s treating you compared with how those would-be assailants no doubt would have is so stark that it almost makes you start crying again.  You and Jason have had plenty of gentle, loving, intimate encounters in your time together, but this one feels even more tender than all of them put together.

You sigh and relax against him, your back to his chest, as he brings one hand around to gently massage your breast and trails his other down to tease between your legs while kissing your shoulders and neck.  You hum in pleasure and reach your arm up and behind you to stroke his head, then step one of your feet up onto the side of the tub to give his hand better access.  You sigh again as his fingers delve deeper, then you push back more firmly against him as you feel him growing hard against your lower back.  It doesn’t take long for your climax to build and then crest, and Jason holds you up until your trembling ceases and your breathing slows.  When you finally feel steady enough to stand on your own, you turn around in his arms and reach up to pull him down for a deep, soft, passionate kiss.  “You’re so good to me, Jason,” you murmur when you break apart, and he tilts his head forward and closes his eyes as his forehead gently meets your own.  “I’ll never, ever leave you.  I love you so much.  I don’t know why you love me, but I’m so grateful that you do.”

He sighs as deep relief and happiness wash over him, warmer and more soothing than the spray of the shower, and he can’t help himself from pulling you into an even tighter embrace.  Somehow you knew just what he needed to hear, what he was so afraid of but couldn’t express.  You always seem to know just what he needs.

You begin to press kisses all over his chest, licking and sucking and nibbling just as he’d done to you.  You stroke his bicep with one hand while your other trails down from his ribs, over his stomach and down further, and Jason sucks in a little breath as you take him in your small, soft hand.  While he loves being inside of you, there is and always will be a special place in his heart for when you touch him like this with your hands.  That was how you touched him intimately for the very first time, when he learned what an orgasm is.  He still doesn’t know there is a word for that feeling as you’ve never told him what it is - all he knows is that it comes from you.  He moans quietly, so quietly that it’s drowned out by the sound of the shower as you slowly stroke him from root to tip, softly at first and then a bit faster and firmer as he becomes fully hard.  It doesn’t take long - he was already most of the way there just from touching you.  He places his big hands on your shoulders as his head tilts back, and you stop your kisses and pull away enough to enjoy the sight of the water running down his body for a moment.  That strong, skillful, beautiful body that has been through so much, that is somehow capable of both devastating brutality and impossible tenderness.  You resume your kisses and bring your hand from his bicep down to join your other working his cock, trying to stimulate as much of his considerable length and girth as you can.  Jason huffs out a little sigh of pleasure that melds into a groan as you reach lower to caress his balls, and by the way his muscles are beginning to tense and his hands grip your shoulders just a little bit tighter you know that he’s close.  His hips gently thrust into your hands and with only a few more strokes he lets go, panting quickly as his chest heaves and his cum lands on your stomach for only a second before the water washes it away. 


You wrap your arms around one another again, kissing and caressing until the water goes cold.  Jason doesn’t even notice, would be fine with staying here in the shower with you forever, but you reach to turn off the faucet before it gets too chilly for you to tolerate.  “Let’s go get dried off and dressed, sweetheart.  I think we still have a little bit of your birthday cake left and I don’t know about you, but that sounds really good to me right now.”  You give him a little smile as you take him by the hand and pull the shower curtain aside, and Jason nods and smiles back as he steps out of the shower behind you.  You linger way longer than necessary while toweling each other off, getting distracted by kisses and little nuzzles until Jason realizes that he’s going to be ready for round two if you keep going… and he doesn’t want to deprive you of the cake you are apparently wanting right now.  He can be patient.  There will be time for round two later.  And maybe three or four - as many as you want - if he has anything to say about it.

Chapter Text

You’re not even sure why you bothered to start up a movie tonight, as one thing and one thing alone has been on your mind all day, dominating your thoughts and keeping you shifting restlessly in your seat at work - it was the most torturous eight hours you have ever endured.  Once you’re finally clocked off you eat dinner as fast as you can without making yourself sick, then hurry to the living room to find that Jason’s started a fire in the fireplace and has already queued up the next movie on your watch list.  He’s sitting on his side of the loveseat, his hands fidgeting in his lap and his beloved hazel eyes bright and eager beneath his mask.  “Hey sweetheart, did you have a good day?” you ask as you sit down beside him, clasping his hand in one of your own as your other goes straight to his chest.  He nods as his own free hand caresses your hip, then he leans down to nuzzle his face against yours.  “I’m glad,” you smile against the fiberglass, then add: “My day sucked, work was agony because all I could think about was being with you.”  Jason wishes he knew how to express the exact same sentiment - the truth was that he felt distracted and restless all day while making his rounds and doing the chores, but his thoughts of you were very pleasant indeed so he’d decided to answer your question with a nod.  He doesn’t know how to respond to what you just said, how to tell you that being away from you was agony for him as well, so he settles for nodding again.

He squeezes your hip just a little bit tighter as you push his mask up to expose his blushing face, then start pressing little kisses all over his cheeks, chin and nose before meeting his mouth, lips pressing and teeth clashing as the gentle kisses become more hungry and desperate.  The slide of your tongue along his own reminds Jason of the slick tightness of your sex gripping his fingers and cock for the very first time just last night and he whimpers at the memory, slowly thrusting his tongue into your soft, warm mouth in subconscious imitation as you let go of his hand to pull yourself onto his lap, spreading your thighs wide around his thick waist.  You feel the implication in his motions as well, and god, how you wish you could have his hard cock pushing into you right now, learning what sort of rhythm he likes when he’s buried deep inside of you, finding out if it’s the same as the way he’s fucking your mouth with his tongue.  But he’s just too big for you to take yet and your pussy still aches from your attempt last night.  Only a few inches of his thick girth had stretched your rarely-used inner walls to their absolute limits before you had to pull back almost entirely and try to satisfy him with your hands instead.  Fortunately it was enough for him, and the memory of Jason filling you to the brim with his cum as he tensed and groaned beneath you makes you clench around nothing and grind down on his lap in frustration.  He’s already rock-hard now and the ridge of his cock beneath the stiff fabric of his pants rubbing against your own clothed crotch spurs you on.  You grip his shoulders for leverage and slide yourself back and forth across that huge bulge between his legs, but then his hands move from your hips to your ass, clutching each cheek almost too tightly and taking over the work of creating that delicious friction between you.

Both of your breaths come in quick little pants as he effortlessly moves you against him in firm, rhythmic pushes and pulls, and you feel the muscles of his thighs flexing as he begins rutting up between your own thighs and against your ass.  You bring your now-free hands down to his chest, that strong, solid wall that makes you feel so safe and that turns you on so much.  You try rubbing your thumbs against his nipples through his sweater, curious to see how he reacts, and he makes a little close-lipped grunt as his head tilts back and his mask slides the rest of the way off.  It clatters to the floor behind the loveseat but neither of you care.  Ever since he began killing the people who fornicated on his land he knew that sex would involve his cock - even though he never, ever planned to engage in that activity or even touch himself there until he met you - but it hadn’t occurred to him that sex would involve other parts of his body and your fingers rubbing and gently plucking at his nipples feels surprisingly good. 

“Ohhh, Jason,” you moan at a particularly forceful push of his hips.  The soft cotton of your underwear, damp with your own slickness, rubs against your clit with each of his thrusts and your sensitive flesh is just as needy and swollen as his. You’re getting closer and closer to coming all over his lap just from grinding against him, you just need a few more minutes… but for Jason, the experience of you moaning his name, the sensation of touching and being touched this way is still too new and he doesn’t yet know his own body well enough to recognize just how close he is to that throbbing, ecstatic release that he’d experienced for the very first time last night.  He pulls you down even tighter against him and ruts faster and more frantically, desperate and lost in the heat and friction of your body and before he knows it he feels his balls tighten and his own warmth spill from his aching cock as he pulses and jerks within the tight confines of his pants.  He groans in relief as he twitches beneath you, but once his shuddering stills and he realizes what’s happened he moves you off of his waning erection and back onto his thighs.  A damp stain spreads across the fabric at his crotch and his face burns with shame.  That’s not how this is supposed to work, not where he’s supposed to release this substance that is meant for you, this liquid result of the pleasure your love and your body has given him.  He’s unable to look you in the eyes, unsure of what to do, how he is supposed to proceed from here and what you must be thinking about what he’s just done.

You were so caught up in chasing your own orgasm that you didn’t realize right away when his began, and by the time you figured it out Jason had already pulled you away from his crotch, drawing a faint whine of protest from your panting lips.  God, you were so close and you squirm atop his thighs, trying to regain your momentum… but then you look at his face: he doesn’t just look embarrassed, he looks mortified.  His eyes dart every which way as his hands go slack and you glance down at his lap and see the wet evidence of his climax darkening the fabric of his pants.  Far from being upset - as Jason is expecting you to be - you’re incredibly turned on.  Even though you know he’s even more inexperienced than you are, the fact that he got so excited to the point of orgasm within mere minutes just from dry-humping you is still rather flattering.  And it really doesn’t matter that he’s already finished, because you’re still so close that just his fingers will do for now… and besides that, if he recovers as quickly as he did last night then he’ll be ready for round two plenty soon enough.  But first you’re going to need to help him find his confidence again before he can help you find your release.

“Don’t be sad, sweetheart, I love that I can make you feel so good.” you reassure him, taking his face in your hands and planting a gentle kiss on his lips.  He still looks deeply ashamed when you pull back again so you run your hands from his shoulders down his chest, then take one of his hands in your own and bring it back to your ass and squeeze, signaling that you want him to do the same.  He does so, and you give him a soft smile and bring his other hand between your legs, turning his palm upwards to cup you through your pants before directing the tips of his fingers to your clit and showing him how you want him to touch you.  “You make me feel so good, too.” you say sweetly and Jason instantly responds, moving his fingers the way you’re guiding him and absolutely determined to make up for not doing things the right way in his mind by making you feel as good as possible now.  “Yesss, just like that, that’s perfect, Jason,” you sigh, and he leans forward to suck and kiss at your throat as your head falls back and you just about topple right off of his lap.  He quickly moves his hand from your ass to your upper back to hold you steady, and he feels so strong and sure that you allow yourself to relax into his hand until he’s supporting your entire weight.  Your hips surge against his fingers as you run your now-free hands all over your own body, stroking and squeezing your hips and belly and breasts, and Jason breaks away from where he was sucking little love bites into your throat to watch you.  He thinks you are so beautiful, and the sight of you writhing on top of him while touching yourself is the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.  He wishes he had more than two hands so he could touch you everywhere at once so you wouldn’t have to do it yourself.  

“Faster, baby, please,” you whisper and Jason complies, then brings his mouth back to your throat to breathe in the sweet smell of your skin and feel your hair tickling against his face.  “A little harder,” you plead and he does so, but he’s still being too gentle - no doubt concerned about hurting you.  But you need a little more pressure through the fabric so you grasp his hand and push him against you as hard as you need it.  He can feel your sex soaking all the way through your underwear and pants and his breath hitches as he starts to stiffen again, thinking about how his hardness and your softness go together so perfectly.  It doesn’t take long now for your climax to come, and you cry out his name somewhat hoarsely as you spasm and jerk against his fingers.  “God, I’ve been wanting to do that with you since the very first time we kissed right here on this sofa,” you confess to him once your panting slows, and Jason is a little bit startled.  You’ve been wanting him like this for longer than he previously thought, and it’s the first time he’s felt proud about something other than killing people for his Mommy or bringing you his drawings that you like so much.

You scoot back on his thighs a bit.  “Feels like you’re ready to go again, huh?” you say a little mischievously, running your hand lightly over the growing bulge at his crotch.  Jason nods, a little bit bashfully still, and you grin up at him.  “Me too.  Let’s go to the bedroom this time, but first let’s get you out of these pants and throw them in the washing machine, hm?”  He nods again and begins unbuttoning and unzipping his fly as soon as you slide all the way off of him, hastening to obey you.  “I think we’ll need to get you a second pair one of these days, but for now I certainly don’t mind seeing you without them,” you say even more mischievously, and Jason’s already blushing face turns a little bit more blue even as he grins self-consciously at you.  He hands them to you once they’re completely off and you can’t help but giggle because he looks a bit silly wearing his shirt with no pants… but that simply means that his shirt’s got to go as well.  You toss his cum-stained trousers into the washer on your way to the bedroom and his shame is erased when you shimmy out of your own pants and thoroughly-damp underwear to add to the washer as well - it hadn’t even occurred to him until this moment that he made you finish in your clothes, too.  Maybe that was an okay way to do it after all?  He’s not really sure, but you didn’t seem to mind it, at least.  All he knows for sure is that there is clearly a lot left that he doesn’t know, but he’s eager to uncover as many of those mysteries as he can.

Chapter Text

“Unbefuckinglieveable,” you grumble as you practically stomp into the kitchen, and Jason gives you a concerned look as he brings you a plate loaded down with a way-too-stuffed sandwich and a way-too-large pile of potato chips, followed by a way-too-tall glass of milk and far, far too many cookies.  He’s taken to making you lunch every workday and it’s just about the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you - even if he does go a little overboard with the quantity of food sometimes.  “Work is making me attend a conference out of town for a whole weekend!” you complain, sitting down at the kitchen table with a huff like a petulant child as Jason sits down beside you with his own considerably-less-full plate of lunch.  While he enjoys eating with you, he doesn’t consume nearly as much as you do because he doesn’t want to waste too much food considering he doesn’t really require it.  “And not just out of town, I mean like, really out of town.  Like, I have to get on an airplane out of town.”

While Jason is sad to hear that you’ll be going so far away, part of him can’t help but feel a little bit jealous. He never got to go on an airplane when he was alive, and when he was a boy he often imagined what it must be like to fly, to see the earth from so high up in clouds.  Then as if you had read his mind you ask, “Did you ever go on a plane before?”  Jason shakes his head, and he looks a little bit sad about it so you try to console him.  “Well trust me, you’re not missing much.  I guess the views can be really pretty sometimes, but the airport always takes forever and the plane itself is cramped and uncomfortable and people are rude and the food is crap - if they even bother to feed you at all.”  You suddenly wonder if there are videos available to buy that might show what the earth looks like from above, and you decide to find out in case Jason would enjoy watching something he’ll never get to experience.  You quickly change the subject before he starts looking too bummed out.  “What the hell could possibly be so important to require that in my stupid job?  Ugh. I hate traveling.”  You take a sulky bite of your overstuffed sandwich and half of the sliced deli turkey falls out onto your plate.  Jason pats your arm soothingly, though inside he’s probably even more distraught than you are.  The only times you’re apart from one another for longer than a day is when he gets caught up in a particularly time-consuming hunt, but at least then he’s got a distraction to keep him from missing you too badly.  But how is he supposed to keep himself occupied this time considering his hunting season has slowed down for the rest of the year?  He supposes he’ll just go into his hibernation-like state and wake up just long enough to do the chores and his rounds, spend time with the animals and visit his Mommy’s grave.  

“I have to leave the first Thursday afternoon of next month and I won’t be back until Sunday night,” you continue, and not for the first time Jason wishes he knew how many days it was until then.  He’ll just have to stick close by your side like always until that dreaded day arrives.  He’s not doing a very good job of hiding his unhappiness so you take his hand in your own and give it a little squeeze.  “I’m gonna miss you so much, sweetheart,” you sigh.  “But we’ll get through it.  I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll be thinking about you the whole time.”  Jason nods and squeezes your hand as well - he’ll be thinking about you the whole time, too.


You linger for as long as you can get away with before leaving for the airport, kissing one another right up until you close the car door.  Jason gives you a little wave as you pull out of the driveway, then just stands there forlornly as you drive out of sight.  After awhile he sighs unhappily, then heads to the barn to spend a little time with the goats, already feeling lonely.  He goes about his business for the rest of the day and once the evening chores are done he goes straight to the bedroom - he didn’t eat any dinner since you’re not around, and he’s not even in the mood to watch any T.V. tonight.  Instead he pulls off his sweater, takes off his mask and rinses his face, then brushes his teeth before laying down on his side of the bed, on top of the covers.  He sighs and stares up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that started buzzing through his whole body - particularly below his belt - as soon as he came into the bedroom.  He’s gotten accustomed to some sort of intimacy with you every night for so long now, and it feels like his body hasn’t gotten the message that his brain knows: that you aren’t here, so there will be no such intimacy tonight.  He rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes, but that turns out to be a mistake because it only forces his nose into the pillow where your head should be and he breaths in your scent and imagines you here with him.  He sighs again and rolls back over onto his back to stare at the ceiling once more, feeling restless and antsy and increasingly tense.  His hands fidget over his stomach and at his hips, plucking at the waistband of his pants and itching to move lower.  He’s never done it before, never touched himself this way all alone.  He’d never really had the urge to do it until he met you, and since then it has always been the two of you doing it together.  But the tension in his belly and groin is becoming unbearable, and while shame burns his face because his Mommy had told him not to touch himself there unless he was washing, he just can’t help it… plus he is a man now, he reminds himself, not a boy.  So surely it’s okay if he’s thinking about you, about the woman he loves and has sex with?  He’s half hard already and Jason rubs his palm lightly over the bulge beneath his trousers, his eyes closing as he lets out a slow, shaky breath… but then he jumps and jerks his hand away when the phone rings.  He’s afraid to answer it - what if it’s somebody other than you?  But you said you would call, and you had moved the phone to the nightstand before you left for this very reason.  And if it’s not you he can just hang up, so he takes the chance and slowly picks up the receiver. 

“Hey sweetie, it’s me,” comes your voice over the line, a bit contorted from the distance but still familiar.  It feels like a stupid thing to say - who else would be calling him?  But Jason is ecstatic and he tries to make a soft grunting noise into the phone so you know that he’s heard you.  “I miss you, I hope you’re doing okay.” you continue, reclining back on your too-stiff hotel bed against the too-flat pillows.  You give him the run-down of your trip so far, including complaining about the airport and flight so he won’t feel too envious.  “And now I’m stuck in this crappy hotel room all alone, without you here with me in bed.  Without my cutie-pie… my good boy.”  Jason’s breath catches a little bit at your words, which is exactly what you’d hoped for.  Calling him a good boy is basically an invitation for sex, since you only use that pet name in the bedroom.  While earlier you’d been sufficiently distracted by the travel and checking in to the conference, ever since you got back to your hotel room he’s been on your mind.  Phone sex is something that you never imagined you would ever do - especially considering that your partner doesn’t speak - but you’re desperate.  Just knowing he’s on the line with you will make masturbation so much less lonely than it otherwise would be and you hope that he’s open to the idea.  He does like it when you talk to him during sex, so it seems probable.  You’ve already been absentmindedly rubbing yourself through your pajama pants ever since he picked up the phone, and just that little hitch in his breath is enough to send your hand slipping beneath the waistband.  You take a slightly-shaky breath and say, “I’m just thinking about what it would be like if you were here with me… what we would be doing together.  Are you thinking about that, too?”

Jason nods, and it’s only then that he realizes his free hand is back at his crotch.  Then he also remembers that you can’t see him, so he tries to make another little grunt to acknowledge what you’d said.  Yes, he’s very much thinking about what you would be doing together if you were here with him, and he grows even harder knowing that you’re thinking about it, too.  “Actually, I’m not just thinking about it,” you venture, sliding your fingers through your already-slick folds.  “I’m here in bed, and I’m touching myself how I wish you were touching me right now.  But if you don’t want to hear about it that’s okay, you can just hang up the phone, sweetie.”  You want to give him an out in case he’s not comfortable with this, and you close your eyes and wait for his response, for the click of the phone disconnecting or for any sort of signal that he’s on board with what you’re trying to do.

Jason almost laughs that you’d think he wouldn’t want to hear about it, but he doesn’t want to give you the wrong idea so instead he makes another soft little noise and involuntarily nods.  He definitely wants to hear about it, plus hearing that you’re touching yourself while thinking about him gives him permission to do it as well.  He unfastens his fly and grunts in relief once his cock springs free, and you recognize that sound - apparently he’s okay with this, so you go for it: “I’ve had such a long day traveling and it would be so nice to just kiss for a little bit while you hold me in your arms.  You’re always so gentle with me, so loving and careful. I love how gentle you are.  You’re so good to me, Jason.” you sigh, and he sighs as well.  Nothing warms his heart and wakes up his body like hearing that you love how he treats you.  He used to worry that he wasn’t doing it right because he didn’t know what was expected of him in this kind of relationship - or any relationship, really - but thankfully you’ve always given him plenty of feedback and instruction.  While by now he knows that he does a good job, he still loves to hear you say it.  His hand slides slowly along his length, coaxing himself to full hardness and imagining how much better it would feel if it was your small, soft, warm hand instead of his own large, rough, somewhat cool one.  You, on the other hand, are having the exact opposite thoughts, wishing that it were his big fingers stroking your clit and slipping inside of you instead of your small, painfully inadequate ones and you tell him so.  “Then after kissing for awhile I’d love it if you touched me between my legs with your hand, and maybe with your mouth, too… stroking my clit and stretching and working my pussy with your fingers so I can take your huge cock.  You’re always so careful to make sure I’m nice and wet and ready to take you inside of me.  You’re such a good, thoughtful boy.”  Jason sucks in an unsteady little breath at the images your words are conjuring up and he squeezes himself a little tighter.  Even though your words are naughty - or perhaps because they are naughty - they get him extremely worked-up and a drop of pre-cum drips from his slit and onto his stomach.  “I’m so wet for you already, sweetheart… are you hard for me right now, too?”  Jason nods even though you can’t see it - it’s just reflexive at this point - and he makes a soft little noise into the phone.  Yes, he’s achingly hard for you right now and he rubs the next bead of pre-cum all around the head of his cock with his thumb, imagining it’s your fingers or tongue doing so instead.  “And I would touch you, too, just how you like it.  I love the texture of your skin, all over your body and especially your cock… your skin is so soft there, but you’re so hard underneath… God, you feel so good,” you moan, your head rolling restlessly from side to side on the pathetically understuffed pillow, and you remove your hand from your pajama pants long enough to wriggle around and pull them off - you only packed one pair and you’d rather not soak them with your juices, already flowing from your slit.  You spread your legs wide and make a mental note to tip the housekeepers extra to make up for the mess you’ll undoubtably be leaving on the sheets.

You plunge your fingers back into yourself - they’re woefully small, but for now they’ll have to do.  “It feels so amazing when you first enter me, your thick cock slowly spreading me open when you push so carefully inside before fucking me faster… does it feel good for you, too?”  Jason nods, teasing the sensitive head of his cock and trying to replicate what it feels like when he first slips inside of your soft, wet heat.  He forgets to make a sound, but you can hear a muffled rub against the phone and you know that he’s nodding.  You close your eyes and imagine his face.  “I love being able to look into your eyes while we make love, you have such beautiful hazel eyes… they were one of the first things I noticed about you when we met.”  That makes him feel a little bit shy - he’s always felt self-conscious about his eyes because of the way one of them isn’t placed quite right compared with the other, and he’s always hated how they are the one part of his deformed face that the mask can’t cover.  He wonders what the very first thing you noticed about him was… then you answer his unspoken question: “But the first thing I noticed was how big and tall you are, how strong you looked.  And you are strong.  When you hold me in your arms I feel so safe, so protected… I’m so lucky you’re my big, strong, handsome man, my good boy.”  Jason sighs happily.  While he still finds it hard to believe that you think he’s handsome, even he knows it’s true that he’s big and strong - and nothing makes him happier than using that size and strength to protect you… and also to make you feel good.  And he certainly seems to be making you feel good now despite being hundreds of miles away, judging by how your breathy little sighs have escalated.  You circle your clit with your fingers faster and harder, occasionally dipping into your cunt to collect more slickness to spread around your aching little nub.  “God, Jason, it feels so amazing when you fuck me, I wish you were doing it right now, slow and deep and then faster and more shallow… mmm, you always know how to fuck me just right, how to make me come so hard.  And I love to feel you come so hard inside of me, too, I love to feel you filling me up.”  Jason speeds up his motions, angling his cock up towards his stomach in preparation for his orgasm.  He’s so close now, and his breath comes in quick, harsh pants.  He hears you whimpering and panting as well, and when you begin murmuring his name over and over between your breathy sighs he knows that you’re close, too.  He wishes more than anything that he could be the one touching you, making love to you, giving you pleasure… but for now just knowing that you’re thinking of him as you pleasure yourself is enough to send him over the edge.  He strokes himself even faster and then groans as spurts of his cum land across the grayish skin of his stomach and chest, then he groans again when you breathe, “Did you just come for me, baby?”  Jason nods - he’s still too far gone to think about the fact that you can’t see it - but you can tell from the noises he made that he did.  “Good boy, Jason.  I love listening to you come, you sound so sexy.  You’re such a good boy, such a big, strong, handsome man.”  He sighs in bliss, your pet names and praise combined with post-orgasm endorphins making his dead heart swell pleasantly as he lightly strokes his softening cock back down and he relaxes into the bed.  Now if only you were here so he could give you a lazy kiss and wrap you up in his arms…

His dreamy thoughts are interrupted - though definitely not in an unwelcome way - when you moan, “I’m gonna come now, too, just thinking about you, wishing you were inside of me now, wishing it was you making me feel so good…”  Jason unconsciously begins spreading his own cum across his stomach and chest with his fingertips, imagining that it’s your slickness he’s caressing, imagining that you’re on the brink of climax because of his touch.  Within only a few more seconds he hears the telltale sounds of your orgasm and it’s almost enough to make him start getting hard again already.  After awhile your panting slows and quiets, and you feel completely sated.  This was the perfect way to relax after a long, aggravating day, and you’re already holding in a yawn.  “Mmm, that was so nice, sweetie.  I hope you enjoyed it, too.” you murmur, and Jason musters up an affirmative little grunt.  Oh yes, he definitely enjoyed it.  It wasn’t as good as actually making love to you, but considering how far away you are it’s an acceptable alternative.

“I need to go to sleep now, I have to get up early for the conference in the morning.  I love you, Jason.  Give my love to the goats and chickens, too, and I’ll be home soon.”  He grunts again and you smile into the phone.  He’s trying so hard.  “Okay sweetie, I’ll see you in three more days.  Goodnight, love.”  He grunts one last time and wishes he could tell you he loves you in return, but without being able to place his hand over your heart he has no way to express it.  He keeps the phone to his ear until he hears the click and monotone once you hang up, then replaces the receiver and rolls over with a soft, relaxed little sigh.  He grabs your pillow to spoon up against, trying to pretend that it’s you, and closes his eyes.  He wonders if you’ll call again tomorrow, if you’ll want to play this same game with him again… and he hopes that you will.

Chapter Text

Thanksgiving has never been one of your favorite holidays, and once you became an adult you never bothered to cook any traditional foods for the occasion.  Perhaps it’s unpatriotic, but celebrating what turned out to be the genocide of almost an entire people isn’t really your idea of a good time.  However, there are some slightly-positive memories deep in your mind of family celebrations when you were young, back when your extended family still bothered to make basic efforts to get together every once in awhile.  “Did you celebrate Thanksgiving when you were little?” you ask Jason at breakfast the Sunday before, and he nods.  His Mommy always made special food on Thanksgiving and he looked forward to it every year.  As if you’d read his mind, you ask: “Did your Mom cook a turkey?”  Jason nods.  “With stuffing in it?”  Another nod.  “Did she make other special things?”  He nods again, and all of a sudden cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for two actually sounds kind of fun to you.  Jason discovered last summer that he can still enjoy eating, and having an appreciative mouth to feed has amped up your efforts in the kitchen.  You have one or two family recipes tucked away in a notebook somewhere, and you wonder if there is a particular dish that Jason remembers fondly.  While you probably won’t be able to replicate his Mother’s version perfectly, you can at least try to help him experience something special from his childhood.  “Wanna look at some recipes online and see if there’s anything you’d like me to make for Thanksgiving?” you ask him, and he nods excitedly.  While he can’t cook or read, he hopes that maybe pictures of the food and your descriptions of the recipes might help him choose.

That afternoon is spent looking at various websites and putting together a menu.  Jason’s choices are about as quintessentially traditional as it’s possible to get, and truthfully some of them don’t sound all that appetizing to you: green bean casserole and sweet potatoes with marshmallows aren’t two dishes that made frequent appearances on your family table, but you have a new family now and his preferences are just as important as yours.  At least you both agreed on the turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes with lots of butter and cream, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie.  You give him a kiss on your way out the door as you head to the grocery store to pick up everything you don’t already have in the pantry, and Jason keeps himself occupied by cleaning the entire kitchen from ceiling to floor - he feels like it’s the least he can do since you’re working so hard by getting the food and preparing it.  He tilts his head in thought as he scrubs a particularly sticky smudge off of the floor beneath the sink - perhaps he can try to learn how to cook so that you don’t always have to do all the work?  He always figured it would be too hard for him because he can't read, but then he remembers that his Mommy made plenty of tasty food without using a recipe book, and you do as well.  So surely there are at least some things he could learn to make just by doing them over and over with your guidance and memorizing the steps.  You’ve successfully taught him so many things: about friendship and love and sex, about goats, chickens and gardens and how to take care of them, about where babies come from and personal hygiene, about computers and movies that have been released since 1957… and you’ve taught him how to clean the house so it seems logical that cooking should be the next step.  His mind made up, he goes to dump the dirty mop water down the toilet just as you open the front door.

“I’m back!” you call with your arms full of groceries, then smile affectionately to yourself when you notice that the kitchen floor is still wet.  You toe your shoes off before stepping through the doorway so you don’t mess up Jason’s nice clean floor as he returns from the bathroom with the empty bucket and wrung-out mop to put back in the cleaning closet.  “Thanks for cleaning the kitchen, sweetie, it looks great!  It’s so nice to cook in a beautiful clean kitchen.”  He grins at you, pleased that he’s made you happy, then helps you unpack the groceries and put them away.  It’s such a pleasant, domestic existence that you never imagined that you would ever have or enjoy, but somehow you do and you are.  You decide to get started on a few things that you can prep this far in advance and keep in the freezer, and while Jason usually hangs around while you’re cooking unless he’s off on a hunt, this time he’s shadowing you particularly closely and looks especially interested.  He seems to be focusing very intently on everything you’re doing so you ask, “Do you want to learn how to do some of this stuff?” and he nods.  “Okay!” you say happily, and hand him the measuring cup.  While it’s true he can’t read, Jason has proven himself to be a quick learner and he is excellent at remembering and following instructions - not to mention very intuitive as well as eager-to-please.  You’re confident that while some of the more complex dishes might be beyond his grasp without the benefit of following a recipe, he can most definitely learn some simpler ones.  You guide him through the remaining prep-work, then promise that you’ll show him how to help with everything else you make for your special meal on Thursday.


