THE PAIGE D READER ALL STAR WAS SOO GOOD AND IF YOUR ATILL TAKING REQUESTS PAIGE X READER AND READER IS LIKE A FAMOUS MODEL AND ACTOR (there already married by the way)AND LIKE READER HAS A MOVIE PREMEIRE AND BRINGS PAIGE AND SOKW OF UER FRIENDS
Lights, Camera, Us
Paige Bueckers X Black!Actress!Reader
Warnings: none
Notes: Ask and you shall recieve
Your stylist clips the last diamond cuff at your wrist and steps back like she’s signing a masterpiece. “Showtime.”
You take one last look in the mirror—sleek black satin, sculpted bodice, slit that means business. The gold band on your finger glints under the dressing lights. Behind you, Paige leans in the doorway in a tailored cream suit and a grin that says she’s been clocked as “supportive wife, but also low-key the main event.”
“Baby,” she says, soft and genuine, “you’re about to break the internet.”
“You always say that.”
“And I’m always right.”
Your friends—your stylist Maya, your manager, and your bestie from way back—pile into the hotel suite, buzzing. Paige hands out wristbands to match hers. “VIPs only,” she teases, looping one around your bestie’s arm. The energy is loud, happy, a little chaotic, and perfectly you.
In the car, Paige threads her fingers through yours and squeezes. The city glows ahead, marquee lights spelling your name in ten-foot letters above the theater doors. You catch her reflection in the window—she’s not watching the crowd; she’s watching you look at the crowd. It steadies you in a way caffeine never could.
“Okay, game plan,” your manager says as the SUV slows. “We hit photo line A, then the streaming platform wall, then interviews. Paige, you’re with us for couples shots, then we’ll split you two for solo press.”
Paige lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. “Translation: I’ll be your hype woman until they steal you for work, and then I’ll heckle from the sidelines.”
“Please don’t heckle.”
“Light, tasteful heckling.”
The door opens to a roar. Flashbulbs pop. Your friends slip out first, then you, then Paige. The air is cool, electric. Someone shouts your name; someone else yells “We love you, Paige!” She laughs and waves, then steps behind you instinctively, one hand at your waist, adjusting your train like she’s done it a hundred times. Maybe she has.
On the red carpet, it’s choreography—a pivot to the left, chin down, the over-shoulder look. Paige faces you instead of the cameras, quietly mouthing, “Breathe.” You do. The cameras get their shots. You get her steady palm at the small of your back.
“[Your Name]! Paige! Over here!” A photographer gestures for the two of you together. You move into her, and she tilts her forehead to yours for one frame—just one—enough to send the onlookers into a collective aww. Your friends cheer from the barricade like you’re taking a game-winning shot.
At the step-and-repeat, a reporter leans in with a mic. “First premiere since the wedding—how does it feel to share this with your wife?”
Paige’s eyes flick to you, letting you go first. “Honestly? Better,” you say. “The work is mine, but the joy—” you tip your head toward her “—the joy is ours.”
The reporter smiles. “And Paige, favorite part of seeing her in a leading role?”
“Easy,” she says without missing a beat. “She’s always been the star of my life. The world finally gets the good seats.”
Your manager mouths thank you behind the camera. Twitter will not survive that one.
Inside the theater, the lobby hums with industry faces and the sugar smell of the concession stand. Your friends do the polite “we-know-famous-people” nods while Paige ushers you to a corner so you can steal thirty seconds of quiet. She fixes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Proud of you,” she whispers. It’s simple and heavyweight all at once.
When it’s time to introduce the film, you walk onstage to a standing ovation. Paige stays just off-wing with your friends, phone tucked away; she’s not recording. She’s living it. You thank the crew, your co-stars, your director, and then—because it’s true—you thank “my wife, who keeps me grounded and dreaming at the same time.” The house reacts like you gave them a plot twist.
During the screening, Paige sits between your bestie and Maya, shoulders relaxed, eyes glued to the screen. You sneak glances. She laughs at the joke you were sure would bomb. She squeezes your hand at the tense part. When the credits roll and your name hits, her applause is the first sound you hear.
The after-party is a greenhouse of flowers and soft, golden lighting. A DJ floats old school R&B into the air. Your friends are already raiding the dessert table. Industry conversations fold you in, but Paige hovers just far enough to give you space and just close enough to catch your eye when you need an exit line.
A studio exec praises your performance; your co-star toasts to “the most generous scene partner in the game.” When you finally escape to the balcony, Paige is waiting with two flutes of sparkling water because everyone keeps trying to hand you champagne. “Hydration queen,” she says, offering one.
“You’re my favorite person,” you tell her, a little breathless now that the noise is a door away.
She leans against the railing, city lights like scattered stars behind her. “Good. I was hoping the wife spot was still filled.”
You step between her legs, careful of the satin, and tuck your chin on her shoulder. For a minute it’s just the thud of the bass through the glass and the buzz of the night under your skin. “Was I okay?” you ask, the question that never stops mattering, no matter how many premieres you’ve had.
Paige turns your face toward her. “You were magnetic. You were home.”
Your friends burst out onto the balcony, saving you from turning into pure emotion. “Group photo!” Maya declares. Paige drags you into the middle, arms wide, the four of you laughing too hard to pose. Someone snaps a candid that will end up framed on your kitchen shelf—no glam lighting, just joy.
