Tabatha

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ tabatha ⟡ tia ⟡ thea ‧₊˚ ┊she/her 22

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cabin 20 | scorpio | slythren 💋ྀིྀི

Sabo has very natural manners. Holding doors, offering his coat if you’re cold, helping you down from high places.

He loves teasing you with a small smile. If you get flustered easily, he’ll absolutely notice and keep doing it.

He trusts your strength, but he’ll still step in if someone threatens you. His normally calm demeanor becomes very serious when you’re in danger.

Sparring sessions where he teaches you techniques. He’s patient and encouraging, always praising your progress.

Sabo enjoys learning and gathering information. Quiet moments sitting together while he reads reports and you relax beside him.

He likes wrapping his arms around you unexpectedly. Sometimes resting his chin on your shoulder.

His iconic top hat and coat are basically oversized on you. He finds it adorable but pretends he doesn’t.

He’s passionate about changing the world. Late-night conversations about freedom, hopes, and what you both want someday.

Meeting Monkey D. Luffy would be chaotic but wholesome and talking about memories of Portgas D. Ace always makes him a little emotional.

Small kisses on your forehead. Holding your hand while walking.

He’s not as reactive anymore, he’s measured. Danger doesn’t surprise him; it just delays him. His tired humor is still there, but softer, more grounded. He’ll look at chaos and go.

“Yeah… I’m not doing this today.”

Then do it anyway. Leon doesn’t throw himself blindly into danger like he used to. Now he’s strategic about keeping you safe. He positions you out of harm’s way before anything even starts. And if you ask about it, he shrugs:

“I’ve made enough bad calls for a lifetime. I’m not making one with you.”

He’s not overly expressive, but he’s always there. A hand on your back guiding you through crowds. Checking exits without saying why. Standing slightly between you and everyone else automatically. It doesn’t look like romance to outsiders. But it is.

Leon still uses humor to cope, but it’s more refined now. Less “jokes to survive panic,” more “dry commentary on how absurd everything is.”

If you laugh, he’ll give you a faint smirk like that’s the only reward he needs.

He doesn’t shut people out like before. He just filters carefully. With you, there’s less distance, more honesty in small doses. Sometimes he’ll say things like.

“I’m not great at the whole ‘peaceful life’ thing… but I’m trying.”

And actually mean it.

Quiet nights matter more than battles. Sitting together without talking is normal and comfortable. He’ll occasionally lean into your space without realizing it. If you move slightly away, he notices immediately.

Leon doesn’t scare easily anymore. But he does worry deeply, just silently. He’s very aware of how fragile peace is. That awareness is why he’s so protective of you.

When he finally drops the mask. He gets quieter. Less joking. More honest. He might admit.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve stopped a long time ago…”

And when you’re there to ground him, he doesn’t pull away. He stays.

No big reaction. Just a shift in posture, voice, attention. Suddenly he’s right there beside you. Later.

“You trust them?”

Short. Calm. Meaningful.

Leon isn’t naïve anymore. He knows how heavy his world is. So if he lets you into it, it’s intentional. You’re not a distraction from his life, you’re part of the reason he still wants one.

The first time Satoru Gojo heard your name whispered through the higher-ups, it sounded more like a warning than a person. The Azure Witch. Former executive assassin of the Port Mafia. A woman who could bend cursed energy into glowing blue spellwork that looked almost beautiful right before it ripped buildings apart and apparently? Completely unstable.

Which only made him more interested. You met him after Tokyo was reduced to ash and sirens. A cursed spirit had manifested downtown, swallowing civilians into distortions of space. By the time Gojo arrived, the thing was already dead, sliced apart by glowing azure sigils carved into the streets and in the center of the destruction stood you.

Long coat stained with blood. Hands trembling. Eyes unfocused. Like you were waiting for someone to punish you. Gojo tilted his head behind his blindfold.

“So,” he said casually, stepping over debris, “you’re the scary mafia witch everyone keeps crying about.”

Your gaze snapped toward him instantly. Sharp. Defensive. Cornered. You looked like a feral animal deciding whether to bite.

“You’re late,” you muttered.

He laughed. Actually laughed. Most people froze around him. Feared him. Hated him. But you? You looked at him like he was just another problem. That was new. The relationship between you and Gojo was disastrous from the start. Not because he disliked you. But because you genuinely did not know how to exist around someone who was kind without wanting something in return.

Years in the mafia had carved survival instincts into your bones. Love was manipulation. Affection was transactional. Weakness got people killed and Gojo, Gojo was overwhelming. Too loud. Too observant. Too gentle in ways that made your chest ache.

He noticed everything. The way your breathing changed when voices got too loud. The way your cursed energy spiraled violently whenever you thought someone was abandoning you. The way you apologized after every emotional outburst like you expected to be hit for it.

