#ithaqua x reader

“Give it up, sweetheart. You can’t run with that leg.”

He’s right, but he’d have to knock you down before you ever yield to him. Your nose crinkles as you steel yourself to run just a little farther. If you can give your teammates even ten more seconds to decode, then this spearing pain would be worth it. You circle around a row of graves, locking eyes with Fool’s Gold, who has caught up just a few meters away from you.

“I see why Ithaqua likes you,” he says, taking his pickaxe back from the grave. “You look so easy to break.”

The earth rumbles around your feet, and you lurch forward to catch your balance.

“Is that why you’re chasing me? To spite him?” you huff.

“Partially,” he cracks a wide, stone-cold smile. He rounds the corner after you, steadily closing the distance. Your blood runs cold. There’s nowhere for you to go. You scan the area for a pallet, a rock, anything to throw at him, but he has backed you into a corner. Fool’s Gold once again hurls his pickaxe at the wall behind you, then glides forward, sealing your fate. Your eyes screw shut, expecting to be knocked down.

“Don’t think I’ve been ignoring the way he lets you escape every match,” he continues. The jagged fingers of his ungloved hand crawl up your collarbone, while his free hand rests on the pickaxe embedded in the wall. You’re caged between his arms. “Let me get one thing clear: I don’t care if he keeps ‘toys’ around the manor. But disrupting my kill count is where I have a problem.”

“Sh-Shouldn’t you take that up with him, not me?!”

The ground rumbles again. Tremors roll through your calves, weakness overtakes your muscles, and as you much as you try to resist, your knees buckle beneath you. With you crumpled at his feet, Fool’s Gold drags you to the nearest chair.

“I’m making sure he won’t get a chance to spare you this time.”

He does not leave your chair after that.

Something vicious has bubbled up inside of him today. Your teammates begin piling at your feet like flies because every rescue attempt results in a terror-shock.

At some point, Florian finds the strength to stand up again. Seconds before your timer is up, he unties you. You take the chance to sneak away while Fool’s Gold is monitoring something in the distance. The headstones shield your frame, and through the cracks you keep a close eye on your hunter. Then you realize what has caught his attention: from the tram tracks come the hollow clinking of stilts against stone, accompanied by Ithaqua’s emerging silhouette.

Your heart catches in your throat. Ithaqua has never threatened the other hunters to spare you, nor does he expect them to give you special treatment. You both know the rules of this game. Other hunters have chaired you countless times after you began associating with Ithaqua. But one look at him now makes it clear that he is upset, and you’re not entirely sure why.

“What are you doing?” Ithaqua hisses. He gestures at the unsuccessful rescuers, slugged and mounded around your vacant chair.

Fool’s Gold shrugs. “Couldn’t chair them all yet.”

“Where’s (Y/N)? Don’t lie to me.”

“Probably still hiding in the graveyard.” He picks up Florian, having downed him again, and callously tosses him in the chair. Ithaqua scours his surroundings, ears pricked for any hint of movement. You’re not sure what to do now. Keep hiding? Would Ithaqua protect you? Going against the rules so overtly would put himself at risk. It’s not like this game is leaning in your favor, though—all of your teammates have gone down.

You opt to peek over the headstone. Ithaqua’s eyes latch on you immediately. He takes in the grime dotting your cheeks and the bloodied bandage on your leg, then surges forward, weaving through the gravestones to grab your arm.

“You’re hurt,” he observes bitterly. His hand hovers above your leg but he doesn’t venture to touch it. “Why did you let Campbell find you?”

“I-I tried to run,” you argue.

“Liar. Why did he attack everyone but you? What were you doing with him?”

“Nothing! He hit me too!”

Ithaqua’s head cocks to the side as he picks you apart, scanning your arms and turning your head from side-to-side to check for any other wounds. When he decides there’s nothing else to fuss about, he shoves you behind him, then turns to face Fool’s Gold.

The other hunter clearly isn’t keen on the idea of letting you go.

“We’re one away from a flawless victory,” he says, jutting his pickaxe towards you.

Ithaqua’s grip tightens around your wrist. “I don’t care. Get out of my way.”

He doesn’t give Fool’s Gold a chance to react before he glides forward, ice axe poised. You wish you had the foresight to tug him backwards; it’s just like Ithaqua to let his control slip like this.

“There it is,” Fool’s Gold mutters, clearly unenthusiastic about this little tussle. A harsh scraping sound fills the air as their axes clash.

This is not the outcome you envisioned. You should take the chance to sneak away, to search for the dungeon while your teammates inevitably bleed out. With your movements stifled by the scuffle in front of you, you crouch down, edging along the row of graves. The dungeon could be just across the street. At least, you really hope so.

Just as you reach the last of the tombs, the pickaxe once again whirls through the air. It lodges into the fence next to you and misses your nose by a hair’s breadth. You freeze in place, already bracing for what comes next.

“Itha—!” tears out of your throat. Your voice quakes with the earth and your knees buckle. Fool’s Gold comes to retrieve his axe, and as he does he roughly hooks his fingers under your collar. You’re wrenched forward, legs scraping against the gravel.