Later, when the party softens and the music gets slow, Paige tugs you toward the dance floor. “Two minutes,” she bargains with your manager, who throws up her hands because, fine, even managers know when to let love win.
You sway under the lights, her hand at your lower back, your head tucked against her jaw. Around you, the crowd blurs. She murmurs, “Tonight is yours. I’m just happy I get to be the person you look for when the lights come up.”
“They’re up now,” you say, smiling into her collar. “Still looking, still finding you.”
When the driver pulls around at the end of the night, your friends pile in with leftover macarons and compliments. You and Paige slide in last, her jacket over your lap like a blanket. Outside, the marquee crew is already swapping letters for tomorrow’s show. Inside, Paige presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your mouth—soft, quick, private.
“Premiere night verdict?” she asks.
You lace your fingers with hers. “Critics can file tomorrow. For me? It was perfect.”
“With a perfect lead,” she says.
“And her favorite plus-one,” you add.
She grins. “Always.”
The city keeps going as your car disappears into it—your name on the poster, your wife’s hand in yours, your friends a happy tangle of sleepy laughter. The work is yours. The joy is ours. And tonight, you get both.
Hey girl hey!! like you, I have really come to love the shadow the hedgehog character! Your story, 'Echos of the Fallen' is awesome!! When can we expect a new chapter? I love the way you write him in this story and the plot!
awwwww thank you soo much!!!!!
Its either gonna come out tonight or tomorrow!!!
i also forgot to update the masterlist so there is a chapter 7 and a chapter 7 pt.2 if you havent seen it on there (its updated now)
Felix x Black!Popstar!reader
Warning: just kissing
Notes: this is just an idea i thought of (song belongs to netflix)
The arena is alive with energy, lights sweeping across the crowd like waves. You step forward, microphone in hand, ready to sing. The fans cheer, unaware of the secret world forming between the two of you on stage.
You begin with your opening lines:
"I tried to hide but something broke
I tried to sing, couldn't hit the notes
The words kept catching in my throat
I tried to smile, I was suffocating though
But here with you, I can finally breathe"
The music flows, alternating between your voices, building tension and intimacy with every verse. Felix’s hand occasionally brushes your waist or fingertips, “accidental” touches that make your pulse quicken. His gaze follows yours, full of awe whenever you hit a high note.
As the bridge approaches, Felix's lines come:
"Ooh, time goes by, and I lose perspective
Yeah, hope only hurts, so I just forget it
But you're breaking through all the dark in me
When I thought that nobody could
And you're waking up all these parts of me
That I thought were buried for good..."
You step closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body and the faint brush of his hand along your waist. The world narrows down to just the two of you as the music swells again, your voices weaving together effortlessly.
Finally, you reach the last part of the song, singing together in harmony, your voices blending perfectly:
*"We could be free
Free
We can't fix it if we never face it
Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless
Oh, so take my hand, it's open
Free, free
Felix wraps his hand firmly around your waist, pulling you close. The electricity between you two is undeniable. The crowd is caught up in the music, but all you feel is him.
What if we heal what's broken?
Free, free
I tried to hide, but something broke
I couldn't sing, but you give me hope
We can't fix it if we never face it
Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless"*
As the final note fades, he lifts you slightly from under your thighs, pressing you flush against him. His lips find yours in a deep, passionate kiss, tongue exploring, heat and affection exploding in one breathtaking moment. The arena cheers, lights flash, but nothing else exists except the two of you, sharing this intimate, triumphant moment at the very end of the song.
PLEASE PAIGE X READER ALL STAR WEEKEND WHWRE LIKE THERE BOTH ROOKIES AND ON TEAM PHEE AND LIKE BASICALLY THERE TOGWYJER BUT NOT PUBLIC AND NOT ALOT OF PEOPLE SHIP THEM TOGETHER ITS MOSTLY PAIGE AMD AZZI THEY SHIP (no hate to pazzi i love them sooo much) AND PAIGE AND READER GET ITO A SMALL ARGUMENT ABOUT READER WANTING TO GO PUBLIC CAUSW OF FEELIMG INSCURE AND LILE WITH THE WAG TALK RHING THEY TEY TO DO IT ABOUT AZZI BUT PAIGE TELLS THEM TO DO IT ABOUT READER
Our Way Under the Lights
Paige Bueckers x Rookie!Reader
Warnings: None I believe (lemme know if i missed it)
Notes: I believe this is what you wanted but i apologize if its wrong
Heats, fans, and a thousand camera flashes — All-Star weekend is loud in every sense, but the locker room backstage is its own island: humming air conditioners, the tang of rubbing alcohol, jerseys folded like tiny flags on benches. You and Paige have learned to live in that private orbit for the last few months — quiet jokes in practice, late texts when the hotel halls are empty, hands threaded under the table while the rest of the team talks plays. Officially, you’re teammates. Unofficially, you’re everything you don’t say out loud.
Today feels different. Maybe it’s the press scrubbed into the schedule like a midday eclipse. Maybe it’s the heat of a thousand expectations released into one weekend. You can feel it in your chest like a band tightening.