One night, after an argument with the higher-ups, you disappeared for three days. When Gojo finally found you, you were sitting alone on a rooftop in the rain, arms wrapped around yourself while azure magic flickered uncontrollably around your fingers.

“You gonna yell at me?” you asked quietly.

Gojo stared at you for a long moment. Then he shrugged off his coat and dropped it over your head.

“Nah,” he said. “You already look miserable. Seems excessive.”

Your throat tightened painfully. Because he wasn’t angry. That almost made it worse. People thought Gojo was untouchable. Invincible. But you saw the exhaustion underneath the arrogance faster than anyone else. You noticed how his smile became faker around the higher-ups. How silence lingered after missions. How loneliness followed him everywhere like a curse he couldn’t exorcise.

One evening, after returning injured from a mission, he found you sitting in his apartment kitchen.

“You broke into my place again?”

“You hide the good tea here.”

“Wow. Heartbreaking betrayal.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers glowed blue as you silently healed the cuts along his jaw. Gojo watched you carefully.

“You know,” he said softly, unusually serious, “you don’t have to keep acting like you’re hard to love.”

Your hand stopped instantly. The room went silent. Dangerously silent. Because that sentence hit somewhere deep and rotten inside you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you snapped.

Azure energy exploded through the kitchen walls. Plates shattered. Lights burst. For a split second, your cursed energy warped violently enough to distort the air itself and Gojo didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look afraid. Even standing in the middle of destruction, he only looked at you with something unbearably gentle.

“That’s true,” he admitted quietly. “But I know you expect everyone to leave before they actually can.”

Your breathing became uneven. The anger drained out of you so suddenly it hurt.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like you understand me.”

Gojo smiled faintly.

“Too bad. I’m kinda good at it.”

Loving you was never easy. You had nightmares that left your hands shaking. Episodes where emotions crashed into you so hard you isolated yourself for days. Moments where you pushed him away just to see if he would come back and every single time, He did. Not perfectly. Not always with the right words. But consistently.

Most people feared Yoichi Nagumo. Top assassin. Unpredictable. A man who smiled even while holding a knife to someone’s throat. But right now, Nagumo was pouting.

“…You’re mad.”

You continued washing dishes without looking at him.

“Nope.”

“That’s a lie.”

“No it isn’t.”

Nagumo leaned dramatically against the kitchen counter of your shared apartment, chin resting in his hand as he watched you.

“You’re definitely mad.”

You dried a plate.

“Maybe.”

“What did I do?”

You turned slowly.

“You disappeared for two weeks.”

Nagumo blinked.

“Oh.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I texted.”

“You sent one emoji.”

“It was a heart.”

You stared at him. Nagumo grinned sheepishly.

“…A very loving heart.”

You tried to stay mad. You really did. But this was the same man who could fool entire organizations with disguises yet acted like a kicked puppy when you were upset. Nagumo slowly shuffled closer.

“Wife.”

“No.”

“Beloved.”

“Still no.”

“Light of my life?”

You turned away to hide the small smile threatening to appear. Nagumo saw it immediately. He slipped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You missed me.”

“I was worried,” you corrected quietly.

That made him pause. Nagumo’s playful tone softened just slightly.

“…I always come back to you.”

His fingers gently intertwined with yours.

“Besides,” he added lightly, “who else is going to keep me in line?”

You scoffed.

“No one keeps you in line.”

“Wrong.”

Nagumo turned you around and leaned down slightly so your faces were inches apart.

“You do.”

Your heart fluttered a little. He smiled, that familiar mischievous smile that usually meant trouble.

“You know,” he added, “Sakamoto thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Why?”

“He says the most dangerous assassin in Japan is scared of his wife.”

You crossed your arms.

“…Are you?”

Nagumo hummed thoughtfully.

“Terrified.”

You finally laughed. The sound made his eyes soften. There it was. The thing only you saw. The real Nagumo beneath the teasing and chaos. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

“You forgive me?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

You smirked slightly.

“You’re cooking dinner tonight.”

Nagumo gasped dramatically.

“You wound me.”

“You’ve handled worse.”

He sighed like the world had ended.

“…Fine.”

Then he leaned closer again, whispering near your ear.

“But if I poison us both with my cooking, we’re haunting Sakamoto together.”

“Your Brother Would Hate This Town”

The fog in Silent Hill swallowed sound. Even your footsteps seemed too loud.

You tightened your jacket, scanning the empty street. Your brother had warned you about dangerous places before, biohazards, cults, outbreaks, but this place was different.

No zombies, no Umbrella. Just… silence and fog. You heard footsteps behind you. Instinct kicked in immediately. You turned, raising the small handgun Leon had insisted you carry.

“Whoa—!” the man froze, raising his hands slightly.

