cherryfcola

[cherryfcola]

Tight Spaces & Tighter Confessions

Shadow the Hedgehog x reader

⚠️: tight space

Prompt: “This might be a bad time to mention it, but I really like your cologne.”

You had no idea how this had happened.

One second, you were walking through the old base with Shadow, casually exchanging dry sarcasm and mission updates. The next, the ancient, rusted floor gave out beneath your feet — and you fell straight into what felt like a maintenance shaft the size of a coffin.

And of course, because fate had a twisted sense of humor, Shadow had jumped in after you to save you. Noble. Heroic. And ultimately very, very inconvenient.

Now the two of you were jammed together, shoulder to shoulder — well, more like chest to chest and hip to hip — in the cramped vertical shaft. You were practically in Shadow’s lap, your legs tangled with his as you tried not to crush each other.

And the silence? Deafening.

“…Sooo,” you started, your voice sounding much too loud in the metal tomb surrounding you, “this is definitely not OSHA approved.”

Shadow didn’t answer. He merely exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched and crimson eyes focused somewhere above your head. Whether it was irritation, embarrassment, or quiet plotting to Chaos Blast his way out of this, you couldn’t tell.

You shifted a little, trying to find a less awkward position, and your knee accidentally grazed his thigh.

Shadow flinched. “Stop moving.”

“Right, sorry. Just—uh—trying not to die of cramp-related injuries.”

Another beat of silence. The space was so tight you could feel every rise and fall of his chest. The way his quills occasionally brushed against the wall — and sometimes your cheek — as he tried to angle his head. You could smell the faint, clean scent clinging to him. Like smoke and pine and—

Oh no.

You mentally cursed yourself for noticing. You were already in an impossibly close situation, and now your brain wanted to register how good he smelled?

“This might be a bad time to mention it,” you muttered, cheeks heating up, “but I really like your cologne.”

You didn’t even mean to say it. It just slipped out. Probably a side effect of the claustrophobia. Or the proximity. Or sheer panic.

Shadow blinked.

Then turned those intense red eyes directly on you.

Your stomach dropped. “Forget I said anything. Just—y’know. Ha. Trapped in a tiny box together, normal things to notice, right? No big deal. You smell like…soap and menace. That’s a compliment. Really.”

He didn’t respond for a moment. His expression was unreadable, but you swore something flickered in his eyes — not annoyance. Not amusement. Something else.

“You’re flustered,” he said simply.

You huffed, trying to lean back — and promptly hit the wall behind you, forehead-first. “Yeah, well, I don’t usually end up sitting in a guy’s lap while plummeting into a vent shaft. New experience for me.”

“You landed on top of me.”

“You jumped after me.”

“Because you’re reckless,” he snapped, his tone sharp but not unkind. “You don’t scan areas before entering. You walk too close to unstable floors. You trust too easily.”

“Wow, okay, great time for a personality critique, Shads.”

He didn’t deny the nickname this time. That was…new.

You risked looking up at him. His face was so close you could count the individual strands of red in his quills. “You know, for someone who’s allergic to people, you sure didn’t hesitate to follow me down here.”

“I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

There it was — simple, honest. No grand speech. No posturing.

You stared at him, the air suddenly heavier than before. Maybe it was the space, the pressure, or the fact that his voice had gone low and quiet in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Shadow…”

His eyes flicked to yours. “What?”

You hesitated. Then: “I really wasn’t kidding about the cologne. You smell like…campfire and rain and…I don’t know. The woods after a thunderstorm.”

His lips twitched. Just barely.

“That’s very specific.”

“Well, you’re very specific,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Mysterious ultimate lifeform with a tragic backstory and an unexpectedly good taste in fragrance.”

That earned a soft exhale — not quite a laugh, but close enough that you felt like you’d won something.

“I don’t use cologne.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, and your brain short-circuited a little. That meant he just naturally smelled like that?

You tried not to let your brain spiral again. Too late.

“Well, that’s just unfair,” you mumbled.

Shadow tilted his head slightly. “Unfair?”

“I’m trying to survive being crushed to death in a glorified closet, and I’m doing it while practically sitting in the lap of the most frustratingly attractive hedgehog in existence, who just so happens to smell like a forest deity. It’s distracting.”

He blinked. “You think I’m attractive?”

Your face went nuclear. “I—I mean, objectively. You’ve got the whole brooding antihero thing going on, and the voice, and the eyes, and the—look, can we just not do this in a four-foot shaft of death?”

He was quiet again. Then: “I think you’re attractive too.”

You stared.

“What.”

Shadow’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve thought that for a while.”

Your heart skipped about three beats. “Is this—are you hitting on me in a vent shaft?”

“I don’t ‘hit on’ people.”

“That’s debatable.”

“I’m simply stating the truth.”

You didn’t know where to look anymore. His face was too close, the space too small, your brain too fried. But somewhere beneath the panic was a slow, simmering heat — and not just from the cramped conditions.

“Well,” you said weakly, “this is the worst possible time and place for mutual attraction, so…perfect.”

Shadow didn’t seem nearly as perturbed. In fact, he looked almost…calm. Maybe even pleased. “There are worse ways to be stuck.”

“Name one.”

“Alone.”

Okay, that was smooth. And deeply unfair.

Before you could reply, there was a loud creaking above, and then a flash of blue and gold light — and the unmistakable sound of metal being torn open.

“Sonic to the rescue!” came a cheerful, muffled voice from above. “Man, you two really know how to find the weirdest places to hang out.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your face. “Of course he found us.”

Shadow’s voice was dry. “Remind me to destroy that camera drone later.”