“Phee rookies, up next,” someone calls in the hall. The rest of Team Phee laughs and shoves each other into the corridor. Paige gives you a grin — that electric, disarming grin that makes every camera lens want to eat her alive. You should be smiling. You do smile. But it doesn’t reach the hollow that’s been growing in you.
“Hey,” Paige says as she drops her water bottle by your foot. She’s practiced at leaning into you without making it a thing. “You good?”
You should be. But the stuff you’ve been swallowing the last few weeks — whispers in the cafeteria, fans posting edits where Paige’s arm is over Azzi’s shoulder and tags pop up like constellations — it’s hot and sour in your throat.
“I’m tired of hiding,” you blurt, before you can fold the words up into a safer shape. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t care. Everyone expects… everyone expects a Paige/Azzi joke. No one has even put the tiniest bit of thought into us. And I feel like—” Your voice cracks on the last word. “I feel invisible if we don’t do something.”
Paige’s smile softens. “Invisible?” she repeats, like she’s savoring it so she can figure out how to dissolve it.
You look at her and see that Paige sees everything — the way your jaw clenches, the small tremor in your hand — and for a second you think you might break right there. “People think I’m your friend. They think I’m an afterthought. I’m watching them do it with jokes and memes and—” you wave a hand helplessly, “—I know I’m being dramatic but I keep thinking if we just go public, if we just show up somewhere holding hands, or say it once at a press thing, maybe I won’t shrink anymore.”
There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes even the fluorescent lights sound like they’re holding their breath. Paige studies your face, then reaches across the bench and takes your hand. Her fingers are callused from drills but the touch is gentle like it’s the first time she’s touching glass.
“You want to go public?” she asks, plain as a scout’s map.
You nod. “I do. I want to be yours in front of everyone. I want fans to know it’s not a joke. I want it to be normal.” The last words are tiny and fragile. “But I’m scared. I don’t want headlines that make you a target. I don’t want people to think I came for attention. I don’t want to lose my place if they think—”
“You mean lose what?” Paige interrupts, one slow syllable. She’s not cutting you off to be cruel; she’s snapping the thread of your worry so she can tie it into something truer. “Lose your place… with me? With the team? With your dignity?”
You look down at your hands. “All of it.”
Paige’s mouth quirks. “We could do the fake-out,” she says after a breath, and you tilt your head, confused. “You know, act like we want the Azzi–Paige shipping to go viral so the fans have something to talk about. Play it off as a joke. Use Azzi as the smokescreen so when we actually do it it’ll hit different.”
Relief bubbles in your chest like it might finally pop you. “Would you—? Would you really do that?”
Paige’s grin turns crooked. “I could,” she says, “but, no. That’s petty. And I don’t want to make someone else the prop in our story. Azzi deserves better than that and you deserve better than being hidden behind someone else’s narrative.”
You blink. “So… what then?”
She squeezes your hand, her voice dropping to that steady, dangerous thing she uses when she means it. “We make it about you.”
You laugh, incredulous. “About me?”
“Yeah.” Paige leans forward, earnest and fierce. “Not because I want attention, not because I want drama. Because you asked. Because you deserve to be named. If you want it public, we do it on our terms. We go out there and we take the small stage of an autograph line or the press circle and we hold hands. We make a picture that stays instead of jokes that fade. We let you lead.”
You feel the air shift like a storm finding its edge. Your pulse, which was a drum of panic a second ago, slows into something steadier — the word hope folding open in your chest. “What if they laugh? What if the media twists it? What if teams, sponsors—”
Paige’s thumb draws little circles on the back of your hand, calming and certain. “Then they laugh. They twist. They will have opinions. But the people who matter — your teammates, the friends who actually know you — they’ll see you. And I will stand in front of whatever comes for you. I won’t let you bear it alone.”
You falter on the edge of belief. “That’s… bold,” you breathe.
“What you call bold I call basic decency,” Paige says, half teasing, half proud. “But we don’t have to do it today. We do it when you’re ready. We rehearse, we plan, and when you say go, we go. Not because we want attention, but because I want you next to me, not behind a caption.”
Your throat tightens. The room is a little less bright now in a good way, the fluorescent lighting softening into something like spotlight warmth. You feel seen, which is a more dangerous thing than you expected — because once someone sees you, you don’t get to unsee yourself.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay. I want to try.”
Paige leans in, brushing a kiss where your knuckles meet her thumb. “Good,” she says. “Start small. Maybe practice holding hands where the crew can see. Let Azzi know — we’ll make sure they’re not blindsided. We keep the team first.”
You exhale, a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry. “You’re not scared?”
“Of you?” Paige arches an eyebrow in a way that has always been equal parts challenge and charm. “Never. Of people? Maybe a little. But I’ve got you. And if anyone wants to make this a thing, they’re going to have to get through me first.”
You let out a breath that feels like drowning air suddenly finding the surface. “I love you,” you say, before you can talk yourself out of it.
Paige’s grin turns something softer, a thing that loosens the last of the band in your chest. “I love you too. And when you’re ready, we’ll do this our way. Team Phee, rookies, all-star lights, cameras — that’s background noise. You and me is the headline.”
Outside, someone calls for the rookies. The rest of the team shoves through the door, laughing and hitting shoulders and all the noise of life. You stand, fingers laced in Paige’s, and for the first time in a while the idea of being seen doesn’t clamp your chest. It opens it.
