Chapter 1: The Warning

Warnings: sexual content, gore, non-con scenes

Author's note at the end

….

His hands were warm, calloused, strong.

Ridiculously strong.

Yet somehow, those hands were also incredibly gentle as they stroked her. They traveled experimentally along her jean-clad legs, and amazement filled her at the sight of her thigh in his hand. His fingers stretched all the way around her meat to touch at the tips, her heart sped up. Then, without any warning those same rough fingers squeezed just the tiniest bit. She fought a breath that tried to escape, knowing it would come out quick and high pitched. It would sound like a shriek of pleasure, something a lover does when surprised. She didn't want him to hear that. Instead her teeth dug deep into her lip, trying to forget the way those fingers ran along the inside of her thighs, the way his hot palm felt as he explored her stomach. She tried not to stare. She wanted to forget.

The trails of blood had long since dried, crusting all along her brow and down her back. And those hands, the ones caressing her clumsily, tenderly, she could feel the way they dusted off the flakes.

It was freezing within the chamber, and wet. Her clothes were soaked through with sweat and the puddles of the hard ground. She was on her back, one leg chained to a large post. Her hands were bound by thick rope above her head attached to some kind of workbench and she didn't dare move them from the place he had forcefully shoved them before he began to…

She swallowed heavily.

She was mostly fine, the blood that trailed down her shirt and pants wasn't hers, but the cut to her forehead was most definitely her own. He'd done it, actually, as she went to grab at his junk in a last ditch effort of desperation, and he'd taken his big sword thing, clocking her on the side of the head. Guess he wasn't too thrilled with having his 'man parts' grabbed.

She knew him- or at least knew of him. He was the warning, the reason every local had all but forbidden them from entering the lake's nearby campsite. The nightmare of Crystal Lake. The man in the mask.

Jason Voorhees.

They had laughed it off. Her boyfriend Marc had claimed at one point that her eating habits were the scariest thing they would ever encounter in those woods. Everyone had agreed. Everyone had ignored the warnings.

And now they were all dead.

Everyone but her, it seemed, though she couldn't fathom as to why that was. By the time the first two suddenly went missing- Rusty had tugged Natasha to him, she had giggled when he'd whispered something in her ear and let herself be pulled further away into the woods- everything had already gone downhill. First it was Rusty and his whore. Then later on when everyone else had the feeling midnight sex in the woods didn't take up to two hours, Blake's body was found decapitated by his cabin. Then it was Crystal and Amanda, both found with their abdomens severed nearly in half.

Marc and Justin had acted quickly, one grabbing the shotgun someone had thankfully thought to bring along, and the other a large hunting knife. Marc had told her to run to the van, maybe they could hold this guy off long enough for her to reach town and tell the police.

So she ran.

Her discovery of the van that failed to start- and come to think of it that huge gouge in the hood was probably a solid clue as to what was wrong with it- came just as a body crashed into the passenger's side door with enough force to shatter the window on impact. She'd let out a scream, tumbling in a heap of frantic kicking limbs out of the van and setting off in a dead run across the campsite.

She passed one cabin, two, and was almost to the lake when she saw Marc.

Or, to be more specific, what was left of him.

It must have only taken about half an hour, maybe a bit more if you didn't count the time in between the first two leaving, for him to be able to obliterate their entire party. The last two he took care of in a matter of minutes. That was no easy feat. Justin and Marc had played football in high school, and both still hit the gym from time to time. Neither one was a pushover, and both had been armed.

A tremble ripped through her.

A gruff sound brought her back away from one nightmare, only to throw her into the current one, and once again she focused on the beast of a man kneeling over her. He was yanking on her shirt, ripping at the nearly see-through fabric like paper. She was just now realising that her pants were gone. Sucking in a panicked breath, she began to thrash her legs, kicking at his sides violently. He froze, as she rammed her knees into him she could feel his muscles constrict, and suddenly she gasped in pain from how hard he became. His wall of muscles becoming solid as brick. A large hand, hot and sweaty, clamped onto one of her kicking legs, shoving it back down with such force she could feel the tearing in her thigh.

She screamed at the fire burning in her leg, immediately stopping her other one from its assault, before he had a reason to damage that one as well. She lie terribly still, afraid of his strength.

Never before in her 18 years on this earth had she ever felt fear at a man's physical power. She'd never had a reason to before. No one would touch her like that, and if they did she had loads of friends and family who would be more than happy to take a swing at them, to defend her.

Now though… now she had no one.

The man leaned back away from her on his knees, and she swore that he was almost as tall as she was while standing, to peer down at her. His eyes were blue, striking in contrast to the shadows cast by the mask he wore. Red streaked the bone white of the mask, looking as if someone had tried to slap him with bloody fingers. The thighs that straddled her were thick, as big around as three of hers. His shirt hid nothing, even in the dim light of the tunnels she could make out the sheer power of his physique. He was monstrous. Absolutely and utterly devastating.