It’s only a matter of seconds before you’re slammed into that familiar chair again.

Leather straps cinch tight around your arms. In front of you, Fool’s Gold straightens, letting out a terse sigh. Ithaqua has gone still. You lock eyes with your Night Watch, a little bewildered by what just happened.

Ithaqua / Eta Viluf

Physical Touch

he doesn't seem like someone too big on physical touch in general. HOWEVER, when it's cold, he loves cuddling with you. it's a must! he readies the fire and gets close to you on the couch (if you guys have one, that is). he's holding onto you for dear life--scared that he might lose you like how he almost lost his mother.

Receiving Gifts

he would appreciate anything you gave to him, really. knowing that you love him is enough!

even if you were to gift him a rock, he'll still appreciate it a ton just because it's you. he's just happy that you have him in your thoughts.

i can see him gifting clothing he has sewn specifically for you, or different kinds of tea leaves. tea leaves because he lives in a forest... you know... Haha. drinking warm drinks while chatting together is fun! to him at least...

Quality Time

quality time is so important to him. from his wiki, it says he does a lot of hunting, setting traps and woodworking. i think he would love to do these things with you! if you inexperienced in these hobbies of his, then he'll teach you

something that is also mentioned in his wiki is that he loves listening to books! he probably had his mother read him stories while dozing off to sleep. he would really enjoy it too if you read him fairytales <3

Words of Affirmation

i don't see him as someone of many words. but when he says "i love you", he truly means it from the bottom of his heart.

when he's teaching you about something and you struggle with it, he wouldn't get angry at you. he'd get angry at himself LOL

Acts of Service

oh he's fixing your clothes asap if they have a rip or tear

other than that, he makes food. after a hunt, he's always in the kitchen preparing some kind of meaty food. he seems like the type to want you eat nutritious food. if you don't like something, but it's good for your diet--be careful! he's going to secretly put them in whether you like it or not.

if you're neurodivergent, i don't think he would secretly put the foods you dislike. he understands your struggles well. he'll try to find strategies for you to warm up to certain foods.

Joseph Desaulniers

Physical Touch

he'll completely crumble just by holding hands. he hasn't felt the touch of another person in so long--well, warmth of another person to be exact. he's literally gripping your hand as tight as he can so he can remember what you feel like.

he's adores holding your face, stroking his hands against every little crevice he can find. he kisses your cheek gently with a small smile <3

Receiving Gifts

he's thankful for (mostly) anything you gift him, but he appreciates handmade gifts the most! a simple drawing of the two of you, a card or something knitted is all that he needs from you. his wiki also states that he likes silverware. i bet he'll be extra happy when gifted some sort of fancy looking for or plate :)

Quality Time

joseph loves painting you! it's his way of eternalizing you without using his soul-sucking camera thing. he enjoys having conversation with you while painting. he likes having you just sitting still, close to him and observing your features.

since he's apart of the nobility, he should know some dancing, right? if you play any instruments, he dances along the music. however, if you don't, he also likes just dancing with you.

Words of Affirmation

he expresses his appreciation for you late at night, saying how thankful he is for you. he's really glad for you being in his life in general <3 you've lightened his world up so much.

whenever he's painting you, he also compliments your features. specifically your face though, as he thinks it's the most appealing part of you to him.

Acts of Service

his hair looks really well kept, so i think he'd also like doing your hair. helping you brush through it, putting oils in it, etc!

By morning, he was long gone; the fire that once warmed your fragile form reduced to a smoking pile of burnt wood under his boot, and the wagon and horse that carried you so far into your journey disappeared into the night.

Thus, you were forced to retreat into a small cave, getting by on a handful of berries you’d found in the otherwise dead forest. But so little could only sustain you for so long, and come evening, you were clutching your stomach from hunger pangs, made worse by the needy life growing inside you.

And when the night fell? You were drifting in and out of consciousness, growing weaker by the hour as the chill of the winter wasteland seeped through your woolen clothes and stabbed into your very bones. Your pulse grew weak, your breathing slow, and your words, as you sobbed tearless apologies to your baby, became slurred.

The stab of stilts into the snow-covered ground came late into the night, accompanied by soft lantern light as a tall, masked figure approached your makeshift shelter. You raised your gaze to them, half-convinced you were hallucinating.

“Please…” You muttered, watching your words swirl into vapor before disappearing into the howling wind. “Help me… help me…”

The creature stared unblinking for what felt like an eternity before they set their lantern aside, burying the hilt in the snow to keep it upright. They then crouched, examining your exhausted, starving form, and reached out one long, bony hand toward your stomach. Only when you flinched at the sight of their horrifically long nails did they hesitate, fingers curling as they opted to touch you with their knuckles instead of their palm.

As if sensing their presence, your baby began to kick, and you instinctively placed your hand over it. The stranger noticed and immediately shifted their hold, fingers intertwining forcibly with yours as they pressed against the kicks. That earned them a soft, panicked shriek.

“No…!” You gasped, flailing as much as your body would allow, trying to put distance between your stomach and this… thing. “D-Don’t… don’t hurt my baby! They’re all I have left!”

