Huntress X Reader

Just to get the ball rolling. The decision involves multiple number generators and picking my favorite. Also this is a weird mess of head cannon and story. I’m too tired to write a story and too inspired to write headcanon. I tried.

…

• Years spent in the hazy realm of The Entity, has cracked an already broken mind.
• She’s merciless and fast with the little pests that scramble from her. In fact, she’s almost bored when it comes to these hunts.
• You, on the other hand, are mortified. The other survivors keep saying each night gets easier and easier. But there’s nothing easy about watching murder after murder each night.
• It would be your fourth round once you face up against the huntress.
• Fog rolls in, thicker than pea soup, and dread, thick and heavy, sets in your throat. You haven’t talked much since your first night. Covered in gasoline and blood, you didn’t cry. You just sat there staring into the distance.
• Eventually, the fog lets up. Placing you in the arena. Quickly, you hide. Still so new to this sick game that you usually freeze when confronted, you’ve found yourself more helpful sitting in a closet.
• The pitter patter of the nearby motor begins to chew away at you through the night. Occasionally, it is cut by the scream of your fellow survivors. It begins to drive you mad.
• You leave your hidy-hole to escape the the sound when you run face first into a set of abs. Your heart stops. There in front of you is the night’s killer. The Huntress.
• She, expressionless, moves a hand toward you. That is until, A peice of broken pallet slams into her shoulder. Another survivor has come to aid. He is a grizzled man who you have never talked to, since both of you are few of words.
• “Get the FUc-” he’s cut off by The Huntress’s strong hand grabbing his throat. She lifts him off the ground effortlessly. And starts to murmur something threatening and unintelligible.
• You sit there, this woman towering over you, and freeze, as always. Then, the man looks down at you. His eyes pleading. Even if you know you will come back, death remains an innate human fear.
• Then, your body moves on its own. Standing up, you raise your arm and crack the Huntres across the face. Hurting your hand on her mask more than actually hurting her, she falters out of surprise, dropping the man who scrambles away. Her focus is solely on you. Eyes peering through her mask and burning holes into you.
• Next thing you know, you’re warm, and unaware of the chain around your ankle. Something you haven’t felt in a long time. And the smell of something frying fills your nose. Your stomach growls. And you hear a dry chuckle come from only a copy feet away. Then, last night comes rushing back.
• Opening your eyes, you see a cabin, furs and mounted animal heads cover the walls. A fire crackles with skillets of food placed a top. And there she is. Mask off, and sitting in a rocking chair. She seems almost peaceful as she watches ther fire lap at what smells like breakfast.
• Looking over at you, she quickly gets up and preps a plate. She carries it over to you, and, in the sweetest most loving voice said
• “Съедать” After your confused, and scared, stare at her, she kindly sighs. Stabbing a piece of sausage with a fork, she presses it to your lips.
• And this is how your days, well nights, are spent. Chained to a bed, being coddled by the ruthless Huntress. She’s often sitting in her rocking chair, sneaking glances at her pretty little captive. You have no idea what she wants, or what she is saying, but you di know to pay attention to the woman who sits before you.

-Spook