When you step into the corridor, the cameras and fans feel like a tide — big and loud and inevitable. But you are not alone. You have a plan, a person, and the right to be named. That knowledge turns your nerves into steady fuel.
“Okay,” you say, and this time when you smile it reaches your eyes. “Let’s try holding hands.”
Hii!! I had never seen your blog before, but I love how you write Shadow!! Could I request Shadow x reader where one of them has a nightmare (specifying the other gets hurt for example) and the other comforts them? Thank you and you can ignore it if you want 💖💖
Dark Nights
Shadow X Reader
Warnings: mini dark themes
Notes: yes i am working on the series, it might be a second for the next ep to come out though
You’re half-asleep when the shift in the bed wakes you properly — the mattress dipping, the small but unmistakable hitch in Shadow’s breathing. It’s the kind of sound that sits wrong in your chest, like something has been knocked loose inside him. Before you can think, he’s bolting upright, eyes wild, breath coming fast and shallow.
“Shadow?” you whisper, hand already finding the hem of his shirt. His pupils are blown, the usual controlled steel in his gaze gone ragged with fear. For a second you don’t know what the dream showed him, only that whatever it was, it punched through whatever armor he wears during the day.
He swallows, jaw working. The rasp of his voice when he answers is small, unsteady. “I—I dreamt… I—” He doesn’t finish. His hands tremble at his sides like he’s still fighting something unseen. The sight of him like this — vulnerable, raw — pins the breath to your ribs.
You move without hesitation. You sit up, scramble over the sheets, and pull him into you. His body is hot and rigid against yours; you can feel the rapid hammer of his heart. He doesn’t resist. Instead, for the first shaky moment, he lets himself lean into you the way he never does in daylight: small, thin, and trusting.
“Hey,” you murmur into the hollow of his throat, voice low and steady. “You’re here. You’re with me.” Your fingers thread through the black quills at the base of his neck, slow, practiced, finding the exact spot that calms him. The motion is instinctive — a soft pressure, a steadying anchor.
He claws at your sleeve for a heartbeat, then relaxes as if remembering where he is. You hold him tighter, one arm under his head, the other draped over his shoulders, pulling his weight against your chest. From here you can hear every tiny sound: his breath catching, a soft groan, and the tremor in his hands as they curl against your shirt. You press your lips to his temple — a small, deliberate kiss — and let the warmth of you be the map that leads him back.
“Tell me,” you coax, voice a whisper. “Tell me what you saw.”
He closes his eyes. For a long moment there’s nothing but the raw edge of silence. Then, as if afraid to let the nightmare breathe life again, he says, “You were… gone. I couldn’t— I couldn’t reach you. There was blood. It was—” He chokes on the memory and your chest tightens.
You don’t flinch. You lay your cheek against his hair and hum, slow and soothing. “It was a dream,” you repeat, not because he doesn’t know, but because you need him to hear it from you, grounded, real. “I’m here. I’m right here.” You let your fingers circle his wrist, feeling the pulse slow under your touch. “You didn’t lose me. Not now, not ever.”
Shadow’s breath shudders; muscles that had been taut begin to unknot. He curls his body tighter, as if trying to fuse to you and make himself real again. You tuck his legs so he can fold into you without coldness seeping in. Your palm traces the line of his jaw, the scar he touches when thinking, the small imperfections that make him him. It’s intimate in a way words could never be — quiet, reverent contact that says more than any promise.
He murmurs something under his breath, a sound caught somewhere between apology and relief. “I—sorry,” he says thickly. “I shouldn’t—” The shame is immediate; he hates losing control.
“You don’t have to apologize,” you say, shifting so you can look at him properly. His eyes are glossy, but there’s that fierce, stubborn edge peeking through even now. You cup his face in both hands and force him to meet your gaze. “Listen to me. Nightmares happen. They don’t mean anything about now. They don’t change what’s real. I’m not going anywhere.” Your thumb brushes that ridge between his brows until it relaxes.
For the first time since he woke, Shadow lets out a breath that sounds like letting the ocean go. He laughs, small and a little raw — a sound you tuck away because it feels like a victory. “Stupid,” he mutters, but the word is softened by a grateful tilt of his mouth.
You pull him into a gentler hug, enfolding him like you want to keep every shadow of fear at bay. “Stay,” you whisper, because you mean it. “Stay with me. Tell me if it comes back. I’ll be right here.” You kiss his forehead, the spot just above his brow that even he doesn’t often let anyone touch.
He presses his forehead to yours, the contact warm and humbling. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.” His fingers lace through yours and for a long time you simply breathe together — slow, matched, steady. The rhythm you set for him is deliberate: in, out, in, out. Each inhale draws him further from the tremor of the dream; each exhale softens the last edges of panic.
When his breathing finally evened out into sleep’s slower tide, you don’t move. You stay awake for a while longer, running your palm down his back, memorizing the way his body relaxes into you. You hum quietly, a low, steady melody — nothing fancy, just yours — and watch the night shrink until the nightmare is only a faint, meaningless ripple in the ocean of him.