Messy brown hair. Green jacket. Tired eyes. He didn’t look like a threat. Still, you didn’t lower the gun.

“…Who are you?” you asked.

The stranger hesitated before answering.

“I’m James Sunderland.”

His voice sounded rough, like he hadn’t spoken to someone normally in a long time.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he added quietly.

You scoffed a little.

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

James studied you carefully.

“You’re not… from here.”

“No kidding.”

You lowered the gun slightly but kept it ready.

“I’m looking for someone,” you said.

James’ expression shifted.

“…Me too.”

For a moment the two of you just stared at each other through the fog. Then you sighed.

“My brother would lose his mind if he knew I came to a place like this.”

“Your brother?” James asked.

“Yeah.”

You glanced away for a second.

“Leon Kennedy.”

James blinked.

“I… don’t think I know him.”

“Trust me,” you muttered. “You’d remember.”

Leon had always been the protective type. Growing up with him meant learning how to shoot, how to stay calm under pressure, how to read danger in a room.

But Silent Hill? This place didn’t follow normal rules. James shifted awkwardly beside you.

“You shouldn’t walk alone here,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow.

“And you should?”

“…No,” he admitted.

That honesty surprised you. James rubbed the back of his neck.

“This town… does things to people.”

You studied him for a moment. There was something heavy in his expression. Guilt. Regret. Like he was carrying memories that hurt to hold. You sighed again.

“Fine.”

James looked up.

“We stick together,” you said. “Until we both find what we’re looking for.”

He seemed genuinely surprised.

“You’d trust me that easily?”

You gave a small smirk.

“Don’t get cocky.”

Then you gestured with the gun toward the foggy road.

“I just figure if you try anything weird…"

James tilted his head.

“My brother will probably hunt you down eventually.”

For the first time, James actually laughed. It was quiet. A little broken. But real.

“Fair enough.”

(with Rumi)

When Rumi first finds out Jinu likes you, she is not happy. She immediately assumes he has bad intentions. The first conversation between them is basically.

“If you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you.”

“Good to know we’re starting friendly.”

She watches him like a hawk whenever he’s around you.

Jinu absolutely cannot resist provoking Rumi. He’ll casually stand a little too close to you just to see her glare. Sometimes he’ll say things like:

“Your sister likes me more than you do.”

Which immediately results in Rumi threatening violence. But he never does it in a way that actually disrespects you, he just enjoys getting under her skin.

With you, Jinu is surprisingly softer. He respects that you’re strong and capable. Instead of treating you delicately, he treats you like an equal partner. He loves when you challenge him or call him out. You’re one of the very few people who can shut him up with a single look.

Rumi unintentionally becomes a permanent third wheel. She constantly shows up during conversations. If Jinu tries to flirt with you, she’s suddenly standing between you.

Example:

Jinu: “You look good today.”

Rumi: “We’re leaving.”

You: “Rumi—”

Rumi: “Now.”

Jinu finds it hilarious.

Over time, Rumi starts noticing things. Jinu protects you during fights without hesitation. He gets genuinely angry if someone insults you. He never lets you face danger alone. That’s when she realizes. He isn’t playing around. He actually cares about you.

Even though they argue constantly. Jinu respects how fiercely Rumi protects you. Rumi respects that Jinu never backs down when it comes to you. They’d never say it out loud, but they both know: You’re the one person they’d burn the world down for.

If you’re hurt on a mission. Rumi goes into protective sister mode. Jinu becomes deadly quiet, which is honestly scarier.

Rumi: “We’re finding whoever did this.”

Jinu: “…Already on it.”

Kyle Rayner had seen a lot of strange things since becoming a Green Lantern. Space whales made of nebulae? Sure. Entire planets that communicated through music? Weird, but manageable.

A café that existed in three dimensions at once? Confusing, but he survived. But you? You were still the strangest thing he’d ever encountered and somehow the most grounded at the same time.

He met you during what was supposed to be a “routine investigation,” which in Lantern terms usually meant “this will absolutely not be routine.”

A disturbance in an abandoned part of the city had pulled him down, glowing green light cutting through fog and broken stone, only for him to find you sitting calmly in the middle of it.

Surrounded by floating candles and a circle of ink-black symbols hovering in the air like they were breathing.

Kyle had actually said, out loud, “Okay. That’s new.”

You hadn’t even flinched.

“You’re loud for someone trying to be subtle,” you’d said, without looking up from the sigil you were tracing in the air.

That was the beginning. Now, weeks later, Kyle stood outside your place again, except this time, it wasn’t fear that made his stomach twist.

It was curiosity. And something softer he didn’t want to name too quickly. He knocked. The door opened almost immediately.

“You’re early,” you said, like you’d already known he was coming before he decided to.