You’ve just finished wiping out the sink after washing the dishes when Jason sets the dishtowel aside and leans down to kiss your cheek.  You think it’s just a sweet, quick little innocent ‘thank you for teaching me something’ kiss until he places his hand on your waist and moves to kiss and nibble behind your ear as well, and his lips against that sensitive spot makes you squirm a little.  He seems to be feeling a bit frisky all of a sudden, and you’re pleased because he’s rarely the one to initiate sex.  Every time you initiate it he’s eager and enthusiastic so you can only assume that he just doesn’t want to be presumptuous.  He really is considerate up to a fault, you think to yourself as you smile and turn to kiss him on the mouth.  Clearly his Mother taught him well when it comes to good manners.  You throw the sponge carelessly into the sink as he pulls you closer to him, then you reach up to twine your arms around his neck for several more passionate kisses.  After only a moment he lifts you right up off of the floor and you’re expecting him to carry you to the bedroom like always, but this time he sets you on the counter and your heart speeds up as you spread your legs to allow him to stand between them.  Frisky seems to be an understatement because he wastes no more time in bringing his hands to the fastening of your jeans, then lightly tugs while looking into your eyes with a questioning expression - he’s waiting for permission to go further.  It never would have occurred to him to do this in the kitchen, but it was shown in one of the movies you’d watched together not long ago and for some reason your teaching him yet another new thing has him all hot and bothered for you right now.  You smile and nod at him, and he grins back and undoes your button and zipper and you wiggle around on top of the counter to help him pull your jeans and underwear all the way off.  He immediately kneels to start planting soft little kisses all along your inner thighs and when he gets to your center you can’t help but latch your hands onto his head.  Frisky is definitely an understatement as he goes to town between your legs, sucking and licking and shoving his tongue into you as deep as he can reach.  “God, Jason…” you whimper as that skillful tongue of his swirls between your lips, and he hums excitedly as you scratch your nails lightly against his scalp.  While he only learned relatively recently that he still enjoys eating food, he’s known that he loves eating you out for quite some time before that.  Not only does the intensely sexual scent, taste and texture of your pussy drive him wild, but your reactions and obvious pleasure whenever he does this makes it all the more enjoyable.  Plus as much as he loves it when you use your mouth on him, this activity leaves your mouth free to say nice things and when you murmur another breathy little compliment he’s immediately rock hard.  One big hand leaves your thigh to reach down and unzip his own pants, and once his erection is free he spreads your legs a little wider so his hand can join his mouth.  The first slow plunge of his cool, rough finger inside of you makes your head tilt back as you let out a shaky breath.  He adds another, scissoring and spreading them to open you up and you think you might come before he even gets his third finger in there.  You let go of his head to brace yourself against the counter, narrowly missing the sink, and you close your eyes and roll your hips against his face and fingers.  While usually Jason takes his time between your legs - often to the point of being frustrating - he seems to be in a hurry this time and is using every trick he knows to get you off quickly.  He must be particularly desperate to get inside of you as soon as possible right now, and that thought along with his third finger slipping inside of you triggers your climax.  You moan his name repeatedly as you nearly writhe right off of the countertop - if he didn’t have his face and hand planted against your crotch and such a firm grip on your thigh with his other hand you would fall onto the floor and probably break your tailbone.

Your orgasmic twitching hasn’t even completely ceased yet when he stands up to his full height and before you know it the blunt head of his cock is slipping through your sensitive folds, spreading your slickness along with his own saliva and pre-cum and testing your readiness.  You open your mouth to tell him to go ahead, but for once he doesn’t wait - he knows your body well enough by now to tell that you’re soft and stretched enough to take him so he pushes into your soaking-wet cunt so fast that it takes your breath away.  He groans in relief and starts thrusting quickly and somewhat frantically, and you can hear a thunking sound as his thighs hit the cabinet door beneath you.  It looks like this is going to be a rough one and you couldn’t be happier.  Jason is always so careful and gentle, and while you truly love and appreciate it - especially considering his decidedly above-average size and strength - every once in awhile you want him to relax his restraint just a little and fuck you a bit harder.  You usually have to ask him to do it, but right now he’s like a man possessed as he grabs your hips and meets your lips in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.  You try to match his thrusts but his hands are clamped onto you so tightly that you can’t move - you can only hang onto his shoulders as he slams into you.  “Jason, yessss…more…” you whimper, reveling in his desperation and lust for your body.  His motions become even more frantic, and as he clutches your hips so hard that it may very well leave bruises and pants harshly against your neck you know that he’s not going to last very long.  He’s definitely going to come before you’re even close to another orgasm, but you couldn’t care less because watching him lose so much of his normally tightly-leashed control is reward enough on its own.  He seems to react positively to verbal encouragement so you shove your own self-consciousness to the back of your mind and gasp out, “Yessss, Jason you feel so good, give it to me, fill me up…”  That’s apparently all it took, because he lets out an animalistic groan that makes you clench around him as he makes three more fierce, erratic thrusts before going stiff.  You feel his cock throbbing as he pumps load after load of his warm cum into you, and that feeling plus the look of ecstatic release on his face sends a bolt of electricity right to your core - perhaps you’re closer to coming again than you thought.  

Once his panting slows and he seems to come back to his senses he looks at you with a slightly worried expression so you hasten to reassure him that he wasn’t too rough.  “That was so good, you know I love it when you get a little bit rougher.”  You smile and stroke his face with your hands and he turns his head to kiss your palm.  “In fact, I’m gonna have to have you help me with cooking every night if this is what happens,” you tease him, and Jason gives you a big toothy grin as he takes a step back and pulls out of you.  His cum trickles from your thoroughly-fucked pussy and onto the countertop - unhygienic perhaps, but it’s also sexy as hell and nothing that a little bleach won’t fix.  He helps you hop down onto the floor, then bends to retrieve your pants and underwear.  He hands them to you, but there’s no point in putting them on over the sloppy mess between your legs.  “I need a shower to clean up everything going on down there.  You sure filled me up good, sweetie.” you tease him again and heat flares up in his face.  You told him to do that, and your telling him now that he did a good job of it totally counts as praise in his mind and he pulls you into a tight - but not too tight - bear hug and kisses the top of your head. Then he runs his hands lightly all over your body while nuzzling his face gently against your hair - he’s gone back into his usual exceedingly-careful-and-tender mode, and after the pounding he’s just given you it’s certainly welcome.  Your vagina is aching more than it has for awhile, but it’s a pleasant sort of ache… one that reminds you there is a man that you love and want, and who loves and wants you in return despite - or perhaps because of - your imperfect body and introverted personality.  He leans back and rests his hand over your heart, his hazel eyes big and soft and you place your own hand on top of his with a gentle smile.  “I love you, too.”


For the rest of that week after work each evening you find Jason waiting for you in the kitchen, chores done, kitchen spotless, hands washed and with an eager look on his face.  His earnestness and curiosity about everything is so endearing, though you suppose it shouldn’t be surprising.  For so many years he’s had only killing and mourning his Mother to occupy his time and mind, so every little new thing beyond that is novel to him. You eat dinner together, then you guide him through whatever can be prepared that day before resuming your usual evening routine of a little television and sex or cuddling before bed.  When Thursday arrives you wake up early to help Jason with the chores and prepare breakfast, and your first cooking lesson of the day is showing him how to scramble eggs.  After that the Thanksgiving dishes begin and you walk and talk him through everything that you’re doing while giving him little side tasks that you’re sure he can handle without feeling overwhelmed.  Having to guide him actually makes managing all of the various dishes a little bit trickier as you have to keep an eye on him as well as the oven and stovetop, but it’s worth it.  You’re having a blast doing this with him, and you know that he’s going to feel so proud about helping with this special meal.

You finally pull the turkey out of the oven - it was the smallest one you could find since it’s only the two of you and Jason doesn’t eat much - and decide to give him the honor of cutting it up.  After all, he’s an expert at wielding sharp objects, you chuckle to yourself.  You light a pair of decorative little candles on the table, and as you sit down together in front of the truly massive spread you feel a strangely nostalgic, pleasantly warm sort of feeling suffusing your whole body.  It’s like an echo of those few happy family memories from your childhood are blending in with the happy memories that you’re forming right now with your new family.  Jason is feeling the same way, and while there is a little tinge of sadness deep in his dead heart when he thinks of those Thanksgivings so long ago with his Mommy, mostly he’s feeling a happy sort of nostalgia at the sight and smell of all of these foods that he never expected to eat ever again.  He looks at you and his gratitude is almost overwhelming.  He wishes more than anything that his Mommy could be here right now with you both, that she could meet you and you could all three be a happy family together.  He’s sure that she would like you, and that you would like her, too.  But you are already more than he ever imagined he would have, are something that he expected to experience even less than eating a Thanksgiving meal ever again.  You see him watching you with a misty sort of expression and you take his big hand in yours to give it a little squeeze.  You aren’t the religious type so instead of saying a prayer you just give him an equally tender smile and say softly, “Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart.”  He gives you a soft little smile back and nods, and you let go of his hand to start digging into the feast that you made together - the first of many more to come.

Chapter Text

“Hey sweetie, can I ask you something?” you say one evening in bed after you’ve both (mostly) recovered from a particularly lengthy roll in the sheets, and Jason nods as he gently pushes your hair away from your still-slightly-sweaty face.  “You remember when we played that game where we pretended we didn’t know each other and like you were going to punish me?”  Jason nods, and you can’t help but grin a bit naughtily and add, “Followed by some really fantastic sex?”  He grins back and nods again.  “Well, I’d really like to try it again, but you said it wasn’t your favorite so I’m hoping you can tell me what you didn’t like so maybe we can figure out a way to try it that works for both of us.  Are you willing to do that?”  Jason nods.  Really the only thing he didn’t like about it was having to act like he was going to kill you to the point of actually holding weapons close to your body.  While he has excellent reflexes and knows how to handle a weapon (and a human body, for that matter) he had been so worried about accidentally stabbing or cutting you that it sucked all the fun out of the experience.  But he’s come to enjoy being a little rougher during sex sometimes, doesn’t mind wearing his mask or clothing, and he always loves seeing you excited and enjoying being with him.  And you certainly enjoyed the first role-play session even though he still doesn’t completely understand why.  But then again, he doesn’t completely understand why he wants you to boss him around and say naughty things to him during sex, so who is he to judge?

“Okay, thank you!”  You give him a kiss and continue, “Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the being less-gentle part you didn’t like, am I right?”  He nods.  “And you didn’t mind wearing your mask and clothes, right?”  He nods again.  “Was it the acting like strangers part?”  He shakes his head, and you’re happy because for some weird reason you really enjoyed that part of the game.  “Was it the acting like you were going to punish me part?”  He hesitates, then kind of half-nods, half-shrugs.  You haven’t quite exactly pinpointed it, but you’re getting close.  You think for another minute, trying to figure out a way to get more details, but Jason helps by bringing one hand underneath your jaw, fingers straightened, and pressing into your throat like he’d done with the meat cleaver.  “You didn’t like putting the meat cleaver against my neck?”  He nods.  “Were you worried you might hurt me?”  Another nod, even more vigorously.  Your heart swells with affection for him.  “You’re so sweet, Jason.  I know you would never hurt me on purpose, but I understand why you wouldn’t like doing that.  It’s asking you to take on a lot of responsibility for my safety, and it’s too easy for accidents to happen, huh?”  He nods, relieved that you understand.  “It probably takes you out of the mood, worrying that I’m going to do something dumb and get myself stabbed or something.”  Jason wouldn’t phrase it quite like that, wouldn’t ever accuse you of doing anything dumb, but he nods because you’re at least correct that he doesn’t want you to get stabbed.  You can’t help but give him a teasing little smile, then reach your hand down to lightly grope between his legs.  “There’s only thing I wanna get stabbed with, and I bet you agree, hmm?”  He grunts softly and reaches his own hand down to clutch yours as he leans in for a kiss.  He’s still too spent to go another round again already - and so are you - so you just give him a little squeeze and then hold his hand instead.

“Were you okay with pretty much everything else we did?”  He nods.  “So, do you think you would enjoy it if we did it again, but this time you didn’t put any weapons near my body?” you ask hopefully, and to your delight he smiles and nods.  “Okay, how about this: I’ll go for a walk in the woods and you sneak up on me like before, only this time you don’t have to try and scare me quite so much.  But the same rules apply: act like we don’t know each other, like you’re going to punish me, and if you do something too rough or scary I’ll say the word ‘stop’.  How does that sound?”  Jason nods.  Yes, as long as he doesn’t have to put anything sharp anywhere too close to you he’s perfectly happy to play along.  Actually, he’s suddenly rather looking forward to it.  You lean in to give him a long, deep, passionate kiss.  “Thank you, sweetheart.  You’re the best.” you say sweetly once you pull away, and Jason leans back in to kiss you in return.  Perhaps he’s ready for another round now after all.


You’re stuck inside working for the rest of the week, but as soon as Saturday comes and you and Jason finish breakfast he gives you a kiss before donning his mask and heading out the door like usual - he has rounds to make and a grave to visit.  You take care of the morning chores and some bills, then do a little housecleaning before pulling on your hiking shoes and heading outside, wondering if Jason will initiate your little game today or if he’s going to make you wait for awhile like he did last time.  While you acknowledge there’s something to be said for delayed gratification, you hope that he won’t make you wait too long.  You walk along for quite awhile, ears pricked and trying to breath as quietly as you can, hoping to hear him… but you’re starting to think today won’t be the day.  You finally give up and turn around towards home, but just as you’re passing the place where he’d threatened your life when you first met he suddenly steps out from behind a tree right in front of you.  He’s not even five feet away, and you jump and gasp in surprise.  How the hell did he manage that?  To your delight he’s holding his machete, and he takes a few steps closer to you and raises it up high above your head.  He clenches his other fist and glares down at you.  God, he’s so terrifyingly sexy.  “Mr. Voorhees,” you gulp, trying to make your voice sound shaky, then you drop to your knees in front of him and beg, “Please don’t kill me, I’ll do anything!”  Jason doesn’t move, doesn’t even nod his head - he just stays paused with the machete in mid-air like he had when you’d first encountered one another.  Being called ‘Mr. Voorhees’ feels weird to him, but it feels even weirder to have you cowering at his feet.  He can’t remember the last time you looked this afraid of him, not even during your first role-playing game.  He doesn’t really like it much, but it does make it a little easier for him to look a bit more angry, which is apparently what you want.

“I mean it, I’ll do anything, anything you want,” you repeat, and your eyes dart down to his crotch.  Anything.” you emphasize, “Just don’t kill me, please.”  Jason’s pretty sure he knows what you’re implying, but then you make it crystal clear when you bring one hand up to squeeze your own breast and trail the other between your legs.  You glance up at his face again.  “Please… I’ll make you feel really good, I promise.  Just please don’t kill me.”  Calling upon all of his imaginative powers, Jason makes you wait for a solid five seconds before lowering his machete and giving you one stern nod.  In reality, if you or anyone else tried to bargain for their lives with sexual favors he would destroy them instantly.  Well, he would destroy them regardless, but it would make him especially angry if anyone thought he could be so easily swayed.  Cheap, bad sex with a stranger could never even begin to tempt him to disobey his Mommy, could never tamp down that rage he feels for all those who invade his territory.  Never once had a pretty face or perfect body ever so much as turned his head before.  He didn’t even start finding you attractive until after you’d been friends for over a year… and it was almost two years before he even thought he might want to act on those feelings.

You suddenly realize that he’s too tall for you to reach your intended target when on your knees so you quickly look around for a solution and see a sizable boulder not far away.  Sitting on it should do the trick, so you slowly stand and back away from him while holding your hands up in a calming, defensive sort of gesture.  Jason raises the machete threateningly again and takes a few steps towards you, ready to catch you if you try to run away, but you quickly say, “I’m not running, I’m just going to sit on that rock over there so I can take care of my end of the deal, okay?”  He glares suspiciously at you, but lowers the machete and follows you to the boulder.  You sit down on it and he walks right up close so that he looms over you, once again ready to grab you if you try to escape… but instead you bring your hands to the front of his pants and start fumbling with the button.  You glance up into his stern, lopsided eyes with what you hope is a fearful expression, but you can’t hide your excitement and Jason can see it on your face.  He’s not sure exactly what you have in mind, but he’s feeling increasingly excited as well and he’s glad that his mask helps to hide at least some of it.  But it can’t hide all of that excitement, and once you get his pants unbuttoned and drag down the zipper you find him already starting to get hard.  

“Oh my god… you’re huge,” you gulp as you carefully pull his cock out of his pants - as if you didn’t know that already - and he clutches the machete handle a bit tighter.  You glance at the blood-stained blade out of the corner of your eye, and while he’s keeping it well away from making contact with you you’re still glad that he brought it - it adds so much to the mood and that dangerous feeling that you’re craving.  You start stroking him slowly and gently with both hands, your eyes darting up to meet his and back down again, and somehow he’s maintaining that serious, distrusting expression even as he grows longer and thicker under your touch.  He stands stock-still and grips the machete so tightly that his knuckles practically turn white beneath his gloves, locking his knees and trying not to show any outward signs of weakness.  If this situation were somehow real - which it never would be, because he would have already lopped the head right off of whatever foolish person was trying to seduce him like this - Jason wouldn’t want to appear vulnerable in any way.  He just stares angrily down at you and you’re impressed by how in-character he’s staying.  He definitely looks meaner than he did the first time you played this game, and for some sick reason it turns you on.  The contrast between the soft, loving way he looks at you all the time and how he’s looking at you right now is stark, and you know it would be even more drastic if you were actually one of his victims.  You wonder if anyone has ever tried this before, has tried to offer him sex in exchange for their lives… if so, you can’t imagine it went well for them.


You bring your lips to the head of his cock and give him a soft kiss, then poke the tip of your tongue out to trace along his slit before moving down to tease lightly over his frenulum the way you know he likes it.  Jason works hard to hold in a grunt as your tongue grows more bold and you resume stroking along his shaft with both hands, feeling the blueish veins begin to swell and pulse as he fills to his full size.  You lick up his musky, salty pre-cum as soon as it emerges and his free hand moves to grip your hair, but he doesn’t control your movements.  Even though he’s playing a role right now he still doesn’t want to make you gag on his cock.  That’s just not his style, he doesn’t want to ever make you feel that sort of discomfort.  Plus he’d be worried about you accidentally biting him if you choked, and while any resultant wound would heal just like every other wound he sustains he really doesn’t want to find out what it feels like to get his penis bitten.  There’s no way you can get all of him in your mouth, but you try to take as much as you can before it triggers your gag reflex.  You swallow him down as far as possible once, then twice, then you move your head back so he slides all the way out of your throat and a long string of his pre-cum mixed with your saliva stretches from the tip of his cock to the tip of your tongue.  He just barely manages to hold in another grunt at the sight and you redouble your efforts around the sensitive head while working your hands more quickly along his shaft, now even more slick with your saliva.  You feel his thighs begin to tremble just a little as you make wet, obscene slurping sounds while spit runs down your chin, and you glance up again to see him gazing down at you with his eyes heavy-lidded and looking more deep in pleasure than angry.  You imagine that if you were actually his victim you might consider biting him and then running for your life right now… but that would probably be an incredibly stupid idea considering that Jason can get stabbed or even shot and still pursue his prey.  Even if he temporarily fell to the ground in pain he’d still probably manage to throw the machete into your back from a distance as you ran.  And since you aren’t actually his victim and you are more than happy to suck his cock, causing him pain is the absolute last thing you want to do.  You ramp up the speed and firmness of your hands and focus your lips and tongue where you know he’s the most sensitive and he grips your hair just a little tighter.  You see the machete move a bit out of the corner of your eye as he clutches it harder and you glance up at his face again to see his eyes are now closed, his chin pointing down towards his heaving chest and you can hear him breathing hard through his nose in an attempt to keep from openly panting.  You suck firmly on the tip and swirl your tongue across his leaking slit while your hands twist and stroke him from the base to just under your lips, and his stomach muscles clench in his effort not to thrust into your mouth - he’s getting close.  You consider pausing long enough to say something nice to help him along since he loves that so much, but if this situation was real you would be too afraid to speak a word, let alone nice ones.  So you just double-down on your attentions to him and at last he tugs your hair a bit and thrusts ever-so-slightly into your mouth.  You almost gag, but manage to pull back just in time.  Then he taps the flat side of the machete twice against your upper arm, sending a thrill through your body and signaling to you that he’s about to come so you can prepare yourself.  It’s not quite in-character but he can’t help it.  He just can’t bring himself to be that rude to you, role-playing or not.

You suck him even harder and the hot, wet pressure of your mouth is finally too much for him and his entire body goes taut… then you feel the first spurts of his cum hit the back of your throat.  You swallow as fast as you can, but there’s just too much of it and you’re forced to let some of it spill out the sides of your mouth.  Jason manages to keep almost entirely silent as he comes, still attempting to maintain the appearance of strength and control, and somehow having to restrain himself in this way adds to the intensity of his orgasm… but when he opens his eyes and sees his thick semen oozing from your chin onto your chest he can’t help but grunt quietly.  Only once, but you hear it and smile to yourself.  You keep sucking and stroking until he finishes, then lick him clean and dry until he roughly shoves you away and you almost fall off of the boulder.  You wipe your mouth and chin with the back of your hand as he takes a single step back and tucks himself back into his pants - but he doesn’t fasten them. 

“Please, can I go now, Mr. Voorhees?” you whisper, intending for the game to be over.  You figure he’ll make it up to you back at home later… but instead Jason glares down at you with that same stern look in his eyes and slowly shakes his head.

Chapter Text

You blink up at Jason in shock.  Sucking him off had already gotten you pretty hot and bothered, but now you’re so turned on that you don’t know what to do.  He's definitely taking this scenario and running with it, and your shock morphs into delight.  You try to think of how you should respond, how to keep the momentum of this little game going… and the best thing you can think of is to try and escape.  You know it’s futile, that he will most definitely catch you, but that’s the entire point.  Plus you’d like to think that if this situation was real that you wouldn’t be 100% completely passive.  Everyone wants to believe they’d be the Final Girl.  Trying to be crafty, you give him a little nod as if you’re submitting and slowly slide off to the side of the boulder… then without warning you tear off into the forest away from him, running as fast as your legs will take you.

Jason is actually a little bit surprised.  If you were a normal victim he wouldn’t be surprised at all, but he honestly didn’t see this coming since he figured that you would want him to give you an orgasm now.  Besides that, surely you know that trying to outrun him is pointless… but that’s clearly your intention and the idea of chasing you down suddenly sounds extremely entertaining so he decides to give you a head start to draw out the fun.  He stabs the machete into the ground so it’s sticking upright out of the dirt, then zips up his pants and counts to ten in his head… and then he takes off after you.

Before long you can hear the sound of the underbrush being pushed aside and trampled beneath Jason’s heavy footsteps over your panting.  It’s been years since you’ve done any sort of serious cardio and you suddenly think that it would be wise to pick it back up again, if for no other reason than to make this a regular part of you and Jason’s playtime.  You glance over your shoulder, then shriek when you see him advancing on you so fast that if you were his victim you’d start saying your Hail Marys right now.  He looks completely terrifying, and very much not-human.  He looks more like some sort of ghost or monster that was birthed from the forest itself and you can’t see his eyes from this distance, only dark shadows through the eye-holes of the mask.  It renders his face void of any humanity whatsoever, and if that mask wasn’t already so beloved and familiar you would be horrified.  “Shit!” you cry out, nearly stumbling when you turn your head back around, and even though logically you know that you’re safe your body is reacting as if this was truly a life-threatening situation.  Your adrenaline is pumping so fiercely that you feel like you might have a heart-attack, then before you know it big, strong, familiar hands snatch you around your ribs and lift you into the air.  Suddenly your back is pressed against Jason’s chest with his arms wrapped so tightly around you that you can hardly move from the waist-up… but you can still move your legs so you start flailing and kicking with all of your might, trying to land a hit.  At last you successfully manage to dig your heel into his thigh, and even though it doesn’t hurt him Jason decides to pretend that it did, just to keep things interesting.  He grunts and lets go of you, and you fall to your knees on the soft dirt and spongy moss below.  You scramble away from him on all fours, trying and failing to get to your feet as quickly as you can, and when you glance behind you again you see him rubbing his thigh with one hand where you’d kicked him.  Even though it would be breaking character you’re about to ask him if he’s okay… but before the words can leave your lips he’s coming after you once more and you shriek again.  Jason crouches down and actually grabs your ankles - though not too hard - then drags you on your stomach back along the ground towards him and your fingers dig into the dirt as you try to crawl away.  You’re shrieking pretty much nonstop at this point, but you haven’t said ‘stop’ and Jason knows that you don’t mind getting dirty so he doesn’t fret about it.  When he has you right underneath him he rolls you roughly over onto your back, then before you can try to kick him again he grips the front of your plaid flannel shirt and lifts you right up off of the ground so that you’re eye-to-eye.

Sweet Jesus, he’s really going for it, you think to yourself, and while you can at least finally see his eyes again that doesn’t make it much less unnerving - or any less exciting.  He doesn’t look angry anymore, he looks feral.  Like he wants to eat you alive.  Several years ago you would have thought that he actually was going to eat you alive, back before you knew that he is actually a gentle giant cursed with unfortunate circumstances and an unfortunate existence, one who enjoys cupcakes and sandwiches rather than human flesh.

It’s getting a little uncomfortable being held up by the front of your shirt and you can feel the fabric beginning to tear at the arm seams… but then Jason quickly walks forward and your back is suddenly pressed against a tree.  One of his strong thighs goes between your legs to keep you up off of the ground, then he pulls off his gloves and throws them aside.  Your heart beats even faster, wondering what he’s about to do with those now-bare hands… and the answer is quite unexpected: he brings them both to the front of your shirt and rips it right down the center, sending buttons flying and exposing your naked chest for all the world to see.  Your nipple immediately hardens in the cool forest air and you gasp in surprise, then he yanks the shirt down your shoulders so it helps immobilize your arms - and also forces you to stick out your chest ever-so-slightly.  He did it to further restrain you in case you tried to punch or slap him, but all of the fight has drained out of you at this point and you stop struggling.  You would be preparing for an extremely horrible rape followed by certain death if you were his victim right now (since you didn’t know back then that Jason isn’t a rapist) but instead you’re preparing yourself for what is likely to be one hell of an orgasm followed by lots of kisses and cuddles.  Jason wraps one hand around your neck - though not too hard - further immobilizing you against the tree, and then he surprises you again by dragging the index finger of his other hand through the remnants of his cum that’s still stuck to your chest and bringing it to your lips, still open and panting.  A zing of electricity shoots from between your legs throughout your entire body as you lean your head forward to take his finger into your mouth and suck and lick it clean like you'd done to his cock not long ago.  A quiet growl rumbles beneath his mask as your tongue swirls around the tip of his finger, tasting the salt of his semen and skin and you can’t hold in a muffled whimper.  He pulls his finger from your mouth with a wet ‘pop’, then lets go of your neck just long enough to bring his hands to the front of your jeans... then he rips them right down the middle just like he’d done to your shirt, popping the button free and rending the zipper in two.  “Fuck!” you gasp, clinging to the tree behind you as much as you can as he yanks the ruined jeans further down your thighs, completely ripping the crotch seam apart and shifting his own thigh that’s supporting you to allow the denim to drag between your bodies and away from his target.  Only your flimsy panties are left in the way now, and they are ruined just as badly as your jeans when he rips them off of you as if they were nothing.  You’re so turned on that it doesn’t even occur to you that you’ll be walking back home through the woods with hardly any clothes on, but even if it did cross your mind you wouldn’t care right at the moment.

For his part Jason is rock-hard again and desperate to be inside you, but despite how rough he’s being at the moment he doesn’t want to hurt you and he came prepared.  You almost laugh when he reaches one hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small bottle of lube - even when playing the part of a monster he is mindful of your comfort and pleasure.  You’re already so wet that you could probably take him without the lube if he took a moment to warm you up with his fingers first, but the gesture is definitely appreciated.  He pops open the bottle with his thumb and pours some onto his fingers, then tucks it back into his pocket before grabbing one of your thighs with his non-lubed hand and wrapping it around his waist so he can move his own thigh enough to get his hand between your legs.  He starts sliding his slippery fingers along your slit and you wrap your other thigh around his waist and wiggle against the tree, managing to reach out your arms a bit despite them still being somewhat trapped within your shirt, and you clutch onto his arms to help hold yourself up.  Jason finds you already wet and swollen for him so he plunges his finger deep inside of your sopping cunt, stretching and pumping and spreading your slickness, and your head tilts back on its own and your skull knocks against the bark with a dull thud.  You vaguely register the discomfort but it’s drowned out by the pleasure of his middle finger joining his index and you buck your pelvis into his hand as best you can.  He presses his thumb against your clit as his ring finger slides in as well, and the game is apparently over because you can’t help but moan, “God, Jason, fuck me, please!”

He can deny you nothing - especially not that - so he yanks down his zipper and gets his erection free as quickly as possible, then spreads you open with his slippery fingers and shoves himself inside of you as far as he can go without causing you pain.  On the contrary you cry out in pleasure as he groans as well, and once again your head falls back and thunks against the tree - this time hard enough that you make a little “Ow,” noise and wince in pain.  Jason immediately freezes and gives you a worried look, thinking that he was what hurt you… but you hasten to reassure him.  “Don’t stop, I just bonked my head, it’s fine.”  He looks unconvinced, so you squeeze your cunt around him and insist, “I promise I’m okay, just keep going, sweetie.”  He grunts at the increased pressure around his sensitive flesh and obeys, adjusting his grip so he’s holding you up by your ass with both hands.  He doesn’t want you to bump your head again, so he takes several steps back away from the tree and then he’s bouncing you up and down on his cock as if you weigh nothing at all.  You feel your shirt rip a little more as you force your arms forward so you can latch onto his shoulders, pulling yourself close to him.  Your breast rubs against his chest with each thrust, and right at this moment Jason wishes he wasn’t so much taller than you so he could take it into his mouth while he fucks you.  He doesn’t linger on that regret for very long, however, instead pouring all of his focus into giving you pleasure with other parts of his body and before long you let go of his shoulder with one hand to reach down and rub your clit in time with his thrusts.  Then he starts wishing that he could hold you up with one hand so he could touch you there himself, but while he’s easily strong enough to do it he’s not completely confident that it wouldn’t throw things off balance and ruin the mood.  He does some quick geospatial calculations in his head and thinks that it might work if he presses you up against the tree again, but he’s unwilling to risk you giving yourself a concussion when you come so he just lets you get on with your self-stimulation.  Besides, watching you touch yourself while his cock disappears into your body beneath your fingers is scorchingly sexy and since the game is clearly over he no longer tries to hold in his little noises of pleasure.  “Yeah, Jason, good boy, tell me how much you like it…” you murmur.  He’s almost completely silent almost all of the time except when you’re making love, and hearing his grunts and groans between his heavy breathing is possibly the sexiest thing on earth and you love it.  Jason moans louder and hopes that you’re close, because despite his relatively recent orgasm he’s already on the brink again and your next words shove him right over the edge: “Oh god, Jason, I’m gonna come, keep fucking me just like that, that’s perfect… yeah baby, you’re such a good boy, you’re gonna make me come so hard…”  He groans even louder still and desperately tries to hold on, and mercifully for him you wail out his name as your own climax hits you.  He immediately follows and you shudder and jerk together, his cock throbbing and your pussy spasming and if there happened to be any wildlife nearby they most certainly have fled by now with how loud you’re being.