Before sleep finally takes you too, Shadow squeezes your hand, fingers strong and warm. “Thank you,” he whispers, voice small and honest. “I— I didn’t know I needed that.” There’s a trace of his usual stoicism left, softened by vulnerability.
“You’ll always have me,” you answer, tucking his quills behind your hand, feeling the small, familiar prickle under your palm. “Always.”
And there, in the hush of the room, with his head tucked under your chin and your arms wrapped around him, you let the night be quiet and safe.
Straykids!Felix x Black!Reader
Warnings: Spicy content but nothing too into detail
Notes: This is in Felixes POV
I’ve been circling Y/N all evening, watching her laugh at my jokes, the way she shifts when I get too close, the slow heat rising to her cheeks whenever I catch her off guard. Tonight, I decide it’s time to play a little game — a challenge designed just for her. I lean against the kitchen counter, shoulder relaxed, grin twisting onto my face like I’m about to cause trouble.
“New game,” I murmur, voice low, thick with promise. “Every time I make you blush, I get a kiss. Five blushing moments, and I get one request.
She crosses her arms, tilting her hip, that slow, knowing smile curling her lips. “And if I don’t blush?”
I take a step closer, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off me. “Then I’ll try harder,” I whisper, letting the words trail over her skin, almost a caress without touching. “Deal?”
Her soft exhale and nod tells me she’s already mine for this little game.
First blush
I let my eyes roam over her, slow, deliberate. “That dress… it hugs you in all the right places. Your skin looks… insane tonight.” I can see it — the tiniest flicker in her eyes, the flush spreading across her cheeks. She tries to hide it, of course, but I can see every millisecond of heat and embarrassment dancing across her face. I lean in, planting a quick, teasing peck at the corner of her mouth. Perfect. She pulls back with a soft laugh, cheeks burning. “One,” I murmur.
Second blush
Later, while she’s laughing at a joke, I dip my voice low and remind her of something only she and I know: “Remember that time you fell into the fountain in Rome? I couldn’t stop staring, you were ridiculous… but oh how beautiful you looked when your wet dress clinged to your curves”
Her breath catches, and I see her blush bloom like wildfire. Heat in her neck, her chest, her cheeks — all betraying her. I slide my hand along hers, thumb brushing her pulse. The next kiss is slow, lingering, tasting of her laughter and the faint perfume she’s wearing. She melts into it, eyes fluttering, hips inching closer. “Two,” I whisper, voice rough.
Third blush
I brush a hand along her waist, entrapping her while she works, whispering, “You always bite your lip when you think… it drives me insane.” Her knees go weak instantly, a shiver crawling up her spine. I press my lips to hers again, slower this time, exploring, teasing, hands tracing her back, memorizing every curve. She’s trembling, breath uneven, chest rising, and I can feel her want pressing against me. Her blush is deep now, hot and undeniable.
Fourth blush
I stare at her in the sunset lighting that entraps our living room “You glow so beautifully under that light....you make biting you an option right now” I murmur, tilting her face to press soft kisses along her jaw and the nape of her neck. My hands settle on her hips, pulling her flush against me. I can feel her racing heart, her skin warming beneath my touch. This kiss lingers, teasing, edging toward hunger. She arches into me, breath catching, a small moan slipping past her lips. I grin against her skin. “Four,” I murmur, voice low, pleased with the way she’s unraveling under me.
Fifth blush
By now, she’s trembling, cheeks flushed, pulse hammering. I lean close, eyes dark, voice low: “Y/N…” I let her name roll off my tongue, slow and deliberate, every syllable edged with desire. She’s staring at me, daring, wanting, and I can see the heat in her eyes. "C'mon baby your gonna give into me that easily" i whisper in her ear, i kiss her cheek and her face feels hot.
“Fifth,” I whisper, voice rough, gravelly with need. “My reward.”
She exhales, giving in. “One request,” she breathes, voice trembling.
I grin, wicked, leaning close enough that she can feel my chest against hers. “Get on the bed.” Not a command — a plan, intimate and loaded with promise. Her fingers trail the soft duvet as she slides onto it, hips swaying just enough to make me ache. I follow, closing the door, shutting the world out.
No rush. My hands cup her face, fingers brushing along her jaw, tilting her head to kiss her — soft at first, teasing, but there’s hunger underneath. I let my lips trail along hers, teeth brushing her lower lip, tongue teasing the corner of her mouth. Clothes slide away almost without thinking, my hands memorizing every inch of her, teasing, worshiping.
She arches into me, breath hitching, hands threading through my hair, pulling me closer. Each kiss grows deeper, hungrier, claiming and reverent at once. I move between her legs, tilting her hips, lips pressing to hers in a rhythm that steals her breath, makes her moan against me.
Every touch, every shiver, every gasp — it’s building. I tilt her chin up, lips devouring hers in a deep, intense kiss that makes her knees go weak and fingers clutch my shoulders. The heat between us is thick, unrelenting.
I hover over her as she lies back on the bed, the soft light catching every curve, every inch of skin I’ve been dreaming about all night. My hands slide down her sides, tracing the lines of her body, fingertips brushing against places that make her shiver instantly. She arches into me, hips tilting, giving me every signal I need.
I lean down, lips finding hers in a kiss that starts slow, teasing, tasting her fully. Then, just enough pressure to make her gasp, I deepen it, teeth brushing against her lower lip, tongue sliding along hers. She’s trembling now, hands threading through my hair, tugging, pulling me closer as if she can’t get enough of me.