Kyle smiled awkwardly. “I was in the neighborhood. ‘Neighborhood’ being Earth. Again.”

You stepped aside, letting him in. Your home didn’t look like a typical apartment. It looked like someone had carefully stitched together comfort and chaos: shelves of old books, jars of herbs glowing faintly, candles that lit themselves when you walked past and always, that faint hum of magic under everything, like the air itself was listening.

Kyle glanced around. “I still don’t get how your apartment is… like this.”

“It behaves,” you said simply.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

He laughed, then hesitated near a table where a small dish of salt had formed intricate moving patterns on its own.

“…Is that supposed to be doing that?”

You leaned beside him. “Yes.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not dangerous either.”

Kyle pointed at it. “It looks like it’s thinking about me.”

You glanced at the salt pattern, then back at him.

“It is evaluating you,” you said.

“I KNEW IT.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth. “It likes you.”

“That’s worse!”

But despite himself, he didn’t move away. That was the thing about you, about all of this. Kyle was a Green Lantern. Fear was supposed to be something he mastered and yet, around you, he kept finding something stranger than fear.

Trust. You turned slightly, studying him in a way that felt less like judgment and more like observation.

“You’re not afraid of it,” you said quietly.

Kyle blinked. “I mean. I am a little.”

“But you’re still standing here.”

He looked at the glowing salt pattern again, then back at you.

“I’ve fought things that tried to erase galaxies,” he said. “A weird salt opinion about me isn’t gonna make me leave.”

That made you laugh softly. The sound made the room feel warmer. Then your expression shifted slightly, more thoughtful.

“Most people don’t stay,” you admitted.

Kyle’s humor faded a little.

“…Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”

A pause. Then he added, gentler, “But I’m not most people.”

Your gaze met his fully then, steady and unreadable in the way magic often was.

“You’re not afraid of what I am?” you asked.

Kyle thought about that. He thought about the floating candles, the symbols that moved like living things, the way reality bent slightly when you were focused. Then he thought about the way you looked at him like he wasn’t something to fear either.

“I think,” he said carefully, “I’m more interested in what you do with it.”

That quieted the room. The salt pattern settled, as if even it was listening now. Finally, you stepped back, motioning toward a table where something like tea was already waiting, because of course it was.

“You’re late,” you said.

Kyle frowned. “I thought I was early.”

“You were,” you said. “Time changed its mind.”

He stared at you. Then sighed. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

“You don’t have to.”

A beat. Then, softer: “Just sit down, Kyle.”

• You and Dabi meet in the middle of a fight, his blue flames roaring, your crimson hex magic cutting through smoke like a heartbeat.

• He smirks immediately.

“Red powers, red eyes… sweetheart, you’re practically asking to be stared at.”

• You blast him backward. He laughs. And that’s the moment he decides he likes you. Constant Flirting… Mixed With Actual Arson

• Dabi loves how powerful you are, it excites him.

• He’ll lean against a wall and watch you fight like it’s a show made for him alone.

• You can feel his gaze on your neck all the time.

• He LOVES when you lose control of your hexes, the chaos, the raw power, the danger.

“C’mon, witchy. Do that thing where your eyes glow. It’s hot.”

Protective in a “I’m not protective” way

• If someone even looks at you wrong? Blue flames erupt instantly.

• If a villain tries to recruit you away from him? Ashes.

• If you’re hurt? He gets quiet. Which is terrifying.

• He destroys the ones who touched you and then acts like he did nothing. “You think I did that because I care? Don’t flatter yourself.” He cares. A LOT.

• Your magic dances with his flames beautifully.

• Crimson and blue spiral together until the whole battlefield looks like the end of the world.

• People fear the two of you as a duo, which Dabi finds hysterical.

“Look at that, babe. We’re becoming an urban legend.”

• He steals your hoodies. You hex them to shrink back to your size.

• He drops his head in your lap when he’s tired, pretending he “accidentally” fell there.

• You fix his staples with gentle magic that warms his scar tissue just enough to soothe it.

• He pretends to hate it. But he melts every single time.

• When your eyes glow scarlet.

• When your magic flickers with emotion.

• When you get angry, it thrills him.

• When you hex him for being annoying.

“Ow, do it again.”

• Jealousy? Oh Absolutely.

• Dabi doesn’t “do emotions,” but he’ll absolutely:

• appear behind you out of nowhere

• drape an arm around your shoulder

• glare with murder in his eyes

• If someone tries to flirt with you, he’ll casually say: “They can stare. They just can’t touch what’s mine.”

• You hex him for the phrasing. He grins.

• He loves when you tug on his jacket and pull him down for a kiss.

• His hands always run warm along your waist (he can control the temperature around you).

• He kisses like he’s starving, teeth, heat, soft growls against your mouth.