Jason holds you up until both of you regain your breath and he’s gone soft, then you unwrap your legs from around his waist and he sets your feet gently on the ground.  You both moan as he slips out of your dripping cunt and he holds you steady for a moment as your head rests against his chest and he nuzzles his mask into your hair.  “Holy shit, that was amazing,” you finally say, and you feel Jason nod against the top of your head.  While initially he’d only gone along with this kind of game for your sake, he’s enjoying them more and more himself and he’s already thinking up ideas for the next one.  But for now he lifts up his mask and pulls back just far enough to lean down and give you a long, tender kiss and you hum contentedly against his lips.  You’re going to have to treat him to an equally incredible round of his favorite kind of game later on: where you’re the dominant one and he’s at your mercy.  Considering how much he ramped up his efforts this time you feel equally obligated to increase your efforts as well, and you suddenly wonder if he would enjoy being immobilized like you were against the tree just now.  While you obviously can’t hold him up or restrain him with your muscles, you do have some rope in the barn that’s not being used… your already-flushed cheeks turn a bit more pink at that thought and you make up your mind right here and now to bring up this idea with him later.

Jason breaks the kiss and you pull your ruined shirt back up your arms and onto your shoulders properly, but it doesn’t really help much.  You’re still completely naked from the waist down save for your socks and boots - probably not the most dignified look - and as your sex-induced-perspiration begins to evaporate you’re starting to feel a bit chilly.  Ever the gentleman, Jason shrugs out of his tattered old jacket and holds it out so you can slip your arms into the way-too-large sleeves and wrap it around yourself.  It goes past your knees and covers you completely, like a ragged, dirt-colored bathrobe that smells deliciously of your sweet, gentle monster.  Once you’re all cozy and covered Jason finally tucks himself back into his pants and fastens up the zipper, then bends to collect his gloves and your torn-up jeans and panties.  He looks a bit apologetic, but you roll up his jacket sleeves and take the ruined clothing from him and throw them back on the ground.  “Don’t you dare feel bad about that, that was one of the best parts.  I’ve got more clothes, and I’ve budgeted enough to buy a new set for you to rip off of me every month, so good work, soldier.”  You wink at him, and even though it’s not true that you’ve included ‘clothing-for-Jason-to-destroy’ in your monthly budget, you suddenly think that might not be a bad idea considering how much you love it when he does that.  Jason grins as you take his hand in yours, and together you begin walking back towards home.

“Did I hurt you when I kicked you in the leg?” you ask him after awhile, and Jason shakes his head.  “So you were just messing with me?”  He smiles a little naughtily as he nods, and you can’t help but laugh and tease him, “You bad boy, I should have known!  Nothing can hurt my big, strong man, especially not little ol’ me.”  Jason’s naughty look turns into one of deep affection and he stops walking so he can gather you up his arms to snuggle you close for a moment.  He loves how little you are compared to him, how soft and delicate and perfectly lovely you are, and if he could speak he would tell you so.  And he would also tell you that you’re wrong, that you are absolutely capable of hurting him and you could do so very easily: all you would have to do is leave.  Fortunately for him, that’s never going to happen.  Not ever, until the day that you die.

Chapter Text

“Fuck… yes… you’re so… good…”  Your voice lurches with each thrust of Jason’s cock inside you, and he grunts in reply.  You’re deep into a particularly long and energetic round of sex - possibly setting a new personal time record, in fact - and your chin drops down towards your chest as you readjust your weight on your hands and knees while Jason vigorously fucks you from behind.  His big, rough hands slide from your shoulders down your back and to your hips, then finally to your ass so he can gently knead and caress you, spreading your cheeks and just barely dipping his thumbs in to slide along the cleft between them.  He’s getting more and more bold in his explorations of your body - just as you are of his - and you wonder how long it will be before he tries actually slipping one of those thumbs inside of your ass - assuming it ever occurs to him to do that.  That thought sends a thrill through your already-excited body, and then a sudden, unexpected image of him using one of those big, rough hands to spank you pops into your mind.  What would that feel like?  Would you like it?  Would he?  Well, you’ll never know until you try, so you moan out: “God, Jason… yeah, spank me!”

Jason freezes so fast that you can practically hear the comedic record-scratch.  The sudden loss of friction is maddening and you try to keep bouncing yourself backwards onto his cock, but he’s gripping your hips so tightly now that you can’t move.  You look over your shoulder and he looks more confused and alarmed than you think you’ve ever seen him look before… because he IS more confused and alarmed than he’s felt in a long time.  Why on earth would you want him to spank you?  His Mommy only ever spanked him when he did something really very bad, and you haven’t done anything bad at all.  Quite the contrary, in fact.  Just when Jason thinks he’s got a handle on this whole sex thing, you toss something completely new into the ring and it throws him for a loop nearly every time.

He looks so bewildered that you finally ask, “Sweetie?  Are you okay?”  Slowly he nods, his brain still trying to process what you just asked him to do and why you would want him to do it, and despite your frustration at the sudden halt you can’t help but hold in a giggle.  “I just want to try it.  Not too hard or anything, just a few little spanks while you’re fucking me to see what it feels like, that’s all.”  You try your best to wiggle your ass against his grip, hoping to catch his attention again and entice him into granting your request.  “Please, baby? Pretty pleeeease?”  You give him a seductive little pout and bat your eyelashes at him, and he finally nods and gives you a light tap on one cheek with his open palm.  “Jason,” you sigh, “A little harder please, sweetheart, I barely felt that.”  He takes a deep breath and nods again, then smacks you just a tiny bit harder.  He doesn’t really like the idea of hitting you - especially not on his favorite part of your body below your face - but how is he supposed to resist that pleading, pouty look you’re giving him?  He may be undead, but he’s still just a man, after all.

When his hand makes contact once again you let out a little gasp, but just when he’s about to start a litany of self-abuse in his mind for hurting you you moan, “Just a tiny bit harder, and I think that’ll be good… but start fucking me again first, sweetie, just like before, please?”  You drop your elbows down to the mattress, sticking your ass up in the air even more and that’s an irresistible enough display to get Jason moving again.  He starts off slowly rolling his hips against you, but it doesn’t take too long before he’s pounding into you as fiercely as he was before.  Just when you’re about to ask him to try spanking you again you feel one of his hands leave your hip and then come back down on your right butt cheek at the exact firmness you’d requested and you gasp in shock - it definitely adds a new sensation, and that sudden surprise and slight sting along with Jason’s huge cock filling you up is way more enjoyable than you’d anticipated.  Before he can start doubting himself you moan against the pillow, “Yeah, Jason, that’s good baby, do it again…”  You sound so wanton, so sincere in your desire for it that he obeys without hesitation this time.  To his surprise, the way the soft flesh of your ass jiggles from the shockwave of his palm and the way your skin turns just a bit pink is so enticing that he suddenly feels even harder somehow.  “God yes, good boy, Jason!” you cry out as he fucks you faster, and even as his excitement increases Jason can’t help but take note of the irony in you calling him a good boy while he’s spanking you as if you were a bad girl.  The thought of calling you that feels so naughty to him that he can’t help but groan and spank you again, and he wishes he could speak so he could try it and see if you like it.

“Fffffuck, yesss, Jason, I’m gonna come…” you pant, fists gripping the sheet as you bounce back onto his hard cock as far as you can take, and without being told he reaches one hand around to rub your clit with his fingers even faster than he’s rutting into you.  Within seconds you’re wailing and moaning and bearing down on him so hard that the strong muscles of your cunt nearly push his dick right out of you.  Jason grunts and shoves himself in deeper, and the pressure of your tight, slick body clamping and fluttering around him sends him right over the edge.  He grabs and squeezes your left butt cheek with his free hand hard enough to leave bruises, spreading you open as much as he can and after only a few more jerky, shuddering thrusts he releases inside of you with a loud groan.  His grip on your ass, the noises he’s making and the feeling of his cock twitching so deep inside you is too fucking sexy to tolerate and you collapse onto the bed, taking him with you.  You writhe and keen and whimper beneath him as he quickly braces himself on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you, but he keeps his chest pressed against your back just heavily enough to pin you to the bed until you both finish.

“Jesus… god damn, that was good,” you mumble into the pillow when Jason finally pulls out and rolls onto his back beside you.  Even though you’re not looking at him he nods in agreement, panting heavily while he tries to recover.  You’ve thoroughly worn each other out so it takes you a few minutes to finally roll over onto your side to face him.  He looks like he’s already on the verge of falling asleep and you give him a lazy smile that he can’t see.  “Okay, we definitely need to add that into the mix every now and then, assuming you don’t mind it.”  He doesn’t open his eyes, but his own sated little grin gets a bit wider as he nods.  He never would have guessed it, but no, he doesn’t mind.  Anything that makes you happy makes him happy too, just as long as it’s not actually hurting you.  And judging by your reaction, quite the opposite was true.  Sighing contentedly and still with his eyes closed, Jason rolls onto his side and reaches out to pull you against him.  You sigh contentedly as well, nestling in as close as you can to his strong, slightly-sweaty chest, already looking forward to trying out this new addition to your sexual repertoire again.

Chapter Text

You squint and blink, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes as a sudden, blinding pinprick of light pierces the darkness and then grows, like flames eating away a piece of paper from the center out.  After a moment your eyes adjust and you look around, but there is nothing but white for as far as you can see, including above you, including beneath your feet.  It’s a little disorienting, but for some reason you don’t feel afraid.  You must have fallen asleep, and this must be a dream.  While your dreams have gotten weirder lately thanks to the drugs, you’ve had moments of lucid dreaming from time to time all your life and clearly this is one of them, because you are very consciously in control of yourself even if you’re a little bit confused.  Despite the monotonous landscape this dream is a blissful one, because for the first time in nearly a year you’re free from the crippling pain caused by the cancer that has invaded your body.  In fact, it goes beyond just a lack of pain - you feel glowing and warm and better than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.  You run your hands down your arms and over your hips and waist: while illness and the accompanying lack of appetite has withered you to a shadow of your former self, here in this dream you are back to your healthy weight and at the peak of your prime.  It feels so good.  As you bring your hands back up your ribs and over your chest your eyes go wide… both of your breasts are intact and unblemished, the scars vanished without a trace and the missing flesh that was cut away during your first battle with cancer is whole and restored.  The tightness at the left side of your face has relaxed, your lips no longer feel pulled to the side and you bring your hands to your face and find that scar gone as well.  It feels wonderful. So wonderful.  But you wish that this dream would get a little more interesting, would allow you to enjoy this ideal version of your body in a way other than just standing around in the light… but then a different feeling slowly washes over you.  A feeling that this is no dream.  You close your eyes but you still see the light, and that warm, glowing feeling that seems to be radiating out from your very soul grows stronger and stronger.  And then somehow you understand.  You aren’t dreaming.

You’d never looked forward to death - how many people do?  But while you feared the pain and suffering that might come with it, you’d never really feared death itself too badly… and now you know that you were right not to be afraid.  Suddenly the white is no longer boring, but rather it’s soothing and even familiar.  It’s like coming home.  Like floating in a vast ocean of softness and love - a description that you would normally find a bit nauseatingly sentimental but right now it is comforting rather than corny.  You notice that time seems to have stopped, or else sped up beyond the speed of light… you can’t really tell, but it doesn’t matter.  This must be what infinity feels like, you think to yourself.  You soak up the warmth and the glow for you don’t know how long, just feeling at complete and utter peace.

After thousands of years - or perhaps only a fraction of a second - you hear a sound that is just as soothing, just as familiar as this place and you open your eyes again: a chorus of eager bleats and the trample of two-toed hooves… and from the light emerges a herd of several dozen goats, each one of them known to you.  Your already overjoyed heart lights up even more and you drop to your knees as they surround you.  The younger ones, every kid who had fed you, bounce around and lightly butt one another - and you as well.  Every sire of those kids and every momma you’d milked are fit and at the prime of their years, just like you are, and they rub against you and nibble lightly at your clothes and hair.  It seems that all dogs do indeed go to heaven, and all goats do as well.  Hey goofballs!  I’ve missed you, loves! you exclaim, and somehow you know that in this place they can understand you beyond just the tone of your voice.  Another thousand years pass in the blink of an eye, and all at once you remember every second you’d spent with each one of them: every birth, every death, every hilarious goaty antic, every frustration, every heartbreak.  It’s like living your life all over again, and somehow you’re also living each of their lives as well.  You can feel their simple thoughts, the simple struggles that make up the existences of creatures with a brain of that size and the depth of awareness those brains can contain.  You can feel their memories and experiences: the long hours spent in mediation as they chewed their cud, the excitement at the sound of the grain can opening, the pleasure of a delicious tree or a mouthful of hay.  You can feel their memories of you as well, and with deep satisfaction you have it confirmed that you treated them well during their time with you on earth.

The flashbacks end but stay fresh in your mind.  You stand once again and the goats scatter a bit and wander around you, slipping in and out of the light and going to places you haven’t yet found, but know you eventually will.  Then you see a figure walking towards you, though this one isn’t a goat.  As they emerge from the light you recognize a face that you’ve seen only in a photograph - a small, blurry, black and white photograph.  It’s a pretty blonde woman with her hair done in an old-fashioned style, and even though her eyes aren’t lopsided there is something very familiar about them, more than the photo could show.  Hello dear, you hear her say in a sweet, motherly tone, and though you’ve never heard her voice in your life somehow now you feel like you’ve known it forever.  You want to hug her.  You don’t say that out loud, but she seems to know anyway and reaches out her arms so you walk forward to meet her.  You know that sweater, that light blue relic that was faded and worn and neatly folded on a dresser.  Now it’s vivid and clean, and so soft as you embrace one another.  She feels like your own mother, the mother you never had.  Hi, Mom, you say, somehow knowing that she wants you to call her that.  You close your eyes as you hold one another, and it’s like a puzzle piece that was missing from your heart is snapped into place.  You feel every second she spent with her son, with the love of your life, from the moment of his birth till the very end.  Every birthday, every bedtime story, every scraped knee and giggle fit.  Every tickle fight, every temper-tantrum, every tear, every joyful moment - you feel it all.  Her pain at his loss, her rage and despair… but above all you feel her deep, all-encompassing, unconditional love for him, so strong and so pure that it makes you want to weep.  You know that she is feeling your love for him as well: every tender kiss, every kind word and loving thought, every meal and movie and memory made together… during life you would be mortified for a parent to know the passion that you and Jason shared together beyond those sweet things, but here in this place it is different.  Nothing is embarrassing here, nothing matters except for love.  You pull away from the hug but keep your hands clasped together, and she gives you a soft smile that you return.  He’s coming home to us, you hear her say.  My sweet baby boy is finally free.  I’ve waited for him for so long.  Thank you for helping him come back to me.

You’re already suffused with such complete and all-consuming joy that you didn’t think it was possible to feel any more... but as Pamela looks just over your shoulder and her soft smile widens your heart feels like it’s exploded into nothing but light and warmth.  You quickly turn around and tears start to well up at the corners of your eyes as the light is broken by a large, hulking, so, so familiar form.

He looks so different and yet exactly the same all at once, but here in this place you’re able to effortlessly comprehend and accept this dichotomy.  You can still see him as you knew him: with mottled grey skin, lips twisted askew and lopsided eyes… but while they’re still that same beautiful hazel and still hold that same loving expression as he looks at you, now those eyes are properly placed.  His lips have straightened, just as your own have, and he no longer resembles a cyanotic corpse.  Now he is all glowing flesh, as pink and as warm as your own, and while he is still just as tall and broad as before there isn’t a trace of monstrousness left.  He’s been restored to perfect health, just like yourself.  It’s as if whatever went wrong with his conception, whatever genes got confused and cells went awry have all been corrected, just as the renegade cells of your own illness have been wiped away.  He looks so handsome, both new and familiar, and best of all he looks happy.  You haven’t seen him look this happy for so long, not since before you both knew that the cancer was taking you away from him.  But now he is here with you once again, and he is smiling at you with that same loving smile… only now with slightly-straightened teeth.

You came with me, you say as the tears spill from your eyes, and Jason nods as he gently wraps you up in his arms.  He whispers your name against your hair, and though you have never before heard him speak it feels like you’ve known his voice all your life.  Possibly even before then.  He’s been a part of you forever, it seems, and now you know he will remain that way.  You snuggle into his strong, broad chest for millions of years, long enough for galaxies to die and be reborn, but they pass in the blink of an eye.  You share each and every second you’d spent together, both from his eyes and yours: from the moment he saw you from a distance moving into your cabin and the moment you spun around and looked up into his angry face.  The rage he felt when you invaded his land and the fear you felt while waiting for his machete to fall.  The way his rage and your fear slowly changed into cautious suspicion, then unexpected curiosity about one another.  Then confused longing for one another’s company, the second-guessing of your own emotions, then awkward affection that eventually became comfortable.  Then the insecurity and self-doubt, each thinking that your desire for the other was unreciprocated and forever would be.  The moment you took a chance and leaned in to kiss him, and the chance he took in accepting that kiss.  The long two years that it took to break down the resistance in your hearts to any love and affection, the two years it took to allow your bodies to do the same, and then the decades after that spent exploring, deepening and expanding that love and affection.  The passion, the devotion, the soul-shattering sex.  The laugher and goofiness, the comfortable domestic day-to-day routines, the mutual support and emotional intimacy.  The way your hearts broke as your time together grew short.  The pain of your illness and eventual death, and the pain in his heart as he lay down to follow you.  He didn’t know where he would go when he decided to rest, if there was a place beyond hell for a being such as himself.  But the universe is a forgiving one, it seems, for he is here with you now… and somehow he knows he’ll be with you forever.

You pull away from the embrace.  Happy tears in his eyes match your own as he leans down for a soft, tender kiss, then he squeezes your hand and you step aside.  He has one more very important - and long overdue - reunion waiting.

Jason, my sweet, special boy…


I’ve missed you so much.  You’ve made me so proud.

I’ve missed you too, Mommy.  I wanted to make you proud.

It’s a simple exchange, but more words aren’t really necessary - the emotions make themselves known just fine without them.  You watch this tender moment, this tragedy healed, this injustice corrected, and along with the man that you know you can also see Jason as the boy that he’d been - the boy that his Mother had known.  He hugs her tight with his little face smooshed into her sweater as he sobs like the child that he is and was.  She shushes and soothes him through her own happy tears.  It’s okay now, Jason.  We’re together again and everything is okay.  Things are better here.  She pulls back a bit from her fully-grown son and then looks at you once more with a warm, grateful expression.  Though things were much better for awhile before you came here, weren’t they?  You’ve always deserved someone just as special as you are to love, and I’m so happy you found her.  Jason nods and beams at you as well, his eyes sparkling as he reaches out one big hand that you walk forward to accept.  He says your name once more, louder than a whisper this time, and the sound of his voice makes you fall in love with him all over again.  When you take his hand you suddenly hear every single thing that he’d wanted to say to you during your life together, but that the faulty bit of wiring in his brain so cruelly denied: every question, every joke, every compliment.  Every apology, every sweet nothing, every passionate endearment and expression of pleasure.  Every worry, every fear, every bit of gratitude and joy.  This is my Mother, he says with a grin, and while you don’t need the introduction you know that he’s been longing to say those words since the moment you became friends.  Then he feels a light tug at the back of his knee, and you all three look down to see Billy and Nan chewing on his pants.  You and Pamela watch and laugh gently as he kneels to more easily scratch between their ears and nuzzle his face into their fur.  Hi goats! he greets them with the same words and tone that you’d used countless times in his presence.  They bleat in reply, then lightly press their heads into his hands when he adds: Sorry I don’t have a tree for you.

Your heart overflows with yet more love for him - he’s still thinking of others rather than himself.  You sure raised him right, you say to his Mother, and Pamela smiles as she lovingly pats Jason on his broad shoulder and says: Don’t worry, darling, there’s plenty of trees here for you to bring them.  Now come, dears, there’s so much more to see.  You clasp hands together with Jason in the middle and walk further into the light, your little family of three together at last.  Together forever.

Chapter Text

Jason’s looking at you with an excited expression as you emerge from the bathroom and walk towards the bed.  He’s been thinking about making love with you all day while fighting off the resultant, recurrent hard-on, and now it’s finally time.  He’s come to expect it every night since that’s been the pattern since you first became intimate, and while normally it’s your favorite part of the day, too, tonight you’re just not feeling it quite as much as you usually do - bleeding from your cramping uterus tends to have that effect.  But he looks so adorable and hopeful sitting there upright beneath the blankets, and despite your aching body the sight of his bare stomach, chest and arms make you feel a flicker of desire… but it’s not enough to make the idea of his cock inside of you appealing right now and you feel sad and a little bit guilty about it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m on my period and I’m really sore and uncomfortable right now.  I need to skip the sex for tonight, and maybe a few days after that.” you apologize as you crawl into bed beside him, and Jason looks utterly perplexed in addition to concerned.  He’s disappointed that sex is off the table - and possibly for several days! - but he’s even more sorry to hear that you’re not feeling well.  He has absolutely no idea what you mean by ‘being on your period’.  He can only assume it means that you’re sick, but he’s never heard that term for sickness before and when you see how confused he is you feel stupid.  Of course Jason wouldn’t understand the phenomenon of menstruation.  It’s extremely unlikely that his Mother explained the finer details of the female reproductive system to him prior to his childhood drowning, and since his resurrection it’s even more unlikely that he’s had this discussion with any other women he’s stumbled across before slaughtering them.  It’s up to you to educate him about this particular subject and you wonder how detailed you should get.  You decide to keep it simple for now - there will be time for a more in-depth biology lesson later when you’re not feeling so tired.

“Okay, so it’s kind of hard to explain why, but basically women bleed from their vagina for a few days every month.  It has to do with how babies are made, and it generally doesn’t feel too great. I personally get kinda crampy here,” you place one hand over your lower abdomen, “And my boobs get kinda sore and my vag gets kinda achy.  So even though you’re gorgeous and sexy as hell, making love is just a little too much for me right now.  I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Jason feels bashful and flattered by your compliment, but he can’t help but tilt his head a bit while he thinks about what you’ve just told him.  Who knew there were so many bizarre things about people for him to learn outside of every possible way to end their lives?  He finds it quite interesting that you can regularly bleed without being hurt beyond feeling crampy and sore, and he also thinks it’s kind of neat because he himself can also bleed without it causing him too much pain.  It’s one more thing you have in common, in his mind.  He’s certainly not put off by it, but he is afraid to touch you anywhere you said you’re feeling uncomfortable so he just places his hand lightly and somewhat awkwardly on your shoulder when you scoot up close to him.

“Plus it’s kinda messy and gross.  You probably don’t wanna stick your dick in that anyway, huh?” you add without thinking, but when Jason shrugs you realize that was a dumb thing to say - obviously he’s not bothered by blood.  In fact, Jason can’t think of anything that would dissuade him from wanting to be inside of you - except for you not wanting it.  And you apparently don’t want it right now so he just gives you a gentle pat on your shoulder and tries not to look too disappointed.  He’s withstood worse things than going without sex for a few days… although this is pretty close to the worst.  Despite his best efforts he’s not doing a great job at hiding how bummed out he is, and somehow the knowledge of how much he wants you but is restraining himself in combination with how good he smells and the feel of his big hand on your shoulder rekindles that little flicker of desire.  “Can we just kinda make out for awhile?  That would feel nice.” you ask as you bring your own hand up to rest over his and scoot even closer to him, and Jason brightens up and nods.  Making out is absolutely better than nothing and as he tilts his head down to give you a soft kiss he decides right then and there to do his very best to help take your mind off of your discomfort.

His hand slides gently from your shoulder down your back to carefully squeeze and massage your ass.  Even though you didn’t say this was a sore spot he doesn’t want to run the slightest risk of making you any more uncomfortable.  You let out a soft sigh against his lips as your own hand runs the now-familiar trail between his chest and his jaw, then back down his neck to his shoulder before returning to his chest.  He’s being so gentle, so careful, and not for the first time you marvel at how tender this huge beast of a man can be with you… and only with you.  The way Jason treats you makes your heart both break and swell with love all at once, and the contrast between the gentleness he shows you and the absolute brutality he shows his victims fans that flicker of desire into a flame.  You may not feel up to taking his cock right now, but there are certainly other ways to enjoy his body… and other ways for him to enjoy yours as well.

You take his hand and bring it down to rest lightly between your legs.  The feel of his fingers is dulled by your pad - you always worry about keeping a tampon in for so long overnight - but it’s best to start out softly anyway.  “Gently,” you murmur - as if he wasn’t being so already - and Jason obeys.  He slowly drags his fingertips along your crotch from crack to clit and his own sex stiffens in response.  It takes him a second to figure out why you feel different tonight, but then he realizes that you must have bandaged yourself to keep from bleeding all over.  Once again he worries about making you more uncomfortable, but you sigh in bliss as you guide his hand a bit more firmly against you so he goes with it, letting you call the shots.  “That feels so good,” you murmur again, and his cock twitches a bit at your praise.  Every time you say something nice like that it makes Jason’s dead heart pulse with warmth and sends a zing of electricity straight to his groin.  God, how he wishes you would say that more often during sex, that you would reassure him at every step that he’s succeeding at giving you pleasure… that you would tell him he’s being a good boy for you.  That thought and his imagination conjuring up the sound of your voice saying those words makes him shift a bit, his erection trapped and rubbing against the fabric of the boxer shorts you’d bought him some time ago.  He really doesn’t expect you to do anything for him while you’re feeling so crummy, but you bring your hand to his crotch anyway and gently squeeze his taut, aching flesh and he huffs out a little breath of relief.  As you rub your palm against him through the thin cotton it reinforces your decision that having him inside of you right now would be a mistake.  He’s just so big, just like the rest of him.  His length and girth are much more substantial than you ever would have chosen for a partner, but you’ve come to enjoy it - most of the time.  For tonight, however, you just slip your hand through the open fly of his shorts and carefully maneuver his cock free so you can stroke him directly, and as your thumb swipes over the sensitive head he grunts so quietly that you can barely hear it.  God, how you wish he would make more noise during sex… most of the time you don’t mind that he can’t speak, though sometimes you do wish he could tell you exactly what he’s thinking and feeling rather than having to rely on expressions, body language and often amusing - though sometimes frustrating - games of twenty-questions and charades.  But since Jason hardly ever makes a single sound outside of the bedroom every little grunt, every sigh - and best of all, every growl and moan - that he makes during sex carries that much more weight.  You see his eyes close as your fingertips tease along his slit and the ridge of his frenulum, and his pleasure sends a little tremor of arousal through your whole body.  Sometimes you still can’t believe that you can make him feel this way, that you can make this monstrous, undead killer quiver and melt beneath your touch… and even more amazingly, that he wants you to make him feel this way.  You remember very clearly that the stories about him say he has a particular vendetta against sexual activity and his awkwardness about the subject right up until he finally fell in love with you led you to believe that those stories were true… but lately you’ve been wondering if perhaps his murderousness has nothing to do with the sex?  All people except you are equally unwelcome in his territory, and all people except you meet their demise at his hands regardless of whether or not they’re fucking.  But in the end it really doesn’t matter whether or not Jason has issues with other people’s sexual escapades, just as long as he keeps having such escapades with you.  And considering the way he grunts again and thrusts into your grip a few times it seems likely that he will.

After several delicious strokes of your soft, warm hand around him Jason forces himself to focus on what his own hand is doing between your legs again.  You’re still guiding his fingers firmly against you and at last you need more stimulation.  That goddamn pad has got to get out of the way if you have any hope of an orgasm tonight, which suddenly sounds very appealing right now. Trusting that what you’re about to do won’t bother him considering his nonchalance about gore, you bring his hand higher to slip beneath the elastic of your pajama pants and then back down between your bare skin and the pad so he can touch you directly.  As you suspected would be the case, he doesn’t react to the the wetness he finds there any differently than he usually does.  “A little more gently, and not inside, please,” you request and he eases up immediately.  “Yes, that’s perfect…” you sigh as Jason starts pressing kisses all over your face and jaw as his cool, rough fingers gently circle your clit.  He makes a barely-audible, blissful little muffled sound against your cheek.  Nobody except his Mommy had ever told him he was ‘perfect’, that he could do anything ‘perfectly’.  She used to call him her ‘perfect, special boy’, and hearing you say something even remotely close to that makes him feel a similar - though not exact - sort of happiness.  He’s pretty sure that he’s at least close-to-perfect at killing, but no one outside of himself has ever confirmed it so you telling him that he’s touching you perfectly is music to his ears.  “Oh, Jason…” you whimper, spreading your legs wider and tilting your head back so he can kiss your throat, and you’re so distracted that your own hand around his cock goes still.  But Jason doesn’t care, he just hopes you’ll keep talking and that he can make you come soon, that he can help you forget whatever discomfort this ‘period’ thing is causing you.

He gets his wish before too long.  “A little faster, baby, please,” you moan and squeeze your fist a bit tighter around him.  You’ve never used that particular pet name before and for a second Jason thinks that he might actually come just from that.  He makes an excited little noise against your throat as he obeys, trying to tell you that he likes it, and luckily for him you add his reaction to your conviction that he enjoys being called such things.  It’s also lucky for him that you’ve enjoyed calling him those things ever since you’d first told him he was cute all those months ago.  You’d been certain he was blushing beneath his mask as he looked shyly at the floor of his run-down old cabin, and it was the first time it had really struck you that your affection and opinion mattered to him.  It was a powerful feeling, perhaps even more so than having his cock in your hands.  “Just a little more, a little harder sweetheart,”  You’re panting now, your climax rapidly building as every uncomfortable sensation in your body is drowned out by the pleasure his mouth and hands are giving you.  Jason can’t help gently thrusting his hips forward into your grip as he nibbles a soft, tickling little love bite just behind your ear and his other hand squeezes your ass a bit more firmly.  He’s right on the edge but you jump over it before him, gasping out his name as your climax ripples through you.  You manage to give him a few more quick, rough strokes, and that combined with his name mixed in with your breathy sighs and moans sends him headlong into bliss as well.

“Hnnghh…” he groans against your neck, this time loudly enough that you can clearly hear it over your heavy breathing and that noise is the icing on the cake.

“Yeah, baby,” you encourage him, jerking him off faster and hoping he’ll do it again, and to your satisfaction he groans even louder as his entire body goes stiff.  From the way his cock is pulsing in your grip and he’s panting harshly against where your neck meets your shoulder you know that he’s coming, and while you can’t feel it through the fabric of your pajamas it’s likely that his semen is landing somewhere on your thighs.  But you couldn’t possibly care less - it’s certainly no messier than his fingers are going to be once he finally takes them out of your underwear, and washing machines exist for a reason, after all.