My hands roam lower, slipping under the hem of her shirt, skimming over the soft curves of her waist, teasing her sides, then tracing up along her ribs. Her breaths are coming faster, shallow, and her back arches off the bed, pressing herself into me. Every gasp, every shiver, every moan — it’s intoxicating.
I tilt her chin up again, kissing down her jaw, down her neck, sucking gently at the pulse point just beneath her ear. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in lightly, and she whimpers my name. I can feel the heat pooling between her legs, the way her body presses into mine, and it makes me groan low in my chest.
Sliding closer, I part her thighs slowly, taking a moment to drink her in. My lips press against her inner thigh, teasing, moving closer and closer, and I watch her reaction — the flush on her cheeks, the shiver running through her spine, the way she grips the sheets. She’s aching for me, and I make sure she knows it.
I let my hands cup her hips, fingers brushing over her most sensitive places as I press my mouth to her skin, tasting, teasing, drawing out little moans that make my pulse spike. Her body twists, every inch responding to me, and I let my hands guide her, steadying her against the mounting heat.
Finally, I meet her eyes, dark with need, lips capturing hers again in a deep, consuming kiss. Her hands roam over my chest, tugging me closer, pulling me fully into her heat, into her world. Every motion, every press, every shiver — it’s a dance we know perfectly, a rhythm of want and possession and pure need.
I trail kisses down her collarbone, across her chest, mapping her skin with my mouth, tasting, teasing, worshiping. She moans into me, hips tilting instinctively, begging for more, and I respond with exactly what she needs — my lips, my hands, every touch a promise.
I go faster
She gasps again, eyes rolling back, nails digging into my shoulders, and I push her even further, faster, losing myself in the wild rhythm we’ve found. The room is thick with heat, with want, with us, every moan and squeal a mark of the intensity between us.
Her breath hitches, my name falls from her lips like a plea, and I let it drive me further, every motion deliberate, steady, designed to make her body feel worshiped, wanted, and loved in every way possible. I watch her arch, shiver, moan, her body responding fully, and I can’t get enough — can’t stop touching, tasting, claiming, giving her every ounce of me.
Finally, when we both find a slow, heated rhythm, I hold her close, lips on hers, forehead pressed against hers, hearts pounding in sync. The room is thick with heat, with us, with want — the world outside gone, leaving only this, only us, and the slow, intoxicating pleasure of everything we’ve built between us tonight.
After what feels like hours of heat and breathless moans, I finally pull back slightly, resting my forehead against hers. Our chests rise and fall in unison, sweaty, tangled, and utterly spent, but neither of us is ready to let go. Her eyes are half-lidded, cheeks still flushed, lips swollen from the kisses I’ve stolen. I brush a strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering along her jaw, and she leans into my touch, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips.
“You’re incredible,” I murmur, voice low, thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. She giggles softly, a little breathless, and I can feel the warmth of her laughter rolling through her chest and into mine.
She shifts slightly, curling against me, legs draped over mine, and I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her fully into my lap. Her head rests on my shoulder, and I can feel the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath my chin. “I could stay like this forever,” she whispers, voice just audible against my throat.
I press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, then trail my lips down to the side of her face, nuzzling her cheek. “Me too,” I admit, hands sliding over her back in slow, tender strokes. “No rush. Just us.”
Minutes pass like this, each one a little eternity. I trace her spine with my fingers, memorizing every curve, every little dip. She presses herself closer, soft sighs of comfort leaving her lips as I hold her, feeling her warmth seep into me.
Finally, I look at her, fingers brushing her cheek, and whisper with a soft, teasing smile, “You know… you blush as beautifully as a rose.” Her eyes widen slightly, a soft laugh escaping her lips, cheeks pink and tender from the compliment. I press a lingering kiss to her temple, letting my lips linger against her skin, savoring the warmth and softness.
She buries her face into my chest again, smiling against me, and I tuck her in closer, holding her like I never want to let go. Outside, the world hums on, but inside, it’s just us — tangled, warm, and entirely ours.
notes: i saw a stray kids concert on tiktok and now i think i am a little obsessed with felix and hyunjin
Daily life & routines
wakes you up with forehead kisses and a whispered “good morning, angel,” then brings you water and your fave snack “for energy.”
insists on matching slippers at home; his are cinnamon-roll themed, yours are stars. he bought both.
plays lo-fi while you cook together—he chops, you taste-test; he calls you his “executive chef.”
Love languages
Shameless flirt just to see you blush: he’ll murmur, “how is my prettiest distraction supposed to let me focus?” then watch your cheeks go pink and grin, “there it is—my favorite color.”
physical touch is everything: back hugs while you’re doing dishes, hand-holding under the table, absentminded thigh rubs during movies.
words of affirmation on loop: “you’re gorgeous,” “i’m proud of you,” “thank you for being mine.”
leaves sticky notes on mirrors: doodled hearts + reminders to drink water and “look at that cutie.”
Body positivity & comfort
learns your comfort levels with clothes, camera angles, gym spaces—never pushes, always offers options.