• And when your magic sparks around his fingers? He loses his mind.

• You shield him from a fatal hit without thinking.

• Your magic explodes in a full reality-warping pulse.

• Dabi watches you trembling… protecting him.

• And he whispers, almost shocked at himself: “Red… don’t ever scare me like that again.”

If you can, thanks 🩷

The Happy Hotel was, against all odds, having a peaceful afternoon. (Y/N), was the kind of sinner Hell rarely produced: relentlessly kind, cheerfully optimistic, and prone to baking far too many treats. You were currently humming, carefully frosting a batch of red velvet cupcakes in the hotel kitchen.

Behind the bar in the next room, Husk was polishing a glass, his eyes fixed on the kitchen entrance. His usual gruff demeanor was reserved for anyone but you. Ever since you arrived at the hotel, quietly patching up stray demons and bringing him the good whiskey, he'd adopted a fiercely protective, if unspoken, parental role.

The bell to the lobby chimed. Husk's ears twitched as he saw who entered: Abel, the tall, pale demon with the perpetually nervous expression and a habit of dropping things. Abel was nice enough, unfailingly polite, even but he was also always staring at (Y/N).

Abel clutched a small, wrapped bouquet of wilted, black-and-purple Hell flowers and nervously approached the bar.

“H-h-hello, Mr. Husk,” Abel stammered, avoiding eye contact.

Husk set the glass down with a heavy clink. “What do you want, kid?”

“I… I was wondering if… if (Y/N) was around?” Abel managed, wringing his hands.

Husk narrowed his yellow eyes. “She’s busy. Baking. Why? Planning on interrupting her work with whatever you’re fiddling with?” He gestured dismissively toward the pathetic bouquet.

Abel flinched. “Oh, no! Absolutely not! I just… I have something I wanted to ask her. It’s… it’s a very important question, actually.”

Husk leaned forward, resting his chin on his paw. “Look, kid. I know you got a thing for (Y/N). Everyone with working eyeballs does. She’s nice. But she doesn’t need someone stressing her out. She’s got enough of that just living here. What exactly is this ‘important question’?”

Abel swallowed hard, already sweating. “I… I wanted to know if she would… if she would perhaps… join me for a meal. Outside. At a restaurant. A date, sir.”

Husk’s frown deepened. “A date? You plan on taking my kid out? What are your intentions?”

“H-honorable ones, sir! Completely! I promise! I just think she’s… she’s the nicest person in all of Hell, and she smells like cinnamon and happiness, and I just… I want to spend more time with her,” Abel finished in a rush, his face flushed.

Husk studied him for a long moment, noticing the genuine panic and sincerity. He sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Fine. Get in there, but you’ve got approximately thirty seconds, and don’t you dare make her drop a single cupcake. If she says no, you leave without a fuss. Understand?”

“Yes, sir! Completely!” Abel squeaked, hurrying toward the kitchen, the black bouquet drooping even further.

In the kitchen, (Y/N) was meticulously piping a swirl of cream cheese onto the final cupcake.

“Oh! Hi, Abel!” you greeted cheerfully, turning when you heard his awkward shuffling. “I didn’t hear you come in. How are you doing today? Stressful demon bothering you again?”

Abel nearly dropped the flowers. Your immediate concern for him wiped his planned speech right out of his head.

“N-no! I mean, yes! I mean, I’m fine! You are! You’re… you’re very nice!” he stammered, holding the bouquet out like a peace offering.

You took the sad, dark flowers gently. “Oh, thank you, Abel! That’s so sweet. I love the color combination.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to refocus. The question. Ask the question.

“Listen, (Y/N),” he started, his voice barely a whisper. “I… you’re always so kind. Like, unbelievably kind. Even when someone is rude, you just… you help them. You’re the best person I’ve ever met down here, and you deserve… you deserve something nice.”

You smiled, genuinely touched by the earnestness in his eyes. “That’s such a lovely thing to say, Abel.”

He felt the heavy weight of Husk’s stare from the bar entrance. Husk was visibly sipping a whiskey and looking directly at him over the rim. Thirty seconds.

"So! I was wondering if… if you maybe… perhaps… needed help carrying those cupcakes anywhere later this week?" he blurted out, completely losing the thread.

You blinked. "Carrying the cupcakes? Oh, sure, I’d love an extra set of hands! I was planning on taking a batch over to Angel Dust and Cherri tomorrow afternoon. That would be great, Abel!"

Abel’s face fell. He had failed. He hadn't asked the date question.

“A-actually, I was thinking… later than that,” he stammered, trying to rally. “I mean… later than carrying the cupcakes. Like… out. Like we’d leave the hotel. To eat. Together. On a date.”

He finally managed to say the words, but they came out in a rush, the stress overwhelming. He braced himself for rejection. You laughed, a genuine, warm sound that made the tension drain from his shoulders instantly.