You both sigh in sated pleasure once you come back down again, and after a moment you gently tuck him back into his boxers as he pulls his hand back up and out of your pajama pants.  Jason brings his fingers to his face to inspect them, curious about how much blood he’s going to find, and it’s really not as much as he was expecting.  He’s severed enough arteries and bled out enough victims to know roughly how much blood the average human body contains and the amount on his fingers now is quite minuscule in comparison.  It’s certainly less than he himself needs to lose before feeling sore, but you are a fragile, soft, still-living person while he has been undead for many, many years.  This reminder of your mortality squeezes his heart and sends a tiny flicker of distress pinging against the back of his mind but he quickly shoves it away, burying it beneath a heavy blanket of denial.  “Sorry,” you can’t help but murmur as he stares at his red-stained fingers, and his morose thoughts are wiped away by confusion.  You just gave him a very satisfying orgasm when he hadn’t been expecting one, and you had also let him touch you and try to make you feel just as good despite your illness.  He feels quite content with all of that, so what could you possibly be apologizing for?  “Told you it was kinda messy,” you say a bit sheepishly, hoping that somehow he hasn’t changed his mind about being bothered by blood in the bedroom… but Jason smiles at you and shakes his head, then brings his hand away from his face so he can pull you in close to him and give you a deep, gentle kiss.  He’s no doubt streaking blood all over your pajamas as he strokes your back but you really don’t care.  Living with and loving a mass-murderer naturally involves a certain amount of messiness anyway, and as long as he’s not bothered then you won’t worry about it, either.  You break the kiss with another soft little contented sigh, and Jason rolls onto his back so you can cuddle up against his side and drape your arm across his chest like usual.  Nothing is as comforting as breathing in the earthy, musky scent of his cool skin and feeling his slow, steady heartbeat beneath your palm as you drift off to sleep.  You feel his chest rise and fall as Jason takes a deep, satisfied breath and tilts his head down to give you a little goodnight nuzzle into your hair like usual as well.  “Thanks, sweetheart, that was so nice.  I actually feel way better now.” you murmur, and he closes his own eyes and sighs happily as he reaches to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.  Sometimes he still can’t believe that he can make you feel so good, that you want him to make you feel good in this way… or any way, really.  He can hardly believe that a beautiful, smart, sweet and compassionate person like you could love him and treat him so kindly, could look at and touch him with affection and passion rather than fear or disgust.  Here in your bed in your warm, cozy cabin with your small, soft, warm body nestled so closely against him Jason feels a peace that he never thought he would enjoy ever again… that a creature like him could never have or even deserve.  He wishes he could tell you so, but the best he can do is place his own hand gently on top of your own against his heart as he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Did you celebrate Christmas when you were little?” you ask one early December evening while snuggled up in front of the fireplace together, and Jason nods.  There was never very much money because most of it was spent on things like food and clothes and taking him to doctors, but his Mommy always somehow managed to buy him a few toys or other fun things every year for Christmas and his birthday.  Plus Santa always filled up his stocking with little toys and sweets and since he had nothing to compare it to, no friends whose holiday haul far outweighed his own, Jason was always happy with what he received.

“Me too.  Do you wanna get a Christmas tree and decorate the house a little bit?  Might be fun, huh?”  Jason’s eyes seem to light up at your suggestion and he nods eagerly - it’s been many, many years since he’s even seen Christmas decorations since hardly anyone comes to Crystal Lake during the winter, and the few who do don’t usually last long enough to get decorations up.  “Okay!” you smile at him, “I’ll go to town this weekend and pick up some lights and stuff, and then when I get back how about we go find a tree to cut down?” Jason nods again.  He wishes he could go pick out decorations with you, but it’s simply not possible.  But in the end it doesn’t really matter - he’s confident that anything you bring home will be wonderful.

A few days later the first snow comes and you carefully drive to town and return home with several bags overflowing with holiday cheer: strings of bright little fairy lights, velvety red ribbons, a stand and skirt for the tree, two matching stockings and the weighted hooks to hold them over the hearth, and plenty of sparkly baubles to adorn the tree since you only have a handful of ornaments in storage and you’re quite certain that Jason has none.  But when you enter the kitchen you find that he’s found a way to contribute to the decorating anyway: he’s sitting at the table with scissors in hand and a stack of printer paper, little scraps of which are scattered all over the table and floor around him… and there is also a pile of folded paper snowflakes that he’s been busily crafting since you left.  He used to make them with his Mommy when he was a little boy since they were inexpensive and fun, and he’s always loved doing arts and crafts.  He liked the way the paper snowflakes looked hanging from the ceilings and against the windows and he hopes that you’ll like them, too.  He also hopes you won’t mind that he’s cut up some of your printer paper… you’ve told him before that he’s welcome to it, but what if you’ve changed your mind?  But he doesn’t need to worry about that because you give him a big smile when you see what he’s created.

“Aww, I love these!” you exclaim, putting down your bags and purse and picking up one of the snowflakes for a closer look.  It’s really quite lovely and you’re impressed by what fine, delicate detail such big hands can accomplish - though considering how dextrous he is with those big hands on your body perhaps you really shouldn’t be surprised.  “I haven’t made these in forever, what a great idea, sweetie!  They’ll look so pretty with all the other decorations.”  Jason beams at you and despite being an enormous man he suddenly looks like a proud little boy.  “Can I make some with you?” you ask and he nods happily as you pull a second pair of scissors, some string and tape out of the junk drawer and scoot your chair over to share the stack of paper with him.  Some time later you have a considerable pile of pretty, delicate paper snowflakes finished and Jason reaches up to hang them from the ceiling all over the living room by the strings - no ladder required - while you stick some to the windows with clear tape.  “Beautiful,” you smile, giving him a sideways squeeze around his back and waist, and Jason plants a little kiss on the top of your head.  “Should we go get a tree before putting up all the other decorations?  It’s gonna get dark before too long, and I don’t know about you but I don’t wanna let the snow get too much deeper.”  Jason nods.  Even though generally the snow and the cold don’t bother him, he knows that you don’t like it much.  And while he can easily tromp through the snow no matter how deep it gets, the same cannot be said for you and your relatively short little legs.  As you pull on your winter boots and jacket he considers carrying you, but he’s not sure how to offer and he doesn’t want to just pick you up and lug you around without your permission.  If you ask him to, however, he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

You grab a flashlight just in case and head to the barn so Jason can retrieve the hatchet, then together you walk through the snow and into the woods, searching for that perfect tree.  You’ve learned the forests and trails pretty well by now thanks to Jason’s guidance and your frequent walks together, and when you notice you happen to be heading in the direction of his cabin you suddenly have an idea: “Hey sweetheart, do you want to go visit your Mom for a little bit?  It’s not too much further, and I’d like that.  It’s been awhile since I went with you.”  You’d never really been one for visiting graves before you met Jason, but you know how important his Mother was (and still is) to him and since this is all he has left of her you try to be supportive.  He looks down at you and you see his eyes go soft beneath his mask, practically radiating waves of gratitude as he nods and squeezes your hand.  You’re almost there when you find what looks like the perfect tree.  “Hey, what do you think about that one?” you ask, tugging lightly on his jacket sleeve and pointing.  It’s a lovely fir tree that looks like it should fit in your living room, tall enough to fill the space nicely but not hit the ceiling.  You would be hesitant to chop down a tree that size on your own, but you’re confident that Jason can take care of it in no time.  Hell, he could probably rip the whole thing right out of the ground if necessary.  Jason agrees that it’s a very nice tree, and together you take note of it’s location and agree to get it on your way back home.

When you arrive at his run-down old cabin you both notice immediately that something is wrong - the roof was in pretty rough shape already, but now it appears to be sagging much more than usual on one side.  You glance at one another, then after paying a brief moment of respect at the gravesite you both head inside the cabin to check the damage.  It’s significant.  Part of the roof has caved in completely and snow is piling up on the semi-rotten floorboards beneath the gaping hole.  It wouldn’t really matter since Jason spends all of his indoor time at your house now, but that snow is also piling up all over the dresser where his makeshift shrine to his former life is set up.  “Oh no!” you gasp, and you and Jason hurry over to it.  The first thing you rescue is the photograph in it’s little green frame - you don’t want to lose this one remaining image of little Jason and his Mother.  Then you wipe the snow off of the little wooden horse and try to do the same to the mangy teddy bear, but it’s soaked.  Jason is brushing the snow off of the worn-out, light-blue sweater as fast as he can while still being gentle, and you can tell that he’s panicking.  “Don’t worry, love, it’ll be okay!” you reassure him, “We can take it home and let it dry out inside.  In fact, let’s take all of this stuff back home.  We can find a good spot for it there and keep everything nice and safe and dry.  What do you think?” you offer, and once again Jason looks at you with deep gratitude as he nods.  That idea had never occurred to him, he would never presume to take up space in your house with his things, but he’s so happy that you’ve offered.  It suddenly dawns on you that you’re officially asking him to move in with you, though considering he’s had a toothbrush - provided by you - at your house for quite awhile and he stays there pretty much all the time now, really this is just completing the process.  Still, finally 100% officially cohabiting together makes you extremely happy.

You place the picture frame and horse carefully in your pockets and Jason puts the teddy bear in his own, much-larger pocket before gently picking up the neatly-folded sweater and tucking it beneath his jacket to keep it safe.  “We can get some new candles, too, if you want,” you offer, trying to carefully peel the piece of construction paper with his little blue handprint off of the dresser. It’s extremely wet and despite your best efforts it tears a bit, but thankfully not too much.  “Is there anything else you want to take?” you add, unsure of how to safely transport this delicate paper artifact back home, and Jason shrugs a bit even as he pulls open one of the dresser drawers.  You look inside and see a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of dark blue denim jeans, not quite as impeccably-folded as his Mother’s sacred sweater but still obviously treated with care, and also what looks like a dirty, off-white pillowcase.  “Are these yours?”  He nods.  You had no idea that Jason owned any clothes other than what he always wears, but when you give him the fragile piece of construction paper to cradle in his hand and pick up the shirt it becomes obvious why he doesn’t wear it: it’s far too small to fit him.  Clearly he’s grown between his resurrection and now, and not for the first time you wonder just what mystical powers are in charge of his existence… and you hope that he isn’t still growing because that would eventually make sex exceedingly difficult. The pattern of the shirt is mostly blues and blacks with a small bit of white, but there is an enormous old blood stain saturating much of the left side and a huge tear through that same shoulder, and you realize that this must be what he was wearing when he acquired the large scar that wraps over his entire left shoulder from below his clavicle to his scapula.  You haven’t asked him about it (or any of his other scars) yet, but now you can’t hold in your curiosity anymore.

“Did a machete do this?” you ask as you inspect the tear more closely.  The slice in the shirt and the scar on his body are so big that you can’t imagine what else could have caused it - other than perhaps a chainsaw, the thought of which makes you shudder - and sure enough he nods.  You wonder what happened to the person who had done it, if they’d been one of the lucky few who managed to escape from him or if they wound up as just one more tally in his body count.  “Damn, that must have hurt,” you murmur and Jason half-shrugs, half-nods.  He’s gotten tougher and more tolerant of injuries and pain over the years, but that wound was sustained fairly early in his resurrection and it definitely hurt and had even knocked him out for awhile, which frustratingly led to his assailant and would-be victim escaping.  Nowadays he’d recover considerably faster, and that bad girl who tried to trick him would be a pile of bones in the forest.  “Too bad, I really like this shirt.  I bet you looked adorable in it.” you smile as you drape it over your forearm and Jason blushes a bit.  These clothes aren’t nearly as important to him as his Mommy’s sweater and the other items on top of the dresser, but he still feels a little bit sentimental about them somehow and he’s glad that you seem open to taking these home as well.  Plus he always wants to keep the bag as a backup just in case his hockey mask ever gets destroyed.  You discover that the jeans are actually overalls - also clearly too small for him now - and the image of Jason in this outfit is so cute that you can hardly stand it.  “What’s this?” you ask as you pick up the pillowcase, and Jason gestures to his face.  “You wore this as a mask?”  He nods, and your heart breaks a little bit that he hates his own face so much that he would resort to wearing a bag on his head.  It’s not quite as cute as the plaid shirt and overalls in your opinion, and it’s definitely not as sexy as the hockey mask he wears currently, so you can’t say you’re especially sad that he’s retired this particular accessory.  But you pick it up anyway and ask if there’s anything else, and when Jason shakes his head you both exit the cabin and hurry back home.  Chopping down the tree can wait until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Once you’ve both kicked off your snowy boots and hung your jackets in the laundry room to dry, it’s time to take care of Jason’s few precious belongings.  You leave his old shirt, overalls, the pillowcase - and most importantly of all, his Mommy’s sweater - in the laundry room to hand wash, and you think you might be able to spot-clean the teddy bear as well so you leave it there, too.  Then you spread the paper with his little handprint out on a dishtowel on the coffee table in the living room to dry while Jason lights a fire in the fireplace.  Fortunately the picture frame managed to hold up against the snow and the photo itself appears to be undamaged.  You gently wipe the frame clean and dry, then with one more loving look place it and the little wooden horse on the mantle between several pretty rocks Jason has gifted you and your own photo of yourself with your very first goat.  She died many years ago, but you still miss her frequently.

You head back to the laundry room and Jason hovers nervously at your side while you fill up the sink with lukewarm water and the most gentle detergent you have.  You pat the sweater and ask, “Is it okay if I wash this?  I know it’s really important to you and I promise it won’t damage it.  I think it will look really, really nice all cleaned up, and probably more like it did when she wore it.”  That image makes Jason’s heart twinge a little, and you see that old sadness that rears up from time to time intermix with the anxiety in his eyes now.  That sadness is usually dormant when he’s with you, but it’s never really gone.  You don’t think it will ever truly be gone, and since you’ve never loved another person except him you can’t imagine how painful such a loss must be.  You study his eyes, waiting for his response, and his own hand rests on the sweater for a moment before he finally gives you a little nod.  He trusts you, but he still can’t help feeling anxious when it slips beneath the suds.  It’s so old, what if it completely falls apart when it’s soaked with water?  What if it’s only dust and luck that has held it together all these years?  But it stays intact as the water gets progressively dirtier, and after several washes and rinses you remove it and gently place it on a towel to dry flat.  It looks a hundred times better already and Jason is reassured that he was right to trust you.  His own clothing goes into the sink next, because even though he won’t ever wear them again they’re extremely filthy and if they’re going to be stored in your dresser you’d rather have them as clean as possible.  Once again you think of what a shame it is that they no longer fit him, especially the ruined shirt.  Something about the overalls feels a bit juvenile to you - perhaps because you’ve really only seen little children wearing them… well, children and crusty old farmers, neither of which Jason is - but you really love the shirt and imagine what he must have looked like wearing it… and then it hits you like a bolt of lightening: you’ve bought him a sweater, a few pairs of boxer shorts and socks, and there is no reason that you can’t get him a new plaid flannel shirt.  And perhaps a pair of jeans to replace the denim overalls.  Christmas is right around the corner, after all, and you have yet to come up with an idea of what to get him - and this is perfect.  You generally try not to buy him too many things because you’re sensitive to the fact that his options for reciprocating are extremely limited.  All he can offer you are things he’s made or found in the woods, and knowing his selfless, generous nature you don’t want to make him feel bad by lavishing him with gifts that he has no hope of repaying.  But this is really too good to pass up, and you try to justify it by telling yourself that if he looks as great in such clothing as you think he will then it’s as much a present for yourself as it is for him.

You try to clean the teddy bear, but it’s so fragile that scrubbing too hard will cause more problems than it solves so it’s just going to have to stay a bit mangy and dirty.  You take it back to the living room and place it up on the mantle beside the photos, wooden horse and rocks then say, “I’ll get a frame for your adorable little handprint next time I’m in town so we can hang it up.  And we’ll find a good place for your Mom’s sweater once it dries out.  I think it might fit nicely up there, too, if we fold it right.”  Jason nods.  That sounds like an excellent plan to him, and he can’t quite describe the feeling suffusing his dead heart to see his things so prominently displayed above the fireplace in the room you spend so much time in together.  His run-down old cabin was a house (barely), just a roof over his head and a place to keep his few earthly possessions, but this feels like a home.  As if you read his mind you say, “Everything looks perfect there, don’t you think?  On our mantel.  In our home.”  You smile up at him, hoping that wasn’t too forward somehow, but he smiles right back and you’re not quite sure how to describe what you’re feeling, either.  All you know is that it feels good.  Good, and right.  You start to reach your arms up to wrap around his neck but he lifts you off the floor instead and you squeal in surprise and delight as strong forearms slide beneath your butt to hold you up against him as he walks towards the bedroom.  As much as Jason is enjoying looking at his personal belongings sitting in what feels like a place of honor in the living room, there’s a different room he’d rather be in with you right now.


Picking out a new shirt and jeans for him turned out to be just as fun as you’d imagined.  The next day after going back for the tree and getting it decorated you stealthily measured his pants and sweater under the pretext of washing them.  While you’d visually estimated the size of his sweater when you bought it, you want to get as proper of a fit as possible for these particular items and as far as you could tell Jason was completely clueless about your true intentions as he lounged around in his t-shirt and boxer shorts while gazing happily at the beautiful, sparkly Christmas tree.  You timed your trip to town so the odds of him being outside doing chores when you got back were high, thereby minimizing the likelihood of him seeing you bringing in a bag that didn’t contain groceries.  You had to drive a little bit further to the next town over that has a larger feed and tack store with a clothing section, and while you steered clear of the cowboy hats and boots (although the image of Jason wearing those was quite amusing) there was a wide variety of jeans and work shirts, just as you were hoping.  You pick dark blue Levis and a plaid flannel shirt in blues and browns that should compliment his grayish skin and hazel eyes, feeling giddy as you made the purchase and hurried back home through the heavy snow.

You placed his neatly-wrapped gifts beneath the tree on the morning of Christmas Eve, and when Jason notices he kneels down and pinches some of the wrapping paper between his fingers and you can’t tell if the expression on his face is surprised or questioning or both.  “It’s for you from me, but you gotta wait till tomorrow morning to open it.” you grin, and Jason smiles but also shakes his head a little and pulls on the paper again.  Clearly he’s trying to communicate something so you start taking guesses, but each one is met with another head-shake.  He’s really only touching the paper and ribbon so finally you ask, “Do you want some wrapping paper?” and at last he nods.  “Did you get me a present too?”  Jason smiles wider and nods again.  “Aw, babe, you shouldn’t have!” you say sweetly, giving him a big grin.  “All the wrapping stuff is in the office closet, top shelf.”  He nods, then takes your hands in his and places them gently over your eyes.  “Alright, I won’t peek.” you say, but Jason pulls your hands away from your face just enough to give you a suspicious - but still playful - look.  “I promise!” you insist with a laugh, so with one last jokingly-distrustful glance he nods and returns your hands to your eyes and heads outside.  He’s hidden your gift high up in the rafters of the barn, somewhere you can’t reach without a ladder, hoping that it would never occur to you to look up there - and he was right.  He’s been working on it for months, since while he wasn’t sure exactly what day Christmas was he at least knew it was this time of year and he wanted to have something ready for you - regardless of whether or not you had something for him.  He’d been planning to just bring it inside to present it to you when it was gift-giving time, but now that he has the opportunity he’s excited to wrap it prettily and place it under the tree properly.  After awhile you hear the front door open again, and when he pauses you call out, “I’m not looking, I swear!” so he creeps inside and hurries to the office.  He hasn’t wrapped a gift in decades so unfortunately the end result is not quite as perfect as it had been in his head, but he doesn’t want to waste the entire roll of paper by re-doing it until it’s perfect so he hopes this is good enough.  Finally he returns and removes your hands from your face, and you see an oddly-shaped, rather lumpy something wrapped up in paper, ribbons and a liberal quantity of tape beneath the tree next to the other gifts.  You have no idea what it could be and you feel like a kid again, more excited about Christmas than you’ve felt in ages.

After dinner is spent drinking eggnog, eating cookies you’d baked together and watching Christmas movies.  Jason seems to find ‘Home Alone’ particularly entertaining, and his cracking up at every violent prank has you cracking up as well.  He usually sticks to smiles and quiet chuckles, but Jason has the best laugh when he really lets himself go: somewhat goofy, and as genuine as a child’s despite its deep tone.  You love it when he laughs, both because seeing him happy makes you happy too, but also because it’s the closest hint as to what his voice might sound like if he were able to form actual words.  The evening wraps up with your favorite adaptation of ‘A Christmas Carol’, the one starring Alastair Sim, and then you both head to bed for more kisses and cuddles before falling peacefully asleep in each others arms.

Chapter Text

You’re not generally a late sleeper, but since Jason doesn’t require sleep at all he inevitably wakes up before you every morning.  It initially weirded you out a bit, but you’ve finally gotten used to waking up and finding him gazing at you.  You used to wonder how long he lay there just watching you sleep, and you used to worry about snoring, farting, drooling or otherwise not looking your best, but those days are long gone and you suspect that you could look (and smell) like you’d just been hit by a garbage truck and Jason would still gaze at you as if you were the most beautiful thing on the planet.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you smile sleepily, not even bothering to open your eyes yet because you know he’s awake.  You feel him press a little kiss on the very tip of your nose and you smile wider before finally cracking open your eyes to meet his.  “Ready for breakfast and presents?”  Jason nods enthusiastically.  He’s curious to see what you’ve gotten him, but he’s even more eager to give you your present.  He’s been half-excited and half-anxious about it for months, hoping that you’ll like it but afraid you might not, and at this point he almost just wants to get it over with so he can know either way and stop feeling like he’s got an undead stomach ulcer.

You both get dressed, then go to the barn to greet the goats and find them munching on the second tree you and Jason brought for them when collecting the one for your living room.  After cutting them down Jason had just dragged one in each hand all the way back from the forest and that display of strength made you want to climb right up him like a tree… and later that night you did just that and more.  Once the goats are freshly fed, watered and their stall is tidied up you head back inside and Jason gets busy scrambling eggs and making waffles while you start the fire and put on some quiet holiday background music.  It takes all of your power to behave like an adult and not immediately jump right to the presents, but you still both eat your breakfast a little bit faster than usual before hurrying to the living room.  

“Okay, who goes first?”  The words have barely left your lips before Jason is shoving his lumpy, excessively-taped and beribboned offering at you.  “Me, huh?” you tease and he nods while pushing the mystery gift more insistently into your hands.  While you’re excited to give him his present, he can obviously barely contain himself so you humor him and take the weirdly-shaped thing and hold it up to your ear to shake it a little.  “Oooh, what is it?” you ponder out loud before starting work on one of the many ribbons.  It’s too lightweight to be a rock but it’s obviously not flowers or a drawing… you wonder if maybe he stole something from a victim but you have no idea what that might be… but when you finally pull the last of the paper and tape away it’s even better than you could have imagined: it’s a carved wooden goat, approximately the same size as his wooden horse that’s currently sitting on the mantel.  The odds are astronomically slim that he would have found such an item on any unfortunate Crystal Lake camper so you can only conclude that he carved it himself.  It’s a little rough, a little rustic, but the proportions are good and it’s extremely charming.  You instantly love it, and suspect that he would probably be excellent at sculpture and woodworking with a little more practice and if given the proper tools.  “Oh my god, Jason, this is beautiful!  Did you make this?” you gasp, and he nods as relief washes through him at your apparent approval.  You turn it in your hands and find a heart carved into the belly on the left side and you almost cry.  It’s the most touching thing anyone has ever given you.  “I can’t believe how beautiful this is, I had no idea you could do this kind of art!  You’re so talented, oh my god… thank you so much, sweetie, I love it.  I absolutely love it, it’s just gorgeous.  You must have worked so hard on it, this is the nicest present anyone has ever given me, thank you.” you say sincerely, and Jason is overjoyed by your reaction.  He’d done a few whittling and wood-carving projects at camp when he was a boy, but nothing nearly this ambitious and it’s been eons since he used a knife on anything besides the food in your kitchen and the flesh and bones of his victims.  He’d cut his fingers a few times in the process, but when you noticed the wounds you assumed they were from a hunt gone poorly and never, ever suspected that some of his time away every day was spent holed up in his cabin working on this project.

“I know right where it needs to go,” you say before standing and placing it on the mantel beside his horse.  “Perfect.”  You step back to admire it in its new home, then return to the loveseat to give its maker a long, sweet kiss.  “Thank you, love,” you murmur with final little peck on his slightly-blushing cheek, then give him a little grin and hand him your gift.  “Your turn!  It’s nowhere near is good as what you gave me, but I hope you like it anyway.”  Jason shakes his head with a teasingly-exasperated expression, trying to disagree with your self-depreciation.  He would love anything you gave him just because it came from you.  He rips off the paper with all the restraint of a three-year old and opens up the box, and you suddenly can’t stop babbling when he holds up the shirt to look at it: “I just got really inspired by your old clothes, I thought they must have looked so nice on you and I thought maybe you might like another outfit and that maybe you would like this ‘cus it’s kinda like your old outfit, at least assuming you even liked your old outfit and weren’t just wearing it because that’s all you ha- ”  Your insecure rambling is cut off by his lips against yours and when you separate he’s smiling brightly at you.  He did in fact like his old outfit - it’s part of the reason he never threw it away - and besides that, your buying him clothes makes him feel loved and cared for, like how his Mommy loved and cared for him.  While at the time he preferred toys, now that he’s older he appreciates that she bought him clothing and food as well and he wishes he could tell her so.  Your taking care of him this way makes him feel warm and fuzzy and just as appreciative, and as far as he’s concerned being cared for and those resulting warm, fuzzy feelings are the best gifts in the world.  “Wanna try ‘em on and see if they fit?” you ask, and Jason nods and immediately yanks his sweater over his head and tosses it aside so he can put on his new shirt.  You giggle a little as he stands and pulls his pants down right there in the living room and puts on the jeans instead, then tucks the shirt neatly into his belt and stands there in front of you, waiting for your assessment.

“Ooh, nice!  Do a little twirl so I can see it from all angles,” you grin, and while Jason thinks ‘twirling’ is going a bit too far he turns around slowly and a little awkwardly and you hold in another giggle.  He’s clearly no runway model, but he looks like a big, strong, sexy lumberjack and that’s infinitely better.  The shirt and jeans fit perfectly and he fills them both out quite nicely indeed - especially the jeans.  You already know that Jason has an amazing body - including a terrific butt and powerful legs - but these pants are particularly flattering, both front and back.  “Do you like them?” you ask, and Jason nods vigorously. The new clothes feel great and he loves wearing them already.  “You look so handsome.  Super, super sexy, and your ass is fantastic.” you confess, and suddenly you can’t decide if you want to just admire him in his new clothes for awhile or rip them off immediately and screw him senseless right here in the living room.  Jason grins at you as he sits back down on the loveseat, wishing he could tell you that your ass is equally fantastic in his opinion, and you scoot as close as possible without climbing on top of him and wrap both of your hands around his upper arm and squeeze, your fingertips nowhere near able to touch.  “This outfit looks so good on you, hot damn.  How did I manage to snag a man with the body of a Greek god?” you gush, and Jason grins even wider and flexes his bicep beneath your grip.  That’s the final straw and you can no longer restrain yourself from crawling onto his lap and straddling him.  “Talented, smart, sexy, sweet, loving… and you’re all mine.  I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” you say in your most sultry voice and his hands latch onto your butt as he leans forward for a hungry, passionate kiss.  Your compliments are getting him all riled up, and while he’s always known that his face is ugly he’d never thought about how his body looked before being with you.  It was a tool to help him in his job of killing people, not something to find desirable.  But you remind him on a regular basis how much you desire him, and the feeling is quite mutual so he now happily considers his body a tool to give you pleasure in addition to being a weapon.  He’s glad that the rest of him seems to make up for his face at least a little bit.

You both do your best to devour one another, teeth clashing, tongues sparring, a wet, hot mess of passion and want.  You feel him hard beneath you, his cock pushing urgently against the thick denim and he pulls you down more firmly against him with a quiet groan.  “God, Jason, I want you so bad,” you moan into his mouth, rolling your hips and grinding on his lap and he groans again, trying to tell you how badly he wants you as well.  You unbutton his shirt with quick, trembling fingers, tugging it free from his belt and pushing the soft flannel aside to run your hands all over his bare chest.  While his hands are rough from use the rest of his skin is generally smooth despite being a bit leathery… but it’s also broken by a multitude of scars.  You’ve already taken inventory of the larger ones: what looks like a knife wound in his right thigh, a deep slice between his left middle and ring fingers, and several bullet holes scattered across his torso.  There’s a particularly thick scar on the left side of his forehead that matches the crack in his mask where he’d obviously sustained a blow to the head with some sort of sharp object, and there’s an especially severe-looking one just below his brow ridge on the same side that you have no idea how he could have gotten.  It goes all the way along the side of his head and you’re glad it missed his eye - though it wouldn’t surprise you if he was capable of regrowing a damaged eyeball if need be.  He really is quite amazing, whatever he is.  And of course there is that long, deep scar through his shoulder from his chest to his back that had ruined his old plaid shirt.  You drag your tongue along the length of it, trying to soothe the memory of that old hurt, then lick and suck at his nipples before biting them ever-so-gently between the very tips of your teeth.  Jason grunts and strokes your hair with one hand while running his other all over your back, squeezing your waist and shifting restlessly beneath you.  Even though you acknowledge that his victims are totally entitled to fight for their lives, you still hate to see the evidence of the beatings he’s taken over the years.  You suddenly feel the need to give him the exact opposite sort of treatment and trail your hands down his twitching stomach to his belt.

“Let me take care of you this time, sweetheart.” you murmur as the buckle releases, and while it’s difficult for Jason to accept pleasure without giving you plenty of it first, disobeying you is impossible.  Plus deep down, if he’s honest with himself, he loves it when you take charge.  So he sighs and nods, then arches his lower back away from the loveseat so you can pull the leather strap through the loops with a swish.  You toss the belt aside, unfasten his button and drag down the zipper, then reach inside to lightly caress him with your fingertips.  “Mmm, you feel so hard for me already.  Let’s get these nice new pants off and have a look, shall we?”  Jason sucks in a little breath and nods again, and you grip his shoulders to raise yourself up high enough off his lap that he can lift his hips and drag his jeans down to bunch around his knees.  His erection springs free, fully engorged and utterly delectable, and you’re glad it seems he’s managed to avoid getting shot or stabbed in the dick so far… and if anyone ever tries it you’ll murder them yourself.  “Look how big and hard you are for me, baby.  Such a good boy, you’re always ready to make me feel amazing, aren’t you?” you say silkily, rubbing your thumb along the sensitive ridge between his shaft and head, and Jason manages a shaky little nod, wondering if you’re going to be merciful or if this is one of those times where you go agonizingly slow and tease him until he’s out of his mind… though really he loves it either way.  You lightly tap the pad of your index finger against the tip of his cock and a thin, translucent string of pre-cum stretches between him and your fingertip when you pull back.   Jason bites his lip as best he can with his twisted mouth and considerable overbite, gazing down at you with heavy-lidded eyes as you slide off his lap and pull his pants the rest of the way down to his ankles, then encourage him to lift his feet so you can remove them completely.  You push his muscular thighs apart and sink to your knees between them, then without a word give him several slow, long licks up the underside of his cock from base to tip, trying to pour just as much soothing tenderness into it as you’d done for the scar through his shoulder.  His hands clutch the open edges of his unbuttoned shirt on each side of his waist, his exposed chest rising and falling as his breathing speeds up.

