do you do darker content?
if so can i request the hunters witnessing their survivor lover after a match all beaten up and bloody?
Part one- 🩸How would hunters react seeing their s/o bloody and injured after a match?
🪨 Fool’s gold x !injured reader
🌪️ Nightwatch x !injured reader
🥀 The ripper x !injured reader
Yes yes! I’m thinking of doing this for all hunters, so I’ll probably divide it in multiple parts. Here’s the first one to apologize for taking time to respond :,) Hope this isn’t too far off what you were thinking! I’ll try to write for the others soon!
(Part two here).
Tw: mentions of blood and injures (obv)
Matches had been particularly intense for you that day—hunters seemed rougher than usual, their attacks filled with something almost personal. At first, you weren’t sure why. But then it clicked.
Ever since you and your lover had begun your relationship, things had slowly began to change. Almost imperceptibly at first—but now? Now it was undeniable. The rumors had spread. The manor was small, and secrets couldn’t stay buried for long.
You’d both agreed to keep things low profile. You knew how cruel the other hunters could be. It was as if the manor was leeching what little humanity remained from them, leaving only hollow, destructive shells of what they once were.
You were nearly finished decoding the final machine, heart fluttering at the thought of your warm room—and your lover’s embrace—when you felt something, rather someone looming behind you.
You didn’t even get the chance to turn.
All you felt was a sudden wave of pain rushing through your body, blinding and immediate as your vision grew blank.
🪨 Fool’s Gold
Fool’s knew you. Knew your stubbornness, your skill, and—most of all—your loyalty. You always came back, like you promised every time before a match. So when you didn’t walk out the gate with your teammates, a cold churn stirred in his gut. Something was wrong.
He went to look for you himself, crossing the gate where the latest game had just taken place. It didn’t take long before he found you crumpled near a bush—bloody, bruised, your clothes torn and your head soaked in a thick layer of red.
“Y/n. Fuck.”
He dropped to his knees, scooping you into his arms. Sure, his limbs were jagged—stone and flesh fused unnaturally—but it couldn’t hurt more than what had already been done to you.
“Tell me who the hell did this to you. Now.”
Your head ached intensely. You blinked slowly, disoriented. “I... I don’t know. I didn’t see—”
His arms tightened around you. His furious eyes scanned the treeline, as if to identify an immediate threat before softening as they fell back to your face.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out later,” he whispered. “I’ll find the bastard that did this to you and pickaxe their bones as if to strike the finest mineral.”
The threat came out like a promise of love.
Because for him, that’s what it was.
You were the only precious thing he had left. In a life full of violence, grief, and regret—you were gold. His true treasure.
“Why are you always so reckless?” he rasped. “You’re supposed to survive—for me. Remember what you promised?”
You barely lifted your hand to cup his jaw. “I’m faithful to my word, you know that. I’m still here.”
His breath hitched, voice raw. “No more close calls, baby. I don’t intend to let you go.”
🌪️ Nightwatch
Ithaqua had long since given up on trusting others. Living beings were cruel. Humans, especially, were the worst of them all—corrupted creatures hiding behind normal faces.
Even among the other hunters, he stood apart. Wary. Resented. He was a monster, just like the other killers- but at least they all knew what they were. The survivors were just as dirty—only better at pretending. Hiding.
When you first got close to him, it was during a blizzard. The manor had been sealed off, snow piling at the doors. You’d somehow managed to walk out into the woods that day, ignoring every warning the other survivors gave you.
The air in the manor had grown heavy. You needed space.
And there, in the freezing milky void, you’d found him.
Ithaqua had been born in the cold. It was all he knew, all he was. When he saw you—lost in the same way he was, no sense of belonging—something happened. He felt intrigued.
He never said much directly , still wary of you, but something in him softened. Small gestures. Simple genuine tenderness in his acts. His way to show care.
So when he saw you crawling near the gate, clothes torn, a puddle of blood peeking through your shirt—something twisted in his chest.
Panic. Memories. The echo of his most painful childhood terror: loss.
Without a word, he swept you into his arms, cradling you against the fur of his coat.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured, tucking your trembling form beneath his jacket to shield you from the rising wind.
He walked, slow and steady, back toward the manor. Back to safety.
His fingers brushed a wound on your forehead.
“Why did it have to be you?” he whispered, voice tinged with a vulnerability you’d never heard before. “Why like this?”
“I’m sorry, Itha,” you mumbled, lips trembling slightly, both from the cold and genuine fear for what you’d just been through.
“Stay awake. Stay with me,” he repeated almost like a mantra. You could feel his breath quick and ragged under his mask.
“You must stay with me. I assure you, chewing my heart and spitting it out would be a lot easier than losing you. I mean it”. 🥀The ripper
You managed to make it back to the manor—somehow, unexpectedly.
The moment Jack saw you stumble through the gates, bruised and disheveled, trying one last effort to drag yourself toward your room, his blood ran cold.
His tall frame moved towards you, hands reaching out carefully as if you were made of glass- like you might shatter at the slightest touch.
“Darling, you’re hurt.”
He stated the obvious as you looked up at him, eyes heavy and tired.
“No, I’m good... it just looks worse than it is. Really.”
Jack pulled a cloth from his pocket—his usual cavalry—and gently dabbed some blood dripping down your temple.
“Don’t lie. I told you to be careful. Why didn’t you listen?”
There was no bitterness in his voice—only guilt, and maybe something darker lurking beneath.
“Next time, do anything—decode, hide—but don’t put yourself in danger. Don’t make me risk losing you for people not worth it.”
You looked down silently, almost like a kid punished for some sort of mischief.
“Who did this to you?” he pressed suddenly, eyes piercing through yours.
You couldn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to, but because the chaos of the chase had practically erased the assailant’s face from your memory.
Jack didn’t care. He didn’t need answers. He already knew everything he needed to know. Or at least- he’d have made sure to find out.
He simply nodded, guiding you to sit in his room so he could tend to your wounds. Gentle, careful, almost worshipping in the care he used with you.
Don’t worry, though—next time, you’ll notice a thicker layer of fog creeping around the manor, an edge of silence hanging heavier than before. And sure as hell he could bet, there’ll be one less soul to count, one less person to feed the insatiable bloodthirst of the manor.
————————-
By the way if you imagine Jack as Tuberose it’s better tbh
Dayum