“comfy first” dates: he’ll plan seating with plush booths, bring an extra cardigan in his tote just for you.
when you’re insecure, he lists specific things he loves (your smile lines, the way you look in his oversized hoodie, how soft your hugs feel) until you’re laughing.
Cuddles & cozy time
human weighted blanket. he sprawls on you like a starfish and calls it “charging.”
loves tracing hearts on your tummy and hips while humming; says it’s his “safe place.”
bedtime ritual: skincare together, lip balm swap, then he tucks you under his chin.
Fashion & photos
hypes your outfits like a personal stylist: “turn around, let me see my model!”
takes full-body pics only if you want; edits with warm tones and sends them titled “art.”
keeps a phone album called “my heart” that’s 90% candid photos of you laughing.
Protection & reassurance
subtly shields you in crowded places, hand at your back, scanning for comfy spots to sit.
shuts down any rude comment with a firm, polite boundary; later, cuddles until your mood’s reset.
reminds you: “your worth isn’t up for debate. not today, not ever.”
Friends & family
brags about your cooking to the members; brings them leftovers labeled “hands off, it’s my love’s.”
invites you to game nights where he’s on your team, always—winning is second to watching you smile.
Dates & adventures
thrift-store treasure hunts; he picks pieces he swears are “so you,” and you do mini runway shows in the aisles.
stargazing on the roof with a giant blanket burrito; he points at constellations and names them after you.
rainy-day museum dates, then home for ramen and a Studio Ghibli film.
Arguments & making up
talks softly, never storms off; asks, “how can i help you feel understood?” and actually listens.
writes you a little apology letter even if it’s a tiny misunderstanding, slips it under your mug.
Intimacy & confidence 18+
he falls inlove more when he sees you bare, everytime its like a new feeling to him, hes so grateful you trust him with you
moves at your pace; checks in with “is this okay?” and beams when you say yes.
At some point when you give confirmation he definitely goes faster and harder, only to kiss your body at your sleepy state once he has taken you all over the room
loves lingerie if you do, but swears his favorite look is you in his tee and socks.
whispers gratitude into your skin—“thank you for trusting me.”
The man works out he definitely could wait to put that strength to use.
Future & forever
keeps a jar of ticket stubs and polaroids labeled “our little life.”
sketches out a dreamy kitchen for your “someday home”—big table for friends, bigger couch for cuddles.
says, “no matter how life changes, i want us to always pick cozy.” and he means it.
Shadow the hedgehog x wife!reader
Warning: none just fluff
It had been a long damn day.
Shadow’s boots hit the floor of the G.U.N. headquarters with a heavy thud, his shoulders tense, eyes narrowed beneath his brow as he made his way down the sterile white corridors. Missions had piled up. The council had demanded debriefs. Some rookie had accidentally triggered a security lockdown. And to top it all off, the coffee machine had been broken—again.
He didn’t need food. He didn’t need conversation. He didn’t even need sleep.
He needed her.
His wife. His peace. The one person who could quiet the storm in his chest with just a look, a touch, a whisper. All day long, he’d imagined it: her arms around him, her fingers combing through his quills, the soft rhythm of her heartbeat against his cheek.
But the universe, apparently, had other plans.
He found her at the edge of the G.U.N. motor pool, talking animatedly with Rouge and Omega, arms full of tools and schematics. She smiled when she saw him—his heart fluttered—but then she turned back to help fix whatever the hell needed fixing.
He waited.
Then someone else came. Knuckles, looking for advice on field tactics. Then Tails, needing help deciphering code. Then some new recruit, completely unaware of the “do not interrupt Shadow” rule that hung in the air like a threat.
And she, sweet and oblivious, just kept giving her time to everyone but him.
He was not a jealous man.
…Okay, that was a lie. He absolutely was.
He tried being patient. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, trying not to glare daggers at every person who dared talk to her.
But ten minutes turned into twenty. Twenty into thirty.
And when Sonic showed up asking her to help calibrate his board?
Shadow had had enough.
In a single, smooth motion, he pushed away from the wall, marched across the room, and—without a word—scooped her up over his shoulder.
“Shadow!” she yelped, surprised, her hands grabbing at his back. “What are you doing?!”
“Reclaiming what’s mine,” he said flatly.
Everyone around them froze.
Rouge blinked. “Well, damn.”
Omega beeped. “THIS UNIT DID NOT ANTICIPATE ROMANTIC AGGRESSION. RESPECTFUL.”
Knuckles snorted. “Dude really just said ‘nope, she’s mine now.’”
Shadow ignored them all, carrying his wife effortlessly out the door, not slowing down for even a second.
“Shadow,” she whispered, voice somewhere between flustered and amused, “you can’t just—”
“I can. I am. You’ve been stolen from me all day.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Mine.” he growled softly. “You’re mine tonight. No missions. No distractions.”
She sighed, but it was the kind of sigh laced with fondness. “You could’ve just asked, y’know.”
“I did. With my eyes. You weren’t paying attention.”
She chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smirked. “And you love it.”
By the time they reached home, the sun was dipping low behind the skyline. Shadow dropped the keys, kicked off his boots, and gently laid her down on the couch like she was made of glass.
Before she could move, he curled himself around her, head resting on her lap, arms circling her waist.
And then—softly, barely audible—he purred.