You’ve gotten better at this, and while you still can’t take all of him you’re getting closer and have managed to train yourself to keep your gag reflex at bay.  So you hold your breath and swallow him down as far as possible, his thick length filling your throat and you glance up to see his head tilt back until it hits the edge of the loveseat with a thud.  He exhales loudly, using all of his restraint to keep from thrusting.  You can tell that he’s holding back and you appreciate it, but decide to try letting him move a bit and seeing what happens.  You release him and order, “I want you to fuck my mouth.”  Jason’s head snaps back up so fast it’s a miracle he didn’t dislocate his neck, and you give him a mischievous little grin and add, “Just do it gently, sweetheart.  I’ll tap you on the knee if it’s too rough or deep, okay?  Now be a good boy and do as I say, please.”  He gives you a stuttering nod, and when you wrap your lips around him again he makes one tiny, tentative thrust, only going in about two inches or so.  You suck harder and grab his hips to try and pull him towards you, giving him permission to go further, and before too long he’s moving in a steady rhythm, filling your mouth but not going beyond that.  Once when he was a little boy he accidentally choked on a hot dog while on a picnic with his Mommy and the scary, uncomfortable memory of that experience is still clear enough that he firmly believes you should be in control of anything going down your throat.  But he’d be lying if he denied how fucking amazing it feels to slide in and out of your soft, hot mouth in his own rhythm, and when you wrap your hands back around the rest of his shaft and start stroking he finds himself only seconds away from orgasm.  You haven’t tapped on his knee yet, but now he taps on your shoulder to warn you that he’s about to come… but you don’t really need the warning, you can tell from his harsh panting and the way his thighs have tightened and his cock is throbbing against the inside of your mouth that he’s almost there.  You bring one hand down to cup his balls, lifting slightly and rubbing your fingertips gently against the backside of them as the tip of your tongue dances along his frenulum and swirls over his slit, never letting up on your firm, steady suction.  He clutches your hair and gently tugs since you’ve told him before that you like it, and with a guttural groan his cum streaks over your tongue to pool in the pocket of your cheek until you get a chance to swallow the thick, salty liquid.  


You give him a moment to catch his breath, reveling in the way his thighs quiver as you gently stroke his softening flesh back down.  Once his trembling has mostly stopped you stand up and strip out of your own clothes, though unlike him you take your shirt all the way off.  “You wanna touch me and get me ready for you, baby?” you coo as you slide back onto his lap and Jason nods eagerly, more than ready to try and make you feel good.  One big hand is instantly between your legs while his other wraps around to squeeze your ass, and he slides one thick, rough digit between your labia before slipping inside.  You’re soaking and it goes in easily, and you hum in pleasure and squeeze around him as he rubs gently against your upper wall.  “Mmm, feel how wet I am already, how much I want you, Jason?” you moan and he groans quietly in reply, moving his finger faster and your cunt makes wet little squelching sounds with each thrust.  “Sucking your cock makes me so hot, I love doing that for you… I love making you feel good.  I love you so much,” you sigh, and Jason sighs as well and brings his hand that isn’t buried in your pussy up to rest his palm over your heart.  It doesn’t happen often, especially not anymore, but every rare once in awhile a tiny flicker of shame and guilt will prickle at the back of his mind when things get especially naughty, if something you say or do starts to even faintly remind him of the kind of sex that so many of his victims have.  But all it takes is you reminding him that you’re doing this together because you love each other and any trace of uneasiness is instantly erased.  More than erased.  It actually spurs him on and he brings his hand from your chest to your jaw to give you a soft, gentle kiss, trying to express that he loves you in addition to lusting for you.  You sense the change in his mood and ease up as well, but after only a moment he shifts back into hypersexual-mode and doubles-down on trying to make you come with his fingers.  He doesn’t succeed, however, because as soon as he’s mostly hard again you want him inside you.

‘Vanilla’ though some people may call it, your favorite position is good ol’ fashioned missionary because you love feeling his weight and seeing him loom over you… it makes you feel so small and safe and protected.  But you know that Jason’s favorite is you on top, either on his lap or with him on his back, and since that's your second-favorite you are more than happy to oblige him on a frequent basis.  Your hands wander from his chest to his shoulders, cool skin beneath your palms and soft flannel against your knuckles as you raise yourself up and his jaw goes slack and his eyes flutter closed as you slowly sink down onto his cock.  You let out a shaky breath and your head tilts back as he fills you up completely, and after holding still for a moment to allow yourself to adjust you start riding him in a smooth, steady rhythm.  You’re in no hurry to find your release this time, you want to draw out the exquisite pleasure of your coupling and you know that Jason can last as long as you need him to, especially after he’s already come once.  You rock slowly, thighs spread wide around his thick waist and still adjusting to being stuffed full of his cock.  You sigh and squeeze around him as he grows completely hard, and Jason lets out a little hum of ecstasy as his hands slide up your waist and ribs to caress your chest.  He loves it when you fuck him like this, the way your body looks as you sway and bounce above him, using him for your pleasure… in his mind your body isn’t a tool like his, yours is more like a piece of art to be appreciated, and appreciate it he does.  He opens his eyes and takes in the view but stays motionless beneath you, remaining passive and letting you lead, trusting that you’ll tell him if you want him to start thrusting up to meet you.  He can feel how tight you still are and doesn’t want to hurt you, but after several minutes of slow, gentle lovemaking your inner walls relax and you move a little bit faster.  You lean forward to touch your foreheads together, your breath coming in quiet little pants as you slide steadily up and down his cock.

“So good… it feels so amazing, sweetheart,” you whimper and Jason nods, his slightly-sweaty skin rubbing against yours as he brings his hands down from your chest to your hips, rough fingertips stroking feather-light over your skin.  You press a soft kiss to that thick scar on his forehead, grotesquely hoping that he’d managed to kill whoever had done it.  You’re not entirely sure if Jason is what would be considered a ‘zombie’, and who knows how much truth there is in the lore of how to kill one, but you’re grateful that either this wound didn’t go deep enough to mortally injure his brain or else that he’s really and truly unkillable no matter what happens to him.  Your hands glide down his chest and ribs, then back behind you to clutch his thighs and brace yourself as your hips move a little faster.  Jason trails his hands along your own thighs, thumbs dipping inward to tickle the softer skin there, then further to your swollen, glistening sex.  He rubs his thumbs gently against either side where you’re joined but stays still beneath you and steers clear of your clit, waiting for permission.  You seem quite content as you are, eyes closed and head lolling back as you moan and sigh and undulate against him, and he closes his own eyes and thinks about killing to help stave off his climax.  You’ve taken care of him, after all, so now he wants to make sure he’s taking care of you and he won’t come unless you tell him to.

You make him wait for what feels like ages, but they are some of the most enjoyable ages he’s ever spent so he’s happy to be patient, staying still and enjoying the buildup and the way your body gets more tense and flushed and wet around his cock, the way your breathing gets quicker and your movements more erratic.  You start murmuring his name and he knows you’re getting close, but he keeps part of his mind focused on death and destruction so he doesn’t follow you too soon.  But unfortunately for him you break out the praise and pet names and his breath comes harsh between his gritted teeth at your sweet words.  “Oh, Jason, you feel so good, I’m so lucky to have you… I’m so lucky you’re my good boy.  You’re doing such a great job, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me come…”  You lean forward to take his face in both your hands and open your eyes to meet his, pupils huge and hazel dark, sparkling from the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights.  “Are you close, baby?” you ask and he nods.  He can be close if you want him to be, and apparently you do because then you say, “Good boy, I want you to come for me again, and I want you to make me come, too.  Can you do that for me?”  Yes, he can absolutely do that and without hesitation he presses his thumb against your clit and rubs in quick little circles till you shatter in his arms, releasing like a tightly-coiled spring finally let go.  He waits until he’s sure your climax is completely finished before he starts making quick, shallow little thrusts up inside you, chasing his own orgasm and desperate to do as you’d told him.  You drape your forearms over his shoulders, squeezing your cunt around him to help him along and then whisper a few more kind words to finish him off: “You’re so sweet, Jason, I love you so much… my strong, handsome man, the only one who can make me feel so good…”  That does it, and he makes an unintelligible noise of pleasure and goes tense, hands clutching your hips harder than he’s touched you this whole time and cock pulsing as he releases deep inside you.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder and gently stroke the back of his head while he pants into your hair, relaxation and peace settling over you both as you bask in the warmth of the fire and gentle sparkle of the ornaments and lights.  You gaze out the window and see real snowflakes beyond the paper ones, falling soft and white against the stony grey sky and you can’t remember a more wonderful Christmas morning.  Actually, you and Jason have been going at it for so long that it’s not really morning anymore and you suddenly realize that the background music has run out and you’re feeling a bit hungry.  Lunch is in order pronto, as are cookies.  

“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” you smile when Jason finally pulls his face away from your hair to look down at you, and he smiles back and nods before meeting your lips in a tender little kiss.  It’s the merriest Christmas he’s had in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

It’s late in the summer, right around the time the temperature has peaked and is beginning to drop into autumn.  Normally there are still hikers and campers around the lake at this time - intruders in Jason’s mind, and now in your own mind as well - but Jason’s reputation must really be preceding him this year because the number of people nearby has sharply and abnormally declined for the last two weeks.  Perhaps someone escaped him and is successfully warning others to stay away?  Whatever the reason, you’re glad because it means more time spent with him.  He’s still out for most of the days and late into the evenings, checking and double-checking for unwanted invaders, but lately he’s come home on time every night without a single scratch or fleck of blood on him.

Today there’s a last burst of hot weather, the sun shining bright and beautiful through the trees and according to your weather app tomorrow should be just as sunny.  Then you have an idea.  Perhaps not the smartest idea, perhaps a little bit risky, but it sounds too fun not to try.  When Jason comes home and you both finish dinner and head for the living room, you sidle up close to him on the loveseat and ask, “Were there any people to kill out there today?”  He shakes his head.  “Are you frustrated about it?”  He smiles and shakes his head again.  The only time he gets frustrated is when someone escapes from him - he’d be perfectly happy if no one ever came into his territory ever again, and truthfully he hopes someday that happens.  You’re glad he seems to be in a good mood despite the lack of action recently so you go for it: “Soooo… since it’s been pretty quiet lately I was thinking about going for a swim tomorrow.”  Jason’s eyes widen and he looks confused and a tiny bit upset.  You’ve never gone swimming before, and Crystal Lake is dangerous in his mind - what if you drown like he did?  And if that horrible thing happens there is no guarantee that you will come back like he did, and he’ll be all alone once again.  Long ago he wondered if it was the lake itself that had brought him back, if somehow the water was magical, but eventually he decided that couldn’t be it.  He’s seen too many other dead creatures floating in it, bloated carcasses far beyond resurrection for the lake to have anything to do with it.  You see his distress and quickly continue: “I’m a pretty good swimmer and it’s supposed to get really hot tomorrow and a swim sounds so nice… but I sure hope no big, strong, sexy man comes to murder me while I’m doing it.”  You give him a mischievous little smirk and a wink and he suddenly gets it.  This is another role-play suggestion.  While Jason is glad to hear you’re a good swimmer (unlike he was) he’s still a little bit uneasy about this idea because it’s entirely possible that someone could suddenly wander into the area tomorrow… but you’re right that no one has come in two weeks, and between that and his skill at rooting out intruders the odds are good that won’t happen.  So against his better judgement he decides to give you what you want, leaning down to kiss you with a little smile and a wink as well.


Jason gets started on his rounds extra early the next morning to ensure that the lake and surrounding woods are completely empty save for the resident wildlife.  When the sun’s at its hottest you head down to the lake in your tank top and shorts, sunhat on and towel draped over your arm, but the one thing you’re missing is a swimsuit.  You don’t even own one since you’re not much of a swimmer, for though you’re perfectly capable and have no fears of drowning it’s not something you do for fun.  You’ve never gone skinny-dipping before, but that only makes this more exciting and you walk quickly, wondering what Jason will have in store for you this time.  You reach the lake far, far from where he drowned so long ago, where the water is shallow to help soothe any worries he might have about you drowning, and where there’s no dock or boat launch to entice others to choose this part of the shore.  You glance around for several minutes, searching for any sign of Jason or anyone else, and while you see and hear nothing you feel reasonably confident that Jason knows where you’re at.  And if he doesn’t, you’ll just stay here in this spot until he finds you.  It’s like a sexy game of hide-and-seek, one where you won’t be disappointed when you’re found.  Once you’re as sure as you can be that no one is around you strip off your clothes and wade in.  The water is clear and warm from the sun, and it’s oddly liberating to feel it against your naked skin.  You submerge yourself completely for a second before bobbing to the surface, then paddle around for awhile before floating on your back.  You close your eyes and soak up the sun, ears pricked and body tingling in anticipation… will you hear splashes as he wades in from the shore?  Or will he creep up silently and grab you from under the water like a great white (or grey, in his case) shark?  You know he can stay underwater for far, far longer than any living person can - a side benefit of being undead, you suppose - so he would be quite capable of just swimming up behind you without ever going above the surface.  But sadly for you, neither of these tantalizing options occurs.  Instead you hear an unfamiliar male voice call out: “Hi there!”

You startle and yelp and quickly duck below the water up to your chin, frantically searching for the origin of that voice and not thirty feet away is a young man at the edge of the lake.  He’s wearing swim trunks and a big smile, and he waves at you once you make eye contact.  “Nice day for a swim, huh?” he calls again, setting down his backpack and pulling off his t-shirt.  Along with taking ill-advised swims in haunted lakes, his hobbies clearly include going to the gym because he’s lean and sculpted and toned to perfection - like an underwear model or the kind of man you’d see on a fitness magazine, and despite yourself you find him rather attractive.  He wades into the water and begins swimming towards you, and you cross your arms over your chest and bring your knees up as high as possible to try and shield yourself.

“What are you doing here?  Don’t you know there’s a killer around this lake?” you splutter, wondering where Jason is and how he missed this guy.  You suppose he can’t be everywhere at once - it’s a big lake, after all - and it’s just your luck that some idiot would pick the exact same spot for a dip as you did.

“Then why are you here?” the stranger grins as he swims closer, and you don’t have an answer.  Fortunately he doesn’t press the matter, he just keeps chattering on but you don’t pay attention, your eyes desperately scanning the woods for that aforementioned killer.  The stranger introduces himself and you give him a false name in return, and since he seems like a genuinely nice guy you wish he would just go away.  You’re pretty used to Jason’s job, but there is no reason this young man has to die if he’d only listen to you.

“Look, you seem nice, so you should really, really get the fuck out of here.  I’m serious, it’s dangerous, trust me.”  But it’s too late.  All of a sudden there is a huge splash as Jason crashes through the surface of the water like a horrific leviathan, the kind that drags unfortunate sailors to their watery graves.  He moves so quickly that you catch only the briefest glimpse of the rage in his eyes beneath his mask, then the stranger’s head is engulfed by his massive hands before Jason yanks him beneath the water with him.  You paddle backwards away from the ruckus, but it doesn’t last long.  The splashing quickly ceases and Jason emerges once more, followed by the floating corpse of that nice, handsome young man who should have done his research about where not to go camping.  Jason stands up to his full height, the water going only to his waist and you look up into his eyes - he looks absolutely furious and you can’t help but gasp and shrink away from him.  You like it when he’s terrifying during your little games but this is almost too much.  So far in those games he’s had to really make an effort to look angry with you, and his acting is just as bad as yours so while it was fun it was never truly convincing.  But he’s not acting this time.  He shoves the corpse roughly behind him and sloshes towards you, moving inhumanly fast and you uselessly try to paddle backwards away from him… you don’t say ‘stop’, but this is the closest you’ve come to saying it so far, the closest you’ve ever felt to really being an imminent victim, of being seconds away from dying like your brief swimming partner just did.  You gasp when he grabs your upper arms, pinning them to your sides and you wonder if he’s going to angrily fuck you right here in the water.  He lifts you up and when he sees that you’re naked his eyes narrow - he wasn’t expecting that, he’d assumed you’d be wearing a swimsuit of some kind.  Not wanting to spend any more time in the lake than absolutely necessary, he’d been intending to throw you over his shoulder and take you on land - and after only a seconds hesitation he does just that.  The splash of the water drowns out your shrieks as he stomps to shore, and even though you’re too scared to really struggle he’s gripping you so tightly that it almost hurts.   

Jason is practically blinded by fury, shaking and soaking and absolutely enraged.  Not at you, but at himself for not catching and stopping that bad man who was talking to you sooner.  That bad, handsome man whom you were speaking to kindly, who you called ‘nice’ and were warning to leave.  Who was so close to you… and while you were naked!  A fierce wave of possessiveness wells up from deep in his gut, igniting ever fiber of his body as he clutches you even harder. You are his.  His alone to have and to hold, to make love to so tenderly that it makes you cry… and to fuck so ferociously that you’ll never forget him, even if you leave someday.  Even if you go with some bad, handsome man like that.  But it won’t happen here, not on his land, this land he shares with you.  Jason will make sure of that.

He sets you down almost too hard on your back on the ground and the dirt immediately sticks to your dripping skin.  Before you can squirm away from him he’s on top of you, immobilizing you completely and if you had a swimsuit on he would tear it right off and throw it in the lake beside that floating corpse - he would never want to look at it again.  Jason pins your arms above your head with one hand and his other is between your legs, searching for wetness that isn’t water from that damned lake he hopes you won’t go in anymore.  His breathing is harsh and his brain is clouded with rage but he still listens for your voice, for you to say the one word that will make him instantly stop, but that word doesn’t come.  He’s still frightening you a little, but that fear is rapidly blending with arousal and you spread your legs wider, giving him a tiny nod that he might not have even noticed and you gasp when his finger slips inside of you.  The hand attached to that finger just killed a man in cold blood right in front of you, and considering how quickly the struggle was over you imagine that Jason most likely snapped his neck.  You wonder if that man had any idea what was happening, if he’d even seen the dark, angry eyes now glaring down at you before everything went black, before the hands that are now pinning you to the ground and thrusting into your cunt ended his life.  It sends a sick wave of horror and lust roiling through your body and not for the first time you wonder what is wrong with you… but you writhe and moan all the same as hot pleasure licks its way out from your core to the ends of your limbs even as you tremble.  Jason looks down at your naked body, watches you squirm and make noises that he recognizes as enjoyment.  Your arousal turns him on as well and he presses his weight down heavier on top of you, grinding his pelvis against your leg and shoving a second finger deep inside you with a growl.  Being with you this way is the only time his blood pumps fast and hot other than when killing, though there is a difference between the two: the former makes him feel alive again while the latter feels like he’s slashing his way out of hell.  And now he’s doing both in rapid succession.  He wonders if the man he’s just killed will go straight to hell for daring to trespass on this cursed land, and he wonders if he himself will go straight to hell if he ever finally dies.  The only thing he’s sure of is that if he does go to hell you won’t be going there with him.  You’ll be going wherever good people go.  That fierce possessiveness rears up again, that fear of losing you someday either by death or desertion and he squeezes your wrists and presses himself against you even harder.  For now at least you are his, every single part of you, just as every part of him belongs to you.

His clothing is soaking and cold lake water is squeezed from the fabric between your bodies and runs down your skin, making you shiver even through the heat of passion.  While his fingers between your legs are touching you how you like it, the way he knows gives you pleasure, there is an almost vicious forcefulness to it this time and it’s driving you wild.  It feels like the opposite, rarely-seen face of Jason’s love for you: ferocious dominance rather than the usual gentle submission.  But it’s still the same love, still the same passion and as the last tremors of fear ebb away from your mind you can’t decide which you like the most.

He presses his mask down to your forehead as he shifts his weight and you feel him hard against your leg, then his fingers leave your pussy and you hear the metallic sound of his zipper.  He shoves your legs as far apart as they can go and you feel the blunt head of his cock rubbing through your folds for only a moment, smearing slickness and testing your readiness, then he’s suddenly inside you.  It’s too fast and it hurts, and you cry out in shock at the momentary burn and sudden fullness.  It’s not enough to make you say ’stop’, but Jason notices the timbre of your voice and goes still.  There was an edge to your cry that you’ve never made before, and he’s not sure what it means and it brings him back to his senses.  He waits for that word, for you to tell him to ‘stop’, for you to tell him he’s hurt you so he can beg for forgiveness.  That word doesn’t come, but he still eases up and starts thrusting slowly to allow you to catch your breath.  His rage is subsiding, the urge to punish himself and that man in the lake giving way to the desire to please you, for like everything else he treasures you are to be treated with care and love even when emotions run high and things get rough.  Once when he was a boy he had thrown his favorite teddy bear hard by the arm in a fit of rage when he was mad at his Mommy, and the seam had ripped and the arm nearly tore off.  When he saw what he’d done his rage dissolved into shock, then regret, and then tears as he ran to his Mommy and begged her to fix it through his sobbing apologies.  She had made it all better with a needle and thread as well as a kiss, but if Jason breaks you there is no one to fix you, no one else who can kiss it and make it all better.  He is the only one who can kiss you and make you feel better, so he’d damn well better not be the one to break you.  You are his and his alone, his to take care of, his to give pleasure to… and his to take pleasure from.  That bad man floating facedown in the lake will never get to touch you like this, will never get to see you writhe beneath him in wanton desire, will never get to feel your hot, slick body clamping down around his most sensitive flesh, will never make you come with his name on your lips.  

Jason’s pressing so heavily against you that it seems like he’s trying to make you one with the soil in this place where he’s bound, trying to force the earth to swallow you up like the water swallowed him.  Binding you to this place just as he is so you’ll be with him forever.  Each breath is a struggle and you almost feel crushed but it’s still not enough to say ‘stop’… rather the sensory overload of the dirt-turned-mud squelching against your back, his huge cock deep inside you and his pubic bone grinding hard against your clit has you seeing stars despite his massive chest blocking your view of anything save for ragged, waterlogged clothing.  You wish you could grab him and hang on for dear life, could use his broad shoulders to try and climb out of this shallow wallow of mud you’re creating, but you’re helpless against his grip on your wrists and you don’t have the will to ask him to let you go.  So often you call the shots during sex, so even though this time things got off to a somewhat alarming start you’re currently happy that he wants to be in control for once.  He ruts into you fiercely, stopping just short of causing you pain and staying silent save for his harsh panting beneath dripping wet fiberglass.  You don’t have the breath to cry out his name when the tension in your body reaches its crescendo, and instead a silent scream leaves your lips as you come hard beneath him.

Jason doesn’t follow you, he keeps pounding away but moves his body off of you just enough so that he’s no longer making contact with your clit and you’re grateful for that sensory reprieve at least.  He brings your hands down from above your head but never releases them, instead bringing them between your bodies and he presses your palms over his heart.  A mantra is repeating itself over and over in his mind, and rarely has he longed so desperately for the power of speech: I love you.  You belong to me, and I belong to you.  You are mine.  I am yours.  Don’t ever leave me.  Please, don’t ever leave.  He thinks of his bear with the torn seam, how his Mommy sewed it back up and kissed it better.  Then she gave him a kiss, too, as well as a hug and reassurance that she loved him forever, no matter what.  There is a tear through Jason as well, a wound in his heart that he never thought could be repaired since his Mommy is gone and she was the only one who could fix things… but then you came along.  You’ve somehow sewn up most of that tear, have kissed it better and reassured him that you love him forever, no matter what.  And though some stitches remain broken for his Mommy, your repair at least keeps what’s left of his soul from falling out of that wound, keeps him from losing his humanity entirely.  With that thought in mind he lets go of your wrists and wraps your legs up around his waist so you can hug him that way as he reaches for his mask.  You keep your hands against his chest and watch as he removes it - it’s the first time he’s ever taken it off outside and for some reason it stirs something deep in your heart… and then that something is pulled painfully tight when you see the emotion on his face: he looks like he’s about to cry and you hope more than anything that it’s not because of something you’ve done wrong.  “It’s okay,” you whisper, unsure of what exactly you’re trying to soothe, and you bring your hands up to cradle his face as he continues his relentless thrusts.  You can’t tell if there’s tears mixed in with the last drops of lake water running down his cheeks but you wipe them away anyway, and he closes his eyes and makes a soft noise somewhere between a whimper and a sob, the first sound he’s made since his angry growl at the beginning.  “Jason,” you whisper again, your voice breaking a bit, and he opens his eyes and slows his thrusts enough that your teeth don’t knock together when he leans down for a kiss.  You feel his hand back between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit and determined to make you come again, desperate to please you and retain your affections.  You’re so sensitive and raw that it doesn’t take long and your mind goes blank as your orgasm hits, senses so overloaded that you can’t find the line between your body and the earth, can’t tell where you end and where Jason begins.

Your recovery takes a long time, but when you float back up out of the ground and return to reality you realize he’s still hard inside you.  He still looks distressed and you wish you knew why, but whatever the cause you want to try and help him let it go.  “It’s okay, Jason, I’m here with you, I love you.  Whatever it is, you can let it go now.”  He scrunches up his eyes as you stroke his face again.  He’s moving slowly and softly, and you imagine he’s just as hypersensitive as you are by now and it probably won’t take him long to finish if he can just let himself.  “I’m here with you, I love you,” you repeat and he meets your gaze again.  “Let go for me, sweetheart,” you gently command, and at last something in his eyes seems to release.  With only a few more gentle pumps of his hips he finally lets out an agonized moan and pours himself into you, body and soul.


You give him a long time to recover, softly stroking his neck and the back of his head as he trembles with his face in the dirt near your hair.  He gets heavier and heavier as he relaxes, and as good as he feels on top of you it’s starting to get hard to breath.  “Jason, sweetie, you’re kinda squishing me.” you say gently, and he quickly lifts himself up several inches then looks down at you and apologetically strokes your hair.  “Are you okay?” you ask and he nods.  He feels like he’s had some sort of catharsis that he didn’t know he needed.  He doesn’t even know the word ‘catharsis’, but somehow running the gamut from rage to tenderness and everything in-between, topped off with a heaping dose of oxytocin and vasopressin, has helped to settle some of those feelings.  “Oh good.  I’m okay, too.” you smile up at him and he sighs in relief.  “That was pretty amazing, holy shit,” you confess, and while you definitely don’t think you can handle something that intense on a regular basis it was fucking incredible to experience at least once.  You’ve never gone from abject terror to heartbreaking love like that before and you’re still reeling a bit.  Clearly some very heavy shit just went down in Jason’s brain, too, and part of you is actually glad he can’t tell you about it.  A long conversation about emotions just isn’t your style, you wouldn’t even begin to know how to talk about that stuff and you’re already exhausted anyway.  Jason finally gives you a little smile in return and you reach up to wipe some of the mud off his forehead from where he’d smooshed his face against the ground post-orgasm.  He notices you’re shivering slightly so he rolls onto his back in the dirt, taking you with him and wrapping you up in his jacket to cover your nakedness and try to warm you up a bit. It doesn’t really work since his clothes are still soaked, but you appreciate the effort.  What you really need is to get toweled off and back in the sun, but it feels important to be close to one another for awhile after what just happened so you snuggle into his chest while he gently pets your hair and back.  “Did you break that guys neck?” you ask after several minutes, and the complete lack of distress in your tone reassures Jason that you didn’t want to run off with that bad, handsome man.  You look up to see him nod and he feels even better when you seem impressed and say, “Wow… nice work, I bet he didn’t even know what hit him.”  You don’t tell him that you’re glad he at least made it quick, since that particular intruder seemed nice and you feel genuinely bad about him dying.  But even if you’d had the time and presence of mind to ask Jason not to kill him you wouldn’t have done it.  You already know Jason has strong emotions that run deep - a fact that this latest roll in the mud has made even more obvious - but since he can’t tell you about them you don’t feel like it’s your right to question him or try and persuade him to give up his job.  It’s not a hobby for him, it’s a mandate.  And until whatever deep, dark emotions that are driving him to fulfill this mandate are resolved you’ll just be supportive to the best of your ability, even if that just means staying out of his way.

After several more minutes your teeth are chattering and Jason sits up with you in his lap, giving you a concerned look and rubbing his hands briskly all over your back and arms, trying to warm you up.  “I gotta go get dried off, love.  I think my towel’s over there somewhere.”  You gesture behind you and Jason stands up, still holding you to him, and you notice he leaves his mask on the ground until he’s located your towel and clothes.  You slide down his body and start drying off, but instead of retrieving his mask he stays right beside you as if he’s trying to block your nudity from any potential voyeurs.  Once your towel is completely saturated with mud and you’re clothed again you take his hand in yours and head back towards his mask, and while Jason wants desperately to keep holding you, wants to pick you right up and carry you all the way back home, he’s still sopping wet and doesn’t want to make you cold again.  He refastens that protective fiberglass shield back over his face and gently squeezes your hand, making plans to hold you close for the rest of the day and all night long once you’re both cleaned up.  He knows he was rough, and though you’re saying you’re okay now and didn’t say ‘stop’ in the moment he worries he might have been a little bit too rough, despite your powerful orgasms.  So the best thing he can think of to do now is the opposite: to take you home and tenderly search for any possible tear in your heart no matter how small, any wound that needs mending or seam that has ripped, and then try his hardest to fix it and kiss it all better.  To give you a hug and hope that maybe somehow, if he thinks it over and over in his mind hard enough, you’ll know that he loves you forever, no matter what.

Chapter Text

You inspect yourself in the full-body mirror, trying to decide how you feel about what you’re seeing.  You’ve always dressed for comfort rather than style, so the majority of your bras and panties are strictly utilitarian and consequently rather plain.  Happily Jason doesn’t seem to mind, and you feel no pressure to step up your fashion game since he himself is extremely low-maintenance.  He didn’t even own any underwear until you bought him some, and he still doesn’t wear them all the time.  You imagine they must have worn away to nothing over so many decades and he didn’t even seem to care, merely shrugging when you inquired about it.  So you’d be pretty surprised if he gave one single, solitary shit about how you dress yourself.

Still, it’s Valentine’s Day.  And when you think of Valentine’s Day you think of four things: chocolates, hearts, flowers and sexy lingerie.  And while you aren’t the type to prance around the house alone in something skimpy and lacy, you’re not alone anymore.  And maybe that other person might enjoy seeing you in something skimpy and lacy for a change.  And maybe, just maybe, you yourself might enjoy it, too.  So you’d spent a little time online searching for something you could even remotely envision yourself wearing.  It took a long time, trying to find the balance between tantalizing and trashy and eventually you settled on a very small, very skimpy, very lacy white bra and thong set along with a sheer, satiny chemise.  You thought about adding the matching thigh-high stockings and garter belt, but worried that might be a little too much for Jason to deal with.  There were two ways you could see this going: One, he would have a mental or sexual meltdown - or possibly both - either being overwhelmed to the point of paralysis or else violently turned on, the latter of which was definitely preferable… or two, considering his seeming indifference to fashion and conventional beauty in general, he wouldn’t get what the big deal was and lingerie wouldn’t affect him any more than your usual underwear - especially considering his goal usually seems to be getting them off of you.  And if that was the case then you’d rather not bother with the extra expense and discomfort of such fussy garments.  But it was worth trying at least the basics and seeing which of those possible outcomes would be the winner.

