A strawberry Summer (Jason Voorhees x reader) fluff

A strawberry summer

June, and already humid. Dew rested on blades of grass in the space around the cabin. During earlier years, the first tourists would have arrived by now to pester the legend of Jason. But the blades of grass laid undisturbed and Camp Crystal Lake was peaceful. You swung your legs over the wooden bedframe with a good feeling. All effort of this winter was paying off, and you looked to see your dearest Jason next to you, still snoring softly, face uncovered. With half a mind to wake him, you dressed.

Months ago, when the snowdrops were still blooming, Jason and you set out to build a fence and a gate, to keep out any intruders. He carried you on his shoulders, as you nailed the planks to the sturdy frame so high even Jason couldn't reach. You could see so far, yet felt safe with Jason's hand holding your thighs steadily whenever you reached down to pick up another plank. The chubby grey squirrels startled from their spots in the trees as you hammered away. Later they grew used to the new noises of the works the both of you did to ensure the safety and secluded nature of the Camp.

Reminiscing on the effort you put in together made you smile as you set out to check on the small garden you cultivated. Birds chirped happily, seeking mates for the summer, and the fresh greenery was delightful. The air in Camp Crystal Lake always seemed just that bit cleaner than anywhere you lived before. It was earthy, floral, and the breeze was warm. The strawberries were growing steadily, having multiplied like weeds in the early spring. You didn't expect to find much, since each time the plants grew a fruit, the slugs were ahead of you. That day you were instead faced with a small fence of planks, knee height, and a deep gutter before it. A few sad slugs had given up their pursuit to the fruits and gnawed on some fallen leaves instead. Jason must have noticed your little war with the pesky creatures and decided to help. A warmth came over you and you clenched, unclenched your fists. You stepped over the wooden divide and crouched to see your plants. And yes! One of them had a big one, still white and unripe, but with the sun shining through the trees, that would not be long now. Elated, you set out to find your colossal partner.

There he was, in one of the sheds behind the cabin. He was working on a fishing net, repairing little rips in the thin rope. You greeted him softly by the door, not wanting to startle him and he turned around to you. The shirt he was wearing dirty with mud and his pants were stained with algae from the lake. With sure strides and a wide smile, you walked into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his chest. He smelled of mud and of him, and immediately he tangled his hand in your hair, pressing your cheek against his chest.

"Thank you," you said, quietly, even though you knew you didn't need to. The longer the two of you lived like this, the more you felt the need for words slip away from you. The consideration behind his actions didn't need words either. You hugged him tighter.

That summer, a month later, and you woke up in a similar fashion, once again grateful for the tall fence around the Camp. Seeing Jason so relaxed meant the world. Of course not every day was as blissful as that morning, but feeling secure at home was different, pleasant, compared to how it felt a year earlier. This season would normally be the most touristy, with visitors almost every weekend, especially when the college kids were off school. Strawberries for breakfast, to wake your lover up?

And so you stepped over the plank, pushing down a single slug brave enough to climb the plank with the tip of your shoe, and survey the harvest. A few big ones needed a little more time in the sun and you arranged them so. Two low-hanging ones had rotted from the ground, and you picked them to throw them away, as a hopeful distraction to any more brave slugs. They never minded a little sand or rot. You almost gasped as you lifted a few leaves, because they hid more ripe fruits. Unable to stop your excitement, you plucked them one by one, letting them fall gently in the basket. With all these, you could make a cake, a classic one, with strawberries on top and jam as filling. Or slice them in two and feed them to Jason, with just a sprinkle of sugar. A strawberry jam sounded even better, but that would require even more fruit, but that would still come in August. Your mouth watered at the sight of them.

The sound of voices. With a jolt, your righted your back and looked in the direction of the sound. People arguing. How could this happen? You needed to get there, to warn them off, to be there before Jason was.

It was a family of five, a heterosexual couple and three teenagers. You approached but could hear their bantering from afar. The teenagers were scattered around the parents. The youngest, a boy, kicked a rock. The elder two looked bored.

"What do you mean the map was wrong? It said so right on that sign we saw before," said the dad.

You broke your silence, voice croaking, but you cleared your throat and started over. "Hello, can I help you?"

The family turned towards you.

"Ah, finally," said the father, stepping towards you with solid strides. "We're looking for the Camp that's supposed to be around here?"

"Camp Crystal Lake?" you asked, before gesturing around you. "It used to be here, but it's private property now. That's what the fence is for."

"Oh, we had no idea," the woman said, clasping her husbands arm. "Do you know anywhere to stay the night? We came a long way, and we already have our gear with us."

"I advise you-"

"Hey, there's strawberries here!" one of the kids called. You must've lost sight of them, they were behind the bushes. When you went over to check, horrified, you saw them stuffing their faces with the small fruits, having trampled all over the fragile plants.

"That's- that's my garden," you stammered, feeling tears well up at seeing your hard work disrespected like that.

After that, the day was a blur. You promptly turned around and went back to the cabin, seeking your Jason for comfort, his warm arms around you.

It was during the night that your partner returned to the hut, bloodied, treading heavy on the old floorboards. Immediately you knew what happened, and started the process of undressing him for a bath. It hurt to see him in pain, and the shock of discovering a large cut across his chest and arm was enough to wake you right up.

With your hand, you checked the temperature of the bath water. Jason sank down, water sloshing around, before it settled. Patiently, he sat up, not fully relaxed, so you could tend to him. There were the usual scrapes, bruises waiting to form, but that gash leaked blood like an open faucet. The first aid kit was running low in supplies, but you'd make do tonight. He never flinched when you dabbed the cotton with disinfectant on the wound, even though you were sure it would sting. Sewing him up made him uneasy, but you soothed him with sweet words, promises of a nice breakfast, of being able to rest all day tomorrow, how much you love him.

He signed, you leaned back, wiping stray hair from your face, so he had the space, "I love your voice. Please keep talking."

It wasn't often that he gave such clear indications of his mood, and it made you smile, happy to be the one to cheer him up. A final snip of the scissors and he was all bandaged up.

Jason, who could tell you weren't feeling alright even after he was all stitched up, took you out to the lake, rather than to bed. You took a blanket to sit on.

"How did you know," you started, "that we had visitors?"

He signed his response, "Unwanted visitors," he corrected. "They were loud."

"I was trying to make them leave," you sighed. A heavy hand rested on your shoulder as you both stared out over the still lake. Crickets chirped loudly, and the frogs responded in kind, not accepting the other to have the last word. The noises of the camp were by long familiar to you, comforting even, especially on such warm summer nights as these, where there the evening breeze was refreshing. It was almost tempting to go swimming, but Jason wouldn't come, and you'd rather stay by his side tonight.

He tapped your shoulder to make you look at him, and he signed, "Look at the moon."

It was beautiful indeed. A large silver crescent, glowing and bathing the lake in an ethereal gleam. The reflection in the water was even larger, undisturbed and still.

Another sigh, but one of relief. Both of you were here. You clasped his hand, rubbing your thumb over the worn skin of his knuckles. Here and safe, and together. There was always next year for strawberries.

In the morning there were five fresh graves at the edge of the property.