She blinked, heart melting instantly.
“You’re purring?”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Her fingers ran through his fur gently, brushing behind his ears the way she knew he liked. “Shadow... you just wanted cuddle time, didn’t you?”
“I wanted you.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter 7 (part two): Collateral Heat
Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader
Notes: hope yall enjoy
10:02 AM – Warehouse Hideout, Avia’s Quarters
Avia paced.
The door was closed, locked, and reinforced, and still it didn’t feel secure enough—not from the weight in her chest, not from the look in Shadow’s eyes still burned into her memory. Her lips still tingled, swollen from his kiss. Her breath hadn’t fully steadied. It had been almost forty minutes since she’d left him in the interrogation room—alone, again unrestrained—and yet he hadn’t tried to escape. He didn’t need to.
Because apparently, he was already in her head.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled off her gloves, tossing them onto the desk. The overhead lights hummed above, far too bright for the fog still clinging to her thoughts.
What the hell was that?
A kiss? No. It had been more than that. It was a confession without words, an unraveling of every boundary she’d set between mission and emotion. And she had let it happen. Worse, she’d responded.
Her comm device beeped.
“Avia?” It was Zero, voice clipped. “You need to get up here.”
She sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. “Not now.”
There was a pause. Then: “We saw the feed. All of us.”
Her heart stopped cold. “...How much?”
“All of it.”
Silence.
“Understood,” she said, voice steel-edged. “I’ll be up in five.”
She clicked off the comm and swore under her breath. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She had the upper hand. She had the intel. She had him. And now she had an entire team who had just watched their leader lock lips with the enemy on live surveillance.
Brilliant work, Avia. Truly.
She glanced at herself in the mirror on the far wall—face flushed, collar askew, a smear of red just at the corner of her mouth. Proof. Damning, undeniable proof.
She turned, grabbed a damp towel, and scrubbed it off.
10:10 AM – Warehouse Hideout, Command Deck
When she walked in, the room went quiet.
Scar was lounging like nothing had changed, arms behind his head. Viper didn’t even try to hide the grin. Nova raised an eyebrow in subtle approval.
Zero, however, stood stiff near the console, his expression unreadable.
“You all saw it?” Avia asked, her voice tight.
Scar gave a lazy nod. “You and the hedgehog. Loud and clear.”
Viper chimed in. “Didn’t know interrogations got that thorough.”
“Enough,” Avia snapped.
The air cooled a little. Even Viper sobered.
Zero crossed his arms. “We’re not here to judge. But you owe us an explanation.”
“No,” she said sharply. “I don’t.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said I don’t owe you anything. What happened was a tactical response in a fluid situation. Shadow is unpredictable, and I made a judgment call to keep him emotionally engaged long enough to extract intel.”
“Looked like more than strategy,” Nova muttered.
Avia turned to her. “And you think I’d compromise this entire mission for what? A fling?”
No one answered.
Her voice softened—only slightly. “You all think I’ve lost control. I haven’t. I’m more in control than ever. Shadow’s here, unarmed, contained, and—despite his freedom—still choosing to stay. That tells us more than any interrogation ever could.”
Zero looked like he wanted to argue, but Viper cut in first.
“So what now? You and Shadow start dating while we raid G.U.N. headquarters?”
Avia’s eyes narrowed. “He’s still a lead. Nothing more.”
Scar lifted a brow. “And the way he kissed you?”
She didn’t flinch. “Irrelevant.”
They didn’t believe her. Hell, she didn’t believe herself.
10:47 AM – Warehouse Hideout, Interrogation Room
Shadow hadn’t moved.
He stood exactly where she’d left him, arms folded, eyes closed, as if meditating—or waiting. When the door opened, he looked up instantly, crimson gaze locking onto hers.
“You left,” he said softly.
“You didn’t.”
“I told you,” he murmured, “I don’t answer to anyone else.”
Avia crossed the room, slower this time. The air between them was different—not charged like before. Heavier. Grounded.
She set the tablet down again.
“We’re going to try this one more time. No distractions. Just answers.”
Shadow tilted his head. “And if I say no?”
Her jaw clenched. “Then we’re done here.”
He studied her, eyes narrowing slightly. “You think you can turn it off?”
Avia hesitated.
“I’m compartmentalizing,” she said.
Shadow took a step forward. “No. You’re lying to yourself.”
She looked up, eyes flashing. “Don’t presume to know what’s real for me.”
He didn’t flinch. “I know what I felt. And I know what you felt too.”
Avia swallowed hard. “This mission isn’t about feelings.”
“Then maybe it’s time we talk about what it is about.”
He stepped closer, eyes sharper now. “You’re chasing more than a stolen file, Avia. You’re chasing answers you already know but refuse to confront. About X-09. About your past. About me.”
Her expression shattered for a moment—then recovered.
“You want to talk?” she said, voice low. “Then tell me what G.U.N. was doing with the Prototype. Tell me why they created X-09. Tell me why your name is in the same database as mine.”
Shadow’s expression flickered. “You saw that?”
“I saw everything,” she said. “But I don’t understand it. Not yet. That’s where you come in.”
He looked at her for a long time.
Then finally, slowly, he nodded.
“All right,” he said. “But once I start, there’s no going back.”
gamechangershow
izzy806