It’s the dead of winter, but he’s out faithfully visiting his Mother’s grave and doing his rounds as he does every day.  Lately he’s been finishing sooner than usual since there’s almost never anyone near the lake this time of year, no intruders to hunt and punish, but it’s still plenty of time for you to take a shower with plenty of nice-smelling soaps and shampoos, paint your finger and toenails, try on your new purchases to make sure they fit and do a full inspection of yourself.  After the initial shock of seeing yourself in such unfamiliar underthings you decide you look pretty good, though there’s still an undercurrent of self-consciousness and worry about what Jason’s going to think… but you decide to power through it.  You fluff up the pillows and recline against them, trying to find a pose that’s both sensual and comfortable, then glance at the clock on the nightstand - if he keeps to his usual schedule he should be home soon.  Minutes tick by and you finally hear the front door open and close, and as his heavy footsteps come closer and closer your earlier insecurity flares up and you shift around nervously on the bed.  Then his hulking frame is filling the doorway, jacket and mask already removed… and as soon as he sees you he just freezes.  His lopsided eyes widen and you suddenly feel like the biggest idiot of all time.  What were you thinking, imagining yourself as some sort of Victoria’s Secret model?  You chew anxiously on your lip and wait for his response.

Jason slowly blinks several times, trying to process what he’s seeing, and you start to feel even more self-conscious until you notice the bulge beginning to form at the front of his pants.  He’s seen quite a few women in a wide variety of underwear while killing them, but he couldn’t care less and never took any notice of them whatsoever.  It didn’t matter to him what they were (or weren’t) wearing, it only mattered whether or not they were still breathing - and if they were he put an end to it posthaste.  And while he sees you in (and out of) your underwear on a daily basis, you’ve never worn anything so fancy before… or so sexy.  He doesn’t understand how something functional like underwear can be so arousing and usually he prefers you without anything on, but the way those scraps of white lace frame and flatter your soft curves beneath the diaphanous chemise is breathtakingly beautiful.  You look like an angel and he’s completely stunned - like that time he got hit over the head with a shovel except much, much more pleasant.  

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetie.” you say in your sexiest voice, batting your eyelashes at him.  Your confidence is totally restored and you slide your thighs together a little in what you hope is a provocative display.  The sheer, satiny fabric feels decadent against your skin and you decide that perhaps fancier underthings aren’t too bad after all… and that thought is further reinforced when Jason finally seems to wake from his trance just enough to slowly walk towards you.  It turns out his reaction is a combination of your first two guesses: he’s not quite paralyzed and he’s not acting violently turned on, but he’s somewhere in the middle.  He looks like he can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing, but that he knows it’s good.  That it’s beautiful and that he likes it.  Suddenly he gets down on his knees and actually crawls towards you, like a supplicant presenting himself before a goddess to pray for favor and mercy.  You know he likes to be a bit more on the submissive side in the bedroom, but this is taking it to another level.  Awestruck reverence was not a reaction you expected and a rush of power and arousal flares out from your core to the tips of your toes.  Jason is always so gentle with you - unless you request otherwise - that sometimes you forget he’s a killer.  An unstoppable force of horror and destruction, a hulking mass of muscle and death.  The not-quite-living physical embodiment of a decades-old curse.  And now this undead terror, this vengeful, monstrous brute is prostrating himself before you as if you had the power to end his very existence.  What a rush.

You try to decide how to react.  Your instinct is to tell him he doesn’t need to practically bow at your feet, to tell him to get up on the bed and tear your lacy underthings right off and ravish you senseless… but you suspect that’s more your fantasy than his, and since this is supposed to be your Valentine’s gift to him you decide to accept the energy he’s projecting right now and run with it.  “I bought these to wear just for you.  Do you like them?” you ask in that same sultry tone and Jason nods, looking a little bit bashful.  He seems to be having trouble deciding where to look, his gaze skimming all over your body and then back up to your eyes before repeating the cycle.  You recline back onto the pillows a bit more and slide one leg across the sheets towards him and just then he notices your pink-painted toenails.  That’s new as well, and he stares at them in fascination.  He had no idea that was something people did, but he likes how it looks and wonders if you’d be willing to paint his nails too, so you can match.  “You want to touch me, don’t you baby?” you coo, and you’re surprised again when he ducks his head in a gesture of shyness you haven’t seen him make in a long time.  He looks back up to meet your eyes and nods, and that adorable blueish blush is now tinting his cheeks.  Oh, this is going to be fun.

You push yourself up from your reclining position and slide across the bed as gracefully as you can until you’re looming over him for once.  “You want me to make you feel good?” you say in a tone that matches how divinely powerful he’s making you feel, and again he surprises you a little by half shrugging and half shaking his head, his eyes still darting all over your entire body before once again shyly meeting your gaze.  You’re confused for a split-second before you understand.  Of course.  “Ah, you want to make me feel good, don’t you, sweetheart.”  It’s not a question, but Jason vigorously nods anyway and by the looks of it he’s so hard now that his pants (and the boxers he may or may not be wearing) are probably getting uncomfortable but you decide to make him suffer.  You never want to make him actually suffer, would never want to cause the love of your life real pain… but this is the sort of suffering you’re pretty sure he enjoys.  But you have a contract just in case and decide to check in with him.  “Remember to snap your fingers twice if there’s something you don’t like.  If I say or do something you don’t enjoy.”  Jason nods again, shifting a little bit on his haunches and you can tell he’s itching to touch you.  “Good boy,” you praise him, then spontaneously decide to make an addition to your contract: “And I want you to tap me with your fingers twice wherever you can reach if I say or do something that you do like.  If it makes you feel especially good, if it makes you hard for me, if it makes you want to come.  Understand?”  You swear you see a little tremor ripple through him as he nods again, so you praise him once more. “You’re so good, so obedient.  So sweet.  Now take off your shirt, please.  Let me admire my handsome man, let me see some of that body you’re going to use to make me feel incredible.”  He instantly complies, unbuttoning and tossing the garment aside before looking up at you hopefully, waiting for more instructions.  “But keep your pants on, sweetheart, I like to see how you look beneath them when you’re wanting to be inside me.  I bet you want to be inside me right now, using your big cock to make me feel good, don’t you?”  Jason nods, then gently taps your forearm twice as you lean forward to run your palms over his shoulders and slide your legs over the side of the bed to rest your feet on his thighs.  “I thought so,” you smile down at him.  “I’d like that, too… or I might like to make you come in your pants instead.  Think you could do that for me if I talk dirty to you and touch you like this?”  You rub one foot lightly over the bulge in his jeans and see his stomach clench, fighting the urge to thrust up against the touch and he nods as he taps your ankle two more times.  At this rate he’s probably going to be tapping you nonstop and you’re starting to question the wisdom of that directive.  “Hmmm… how about this: I want you to eat my pussy nice and soft and slow, and if you do well I’ll give you a reward.  Think you can do that, Jason?”  He nods frantically, now looking downright desperate and you give him a sweet smile.  “Good boy.  Now show me what a great job you can do.”

Clearly the word ‘slow’ stuck in his mind because he starts at your feet, stroking his fingertips against your sensitive skin so lightly that it tickles and you scrunch up your toes against his thighs and try not to wiggle too much.  He leans in and nuzzles his cheek feather-soft against the inside of your knees, nudging your legs further apart as his hands move agonizingly slowly, finally making it to your ankles.  He circles the callused pads of his thumbs around the bones that protrude there, as fragile to him as a baby bird’s are to you.  His feelings are complicated and he’s not quite sure how to categorize them.  He’s consumed by lust and love, but also by gratitude and humility.  Despite having been together this way for nearly two years now he can still hardly believe that you let him touch you like this: all over your body and even inside you, in that soft, sacred place where babies are made... that place where he would make you a mother if things had been different.  That a creature as beautiful as you is allowing a creature as monstrous as him to run his hands all over your skin, hands that have soaked in oceans of blood that they themselves spilled.  He wants to hold you in his arms and cradle you close like his Mommy cradled him when he was a little boy, to protect you with every ounce of his strength… but somehow that urge to protect you also makes him feel tender and weak.  But it’s a weakness he craves, a tenderness he hadn’t had the freedom to feel for so, so long before he met you.

You close your eyes and sigh as his hands trail further up your legs, gently massaging the muscles of your calves as he presses soft little kisses on the tops of your thighs.  He could effortlessly rip your legs right off of your torso if he so desired, could tear you in half like a wishbone and you both know it.  But you are splayed out and helpless before him by choice, like a gift, like an offering, and that’s not a responsibility Jason takes lightly.  Rough-skinned fingertips skim the backs of your knees as he nudges your thighs slightly further apart, his face creeping down between them but still so far from where you want him… you sigh again and shift restlessly against the sheets, but you told him to go soft and slow and he’s definitely delivering.  He can smell the heady scent of your sex as he takes a deep breath, can feel your heat radiating against his own cool skin through that flimsy scrap of lace as his face edges closer.  He can’t hold in a tiny whimper, a tickling breath against your inner thigh as he takes in the sight of that fancy, delicate lace that you apparently bought just for him to enjoy, the only thin barrier between his hungry mouth and your soft, waiting flesh.  His erection pushes hard against the unyielding fabric of his pants, his own flesh turgid and throbbing but the sweet agony feels good and right.  It’s his price to pay for the privilege of having you and he’s happy to pay it, his own offering to make in return for the gift of your love.  He feels he needs to work to deserve your affections and he’s used to suffering for the sake of love - indeed, it’s all he’s ever done.  He exists to serve two women: vengeance for the one who gave him life, and vulnerability for the one who has made it worth living.

At last he nuzzles his way to where you want him, planting the softest of kisses to the crotch of your panties before inhaling deeply and rubbing his nose more firmly against it, feeling the hot dampness already seeping through.  His gentle touch feels so divine that you whisper a word of encouragement: “That’s so nice, sweetie, you’re doing such a good job.”  His fingers tap two times lightly against your leg and you can feel as well as hear his soft moan in reply, warm breath through the lace.  It reminds you of the early days, the way his breath felt against your skin through the holes in his mask way back when shy caresses and nuzzles together was as far as you’d gone.  You can’t help but twitch a bit in anticipation when you feel his teeth nibble at the edge of your thong and you take a second to thank whatever deities might exist for Jason being willing to go further than just masked kisses and nuzzles.  He was definitely worth the wait.

And then he makes you wait more.  After a few more teasing nips of his teeth along the edge of the lace he travels up to lay soft little kisses in a line from your crotch to your navel on top of the chemise.  The only thing silkier is your skin, the only thing softer is the inside of your mouth and your sex and he nuzzles his face against your belly… the place he now knows is where your baby would grow if things had been different.  He slides his hands up from your thighs to your waist, slipping beneath the chemise to feel your warm skin against his palms.  “Jason,” you moan with just a hint of irritation in your voice, but he doesn’t respond.  You told him to go slow and he’s determined to earn his reward.  If you directly order him to go faster he will, but frustrated little whimpers don’t count so he carries on with his sweet torment, secretly enjoying your restless wiggles and sighs.  He tries to get it over and done with quickly when killing a trespasser, but this is a job he’s more than happy to draw out.  He lifts himself off his knees enough to reach his face to your chest, pausing his kisses long enough to gaze down at you.  He loves how your skin glows in the lamplight, how alive you look.  How flushed and warm you are compared to him, and how you get even more warm and flushed the longer he touches you.  Beneath the fragile white lace of your barely-there bra he can see the dark rosy blush of your nipple, erect and aching for attention and he lowers his head to take it into his mouth… that part of you that would feed your baby if only things had been different.  The fabric doesn’t taste as good as your bare skin, but sucking on your breast through these fancy underthings feels a bit naughty somehow and his cheeks feel even warmer and he can’t help but rub his straining hard-on against your leg.  After all, you said earlier that you might want him to come in his pants and he wants to be ready in case you tell him to do it.

“Jason,” you moan again, lightly dragging your fingertips across his scalp and tracing the shell of his ear, and he moans in reply against your chest before kissing his way up to your throat.  He braces himself with one hand and the other moves to take the place of his mouth against your breast, his huge palm spanning the width of your chest and gently squeezing.  After sucking probably at least five hickeys into your neck he finally gives you a soft, deep kiss on the mouth and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, stroking your fingers along the scars there.  One of his hands goes back between your legs to rest lightly over your lace-covered mound, and when his lips leave your own you think that he might finally be about to give you some relief… but instead of moving back down your body he picks up your arm with his free hand and plants a tickling, feather-light kiss against the inside of your elbow.

“For fucks sake, Jason, are you trying to kill me?” you huff, and he smiles against your skin before placing a soft little kiss against the inside of your wrist.  Your fingernails are painted pink to match your toes, and a vivid image flashes through his mind of what that color would look like against his own grey-blue skin.  He’ll finish any way you tell him to, but he hopes that you’ll touch him with your hands for at least a little bit so he can see those pretty pink nails against his cock instead of you making him get himself off while you watch.  You seem to enjoy that and he likes it, too, but he hopes that this time you’ll be the one to jerk him off if that’s how you want him to come.

After repeating his attentions to your other arm and wrist Jason finally, finally trails his way back down and you softly sigh his name as he lifts your legs up to drape them over his broad shoulders.  It’s only then that he realizes there’s no back to these particular panties - only a thin strip of lace running between your cheeks and his cock surges against far-too-tight jeans, pre-cum smearing between denim and skin and he just barely restrains himself from shoving his face into your crotch and eating you out so ferociously that you’ll scream his name within seconds.  You told him to go softly and slowly and he won’t disobey, but this utterly impractical, ridiculously small piece of fabric is driving him wild and he decides to work around it so it can stay on while he pleasures you.  He’ll have you screaming his name soon enough.

He presses open-mouthed kisses against you through the lace and you’re about 0.2 seconds away from ordering him to hurry the hell up when he finally hooks his finger around the edge of the thong and pulls it aside so he can lick a long, slow, wet trail along your slit.  You gasp and involuntarily jerk - you’d been expecting him to remove them but there’s something unbearably erotic about him keeping them on and you’re definitely not about to complain.  Apparently he does indeed like them.  He licks and lightly sucks at you for what feels like hours, dipping his tongue inside your lips and running lazy circles around your clit before speeding up… only to slow down again.  “Goddamn it,” you groan, wrapping your legs more firmly around his head and trying to pull him closer, but you don’t stand a chance of moving him and he doesn’t comply.  Once again you’re on the verge of telling him enough is enough and to just let you come already… but then he does it, the thing you were wondering if he would ever try without being explicitly instructed to: his thumb slides beneath the thong down from your dripping slit to your hole and lightly presses, not going inside but it’s still enough to make you lose your breath.  

“That’s good, Jason,” you whimper, “You liked it when I did that for you, didn’t you?”  You feel him nod and tap his fingers twice against your thigh, and that’s all you need to decide to pull the trigger on ordering that toy you have bookmarked online and testing firsthand if what you’ve read about prostate stimulation is true.  You tried touching him there the last time you gave him a blow job, lightly pressing your thumb against him but not going in, unsure of how he would react.  He’d seemed surprised for a split second, but the pleasure was so intense and unexpected that he came after only a few seconds of your finger rubbing along his perineum from his hole to his scrotum and he didn’t have the presence of mind to warn you.  Choking on (and inhaling some of) his semen wasn’t fun, but it certainly wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to you and his reaction to that new sensation was completely worth having to rinse the cum out your nose.  Finally you can’t take it anymore.  “You’re doing such a great job, sweetheart, but I need to come now.  Please, be a good boy and make me come.” you plead, and Jason nods and taps your thigh again.  Hearing you beg for it turns him on just as much as your praise and he happily complies, pressing his thumb harder against your hole and rubbing tight, firm little circles against your clit with his index finger while shoving and swirling his tongue inside your pussy as deep as he can get.  He’s been teasing you for so long that you climax almost immediately, keening and wailing and squeezing your thighs tightly around his head, hands fisting the sheets until you finally come down.

Jason maintains his position between your legs, stilling his fingers and slowing his tongue, lapping up your wetness and waiting for your next instructions.  His balls are aching and he’s desperate for relief, but he feels confident that he’s satisfied you and that you’ll be merciful and not make him wait too long for his reward.  It’s always a good thing if he can get you to beg, and sure enough you unwind your legs from around his neck to rest on the bed and you give him an extremely sated smile and coo, “That was amazing, sweetie, you’re such a good boy.  You’re my best boy, you make me feel incredible.”  He watches eagerly as you sit up and pull the chemise off over your head, but you keep the bra and thong on - and you’re definitely going to order the thigh-highs and garter belt soon.  “Now take off your pants and get up here, you deserve a reward for being so patient and for all that hard work.”  Jason immediately obeys, throwing his pants aside and crawling up on the bed to kneel before you, and you get to your knees as well and pull his head down for a kiss.  His hard cock rubs against your stomach and you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue.  It makes you moan into his mouth, then you pull away and murmur,  “Do you wanna come in my mouth or my pussy, baby?”  Jason whimpers and shrugs, so turned on that he can’t even think about the options you’ve presented him with - they both sound great and he practically came just from you saying that.  You can tell that he’s struggling to make up his mind so you sit back down on your haunches and take him in your hands.  “Or how about you come all over my tits?” you say sweetly, and if Jason could speak he would be groaning every single obscenely sexual word and curse that he’s learned from you.  Instead he just lets out a pained moan and nods as he reaches out to run his fingers along the thin, lacy straps of your bra and tap your shoulder twice. You know he’s not going to last long at all so you angle his cock towards your chest and stroke quickly and firmly, and he looks down to see your small, delicate hands with their pretty, pink-painted nails against his blue-tinged grey skin, just as he’d hoped.  After only a few pumps he groans and goes stiff, jerking his pelvis into your grip and just barely managing to keep his eyes open to watch his cum shoot out in powerful jets to streak across your skin and bra.  It feels dirty and naughty and so fucking hot, and that combined with the prolonged buildup and warm touch of your hands triggers several more strong contractions in his loins and he feels like he might black out from the intensity of it as you milk him completely dry.

You don’t know the typical amount of ejaculate released by the average male, but you suspect that Jason probably produces more.  For better or worse, everything about him is more than the average male and by the time he’s finally finished you’re well-coated in it from your neck to below your bra.  But this is one instance where his above-averageness doesn’t bother you at all and you give him a coy smile as it oozes down your chest, along your cleavage and under the lacy edge of your bra.  His harsh panting gradually slows as you stroke him back down, and as the fog of ecstasy begins to lift he suddenly worries about ruining your beautiful, nice underthings.  He likes them so much that he hopes you can wash them and wear them again.  Fortunately you don’t seem concerned about it, you just raise up on your knees again for another kiss.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart, I hope you liked your present.” you smile when you break away, and Jason grins widely and nods as he pulls you into a hug.  His Mommy used to give him a small box of chocolates each year on Valentines Day, and as much as he loves his Mommy and as much as he loves chocolate, he has to admit that he loves your present more.

Chapter Text

You’re both brushing your teeth before bed when the small bottle of pink nail polish on the bathroom counter catches Jason’s eye.  “What’d you think?  Think it’s a good look for me?” you mumble around your toothbrush as he picks it up to inspect it.  Jason nods and you spit out your toothpaste to say, “It’s never really been my style, plus it gets messed up fast from doing chores.  But it might be kinda fun every now and then, especially if you like it.”  You wink at him and he bites down on his toothbrush to free up his other hand so he can hold up the polish and point to his own fingernails.  You’re not sure what he’s trying to say for a moment… he’s already seen you wear it so he doesn’t need to point to his own nails to confirm what it’s for, and the only remaining possibility you can think of is that he wants to try it himself.  “Do… do you want to put some on, too?” you venture, hoping that you’re not somehow threatening his masculinity by asking.  He’s one of the manliest-looking men you’ve ever seen and his impressive physique and displays of athleticism when brutally murdering people are about as quintessentially male as it’s possible to get, physically speaking… but despite that he’s never really shown any behaviors or attitudes that you would interpret as ‘macho’ or chauvinistic.  Jason has a sweetness to him - at least when it comes to you and the animals - a soft vulnerability and gentleness, but there isn’t a single hint of fragile or insecure masculinity that you can detect.  In fact, he has never seemed to indicate that he has any attachment to traditional gender roles or expectations whatsoever and you suppose it shouldn’t be all that surprising. If his Mother kept him as cloistered away from others before his death as you suspect she did then he wouldn’t have had the chance to be deeply indoctrinated with those sorts of social mores.  And he was even more socially isolated post-resurrection, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t feel any pressure to conform to arbitrary rules about who should wear pink and who should wear blue.  And even if he’d soaked up some of those expectations via osmosis from his victims, he certainly has not strived to model his behaviors after theirs.  Or perhaps he’s just so secure in his manhood that you could dress him up in a ruffly tutu with sparkles and a tiara and it wouldn’t faze him.  Either way you can barely hold in your giggles, and add this to the long, long list of reasons why you love him.  “Okay!” you say brightly as you rinse off your toothbrush.  “Bring it into the bedroom when you’re done and we’ll get you all fancied up.”  Jason grins back at you before spitting out his toothpaste as well, and you grab the nail polish remover and a handful of Q-tips out of a drawer before heading out of the bathroom.

Not two minutes later you’re sitting cross-legged on top of the bed facing one another, Jason in his boxers and undershirt and you in your pajamas.  It suddenly feels like you’re having a slumber party, and if Jason had hair you would suggest braiding it and then making friendship bracelets and watching a scary movie or something.  You were never especially popular but you’d still gone to a few slumber parties when you were a little girl, but you’re almost positive that Jason never got to go one.  He probably never got to go to any parties except for those his Mother threw for him, sadly.  Maybe later you can teach him how to make friendship bracelets and how to braid your hair at least, and you give him a big goofy grin that he returns.  You love these silly, lighthearted moments together just as much as you love the mind-blowing sex.  “Okay, gimme your hand and spread out your fingers,” you instruct with mock-seriousness and he does so, then you shake up and unscrew the bottle, place your free hand beneath his to steady it and get to work.  Jason watches as you smooth the pink paint over his nails one at a time before you blow on them and do a second coat.  You’re not very good at it and have to use the remover a few times, but Jason is incredibly patient 99% of the time so you doubt he minds… and indeed, he doesn’t.  Any time you’re touching him he’s happy, no matter what the activity.  “Okay, other hand, and be careful not to bump the one that’s already done so it doesn’t get messed up.”  He nods and obeys, and you repeat the process until all ten fingers are finished.  “What do you think?” you ask as he holds out his hands to look at them, and he smiles and nods before showing them to you.  “So pretty!  Who knew such a big, handsome, manly-man could look so pretty at the same time,” you giggle, and Jason grins and laughs quietly at that.  He doesn’t think it looks as good on him as it does on you, but you find the contrast between the pink of the polish and grey of his skin oddly aesthetically-pleasing.  You’re about to put the cap back on when he unwinds one leg and points to his toes, and it’s all you can do to keep from straight-up laughing out loud.  Jason is nothing if not thorough.  What would his victims think if the last thing they saw before death was a huge killer zombie with pretty pink nails swinging a machete at them?  It’s a morbidly hilarious thought and you giggle again as you reach for his foot to finish the job.

“You’re such a cutie-pie, I can hardly stand it,” you grin once all ten massive toes are done, and Jason wiggles a little as you blow on them to help them dry.  That pet name still makes him blush, as does your warm breath against his foot and the innocent happiness he was feeling during this whole process starts to take on a slightly-less innocent edge.  You unwind your own legs and scoot around to sit next to him, both of your legs outstretched across the bed alongside each other.  “Ta-da!  We match!” you smile, wiggling your toes and stacking your hand on top of his.  His hand is enormous compared to your own, and holding them together like this makes that difference feel even more stark.  All of you is tiny compared to him and Jason can’t help but run his eyes along your entire body from your cute little toes and short little legs all the way up to the ends of your fingers, dwarfed against his own.  Taking note of your smallness, your delicateness, makes his dead heart beat a little faster and makes him want to envelop you completely, to physically dominate you in the gentlest of ways, to claim you as his to protect while also worshipping you like the priceless treasure you are.  You notice his heated gaze and your own heart speeds up, for the size difference between you and Jason gets your motor running as well.  Your eyes meet for a moment before his dart down to watch when you moisten your lips with the tip of your tongue.  You nod, giving him that permission he always seems to need, and he smoothly reaches his arm around you to ease you onto your back while he rolls over on top of you.  You vaguely aim for the nightstand and toss the bottle of nail polish, but it drops on the carpet instead.  Neither of you care, though, as your lips meet in a sweet kiss that quickly grows more passionate and you tug on his shirt.  “I don’t want you wearing anything but that nail polish,” you breathe against his mouth with a smile, and Jason smiles back as he pulls the shirt off over his head.  He tugs on yours as well and you do the same, and once you’re both naked he slips one thick thigh between your own so you can grind against him how you want to.  He knows that him on top is your favorite position, and since that’s his second-favorite he’s more than happy to oblige you frequently.  Plus that way makes you seem even more tiny and fragile as he engulfs you completely, and it’s just as arousing to see you beneath him as above him.  He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you more tightly against his body, coming just short of smothering you… but if you had to choose a way to die, being suffocated beneath several hundred pounds of gorgeous muscle on the man you love would be close to the top of the list.  You wrap your legs around him as best you can, shamelessly humping his leg while his cock grows stiff against your stomach.  The only bad thing about Jason being so much bigger than you is that it makes kissing while fucking difficult.  If he bends his back and tilts his head down to reach your own upturned face you can generally make it work, but usually you just stick to kissing his chest while he nuzzles his face against the top of your head while mid-coitus. There’s always plenty of time for kisses before and after the deed is done.

You’re soaking wet for him within minutes and rubbing a slick trail against his thigh as you move faster against one another, and when you feel his pre-cum smearing across your stomach you know he’s just as ready as you are.  “Okay, now I want you wearing some lube along with those pretty pink nails,” you murmur and Jason actually snort-laughs, making you laugh as well.  It’s a dumb joke - unfortunately you suspect that most of yours are - but you’re just so damn happy together that it doesn’t matter.  You wonder what kinds of jokes Jason would make if he could… would they be as corny and dumb as yours or more sophisticated and dry?  You decide to imagine that it’s probably a mix of the two, and the thought of him making eye-rollingly terrible dad-jokes is too endearing to put into words.  You plant little kisses all over his chest as he reaches for the nightstand where your trusty bottle of K-Y resides, and he makes quick work of getting his fingers well-coated before shifting to the side a bit and reaching down between your thighs.  You spread your legs wider and sigh as those thick fingers slide through your folds, softly prodding and searching for your opening before slipping inside.  You make a little hum of pleasure and Jason does the same, and once his three fingers start feeling too small you reach for his cock and give him a gentle squeeze to indicate your readiness.  When you first saw him naked you were certain that he would be too much for your body to take - and for quite awhile he was - but now you crave that feeling of being stuffed to your limits.  You never would have guessed you’d end up being a size queen, but here you are.  And if for some inconceivable reason somehow you and Jason ended up apart, any man after him is going to have a very high bar to clear in that department.  You bend your knees and bring them as close to your shoulders as you can while Jason grabs the lube again to get himself just as slippery as you are, then tosses it somewhat carelessly aside before slowly guiding himself into your warm, waiting cunt.  You can’t help but moan a soft little ‘Ooooh,’ as he inches inside, and he grunts in pleasure and drops his forehead to the top of your hair.  Even though his size feels good it’s still generally best to start slow - you’ve both learned by now that a quick, rough fuck without plenty of warm-up too often leaves your pussy feeling utterly wrecked, and not in a good way.  You’re much more partial to feeling wrecked after a nice long build up and Jason generally enjoys that more as well.  Lovemaking is to be savored, in his opinion, and he’s got the patience and stamina to do it.  

“Fuck, Jason, you’re so big, it’s so good…” you sigh as he pushes into you deeper, and he wishes he could tell you that your smallness is good, too.  You catch the slightest flash of pink out of the corner of your eye as he grunts again and wraps his hands in your hair splayed out against the pillow.  Pink nails or not, there’s no doubting Jason’s manliness when his thick cock is deep inside of you, his heavy balls resting against your ass and his enormous arms on either side of your head as he holds himself over you while thrusting away, overwhelming you with his size and strength and musky, masculine scent.  You sigh and moan and wiggle beneath him, and after many long minutes of slow, gentle sex you murmur, “On your back, please, baby.”  Jason grunts in reply and happily obeys, pulling out to lay on his back beside you.  He hates being outside of you for even a second once you’ve really gotten a rhythm going and you hate it, too, but it’s worth it when you clamber on top of him, straddle his hips and raise yourself up enough to take him back in.  He grabs your ass with both hands and groans at the sight of himself disappearing inside of you, your lips stretched and clinging desperately to the girth of his cock as he slides in and out.  He knows from watching Nan give birth that you’re designed to allow a baby to come out of there, but while he assumes that a brand new human baby is larger than his penis it’s still hard for him to fathom how anything bigger than him could fit.  You’re just so small and so seemingly fragile, but though he could instantly crush you if he wanted he knows by now that you’re tougher than you look.  He doesn’t think he could ever love someone who wasn’t tough, someone who hated the outdoors or animals or getting dirty, someone who’d scream at the sight of blood… someone who’d scream at the sight of him.  But you’ve never screamed at him, never reacted with horror, even when you first met.  Sure, you were scared - you’d be crazy if you weren’t - but you hadn’t screamed hysterically or tried to run.  Instead you had spoken to him as if he were a person instead of a monster, and he now admires the bravery you showed that day.  His Mommy was brave, too, the way she killed those bad people for his memory, several of whom were men much bigger and surely stronger than her.  He could see as she viciously and relentlessly fought that especially bad girl, the one who ended up killing her… the one that Jason was first to dispatch when he came back from the lake.  While he still finds it slightly surprising that your tiny body can handle his own decidedly not-tiny one, he isn’t surprised at all anymore that your same small body can contain so much courage.

He gazes up at your face, your eyes closed in ecstasy as you ride him, and he reaches for your hands to press your palms against his for a moment before interlacing your fingers together, once again appreciating the contrast in size and matching pink nails.  He suddenly needs to feel more of you against him so he lets go of your hands and sits up so he can wrap his arms around you again.  You speed up your motions, bouncing faster on his cock as your head tilts forward to rub against his shoulder.  “You feel so good, sweetheart, I’m so close…” you whimper and Jason nods into your hair - he’s getting close, too.  “God, Jason, your big dick’s gonna make me come…” you whimper again and Jason groans and moves his hands to your ass to take over more of the work of your fucking him.  He moves you against his lap as if you weigh nothing at all, and like every other display of his strength it sends a flash of arousal through you and your hand slides down between your bodies to rub quickly against your clit.  “Oh god, oh god, Jason yes!” you gasp just before your climax hits hard and you can no longer form words.  Jason holds back his own orgasm just long enough to fully appreciate the sound, sight and feel of yours, then when your twitching begins to slow he rolls over so that you’re beneath him once more and starts pounding into you like a jackhammer, chasing his release.  You run your hands over his shoulders and murmur, “Yeah, give me your cum, baby, fill me up.”  Your voice comes out in uneven lurches from the speed and force of his thrusts, and his own breath comes in harsh, ragged pants as your words push him over the edge.  You squeeze your cunt around him and he goes rigid, surrounding you outside with hard, flexing muscle as he holds you and filling you inside with liquid warmth as he gasps and jerks, awash in that blissful, mindless pleasure that only you provide.