“Oh! You mean an actual date? Why didn’t you just say so?” you teased gently. You set the flowers down and stepped closer. “Yes, Abel. I’d love to go on a date with you. You’re sweet, you’re polite, and you’re actually one of the calmer demons in this whole place. That sounds wonderful.”

Abel’s entire body seemed to deflate in shock and relief. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “Y-you… you do? Really?”

“Absolutely! Just tell me when and where,” you confirmed, giving his arm a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

Abel, feeling an unprecedented rush of success, finally smiled. “It’s a date! Tomorrow evening! I’ll arrange everything!”

He turned, practically floating out of the kitchen, forgetting entirely about the pressure of the moment. He walked right past Husk, a dazed, delighted expression on his face.

Husk simply watched him go, then slowly turned his gaze back to the kitchen, where you were still beaming.

“You’re really going out with that spaz?” Husk grumbled, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

“He’s not a spaz, Husk. He’s just nervous,” you replied, picking up a cupcake. You walked over to the bar and offered it to him. “And yes, I am. You approve, old man?”

Husk looked at the perfectly frosted cupcake, then at your expectant face, and finally took a large, careful bite.

“He seemed mostly harmless,” Husk admitted grudgingly after a chew. “But you tell me the time and location. I’m waiting outside the minute you leave, and I’m parked across the street until you’re back. If he so much as makes you doubt yourself for a second, I’m vaporizing him and his stupid little flowers. Got it?”

You leaned over the bar and gave his velvety cheek a quick, warm kiss. “Got it, Dad. But I think he’ll be fine.”

He is painfully awkward at first. Rookie Leon already feels out of his depth being thrown into the Raccoon City disaster, so meeting someone he cares about makes him even more nervous.

He tries to act confident and heroic, but he trips over his words a lot. If Reader compliments him, his brain completely short-circuits.

Protective instincts kick in immediately. Leon places himself between Reader and danger without thinking. Even if Reader is capable, he still checks constantly.

“Are you hurt? Did that thing scratch you?”

He feels responsible for everyone’s safety, but Reader especially.

The dorky side of Leon shows, Rookie Leon makes dumb jokes during stressful moments just to lighten the mood. Half the time the jokes are terrible, but Reader laughs anyway, which makes him smile.

He secretly feels proud if he can make Reader laugh in such a terrifying situation.

Surviving Raccoon City together creates a bond very fast. Leon begins relying on Reader’s opinions and instincts during decisions. If he’s scared or overwhelmed, Reader is one of the few people he admits it to.

During brief safe moments (like hiding in a room at the RPD station), they talk softly to pass time. Leon asks about Reader’s life before everything happened. He listens very carefully, like hearing about normal life reminds him what he’s fighting for.

Leon gives Reader his spare jacket or gloves if they’re cold. He always walks slightly behind or beside them, watching the hallway for danger. If Reader gets injured, he gets extremely serious and focused until they’re safe.

At first Leon thinks he just wants to protect Reader because it’s “his job.” Eventually he realizes he worries about them in a way that feels, different. After the nightmare ends, he would probably be shy about admitting those feelings.

Leon would check in constantly to make sure Reader is okay mentally and physically. He might suggest simple things like getting food together or walking somewhere quiet. Even after everything they survived, he still acts like a slightly nervous rookie around them.

Chuuya Nakahara wasn’t exactly new to chaos. Port Mafia life was chaos, blood, orders, violence, betrayals dressed up as loyalty. He could handle rage. He could handle destruction. He could even handle people losing control. What he didn’t expect was how personal it would feel when it was you.

You weren’t just powerful. You were reality-bending, grief-twisting, emotion-fueled power wrapped in human skin. When your feelings surged, the world listened. Glass trembled when you spiraled. Lights flickered when your thoughts got too loud. Sometimes even space itself seemed to hesitate around you—like it wasn’t sure whether to obey or run and Chuuya, Chuuya stayed anyway.

Not because it was easy. Because it was you. The first time it really happened between you, it wasn’t a fight so much as a fracture.

A misunderstanding, too many stressors, too little sleep, a tone that landed wrong and echoed in your head until it became something else entirely. Something sharper. Something personal.

“You don’t mean it,” you said, voice too steady in a way that wasn’t calm at all.

Chuuya frowned slightly. “Mean what?”

“You saying you’ll stay.”

That made him pause. Not because he didn’t understand you, but because he did and he hated that you were hurting enough to believe it.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, hands in his pockets, posture loose but grounded. “I do mean it.”

You shook your head like that was impossible math. Like love had to be conditional to be real.

“People always say that,” you muttered. “Until I’m too much.”

Chuuya’s expression shifted, something sharper flickering under the surface, not anger at you, but at the idea itself.