The creature, ignoring your outburst, did not remove their hand, but the pressure on your stomach did lessen. Still, it was a ghastly sight, one which you’d have averted your gaze from had you the strength to do so; their hand was almost branch-like, too large to belong to a human, and appeared so rotted you’d have thought it had necrotized.

But despite that… they were gentle, achingly so, especially when they dared press their thumb to the little lump created by your child’s kicks and rub it carefully. They blinked, or at least you think they did, but it was hard to tell with the mask.

Finally, they spoke, “...Why are you here?”

The voice that just barely reached your ears was soft, much like the touch on your belly, and its soothing quality made it all the more difficult to think clearly. Nevertheless, you forced out a response as best you could:

“My husband. He left me. He left me and our… my baby to die.”

Before the words had even fully left your lips, the creature was already removing their cloak, coaxing you into leaning forward so they could drape it over your shoulders. You could do little more than breathe a silent ‘thank you’ in return. They said nothing in reply. Rather, they curled their arms under your back and knees, unbothered by the layer lost even when the wind picked up, and stood effortlessly.

“Hold the lantern,” they commanded.

You reached for the axe holding the light.

"Only the lantern.”

You paused. Then, gingerly, you plucked the lantern as instructed, cradling it to your chest. It did not burn hot as you expected, only providing a pleasant warmth instead which, coupled with the safe hold you found yourself in, helped lull you into a deep sleep.

Your savior did not disturb you.

When next you awoke, it was not in a frozen wasteland, vulnerable for the elements and wild animals to leave you a forgotten memory, but on a worn sofa by a crackling fireplace, bundled up in blankets. The sound of boots and scent of cooking meat dragged your senses out of their dulled state. Your attempt to sit up, however, was prevented by a firm hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down.

“Don’t strain yourself,” came that same soft voice from earlier.

Turning, you found the hand belonged to a thin, pale-haired man, handsome yet ordinary in all but his eyes, where blue irises glowed against black sclera. The sight had you jerking back in surprise.

The man narrowed his eyes at you. “I said, don’t strain yourself . You’re too weak to be wasting your strength on pulling away from something hideous.”

“That’s not… I don’t think-” you tried to argue, but he was already pulling away to tend to something in another room.

That gave you a moment to think, to breathe; everything leading up to that point swam in your head, but what weighed on you most heavily was your concern for your unborn child, who would likely enter the world without a second parent, and perhaps even without a home should your savior choose to throw you out. Thus, when he returned with a bowl of soup and loaf of bread, you immediately took the opportunity to speak, “May… May I stay here?”

He said nothing as he took a seat beside you, gaze owlish as he handed you the food. You continued: “Only for a little while, until I can find a way back to my village. Please, I promise I won’t be a burden.”

Silence.

Your face flushed hot in embarrassment, fearing you’d spoken out of line, and you could only console yourself by indulging in the food he’d provided. Mid-bite, however, he spoke up, catching you off-guard:

“Why did your husband leave you to fend for yourself?"

You paused in your eating, fiddling with the spoon between your fingers. “He… he said I was selfish. He said that I was asking for more than I deserve, and that… I was ungrateful and attempting to hurt him.”

“You’re with child,” he muttered, eyes squinted as they raked up and down your vulnerable form. “You need more.”

“...He didn’t see it that way,” you sighed, resuming your meal. As your hand reached up to rub at your neck, the man’s gaze followed, finally noticing the faint bruises adorning it: plentiful and too distinctly shaped like a large hand to be self-inflicted or the result of rope.

“Have you anyone to return to?” he asked.

“Well… my family, but it’s a long journey from here, and I’m in no state to travel.”

Once your bowl was empty, you set it aside on the creaking, old table between you and the fireplace, folding your hands over your stomach. The soft kicks that met your touch set your heart alight.

“...You will stay here.”

You perked up at the sudden declaration. “Pardon?”

“You will stay here, with me ,” the man clarified. “Permanently.”

“What?! But-”

He raised a blackened, bony finger, silencing you. “You said it yourself, you’re unable to travel, and I am the only one who can provide for you.”

“But…” You tried to speak up, shoulders sagging in disbelief. “My family…”

“The same family who left you to journey with a man willing to make an attempt on not only your life, but our child’s as well?”

His words caused the color to drain from your face. “They’re not-”

“I will hear no more of it,” he said, reaching out to press his hand to your stomach. You flinched. “There is no sense in arguing with me… save your energy and rest.” There was a pause before his expression softened almost imperceptibly as he leaned down, eyes locked on your plush stomach. “...the same applies to you, little one.”

Your baby kicked at his hand. The man pressed the spot gently in response.

Then, as though he’d not altered the course of your life only a minute prior, he let go of you and stood, features schooled back into the perfect mask of no emotion. “My home is humble, but I will prepare a room for the three of us.” With that, he turned sharply on his heel, footfalls heavy against wood as he made his way to a staircase leading up.

“Wait-” you called, instinctively reaching for him.

The man paused on the first step, letting only the sound of the crackling fire fill the room for a moment before he replied coolly, “Ithaqua”.

“...Ithaqua,” you echoed, softer, which left nothing more to be said between you.