He presses down against you when he finishes, just enough that it feels good for you both but not so much that it crushes you.  You trail your fingertips in little patterns along his shoulder blades as he relaxes, and once he goes soft he pulls out so he can scoot down and reach your mouth to give you a nice, deep, slightly-lazy kiss.  His cum spills out of you and onto the sheets - there’s always way more of it than can stay contained until you make it to the bathroom.  “Mmmm, I love you, you know that?” you say when you break the kiss, and Jason smiles and nods as he points to his chest and then points to yours before placing his palm over your heart.  “I know you do, too, sweetheart,” you smile, and he’s relieved that you understand what he’s trying to say.  Your pussy feels utterly wrecked in the best possible way - the speed and force of his thrusts for the last several minutes made sure of that - and while you already feel achingly empty you’re too tired to go another round tonight.  After a few more lazy kisses he finally rolls off of you so you can go to the bathroom like usual, then he reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand to attempt to clean up at least some of the mess left behind.  Unbeknownst to you, he always tries to arrange it so that you’re fucking on his side of the bed because sleeping in the wet spot doesn’t bother him and he wants you to be comfortable.  

“Do you know how to braid?” you ask sleepily when you crawl back into bed beside him, and Jason’s a little bit confused by your seemingly out-of-nowhere question but nods anyway.  He’d learned how to do it for a few craft projects at camp and it sometimes comes in handy when setting traps for his victims.  He’d also made countless braided friendship bracelets with all sorts of colorful thread as a boy, though he never had any friends to share them with.  As he wraps you up in his arms he suddenly thinks he might like to teach you how to make them someday, so that despite your enormous physical differences you’ll both have another thing that matches besides painted nails.  And besides that, you’re his very best friend as well as his lover and the more ways he can express that, the better.

Chapter Text

You’ve come to appreciate wintertime more and more over the years since moving to Crystal Lake.  While the sting of the cold and wet of the snow still aren’t your favorite things, at least out here in the woods it is beautiful, pure and pristine rather than ugly and grimy like it was in the city and suburbs.  Plus everything is so quiet.  It’s usually relatively quiet near your cabin save for the noises of animals and birds and the wind through the trees, but during the winter even those sounds are muted beneath a heavy blanket of snow.  The silence is soothing, and as long as you’re cozy and dry you welcome the silence that wintertime brings.  Suddenly that peaceful silence is shattered by an ear-splittingly loud ‘popping’ that you eventually recognize is gunfire… but it’s more rapid than anything you’ve heard out here and with a shock you realize that it must be from some sort of automatic weapon, the kind that makes more sense on the battlefield than a hunting trip.  “What the fuck…?” you mutter out loud to yourself as you peek out the window, for the sound was very loud and sounded extremely close - so close that it thoroughly rattles your nerves.  Then your nerves get even more rattled when you think about the fact that Jason’s still out there.  While he’s been shot before and recovered just fine, you know that he can feel pain.  And if that gun was directed at him then he’s most likely in a significant amount of pain right now.  And while you’re pretty sure he can’t be killed, the extremely violent sounds of that gun fires up your fear for and protectiveness of him so fiercely that you can’t simply ignore it and wait for him to come home.  Suddenly there is a second burst of gunfire and that’s the last straw.  You grab your rifle and load it, then pull on your boots and jacket and hurry outside.  You’ve got to know that he’s okay.

Fortunately his footprints are still visible in the snow and you follow them as quickly and quietly as you can, keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the disturbance or Jason’s hulking form between the trees.  You don’t hear any more of that out-of-place gunfire, but before too long you hear a different, equally disturbing sound: a loud, angry, male voice that most certainly doesn’t belong to Jason - unless he’s suddenly acquired the ability to speak somehow.  You hold your breath and slow down, creeping as silently as you can while hiding behind the tree trunks, trying to emulate as much of Jason’s stealth-skills as possible.  You aren’t nearly as good at moving silently and keeping out of sight as he is and you wish there was more foliage to cover you… though at least the snow helps muffle your footsteps.  You hear the voice again and when you peek out from behind a huge, ancient maple tree you see two men in winter camouflage, one of whom is holding a large gun that most certainly caused the noise you heard.  The other man is holding a chainsaw, and they’re standing over a large, grayish mass laying in the snow like two poachers who’ve just felled a rhinoceros… and your heart fully stops for a beat when you recognize that large, grayish mass is the love of your life.

“Gotcha, you sick sonofabitch,” the man with the gun jeers.  He sounds like he’s enjoying this way too much, like a wealthy, sadistic trophy hunter gloating about slaughtering a critically endangered animal.  He’s pointing the gun right at Jason’s head but you notice that he’s keeping well out of reach - apparently this guy is at least smart enough to know that if Jason got his hands on that gun he could snap it in half like a twig… but this man is also somehow smart enough to have figured out how to incapacitate Jason at least momentarily because Jason isn’t moving, isn’t making any attempt to grab that gun or the person holding it.  You’ve been together for nearly fifteen years now and Jason being down for the count is something you never thought you’d live to see… and you hoped you never would.  But he’s not moving now and you can’t imagine he wouldn’t currently be destroying these two intruders if he wasn’t in extremely bad shape.  Panic swells your throat to the point where you can barely breath and you try to figure out what to do as your eyes dart frantically all over Jason’s still form, praying for movement, searching for some indication that your assumption that he cannot be killed is correct.

“This is what you get for murdering my brother, you fucking freak,” snarls the man with the chainsaw, and a streak of anger slashes through your panic when he leans over and spits on Jason.

“This zombie piece of shit ain’t smart enough to get us, are ya’, ugly?” the man with the gun taunts as he steps just close enough to kick Jason in the head, and your anger flares even hotter. “We’re gonna be so famous when we take this bastard’s head back to town!  We got the killer of Camp Blood!  We’re gonna be on the news!  Maybe even in a movie!”

“Who fucking gives a shit,” the man with the chainsaw growls as he takes a step closer to Jason’s limp form.  “I just wanna cut this fucker’s head off like he did to Craig.  That should keep him from coming back again.”

He revs up the chainsaw and suddenly your mind goes calm and still, your panic and rage narrowing into absolute focus.  You know what they’re about to do, and you know what you must do to stop it.  You raise your rifle and bring the scope to your eye, and when the man with the chainsaw is in your crosshairs you fire without hesitation.

There are many things in life at which you don’t excel: math, for starters, as well as drawing… or acting like a normal, well-adjusted human being, for that matter.  But one thing at which you do excel is marksmanship and your bullet hits him right between his eyes.  There was a risk he might drop the chainsaw and hurt Jason even more once the bullet pierced his brain, but you had no choice… and fortunately the force of the shot is enough to knock him slightly back and to the side and the chainsaw lands on his own legs, sending blood and chunks of flesh spraying into the air like a geyser.  The man with the gun is in your crosshairs next, and before he can even react at all to the shower of gore that was once his hunting partner your bullet goes straight through his ear and he drops like a rock as well.

You lower your rifle but don’t drop it in case there are more people nearby, then run through the snow as fast as you can till you reach the scene of the crime.  You give each corpse a quick check to make sure you’ve really killed them, and when it’s clear that their brains have been ruined beyond salvation you turn off the chainsaw for safety’s sake and fall to your knees at Jason’s side.  “Jason, oh my god!” you cry, scanning his entire body to assess the damage: he’s laying on his side with his face mostly in the snow and his mask off, bound tightly in thick, heavy chains and bleeding copiously from numerous bullet holes in his torso, front and back.  His blueish, blackish blood stains the snow surrounding him and there’s so much of it that it makes you nauseous.  The panic is back now, and you set your rifle aside and reach out for his face with violently shaking hands.  “Please, Jason, look at me sweetie, please!” you practically sob, gently turning his head out of the snow to face you, and you nearly vomit when a thick, dark stream of blood leaks from his mouth.  It’s then that you notice what looks like a tranquilizer dart still sticking out of his neck, large enough that it looks like it actually could take down a rhinoceros, making your earlier impression of these gloating men trying to poach your beloved that much more apt.  Your heart is beating so erratically you fear it might stop, but if Jason is dead then you hope that it does so you can join him… but then he groans quietly and cracks open one bleary eye.  “Jason,” you repeat, desperately stroking his face with both hands, and when he finally manages to focus his one open eye on yours he actually smiles.  It’s a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless and you nearly start bawling with relief.  “Jesus Christ, Jason, oh my god,” you gasp, unable to form a coherent sentence yet.  You lean down and start gently kissing his face and he lets out a slow, shaky breath.  “I thought I’d lost you, sweetheart, oh my god,” you whisper against his forehead, and before you can stop yourself a tear runs down your cheek and lands on his head.  “Are you going to be alright?”  Your voice is getting ever more tremulous, but you wipe away your tears and tell yourself to keep it together - he still needs your help and you can’t fall apart just yet.

Jason nods ever so slightly.  He’s still feeling somewhat groggy from the drugs and is in a tremendous amount of pain even for him, but he knows that this too shall pass and eventually he’ll be fine… but he’s pretty sure that he wouldn’t be fine if you hadn’t shown up.  He doesn’t know what it would take to kill him, if it’s even possible for him to die, but if anything could do it he thinks that cutting his head off would probably be it and he was conscious enough to hear what that man had said and to hear the rev of that chainsaw above his own neck.  Even as he lay there disoriented and bleeding in the snow all he’d been thinking about was you, willing himself to one day come back once again no matter what these bad people may do to him.  If it took him a hundred years to regrow his head he would do it, and then he would spend until eternity trying to find a way to bring you back, too, through the power of his love for you.  But fortunately it didn’t come to that - not today, at least.

You gently pull the empty dart from his neck and throw it aside, then turn your attention to the chains wrapped around his torso.  They’re so thick that you’re not even sure that a bolt-cutter could remove them, but perhaps you might have a chance of cracking the heavy padlock keeping them in place.  “Damn it,” you mutter as you inspect the lock, and Jason sighs.  He’s overjoyed that you’re here, but he also feels rather embarrassed at you seeing him this way, at his absolute lowest.  He’s never encountered people who were so well-prepared to attack him, and the last several minutes were the most frustrating he’s ever experienced in his entire undead existence.  He saw their footprints in the snow and deduced that there were two intruders of average size, most likely ice skaters or perhaps photographers here to capture the wintery beauty of Crystal Lake.  As such he thought it was most likely that they wouldn’t be armed, but he always exercises caution just in case… but somehow this time they managed to get the drop on him.  The first thing he remembers is a twinging prick at the back of his neck, not really painful but rather annoying, like mosquito bites when he was alive.  He spun around and reached behind him to find a dart sticking out of his neck, and he quickly pulled it out and threw it aside, angry eyes searching for where it had come from.  All of a sudden he saw the barrel of a gun pointing at him from behind a tree about thirty feet away away, but before he could move the intruder opened fire - and rather than just a few rapid individual shots Jason found himself hit with an absolute torrent of nonstop bullets.  It was enough to stop him in his tracks for a second, but his rage flared up and he powered through the discomfort and started towards his assailant… but alarmingly his vision was beginning to go blurry and he blinked several times, trying to clear his head as the bullets kept coming.  The gun went quiet for a moment as he continued to lurch in that direction, but his head was swimming and his balance was thrown off, and his legs weren’t responding like normal.  Then another dart hit him in the left side of his neck and he reached up to try and remove it, but by then he was too disoriented to even find it and despite his best efforts he could barely keep walking.  Then the gunfire started up again and it was too much, the bullets relentlessly hitting his chest and with an enraged, frustrated growl he finally fell to his knees and then face-down in the snow.

After that he was out cold for he doesn’t know how long, but when he began to wake up again the first thing he noticed other than pain was the freezing wet snow against his face… and then the sound of his assailants talking in smug, angry voices above him.  Then he noticed the chains wrapped tightly around his entire body and while he likes it when you tie him up in the bedroom, this was not enjoyable in the slightest.  Normally he would be able to break free from these chains, but he was so weak from the pain and drugs and loss of blood that he was momentarily powerless and he let out another weak, frustrated groan into the snow.  He just needed a little more time… just a minute to rest and regain his strength and then he could bust through the chains and put his fist right through each of these intruders faces.  He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t quite comprehend what exactly these bad people were saying at first, his ears still ringing from the stress his body had just been put through… but then he heard something about cutting off heads and the chainsaw started up and he knew exactly what it meant.  He’s been confronted with chainsaws before, but never when he was powerless to get out of the way or fight back and he braced himself for impact, already planning his return, already preparing the most vicious punishment he could think of for these people… but then a single shot rang out from the trees and he heard a thud as a body hit the snow beside him.  He knows that particular gunshot, he’s heard it every fall when it’s butchering time… then a second shot followed, as did a second body dropping, and through his haze there was only one explanation he could think of: the shots had come from you.  You had come to rescue him.  And now here you are, stroking his face and giving him kisses, whispering your fear and relief against his skin, and while he’s pretty sure there’s at least one bullet literally lodged in his heart that doesn’t stop it from beating hard and warm with love and gratitude for you.  You have rescued him, and he will never, ever forget it.  Not even when the sun explodes and consumes the earth, not even when the universe folds in on itself into nothing.

“I’ve got to go get the bolt-cutter to get these chains off, sweetheart,” you say in a worried voice as you take his freezing cold hand in yours and squeeze.  You hate to leave him here alone in the snow but the chains wrap around his legs and there’s no way he’ll be able to walk once he recovers enough to do so.  Jason nods in understanding and squeezes your hand back, and with one last gentle kiss against his lips you stand and run back home as fast as you possibly can.  You taste his blood at the edge of your mouth and your lungs burn from the cold as your breath comes in harsh, painful huffs.  You burst into the barn so suddenly that it startles the goats, and you pant out an apology as you pull the bolt-cutter off its nail in the wall and run back out into the woods.  You find Jason where you left him, fortunately not looking any worse for wear, and though it takes all of your power to crack through the padlock adrenaline is boosting your strength so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if it was true that mothers were able to lift cars right off of their trapped children in the midst of disaster.  Jason wiggles a bit as you pull the chains loose, and you try your best to help him when he slowly sits up.  You see a second empty dart in the snow when he finally gets upright, and you’re half upset and half impressed: both that these hunters had thought of sedating him, and also that it required this many doses and bullets to take Jason down.  He’s already looking much better and he feels better as well, in no small part thanks to his joy at your being here.  He slowly and laboriously pushes himself to his knees and then his feet, and you scurry underneath his arm just in case leaning on you will help.  Blood is still tricking from some of the bullet wounds but there’s too many for you to try to stop the bleeding all at once.  It’ll have to wait until you get home.  “Can you walk?” you ask as you look up at him with worried eyes, and Jason smiles down at you and nods.  He’s finally managed to pry his other eye open and has wiped the blood from his mouth, and though he looks a bit tired his expression is more appropriate for a nice, romantic walk in the snow with his beloved rather than for having narrowly escaped decapitation-by-chainsaw.  You can’t help but return his smile and you shuffle back towards home together, leaving the corpses of those would-be monster-killers behind.

Chapter Text

You both shed your jackets and boots on the porch, then you beckon Jason to sit down at the kitchen table while you run for the first aid kit.  He chuckles softly and affectionately at your retreating form - he’s going to be just fine, but you can’t help but take care of him anyway and he lets you do it because it seems to help ease your distress.  Plus truthfully, being fussed over and worried about feels just as good to his heart and soul as it does to his body, and he’s secretly gratified by this evidence that you love him so much.  You return within seconds and help him pull off his ruined shirt, and while the bleeding has pretty much stopped you still wince when you see the absolute disaster that is his chest.  There are so many bullet holes that you don’t know where to begin.  Eventually you decide to start from the top and work your way down, and Jason holds his breath and braces himself as you insert the long metal tweezers into a wound to dig out the bullet.  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get them all,” you murmur as you drop the fifth bullet into the bowl on the table, but Jason just nods and shrugs.  The ones that remain will either stay put where they are or else burrow their way to the surface of his skin on their own like they did before he had you to tend to him.  After you’ve done the best you can do for his chest and stomach he stands and removes his pants - there are even some bullet holes in his pelvis and thighs.  “Thank god they didn’t get you in the dick,” you grin, and Jason lets out a laugh at that.  Thank god, indeed.  

Once you’ve pulled out all the bullets you can find you take his hand and lead him to the bathroom, and he washes his mask in the sink while you get a warm bath going.  Jason’s generally not very fond of being submerged in water and tries to avoid it when possible, but he makes an exception for being in the bathtub with you.  He climbs in and sits down, and while the cold really doesn’t bother him too much the warm water does feel very, very nice against his previously ice-cold skin.  He sighs at the soothing warmth as you kneel beside the tub with a soft washcloth and antiseptic soap in hand, then begin gently washing him everywhere you can reach as though he were a gigantic dog at the groomers.  The water turns light grey-blue as the crusted blood dissolves and disperses, and once you’ve scrubbed every scratch on him you drain the tub and refill it.  You were intending to just give him another thorough, clean rinse-off before urging him out to bandage him up, but he gently grasps your hand and gestures for you to join him in the tub.  You can’t resist those big, warm, hazel eyes so you decide that bandages can wait and strip out of your clothes to do as he’s requesting.  You both sigh in pleasure as you slide between his knees, resting your back against his chest and he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck.  “I was so worried, love,” you murmur, closing your eyes as his big arms wrap gently around you.  “I thought I’d lost you.  I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.”  Your voice breaks a bit on your last word and you feel the tears start to well up.  Jason holds you a bit tighter and presses a soft kiss behind your ear, wishing he could tell you not to worry.  No matter what happens to him, he will find his way back to you.  He came back for his Mommy, and he will come back for you.  He will never, ever leave you, not even if means he has to carry his own head around under his arm for the rest of his existence.  Leaving you alone is simply not an option.  You unwind one of his hands from around you and lift it to your lips to lay a gentle kiss against his palm, and Jason makes a soft little humming noise and closes his own eyes.  You’re both quiet and still for a long time, and if he were a normal human you would assume he’d fallen asleep.  But by now you know he’s just halfway there, not unconscious but simply directing his energy and focus into healing this latest batch of wounds.  The water begins to go cold and you squeeze his hand a bit before scooting forward and twisting around to face him.  He opens his eyes again to meet yours, and you give him a smile before assessing the state of his injuries: the bullet holes appear to be about a third of the way closed up again already - his powers of regeneration are truly remarkable.  Still, you won’t feel satisfied until you’ve finished the job.

You both towel off but don’t get dressed, and Jason sits obediently on the bed as you tenderly wrap up his wounds in roll after roll of gauze.  There’s so much to bandage that he practically looks like a mummy once you’re finally finished, and you run out of gauze so you mentally add it to your shopping list for next time you go to town.  He watches as you gently secure the last bandage around his thigh - every time you tend to him like this it reminds him of his Mommy taking care of him whenever he scraped his knee or elbow.  You don’t kiss each injury after it’s been bandaged like she did, but rather you kiss him softly on the mouth with just as much tenderness and love once you’re finished.  “That looks better,” you murmur after that kiss, “How do you feel, sweetheart?”  Jason smiles and nods.  Healing up on his own is all well and good, but it’s much, much nicer when you help him do it.  “Let’s rest for a little bit,” you suggest, and he nods again and pulls back the covers before scooting to his side of the bed so you can crawl in beside him.

As you hold one another you finally think about what you’ve just done: you’ve just taken the lives of two human beings and you know you should be feeling something about it, know that most normal people would be horrified by it… but you’re not.  It simply had to be done, there was no question about it.  You would do anything in the world to protect Jason.  You would have murdered those men with your bare hands if it had come down to that, and you wouldn’t blink an eye while doing it.  And you have no regrets now.  You’re glad that they’re dead.  But despite this there is one little concern at the back of your mind: “What should we do about the bodies?  If someone finds them they might be able to trace the bullets back to me.”  You’ve never personally committed a crime with this gun - until now, at least - but you’d purchased it used and aren’t sure if it’s been recorded in someone’s ballistics database somewhere.  But Jason only gives you a firm nod and pats your shoulder.  He’ll take care of it, will make absolutely certain that no blame will fall to you.  He’ll make sure these bodies will never be found.  “I’ll come with you,” you say, and when Jason shakes his head you shake yours right back.  “I need to come with you.  I need to see those bastards six feet under for what they did to you… for what they tried to do to you.”  He looks at you quietly for a moment, then nods his assent.  He would feel the same way if someone had tried to hurt you, so he’s certainly not going to stop you from joining him.

It’s just barely starting to get dark outside when Jason pats your shoulder once more - he’s feeling 100% back to normal and he wants to dispose of those corpses before it gets too dark and cold, for your sake.  You head out into the forest together with shovels in hand and find the two would-be monster-killers right where you’d left them, stiff and cold in the snow.  You glare down at them with hate in your heart, and the immature part of your mind is tempted to spit on them like they’d done to Jason.  But before you get the chance, Jason dishes out a little revenge for you both: even though these bad people are dead, he still pulls back his arm and then punches one of them in the face like he’d wanted to do earlier.  His fist completely obliterates the man’s skull and a tiny flicker of arousal bubbles up from beneath your grim satisfaction.  He does the same to the other corpse, and you realize that this is a practical move on his part as well as being satisfying - even if somehow the bodies get uncovered before they rot, even when only bones remain, he’s made identifying them nearly impossible.  With that thought in mind you search their pockets for their wallets, and when you find them you put them in your own pockets to take home and burn.  Then you both pick up your shovels and start digging.  Jason finishes his grave before you’ve hardly made a dent in the frozen ground, so you push and shove the body of the chainsaw-wielding intruder down into the hole he’s dug while he finishes up the one you started.  He could toss that body into the ground as if it weighed nothing, but you clearly want to participate so he lets you grunt and sweat and finally huff in satisfaction when the deed is done.  One of the man’s legs has been completely severed from his own chainsaw landing on it, and you pick up the leg and throw it into the grave after the rest of his body with somewhat morbid amusement.  It’s quite dark by the time both bodies and their accompanying weapons are buried, and Jason leads you back home through the woods to your warm, cozy cabin.

Even though he’s completely fine now you still want to coddle him and after so many years he knows it’s best to let you - plus again, if he’s honest, he likes it.  You warm up some soup for you both while he sits at the table, then pour a small glass of wine each.  Jason doesn’t approve of heavy drinking - far too many drunken idiots have trespassed on his land for him to think highly of that activity - but he sees nothing wrong with one little glass to go along with dinner sometimes.  Such a small amount of alcohol doesn’t affect him, but you need a drink after all that’s transpired.  You take your meals into the living room and build up the fire, and you both eat your dinner as you watch the confiscated wallets burn.  Once you’re finished eating you set your dishes on the coffee table and snuggle up closer together.  You’re starting to feel a little bit sore from forcing the bolt-cutters through the thick chain, digging into the frozen ground and shoving that body around, and you unconsciously reach up to rub one of your shoulders.  Ever vigilant, Jason notices and brings his own hands to your shoulders to gently push your hand away, then starts massaging.  His hands are so big he can cover your neck, shoulders and upper back quite easily, and you moan in pleasure as your head tilts forward.  I should be taking care of you,” you complain, but it feels so good that you don’t try to stop him.  Jason makes an amused little hum as his thumbs run along your shoulder blades, fingertips digging gently into your tense muscles and you sigh again.  Between the wine and his touch and your general exhaustion you could probably fall asleep right here on the loveseat… but you’re not done taking care of him yet so before you drift off you pull away and turn to face him.  “I said I should be taking care of you, you bad boy,” you repeat as you reach for his shoulders, but Jason gives you a smile and shakes his head.  You rescued him, you murdered those men to save him when he’s pretty sure you’d never killed a person before, and for that you deserve all the care in the world.  “Alright, truce.  We’ll take care of each other.  Deal?” you say with mock sternness and Jason grins even wider and nods - that’s an arrangement he can agree to.  He reaches out his hand to stroke your face and runs his other along the streak of silver that’s just recently appeared in your hair.  You’ve accepted this sign of your aging with a resigned sense of inevitability - hell, you’re just happy you’ve made it long enough to start going grey - but Jason thinks it looks just as beautiful as the rest of you.  You lean in for a kiss and bring your hand to his chest, conscious of his wounds and just barely touching him.  Logically you know by now that he’s okay, but you just can’t help it… the image of him riddled with bullets is still too upsetting. But he takes your hand in his and presses it more firmly against his chest.  I’m fine, he tries to will you to understand, I promise I’m fine, you can touch me… please touch me.  You follow his guidance and increase the pressure of your caresses, then wrap your other arm around his neck as he eases you down on your back on the loveseat.  Your head presses into the throw pillow as Jason shifts until one of his thighs is between your own, never breaking your sweet, gentle kisses.  It’s not easy to have sex on the loveseat unless you’re on his lap, but after many years of experimentation and practice you manage to make it work.  His mouth tastes like wine along with his own unique flavor and you moan into the kiss, stroking your hands along his strong back as he holds you in his arms.  You had every intention of going slow this time, but your body has other ideas and before long you’re aching to feel him inside you… and apparently his body agrees because he’s hard against your leg just as quickly.  Fuck it, you think to yourself as you reach for his belt.  Life is short - possibly even including his, under the right circumstances - and there’s no sense in denying yourselves pleasure when some chainsaw-wielding maniac or incurable cancer could come back for you both.

Jason helps you get his pants unfastened and moves off of you enough to get them completely off while you work on your own clothes.  “I wish I could kill them again,” you murmur against the thick, cool skin of his shoulder as your hands trail across one of his many bandages, and he leans back to place one finger gently against your lips.  He shakes his head - there’s no reason to speak of those people anymore, no reason to let them continue taking up space in your mind.  He unwraps a piece of the gauze to show you he’s fine, and indeed the bullet hole has completely sealed, leaving only a slightly puckered, slightly lighter-grey scar behind.  “You’re amazing, you know that?” you whisper, and he kisses you again.  You’re amazing, too.  You make me feel so good, I love you so much, I’ll never leave you, no matter what they do to me… he thinks over and over, wishing you could hear him somehow, pleading for you to understand.  “Make love to me, sweetheart, please.  I’m ready,” you beg, so he hikes your leg up around his hip and you reach down to guide him slowly inside you.  It doesn’t take long for you to both find release - you’re so grateful he’s alive (so to speak) and he’s so grateful for your love, and his near brush with possible death-for-real and your joining him in becoming a murderer has given rise to some heavy emotions.  It’s the most tender and gentle sex you’ve had in awhile, but despite that your climax comes fast and hard and he quickly follows you with a guttural groan to go along with your breathy gasps.

When you both finally recover Jason pulls you on top of him as he reclines back against the loveseat, running his hands through your hair to finger those first pretty, silvery strands.  “I’m totally wiped out,” you murmur against his shoulder as you gently peel away yet another strip of gauze, and you feel him nod before he stands up to carry you to the bedroom.  He wouldn’t mind another rest, either.  “You know I’d carry you, too, if you weren’t so massive,” you yawn and he chuckles.  Yes, he knows you would, knows that you would do anything for him just as he would do anything for you.  But if he hadn’t already known that before now, then you certainly showed it today.

Chapter Text

Jason hears them before he sees them: a man and a woman, and the bark of a dog as well.  They’re close, very close, and though they are near the edge of his territory they’re still technically in it… so therefore they must be punished.  They must pay for what happened to him and his Mommy.  Anger begins bubbling up from deep inside him as he grips his machete tighter and moves silently towards their cheerful laughter and chattering, keeping hidden behind the fresh green foliage of early summer.  He peeks through a gap in the bushes and sees the intruders, but instead of crashing through the leaves and ending their lives one after the other he freezes - there is a very small child with them.

It’s toddling around and doing its best to pet the dog that’s running playful circles around it, tail wagging.  Then the child lets out a high-pitched squeal of unbridled delight and the man and woman laugh as well.  The man and woman must be this child’s mommy and daddy, and Jason’s grip on his machete loosens just a bit.  He very rarely encounters children, but when he does he lets them and their guardian live.  It’s too close to home, reminds him too sharply of himself and his Mommy and he just cannot bring himself to murder an innocent baby, nor leave one orphaned.  Instead he scares them away, because while he doesn’t want to punish them he still doesn’t want them on his land - and he doesn’t want to allow any chance of that child drowning in Crystal Lake like he did.  He might normally consider killing the father and letting the mother and child escape - after all, he and his Mommy did just fine without his Daddy - but something stays his hand this time.  He watches them quietly, then a startling jolt seems to punch him right in the gut when the woman stands up from her folding lawn chair.  Her stomach is swollen, large and round, and while before he’d met you he would just think it a peculiar oddity about this one individual now he knows what it means: this woman is pregnant.  He’s learned all about it from watching the goats: how in the fall they have sex - ‘breeding’, you call it - then over the next few months Nan’s belly grows large and round just like this woman’s.  Then her udder fills with milk and the babies are born in the spring.  The woman runs her hands gently over her stomach as she says something to the man, but Jason’s not paying attention to their words anymore - he’s fixated on where that baby must be.  He’s never seen a pregnant woman before as far as he knows and he’s somewhat in shock, unsure of what exactly he’s feeling right now.  The man stands as well and gives her a kiss, then places his hand lightly on her stomach as well and something twinges in Jason’s chest.  He backs up a bit deeper into the bushes, making extra-certain that he’s hidden, but he can’t look away as the woman crouches down somewhat laboriously to pick up the toddler, then the three of them walk towards the car that Jason’s only just noticed.  He moves through the underbrush so he can keep them in his sight, and they take a cooler and small portable grill out of the trunk before returning to the chairs.

The man starts setting up the grill while the woman sits back down with the child on her lap.  There isn’t a lot of room thanks to the baby still inside of her, but somehow it works anyway.  Jason watches in fascination as the woman lifts up the left side of her shirt, exposing one breast and the child latches on and starts sucking, just like the baby goats do to Nan’s udder.  She cradles her child in her arms and sings softly to it while it nurses, and now the twinge in Jason’s chest is downright painful.  Is this how his own Mommy fed him when he was a baby?  Holding him close while he drank, giving him nourishment from her own body while she sang soft little songs of love for him?  After carrying him inside of her from fall until spring, moving slowly and heavily with his weight as he grew, then grunting with discomfort when he was finally born in a bloody, slippery mess?  It’s overwhelming to think about and he stares riveted at the tender scene before him, the bittersweet ache in his heart growing stronger and stronger.  After a few moments the woman shifts the child to her other breast, and by this time the man has some hamburgers on the grill.  Once the child is finished eating, its mommy lets it down from her lap as she pulls her shirt back into place and the child toddles off to where the dog is waiting, having been commanded to sit well away from the food.  Jason watches as the man fixes up a hamburger and brings it to the woman - the mother of his child, and surely his wife as well.  Jason has seen weddings in movies that you’ve watched together.  The brides in the movies always wear pretty white dresses and they’re always so happy, just like this woman appears to be now.  You always seem happy with him, too, but you’ve never worn a white dress like the ones in the movies and suddenly Jason wishes he could see you in one.  You would be more beautiful than any of those brides on T.V., and he wonders if you would feel just as happy as they look if you were his wife.  His heart both soars and aches thinking of how wonderful it would be if he could give you a pretty white dress to wear and put a ring on your finger… and his heart soars even higher and aches even deeper when he thinks of you putting a ring on his finger as well, making him your husband forever and ever.