“Don’t lump me in with ‘people,’” he said flatly.

That stopped you. Not fully. Not instantly. But enough to listen. He stepped closer, not invading, not cornering, just there, like an anchor dropped into rough water.

“You think you’re too much?” he asked.

Your laugh was brittle. “Aren’t I?”

Chuuya exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was deciding how honest he could afford to be without making it worse.

Then: “You’re a damn storm.”

Your breath caught slightly. He continued anyway.

“And yeah, storms are loud. Unpredictable. They wreck things if you get too close without knowing what you’re doing.”

A pause. Then his voice dropped, quieter but firmer.

“But nobody looks at a storm and says it shouldn’t exist.”

That landed harder than anything else. Because it didn’t erase your intensity. It didn’t demand you shrink. It just refused to call it wrong.

Later, when things got worse, because they sometimes did, you’d pull away first. Not because you wanted to leave. Because your mind had already written the ending and was trying to survive it early. Chuuya hated that part. Not you. The distance. He’d find you anyway. Always.

Sometimes outside, under dim streetlights, where your powers hummed too close to the surface. Sometimes inside, curled in silence like you were trying to take up less space in the world.

He never approached like you were fragile. But he never acted like you were dangerous to him either. He just sat nearby. Waiting.

“You’re doing it again,” he said once, not accusing. Just observing.

You didn’t look at him. “Doing what?”

“Running the worst version of the conversation in your head and deciding it’s real.”

Silence. That was answer enough. Chuuya leaned back slightly, gaze angled toward the sky instead of you.

“You don’t have to believe every thought you get,” he added after a moment.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. “It feels real.”

“I know,” he said immediately.

No argument. No dismissal. Just recognition. Then, after a pause.

“But feelings aren’t verdicts.”

That made something in you shift—not disappear, not heal instantly, but loosen, like pressure easing off a cracked surface. There were still moments where your emotions surged too fast to catch.

Moments where power flickered around you like it had a mind of its own. Moments where guilt followed like a shadow afterward, convincing you you’d gone too far, said too much, ruined everything and every time, Chuuya stayed close enough to be real.

Not controlling you. Not fixing you. Just steady. One night, after everything had finally gone quiet again, you muttered, almost embarrassed.

“Why don’t you leave when I get like that?”

Chuuya didn’t even hesitate.

“Because I’m not scared of you,” he said.

A beat. Then, softer, but still him:

“And I’m not stupid enough to think you mean any of it when you’re spiraling.”

You blinked at that. He glanced at you briefly, then added, like it was obvious:

“I know the difference between you and the storm.”

illuga

illuga didn’t react at first.Not because he didn’t care, because his brain genuinely stalled. Then he slowly looked up at you, like he was recalculating his entire future.

“Say that again.”

You repeated it. Silence. Then he stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.

“We need to prepare,” he said immediately, already in full planning mode. “You shouldn’t be lifting anything. Or walking too far. Or—”

“illuga.”

He stopped. Looked at you. And suddenly his voice softened.

“I’m happy,” he admitted quietly. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

After that, illuga became extremely careful with you. Not controlling — just constantly thinking three steps ahead. He’d check everything before you did it, fix anything even slightly unsafe, and always keep a steady hand near you without making you feel fragile. And at night, when he thought you were asleep, he’d rest his palm over your stomach and just breathe for a moment like he was grounding himself. Because loving you this much scared him a little. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Flins

Flins reacted with immediate excitement. Like, dangerously immediate excitement.

“You’re pregnant?! That’s amazing— wait, are you okay? Are YOU okay? I should sit down— no YOU should sit down—”

He was already panicking and celebrating at the same time. Once he calmed down (barely), Flins became incredibly affectionate. Constantly checking on you, constantly smiling at your stomach like he could already picture the baby, constantly talking about the future in the most hopeful way possible.

He also got emotional at random times. Like when you mentioned baby names casually and he suddenly went quiet.

“We’re really building a family,” he said softly.

And then immediately hugged you like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Flins is the type to fall more in love with you every single day of your pregnancy.

Especially when the baby kicks and he gets this completely awestruck expression like his whole world just shifted.

• Very Possessive (but not in a controlling way) Mello is naturally territorial. If someone flirts with you, his first reaction is to glare at them from across the room. He doesn’t like people getting too close to what he considers his person.

• Surprisingly Protective

Even though he can be reckless, he becomes extremely careful when it comes to you. If you’re in danger, he will not hesitate to step in immediately.

• Chocolate Sharing (a big deal)

Mello almost never shares his chocolate with anyone. If he offers you some from his bar without you asking, it means he really cares about you.

• Secretly Loves Physical Affection

He acts tough, but he enjoys small moments like:

• You leaning against him

• Playing with his hair

• Quietly sitting beside him while he works

He’d pretend to be annoyed, but never actually move away.