He was like a dark, wrathful god.

No- not a god.

The devil.

He glared down at her daring her to try it again, to resist him. Not knowing what else to do she shrank back away from him, from that gaze of icy fire. She wanted to cry. She wanted to be back home, with her parents, with her cats, with her big brother Justin.

She could still glimpse back as she was running blindly into the camp, the prone form of her brother that had been propelled into the van. The whole side of his face had been torn clean off, the top of his skull concave, the hunting knife protruding from his chest.

She gagged at the memory.

I would take it all back. The trip, the constant begging, the late night phone calls, the last minute plans- she would give it all back, if it meant her brother and friends could still be alive.

And Marc… God- Marc was dead.

"Don't worry, Buggy Babe. We'll be just fine" he grabbed her hand, pulling it to his lips and planting an obnoxiously wet kiss right smack dab in the middle of her palm.

"You're a dick, Marc!" she swore he was the only man who could make her giggle like that.

She tried to recall a time where it was Marc's hands caressing her, the many nights in these past four years that he would take his time and cherish her body. Marc was never rushed when they had sex. He made sure she was comfortable from beginning to end. That boy's loving was sweet, naughty, and he always made sure she was thoroughly satisfied.

She loved the way he would lift her leg, right in the middle of it all when he was thrusting deep inside her. He would look her in the eye and lightly kiss and lick the inside of her knee, mouth curling with sly amusement when her body gave in and she lost herself in orgasm. That smile getting her every time.

But these hands weren't his, they were unfamiliar. Too big, too warm, too much. They fumbled with her clothes, or tugged too hard at her limbs. They pinched and gripped in a way she once remembered. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away… She recalled that they had once been her hands.

They were virgin hands.

It was her first time. Marc tried to help with the nervousness that clawed at her stomach. He didn't want to pressure her, he said. But she wanted to do this with him, she wanted it to be him. So he reclined her back, kissing at her neck in that way that made her toes curl. Her hands tried to do something, she wasn't sure why this was suddenly so hard. She would grasp and run her fingers through his hair when they made out all the time. Now though… Now she truly felt lost.

"Just hold on Buggy. Hold onto me and don't let go"

She sucked in a sharp breath when the monster's fingers brushed against her chest. His gaze was lost, unsure. It was almost like he had seen this many times, but had never done it himself. It showed in the way he would touch all the right places, but he lacked any confidence. It was... pure- which made her balk at her own thoughts, but yes that was it. He didn't touch her like Marc, with skilled, cool practice, he touched her like she had done to her first time boyfriend that night four years ago. She wasn't sure how that made her feel. She wasn't sure she was capable of truly feeling anything other than that throat-choking fear that hadn't gone away.

Had he watched Rusty and Natalie?

Now that had been a pair she didn't really care for, but Justin and Rusty had been friends since middle school so she put up with him. He was always loud and a bit of a junkie, and when he started dating Natalie he began to take narcotics that she stole from her father- who suffered from everything under the sun. Thankfully her brother never encouraged or got caught up in his friend's habits, only making it a point to tell her every time she'd bring it up that Rusty wasn't a bad guy.

"He's got issues, everyone fucking does. That's how he chooses to deal with them" he never looked her in the eye when he said it. Justin wasn't stupid, and he knew that what his friend did was incredibly wrong. He always had his back though. Her brother was the kind of man that would defend to the death-

A sob escaped, whooshed out before she could clamp her lips down and suck it back in. Jason swung his gaze from where it had been watching her heaving chest to look at her face. She stared back at him, those bright eyes held something she couldn't quite place but she gulped when they narrowed at her.

Then, the monster stood. Her body shivered at how smooth the movement was, how quick. He was as graceful as a cat, rolling onto the balls of his feet and standing all within a mere second. His footsteps were almost nothing as he stalked away into the blackness.

She laid there, staring at the place he was and feeling the first tendrils of cold slither around her form. She listened for him, straining her ears for a sign, but heard nothing sans the occasional drip of water. She almost giggled.

"What the actual fuck…" she whispered.

She was down under the earth, hundreds of miles from home and the only survivor of a homicidal campfire story. And finally, there was quiet.

For a while she just laid back, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. Her muscles, aching with fatigue, began to unwind and relax back into the dirt. Her hands came to latch on to her underwear, the only piece of clothing he had yet to remove. They were soiled, dirty. She sighed, her brain noticing he had somehow untied her hands before he vanished into the dark. When had he done that?

She tried to make herself comfortable.

She tried to fall asleep.

But she couldn't do either.

The tears finally fell. She clutched at her aching head, curling into a ball, trying to ignore the sound of the chain as it slid along the floor.

"What in the actual fuck."

….

Author's note: Trying my hand at a Jason/OC fic. Tell me what you think, and if you'd even like me to continue.

IiR