The couple in front of him give one another a sweet little kiss as the man hands the woman the plate full of food and it dawns on Jason that he is taking care of her while she’s growing their baby.  Billy never seems to take any particular extra care of Nan while she’s pregnant, but Jason knows for a fact that he would take extra care of you if you were pregnant… if you were carrying his child.  His heart is aching so badly now that he can barely withstand it, but at the same time it feels good to imagine what that would be like:  He would put a baby inside of you while making love together - though he supposes this time it would be considered breeding since it would result in a baby - and he would pour every ounce of his heart and soul into you as well.  As fall turns to winter and your belly grew larger he would do everything for you so that you could spend all day resting.  He would cook, he would clean, he would do the laundry and all of the chores.  He would brush your hair and wash your entire body for you in the shower, and he would carry you anywhere you wanted to go so you don’t have to move if you’re feeling tired or uncomfortable.  Every evening he would draw you a warm bath with nice-smelling bubbles, and he would massage your aching body the way he does for Nan when it’s clear she’s feeling sore.  He would make love to you whenever you wanted it - or not at all, if that’s what you’d prefer - softly and gently so it won’t hurt the baby, trying his very hardest to make you feel good in every way imaginable.  He only wishes he could do your job for you as well so that you wouldn’t be stuck at that computer all day while you’re already working at making a baby.  He would run his hands softly all over your belly as it grows, pressing his cheek lightly against you and feeling for the kick of the baby the same way he can feel the goat babies kick.  He would do everything he could to make your life easier and show you how beautiful you are.  You are always beautiful, but he thinks you might be especially so in this state… like a goddess of life while he is a bringer of death.  But as you tell him every fall, all creatures must die.  That is his job, while making new life is yours.  There is a place in this world for both of you and your purposes.  

When winter turns to spring and the baby is close and your breasts fill with milk he would never leave your side, waiting for you to tell him what to do to help.  You usually let Nan get on with birthing her kids on her own, only keeping a watchful eye from nearby in case something goes wrong but Jason couldn’t stand that.  He would want to be right there, if you’d let him, waiting for the baby to emerge from that soft, sacred place where he’d put it inside of you the previous fall.  You would grunt and groan and push, and maybe even yell like Nan does sometimes - but he hopes that you won’t because being powerless to end your discomfort would drive him insane.  He hopes that it would go fast and easy for you, and that there are no problems because then he would be absolutely beside himself, panicking completely and not knowing what to do.  He pushes that distressing thought away and continues with the more pleasant aspects of this fantasy:  After your hard work that bloody, slippery mess would soon follow, bringing with it your brand new baby - the brand new life that you and he made together.  The one time he helped give life rather than taking it away.  He would dip the broken cord in iodine like you do for the goats, and you would make soft little mommy noises to talk to the baby like Nan does to hers.  Billy doesn’t really make any daddy noises, but Jason would.  Just in case the baby can hear him, just to make sure the baby understands right away who its Daddy is.  He’s not sure if you would lick the baby to clean it like Nan does, but he thinks it’s probably more likely that you would use a warm towel like you’ve done for some of the kids when it’s especially cold out and you need to dry them as quickly as possible.  Then you would feed the baby like that woman just did in front of him now, and Jason would feed you all the food you could possibly eat so you’d have plenty of energy for yourself as well as your child.  Hamburgers seem so inadequate compared to the milk you could make with your own body, but it’s the best he can do and he’d do it as well as he could.

He would check between its little legs to find out if it’s a boy or girl, and he honestly can’t decide which he’d want more.  Maybe one of each would be best, and he smiles to himself at the idea of two little babies running around.  Jason always wished he had a brother or sister when he was a boy, because surely they would have been his friend no matter how stupid and ugly he was.  Then he worries that the baby might also be mute and deformed with a brain that doesn’t work right when it comes to letters on a page, just like him… but you are so beautiful and smart and normal that he’s certain you would cancel out anything bad he might burden your child with.  And even if the baby was ugly and stupid like he is, it would not suffer the scorn of its peers the way that Jason did.  No one would ever have the chance to get close enough to say mean things to it, to shove it or kick it or push it in the lake.  This child would know only love and happiness and your small, safe little family that Jason would protect with unmatched ferocity.  Anyone who dared endanger - or even just bother - you and your child would suffer even more than intruders do now, and he would scatter their mangled corpses all over his territory so that the entire world would know to stay away lest they meet with his fury.

A little while after the baby is born you would push out the large, meaty thing that you call a ‘placenta’.  You’ve told him how it’s part of what helps the baby grow while inside of its mommy, and he wonders if you would eat it like Nan sometimes does.  Then he wonders if you would need to be milked like Nan as well, if the amount of milk you’d produce would be more than the baby could drink and cause too much pressure in your breasts that would need to be relieved.  He has so many questions and no way to ask for the answers, nor any way to find out the answers firsthand.  You’ve already told him you will never be a mother.  ‘The chemotherapy wrecked my eggs,’ you’ve said, and even if you could be a mother Jason’s not sure he could make you one anyway.  He’s not really living, after all, and how could a new life be created from death?  His sweet, wistful thoughts are tinged by an undercurrent of bitterness now, not for the first time thinking of how the universe has wronged him.  First he was robbed of his own life, then of his Mommy, and now he’s been robbed of becoming a daddy himself with the woman he loves.  He’s even been denied the simple ability to speak so he could ask you to marry him like the men in the movies do.  And even if he could ask there is no way you could go to a church together and do it properly, because he is a monster now, not a man.  He looks down at his hands and their mottled grey skin, wishing that he was still as peach-colored as his Mommy was.  There is no way he could go into a church and have a priest in funny robes say those special words that would make you man and wife.

If only things had been different… if only he’d been born looking normal so that he never would have been pushed in that lake and left to die… and his Mommy would never have died to avenge him.  He could have grown up like a regular person, gone to school, gotten a job… though he’s not sure what kind of job he could have.  All he knows is killing, but if he and his Mommy had never died then he wouldn’t need to kill.  He watches the man before him eating a hamburger.  What kind of job does this man have to help take care of his family?  You pay for everything yourself with your computer job, and Jason wishes he had a way to help contribute.  Maybe he could have been a farmer.  His bitterness dissipates for a moment as a happy fantasy fills his mind instead: a fantasy of having a big farm you could work together, with lots of chickens and goats so you could sell the eggs and milk.  He would relish the hard work, doing all the heavy chores while you milked the goats and collected the eggs, and together you could take them to the grocery store to sell.  After working all day you’d both be sweaty and dirty and tired, and would enjoy a nice shower together and some lovemaking before bed.  The child in front of him right now has crawled onto its mother’s lap again, but instead of nursing it’s now fast asleep and Jason realizes that any lovemaking would probably have to be quiet so as to not wake your baby.  But that would be fine.  You could whisper those things that he loves to hear instead of moaning them loudly, and if things had been different he could whisper them right back - whisper everything he’s ever wanted to say to you, both inside the bedroom and out.  He can’t imagine a happier life than this vivid scenario in his brain and he smiles… but then reality comes crashing back.  No.  Things are not different.  They are what they are, and they will never change.

The man in front of him stands up from his chair and goes to his wife to give her a kiss and whisper something to her, too softly for Jason to hear but he imagines it’s something loving.  The woman smiles up at her husband and whispers something back, and the look in her eyes reminds Jason of the way you look at him and it helps his bitterness fade.  While his life has been brutally unfair in so many ways, while there are things he wishes he could do with and for you that will never be, the fact remains that he’s lucky to have you at all.  It’s the one nice thing the universe has given him, and he is grateful for it.  His Mommy always told him to count his blessings when he said his prayers before bedtime, and while he no longer says prayers he wonders if maybe he should start again.  He has long stopped believing there is any benevolent god looking out for him - how could any supposedly-loving god be so cruel as to allow what happened to him and his Mommy?  But he has found you to love when he never expected to, and even more amazingly you love him right back.  So while he remains unconvinced that god is responsible for his finding you, it’s still a blessing that he can count every day and every night.

When the child in front of him wakes up its mommy feeds it again, and Jason’s mind goes back to thoughts of birth.  After the placenta came out he would get a warm washcloth and help clean you up, or perhaps help you into the bath so you can wash that way.  Whatever you want, whatever you need, he would help you.  And maybe while you were washing he could hold the baby… it wouldn’t be fuzzy like the goats, but he imagines it would be just as soft, just as fragile, and smell just as sweet and new.  What would it feel like to hold a tiny human being made up of half of you and half of himself?  To cradle it against his chest near his heart and hum a little song of love to it?  He suddenly feels extremely jealous of the parents he’s watching and for one crazy second he’s tempted to actually crash through the bushes and grab their child just to hold it for awhile and pretend that it’s his.  But then it starts crying and Jason’s brow wrinkles in confusion.  This crying is nowhere near as cute as the cries of the baby goats - it’s actually somewhat earsplitting.  He wonders what’s wrong with the child since nothing seems to have changed, but the mother picks it up and makes soothing little noises and takes it back to the car.  Jason creeps sideways through the bushes to follow, and he watches as the woman pulls a blanket out of a big, light yellow bag with ducks printed on it and lays it down in the back of the car.  She proceeds to change the baby’s diaper, and even from here Jason can smell what she’s cleaning and his nose scrunches up quite involuntarily.  This seems like a somewhat unpleasant job, but he would do it anyway without complaint if it was his child.  He supposes it makes sense - logically your baby couldn’t just walk around the house doing its business wherever it pleases like the goats do, and it would need to do much more growing up before it could even reach the toilet.  He wonders how many years it takes before that happens, how long diaper-duty would go on for, and then he wonders when the child would start walking and speaking.  He has so many questions…  

Instead of scaring them away he simply watches their little picnic for another hour or so until they pack up and put the cooler, grill and folding chairs back into their car.  Scaring them seems unnecessarily now since they’re keeping well away from the lake, and besides that somehow he can’t quite bring himself to frighten a pregnant woman.  What if it hurts the baby inside of her somehow?  Then he frowns to himself - he’s going soft, and if he goes soft then maybe more people will come into his territory and his Mommy would be displeased with him… but surely his Mommy wouldn’t want him to hurt another mommy and therefore possibly endanger a child in any way?  Fortunately for him he doesn’t need to agonize over this dilemma for long as these intruders and their dog get into their car and drive back towards the road that he knows leads away from the lake and off of his land.  Jason just stands there for awhile thinking about everything he’s just seen and felt before he finally resumes making his rounds.  Part of him actually hopes that someone else is here for him to murder, if only to take his mind off of the fact that he will never have what he just witnessed.  Well, not all of it, at least.  He still has you, and while deep down he wishes for just a little bit more - a pretty white dress for you, rings for you both and a baby you made together - he’s just going to have to learn to stay content with what he has.  Even though it’s not bedtime he counts that blessing right here and now like his Mommy had taught him to do, then turns away from the picnic site and heads back into the forest with a dull ache still lingering in his heart.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately for Jason there are no other trespassers around today and he’s left without a distraction.  Despite the empty forest and lake he stays out until well after dark, not quite ready to go home and see you in your unmarried, unpregnant state.  Eventually he starts feeling guilty about staying out so late and possibly making you worry when it’s not necessary, so he trudges back towards your cabin, trying to push his morose thoughts and feelings aside.

“Hi, love!” you greet him cheerfully when he walks through the door, and he nods as he takes off his mask and places it on the counter like usual.  “Wow, there must have been a bunch of people out there, huh?  Or were they just particularly stubborn?” you ask and he shakes his head.  You wonder what kept him out so late if there was no one to kill, but decide not to keep questioning it.  He’s entitled to private time just as you are.  “Want me to warm you up some dinner?” you offer, heading towards the fridge but Jason shakes his head again.  He’s not in the mood for eating.  He’s not really in the mood for anything except feeling sorry for himself.  “Oh, okay,” you say, a bit crestfallen by his refusal, and you study his face and body language.  He looks rather depressed, which is an expression you’ve only ever seen him make when he’s missing his Mother.

“You okay?” you ask as you walk over to take his hands in yours.  He nods, but it’s not very convincing.  You wish so badly that he could tell you what’s on his mind, but all you can do is try to comfort him as best you can.  You squeeze his hands a bit more firmly as you lean your head against his shoulder and Jason sighs and strokes his thumbs lightly over your knuckles.  “Are you missing your Mom?” you ask and he shakes his head yet again.  He always misses his Mommy, but he knows that you mean ‘more than usual’ right now, and for once that’s not the cause of his melancholy… but now that you’ve mentioned it he starts thinking about how happy she surely would have been if he could marry you and have a baby that she could visit and hold and love, and his heart feels even heavier.  “Do you wanna have sex?” you ask him after awhile, but for the first time ever he actually shakes his head and your concern quickly shifts into paranoia.  “Are you upset with me?  Did I do something wrong?” you ask nervously, but Jason immediately pulls back to look at you and vigorously shakes his head.  You are not responsible for the bad hand the universe has dealt him - hell, the universe hasn’t exactly been kind to you, either - and now he’s upset with himself for making you think for one single second that you’ve done anything wrong.  He lets go of your hand to gently stroke your face as he keeps shaking his head, then he gives you a soft smile and leans down for a kiss.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.  Whatever it is, I’m sorry.” you murmur when you break the kiss and lean back into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you for a hug.  He places a little kiss on the top of your head before sighing again and you ask, “Do you want to just go to bed?”  It’s a bit early, but you could always use a little extra sleep.  Jason nods, so you head to the bedroom together.

Once your teeth are brushed and pajamas are on you snuggle up close beside him under the covers as usual, but for some reason he places one big hand on your stomach as he nuzzles his face into your hair.  Normally his hands go around your back or shoulders if he wants to cuddle - and to your ass if he’s feeling frisky - and you’re not sure what to make of it this time.  He rubs his palm lightly over your stomach, imagining it large and rounded to hold the baby he wishes he could put inside of you, then trails his hand up to gently cup your breast, imagining it swollen with milk that you would use to feed that baby when it arrived.  “Did you change your mind about the sex?” you venture with a little smile, and after a beat Jason nods.  It won’t result in a new life - the chemotherapy you’ve told him about and his own undead status have made sure of that - but that is no reason not to show you tonight that he loves you.  He’s sure that regular lovemaking will feel just as pleasurable in the moment as breeding no doubt would, and he wants to reassure you yet again that you’ve done nothing wrong.  When he comes inside of you he pours his heart and soul into it more desperately than ever, hoping that maybe, just maybe, somehow that wistful dream will come true, that you’ll tell him as soon as you know, as soon as you can feel that baby inside of you, that he’s made you a mother… and that you’re making him a father.

He holds you close as you drift off to sleep, and while the sex has helped him relax and feel a bit better he still can’t stop thinking about babies and marriage.  He feels like if he could only tell you about it somehow, could tell you what he’s thinking so that it wouldn’t be a painful secret deep in his heart then maybe he would feel even better still.  He knows exactly what he wants to say to you, but the words just won’t come and he once again curses that supposedly benevolent god - if they even exist - for whatever went wrong with his head that made him mute as well as ugly.  As he lays there stewing in his bitterness, inspiration suddenly strikes: he can draw a picture.  A picture of you in a white dress, of him putting a ring on your finger… and you holding a baby.  He’s good at drawing, and surely when you see the pictures you’ll understand what he’s thinking about.  He suddenly feels excited about this newfound way to communicate with you and he’s tempted to crawl out of bed and start work on it right away, but he doesn’t want to wake you.  So instead he holds you just a little bit tighter and forces himself to close his eyes and drift off to sleep as well, determined to do it first thing in the morning.


“Morning, love,” you say softly as you stir from the last lingering bits of sleep, and like always Jason plants a little kiss on the tip of your nose.  You smile as you open your eyes to meet his, and while they’re soft and warm like always he also looks way perkier right now than he usually does in the morning.  “Sleep well?” you giggle, for you had slept like a rock after the extremely-thorough roll in the sheets he treated you to last night.  He was especially passionate and tender and you suppose he was working through whatever was making him a bit depressed the other day.  Jason nods.  He’s been awake for several hours planning out his drawings and he’s glad that you’re finally awake so he can show you what he’s been thinking about.  You go out to milk Nan while he gets started on breakfast, cooking up some eggs and waffles as fast as he possibly can.  He tries not to wolf down his food when you sit down to eat because his Mommy had taught him the importance of good table manners, but it’s difficult.  You always take longer to eat because you consume more food than he does and while usually he doesn’t mind waiting for you to finish, this time he’s feeling impatient.  When the dishes are finally washed and put away he hurries to collect his art supplies while you start work.  He sits at the table and draws the best picture he can of you in the prettiest dress he can imagine, taking little bits that he likes here and there from the ones he’s seen on T.V.  You bought him some colored pencils for his last birthday, and he’s glad because it makes it clear that the dress is white.  He doesn’t like the veils that go in the front because he doesn’t like the idea of covering up your face - what was the point of that when you just have to get it out of the way in order to kiss?  But he doesn’t mind the ones that go down the back so he adds that along with some pretty wildflowers in your hair.  You’re holding a bouquet of those same pretty flowers in one hand, but your other is outstretched towards where his own will be… but he pauses for several long minutes before drawing himself.  The grooms in the movies always wear fancy black suits, but it’s hard for him to imagine himself in something that nice.  But he really wants to make sure you understand what he’s trying to say so he supposes he’d better be thorough.  So he draws himself next to you in one of those fancy black suits, and though it looks a bit weird with his mask he doesn’t want to draw his face and mess up an otherwise lovely picture.  Then he gets a new sheet of paper and draws a close-up of both of your hands, each wearing a ring.  Finally he gets third sheet and starts work on a portrait of you holding a baby like he’d seen that woman do yesterday.  He pauses again, then decides to go ahead and add himself here as well, his arms around both you and the child.  He wants to show that if things had been different, if this alternate reality was somehow real, that he would be there with you.  He would never, ever leave like his own Daddy did.

He’s quite pleased with his work, and the timing is perfect because just as he’s finishing up the last little touches you come out of your office for lunch.  Then he feels guilty because he hasn’t fixed you anything to eat like he usually does if he’s home.  But you hadn’t been expecting it today anyway - you thought he’d be out doing his rounds since it’s summertime and you’re surprised to find him at the table with pencils scattered all around.  “Hey, what’cha workin’ on?” you ask as you peer over his shoulder, and your eyebrows raise when he scoots around to face you and holds his first drawing up for you to get a better look: it’s unmistakably the two of you in wedding clothes.  You don’t know what to say for a second, then Jason shuffles the papers to show you his drawing of your hands with the rings.  You reach out to take the drawings from him and you’re suddenly trembling a bit.  You stare at them for another moment before looking at him again.  His expression is incredibly, excruciatingly earnest, the way he looks when he’s desperately trying to communicate something and your heart starts fluttering uncontrollably.  Is he proposing?  What else could these drawings possibly mean?  “Are… are you asking me to marry you?” you croak, and then it’s Jason’s turn to feel surprised.  He didn’t think getting married was an option since he can’t go to a church or get you a fancy dress and a ring - he just wanted to let you know he was thinking about and wanting it… but maybe it’s possible to be husband and wife even without those things?  And if that’s the case, then yes, he very much wants you to marry him.  He thinks of the marriage proposals he’s seen on T.V., and even though he doesn’t have a ring to present you with he slides off of the chair and gets down on one knee before you.  He takes the papers from you and sets them aside, then gently grasps your hands with both of his own, looking up at you with those earnest hazel eyes of his as he nods.

You never thought you’d be one of those women who got giddy over an offer of marriage.  Hell, you didn’t even want men to offer you a drink or start a conversation with you if you could help it.  Plus you’d always found the pomp and expense of weddings and the obsessive interest so many women had in one little ceremony rather stupid.  But this is Jason, the love of your life, and the cynical part of your mind is drowned out by an overwhelming rush of happiness.  His grand romantic gesture is so unexpected, but so, so sweet and soon you’re smiling so widely that it feels like your face might split in two.  “Of course!  Yes!” you laugh, dropping to your knees along with him and Jason grins back just as broadly as he pulls you into an almost-too-tight bear hug.  He looks so happy now that it’s hard to reconcile with his glum demeanor yesterday so you begin trying to suss out what’s been going on in his head.  “Does this have anything to do with how sad you were yesterday?” you ask, and he nods.  “Were you worried I’d say no?”  Jason pauses… in the heat of the moment it hadn’t even occurred to him that you might say no, and now he’s glad that he didn’t have the time to think about that possibility because otherwise he may never have worked up the guts to ask.  He shakes his head again, trying to think of a way to help you understand… then he grabs a pencil and piece of paper and quickly sketches a stereotypical-looking little church, then points to himself and shakes his head.  “You don’t want to go in a church?” you question, but he half shrugs, half shakes his head.  You’re getting close, but not quite there yet… and then it occurs to you.  Duh.  He can’t go in a church.  He’s become so beloved and familiar to you over the last five years that you don’t even register his mottled grey skin as abnormal anymore, but of course he can’t go out in the public like a regular person.  So perhaps he was sad because he thought that going to a church was a requirement for marriage?  He grew up in the 50’s, after all, and churches are involved in all the movie and T.V. weddings you’ve watched together as far as you can’t remember.  Well, maybe it’s a requirement for most people, but not for the two of you.  “It’s okay, sweetie, I don’t want to go in a church, so it doesn’t matter.  Churches creep me out.  I think the best wedding will be just you and me and the goats and chickens, right here.  What do you think?”  Jason grins and nods.  If you think it’s okay, then it’s alright by him.  It’s more than alright, and he decides to wait on showing you the drawing of the baby for now.  Unlike your upcoming wedding, he knows for a fact that having a child isn’t possible and he doesn’t want to dampen the mood.  He’s just been granted half of his deep, desperate longing, and he isn’t going to let that unattainable half spoil the day.  So when you both get to your feet he gives you a long, passionate kiss so you won’t notice him subtly slip the drawing beneath the other papers on the table.

“Screw work, I’m calling in sick for the rest of the day.  We have a wedding to plan!” you giggle.  In the back of your mind that cynical little voice is mocking your giddiness, but you decide that you don’t give a damn and tell that little voice to fuck right off.  “Can I borrow this?” you ask, pointing to the drawing of you both in your wedding clothes, and Jason nods.  He figures you’re going to put it somewhere you can look at it often, perhaps in your office… but your true intentions are to take it with you to the slightly-larger, slightly-farther-away town than the one you usually go to… the town with a store full of wedding dresses.  But before that there is one other thing you want to do, and you take Jason’s hand with a mischievous grin and pull him down the hall and towards the bedroom.

Chapter Text

“I need something as close to this as you can get.” you tell the saleslady as you slide the printed copy of Jason’s drawing across the counter towards her.  You had scanned and edited the original, and though it hurt your heart to crop your beloved out of the picture you really don’t want to tip the store employees off to the fact that you’re cohabiting with the Crystal Lake Killer.  The best case scenario is that they’d think you were crazy, but the worst would be making Jason more vulnerable to being captured if it got out that he spends much of his time in one location - namely your house.  The saleslady takes the picture and immediately starts cooing and fawning and complimenting Jason’s ideal wedding dress, and while you know that’s her job you still can’t help but feel a little proud of him.

“I think we can fix you right up,” she smiles, gesturing for you to follow her away from the counter and into what can only be described as an absolutely massive walk-in closet.  It never seems to end, both sides lined with dress after dress hanging from the racks.  “This design must be special to your fiancé?” she questions as she uses a tape measure to catalogue every possible part of your body, then she starts picking through the garments and you wonder how on earth she even knows where to start looking in this infinite sea of white.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you answer, and for some reason having an outsider call Jason your ‘fiancé’ makes you stupidly happy.  Even though she doesn’t know who your groom-to-be is, somehow it makes it seem official.  “He didn’t really say why exactly, but I think it will make him happy if I can at least get close to it.”

“We could always have one custom-made for you,” the saleslady offers, but you already know without asking that something custom would be outside of your price range.  You make enough money to pay your bills and feed yourself, the animals and what little food Jason consumes, and tuck away a bit into savings, but you have to keep the luxuries to a minimum.  And even though you’re excited to try and make your little wedding as special as possible you’re still pragmatic enough not to get too extravagant for this one-time ‘ceremony’.  Plus you’ll be spending heavily on the next purchases after this one.

“No thank you, we’re kind of in a hurry,” you lie, though it isn’t really a lie.  You’ve known one another for five years at this point - and have been physically intimate for three of those years - so it seems to you that you’ve waited long enough.  You weren’t really waiting for him to propose… but now that he’s done it you suddenly wonder why it hadn’t occurred to you earlier.

The saleslady grins somewhat mischievously as she pulls two dresses off of the rack.  “I understand, dear.  We need to get you measured and into a dress while it still fits.”  She gives you a look somewhere between knowing and conspiratorial and it takes you a moment to understand what she’s implying… but when you do it makes your face turn red: she thinks you’re knocked up and have to get hitched before it starts showing.  You’ve never desired children and the idea of motherhood has sounded extremely unappealing to you for your entire life.  Perhaps it was because your own mother was so distant.  She never seemed to have wanted you, and that idea and accompanying pain burrowed itself deep into your heart and mind from a very early age.  What if you turned out to be just as bad, just as distant of a mother?  But sometimes, inexplicably, being with Jason makes you think about it and - shockingly - even want it occasionally.  Probably when you’re feeling especially hormonal, you think wryly to yourself.  Just because humans can exert more control over their base urges and use their higher brainpower to decide whether or not to breed doesn’t mean that those base urges don’t still exist - even for you sometimes.  Every once in awhile the idea of him impregnating you sounds incredibly hot, and during those times you always ask him to come inside of you during sex.  You know it won’t make any difference, know that you’re barren no matter how virile Jason may be - and he definitely is that - although being a zombie might have affected his fertility as well.  Who the hell knows?  But that doesn’t stop you from sometimes imagining yourself carrying his child and raising it with him.  You’ve thought many times that he would be a wonderful father if only things had been different… if he wasn’t some sort of supernatural undead being who exists only to murder.  If his condition didn’t make secrecy absolutely imperative.  But the outside world would never understand, could never understand, and no matter how much you love him and the life you’ve created together it just feels wrong to bring a child into that.

“N-no, it’s not that…” you stutter, “We’ve just been waiting for a long time.”

You didn’t think it was possible for her to look any more mischievous than she already does, but a sly little smile tugs at the corners of the saleslady’s mouth as she pulls out a third dress and says, “In that case, maybe you’d like to pick out something special for the honeymoon, too, since it’ll be your first time together?”

You also didn’t think it was possible for your face to get any redder, but somehow it does.  Then you wonder why you’re feeling embarrassed rather than pissed off at this stranger prying into your private life and pull yourself together.  “I just need the dress,” you say firmly, “I already have ‘special’ things that he likes.”  That is definitely a true statement.  You’d learned two years ago that Jason has a thing for seeing you in pretty white lacy underthings, the fancier and more delicate the better.  He just about lost his mind when you added the thigh-highs and garter belt the next year, and consequently you’ve decided to buy a new set of lingerie every Valentine’s Day as a fun little tradition.  At last the saleslady seems to get the hint and backs off a bit, then leads you to the fitting room to try on her selections.  Even though she’s annoying, you have to admit that she does her job well because the three dresses are all pretty damn close to Jason’s drawing and fit you perfectly.  It’s even more bizarre seeing yourself in the mirror wearing a wedding dress than it was the first time you tried on that fancy lingerie, and in the end you rely heavily on the saleslady’s opinion on which dress looks the best.  Fortunately it’s also the one that looks closest to Jason’s drawing, and you hope that he’ll notice when he finally sees you in it.  You’re pretty sure he has no idea what you’re doing here in town today, that he just thinks you’re running your usual errands.  He surprised the hell out of you by proposing, so you’re hoping to surprise him right back with this purchase… and with the next purchases on your list as well.

Despite not being a custom job the dress is still pretty expensive and you’re glad that Jason’s taste in dresses is on the more simple-yet-elegant side of things.  You have no doubt that the more intricately laced and beaded gowns are much pricier.  You put it on your credit card and thank the saleslady for her help - however aggravating - and drape the garment bag gently across the seat of your truck and walk to the jewelers one block away.  This saleslady is almost as annoying as the one at the dress shop, trying to steer you towards the more expensive items, but at least she doesn’t pry into you and Jason’s sex life.  “I want something simple,” you insist.  “We both have really physical outside jobs and work with our hands, anything too fancy is going to get snagged on stuff or just filthy.”  You doubt Jason would want to wear anything that might hamper his dexterity in any way, and the last thing you want is to lose some expensive diamond in the barn or compost pile somewhere.  Plus the diamond industry always felt like a racket anyway.  At last she relents and shows you a selection of simple bands, and though the platinum ones cost a bit more they’re the ones you choose since you read platinum holds up better against wear and tear than silver or gold.  You choose a matching set, hoping that the largest male size they have will be big enough, but the saleslady assures you that if it’s not you can bring it back for an adjustment.  You put those on your credit card as well, thank her for her help, then get in your truck and drive a few more blocks away to a men’s formalwear shop.

“Hi, I need a tuxedo for my fiancé,” you tell the salesman, feeling another silly little thrill at saying those words.  You hold a small piece of paper out to him.  “He couldn’t come with me, but here’s his measurements.”  You’d measured Jason’s clothing last Christmas in order to buy him new ones, and while you’re confident the measurements are correct you’re less confident that there will be something here large enough to fit him.

The salesman doesn’t take the paper but instead says in a snooty voice, “It’s really rather crucial to measure him in person for a proper fit.  It would be best for you to come back when he’s available.”

You frown.  Why are all these people being so damn difficult?  You’re suddenly reminded why you hate interacting with anyone other than Jason.  “Well, that’s not an option, he can’t leave the house.  He has a disability.” you say tersely, and fortunately that elicits a stumbling apology from the salesman.  You wouldn’t exactly call Jason’s condition a ‘disability’, but it’s the best excuse you can think of to shut this guy up.

The salesman inspects the note and says in a much more cooperative tone, “He’s a gentleman of quite impressive stature, isn’t he?” 

“Yes, he is.”  You almost slip up and mention that Jason’s an athlete - a description that wouldn’t be too far off, really - but you don’t want to risk contradicting your claim that he can’t leave the house.

“Well, fortunately we have a wide range of fine selections for every man, including the robust.”  He leads you to a corner of the store labeled ‘big and tall’, which is where you always end up when shopping for Jason.  There are fewer options here than in the dress shop and even fewer in this particular size section, but there was nothing particular about the tuxedo Jason drew himself in so finding a nice one is relatively straightforward.  There are a few spots in the chosen dress shirt that aren’t quite large enough to accommodate Jason’s neck and shoulders, but apparently the salesman feels so guilty about his earlier attitude that he has the tailor come out and make some quick alterations for free right there while you wait.  You hand over your credit card once again, and while you’re going to be paying off these purchases for ages you’re certain that Jason is going to be so happy that his drawing is coming true that it’s absolutely worth it.  Plus he’s going to look devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo and you can’t stop grinning as you finally head back towards home with your two garment bags and jewelry boxes in tow.