• Jealous of Near Sometimes

If you ever mention Near or compare them, Mello gets irritated instantly. He wants to be the one who impresses you.

• Late Night Conversations

Mello often stays up late planning things, so a lot of your bonding happens at night. Sometimes he’ll suddenly ask deep questions like:

• “Why do you even like someone like me?”

• “You know I’m not exactly a good person… right?”

He doesn’t say it, but he wants reassurance.

• Would Teach You Self-Defense

Dating Mello means learning how to protect yourself. He insists on teaching you how to fight or escape dangerous situations.

• Gets Soft When You Patch Him Up

If he gets injured, he’ll try to brush it off. But if you gently clean his wounds or bandage him, he becomes quiet and a little embarrassed.

• Rare Smiles

Mello doesn’t smile often. But when he does around you, it’s real and it makes everyone else in the room surprised.

Someone insults you. Before you can even respond, Mello is already stepping forward.

“Say that again.”

He’s calm, but that calm is dangerous. When the person backs down, he just scoffs and takes another bite of chocolate like nothing happened. Then quietly mutters to you:

Sethos

Sethos reacted to your pregnancy with complete shock for about five seconds. Then immediate excitement.

“You’re serious? We’re actually having a baby?”

The grin on his face afterward was impossible to forget. Sethos became incredibly energetic about the entire thing, constantly talking to your stomach, making jokes about teaching the baby archery way too early, and proudly telling everyone he trusted. But there were softer moments too.

Late at night, when everything was quiet, he’d hold you carefully and rest his head against your stomach with this awed expression. Like he still couldn’t believe someone he loved was carrying a piece of him. And every time the baby kicked? He looked personally victorious.

“That’s definitely my child.”

Kaveh

Kaveh cried. Immediately. No hesitation. You barely finished telling him before he already had tears in his eyes.

“This is a happy cry,” he insisted while actively sobbing.

Your pregnancy turned Kaveh into the most emotionally devoted partner imaginable. He became obsessed with designing the perfect nursery, sketching ideas constantly and asking your opinion on everything.

Unfortunately, this also meant he stressed himself out trying to make everything “perfect.”

You eventually had to drag him away from measuring furniture at three in the morning. But beneath all the chaos, Kaveh loved you so deeply it was overwhelming. Sometimes he’d kiss your stomach gently and whisper apologies to the baby in advance for “having him as a father.”

You always corrected him immediately. Because your child was going to be lucky to have someone who loved so openly.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham reacted with suspicious calmness. Too calm. You told him you were pregnant and he simply blinked once before closing his book.

“I see.”

“…That’s it?”

“What reaction were you expecting?”

You were fully prepared to accuse him of not caring until later that night when you woke up and found him silently researching parenting methods. Three separate books. Detailed notes. Annotated sections.

Alhaitham approached your pregnancy logically on the surface, but emotionally? You noticed it in quieter ways. How his hand lingered against your stomach absentmindedly while reading. How he subtly adjusted your environment to make you more comfortable.

How he immediately became irritated whenever someone caused you stress. He loved you both deeply. He just expressed it differently.

Wanderer

Wanderer was horrified. Not because he didn’t want the baby. Because he genuinely believed he would ruin them somehow.

“You deserve someone better than me,” he muttered bitterly one night.

You shut that down immediately. Your pregnancy forced him to confront something terrifying. The possibility of being loved permanently. And despite all his fear, Wanderer became fiercely attached to both you and the baby. He acted annoyed whenever you caught him talking softly to your stomach.

“I wasn’t talking to them.”

“You literally asked if they preferred sweet food.”

“…Mind your business.”

But the truth was obvious. He adored your child already. Especially because every little kick reminded him this family was real. That he finally belonged somewhere.

Cyno

Cyno handled your pregnancy with surprising gentleness. Very serious gentleness. He researched everything carefully because he wanted to support you properly.

Unfortunately, he also thought this was the perfect time for dad jokes.

“The baby kicked.”

“Yes, Cyno.”

“I suppose they found my joke moving.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Cyno looked completely proud of himself. But despite the jokes, he was incredibly attentive.

Always checking if you needed rest, food, water, or comfort. And one evening, while his hand rested over your stomach feeling the baby move, his expression softened completely.

“…I will protect both of you,” he said quietly.

Simple. Certain. Like a vow.

Tighnari

Tighnari became the definition of caring efficiency during your pregnancy. You had a symptom? He already had a solution.

He monitored your health carefully without becoming overbearing, always making sure you were eating properly and resting enough.

Though admittedly, He got very annoyed whenever you ignored his advice.

“You need to stop overexerting yourself.”

“I walked down stairs.”

“Exactly.”