As the opening above widened, light poured into the shaft — revealing your position in excruciating detail. You, tangled on top of Shadow. Shadow, sitting like some unbothered dark prince, arms still casually resting around you like you belonged there.

Sonic peeked down and immediately burst out laughing. “Oh man. Oh man. Wait till Rouge hears about this.”

“Leave,” Shadow said flatly.

“Sure thing, lover boy.”

With some effort (and a lot of awkward maneuvering), Sonic helped pull you both out. You stumbled out of the shaft, brushing dust off your clothes and refusing to look at anyone for a full minute.

Shadow emerged behind you, completely composed, like he hadn’t just confessed in a metal coffin.

You turned to him, still flustered but slightly braver now. “So…once we’re not being publicly humiliated, maybe you could show me what else you smell like.”

His brow lifted, ever so slightly. “That’s a bold request.”

You grinned. “Bold is kind of my thing.”

He leaned in, just enough for you to hear him over your own heartbeat. “Then I look forward to it.”

And just like that, the mortifying ordeal of being trapped with your crush became the beginning of something far more interesting.

[cherryfcola]

Misinformation kink 🖤

No warnings just silly goofy kinda Shadow x Reader

Fluff, Comedy and mentions of dildos ig.

The bell above the door jingled, and like clockwork, the two of them walked in.

You barely looked up from restocking the shelf of lubes and gag gifts—you already knew who it was. The same pair every Thursday at 2:47 p.m., without fail. One, tall, sharp, and broody with red-striped quills and an expression like someone had just insulted his bloodline. The other? A blur of blue and attitude, Sonic the Hedgehog in the flesh, grinning like he owned the place.

You didn’t know much about the quiet one—Shadow. You’d overheard Sonic say his name a few times, and honestly, you kind of just referred to him as the hot one who doesn’t talk. He barely said a word when they were in here, usually just hovered near Sonic like a bored bodyguard or long-suffering boyfriend.

And yeah—you definitely thought they were a couple.

They always came in together, always left together, and Shadow never so much as glanced at the merchandise unless Sonic was dragging him over to laugh at some stupid novelty item. Once, Sonic had picked up a vibrating unicorn horn headband and pretended to wear it. Shadow just stared at him and muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

Classic couple energy.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted, casual as ever.

“Hey!” Sonic chirped back, giving you a finger-gun and heading straight to the rack of glow-in-the-dark body paint. “What’s new this week?”

You gave him the usual spiel—some new themed kits, a restock of the popular couple’s dice game, and a whole wall devoted to discreet travel toys. Shadow lingered near the door, arms crossed, red eyes flicking over the displays like he was evaluating threats, not vibrators.

You tried not to stare. You failed.

“So,” Sonic said, holding up a fluffy pink paddle with mock seriousness. “You think this would make me look more dominant, or…?”

You laughed. “Sure, if you’re going for ‘bad cop at a rave.’”

Shadow gave a soft grunt that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve.

They didn’t buy anything. They never did. Sonic just liked to mess around, and you’d long since accepted that he treated your shop like a personal comedy club. Shadow was harder to read. Maybe he came along to keep Sonic out of trouble—or maybe he secretly liked the place and just didn’t want to admit it.

Either way, you were 90% sure they were dating.

And frankly? That sucked.

Because Shadow was ridiculously attractive in that dark, intimidating, probably-wears-leather kind of way. And you… worked in a sex shop and knew way too much about people’s kinks to have any real luck in the dating department. Guys came in here expecting a fantasy, not a person. Shadow, though? If he ever was single? You’d consider breaking a few workplace boundaries.

But nope. Off the market. Taken by Sonic the Hedgehog, of all people.

Ugh.

The next few Thursdays passed like clockwork. You started timing your lunch breaks just so you’d be behind the counter when they came in. Professional? Maybe not. But you couldn’t help yourself.

Shadow had this way of moving—calculated, quiet, like he was always scanning the room for something he couldn’t quite find. Sonic filled the air with jokes and dumb questions like, “Do these handcuffs come in chili dog print?” Meanwhile, Shadow loomed a few feet behind, arms always crossed, lips in a tight line.

You’d tried to flirt, maybe once or twice, just to test the waters. One Thursday, you’d caught Shadow staring at the display of massage oils and teasingly asked, “Shopping for your boyfriend?”

He hadn’t even flinched. Just turned slowly to you and said, flatly, “No.”

You’d taken that as confirmation. They were already together. Probably just private about it. Not everyone wants their relationship dissected in a sex shop.

But then came that weird Thursday.

The air felt… off. Sonic was late. Shadow came in alone.

You blinked as the door chimed and the tall figure walked in by himself, boots silent on the linoleum.

“Hey,” you said, trying not to sound too surprised.

Shadow nodded once. “Sonic’s late.”

You raised a brow. “So you came without him?”

He looked at you like the question didn’t make sense. “I have my own feet.”

Fair enough.

He lingered longer than usual, actually looking at things. You watched from behind the counter, curious. He picked up a small leather collar and turned it over in his hands with an expression you couldn’t read. Focused. Maybe a little intrigued.

You leaned against the counter, unable to stop yourself. “That one’s pretty popular. Strong buckle, clean stitching. People like it for power play.”

He glanced at you. “Do they.”

It wasn’t a question. It was something between curiosity and challenge.

You nodded. “What? Surprised people don’t just go for the pink fuzzy ones?”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement? Maybe. His lips almost twitched. “Those are ridiculous.”

You smiled. “You’d be surprised. Some people think ridiculous is the point.”

He stepped closer to the counter, holding your gaze. “And what do you think?”

That stopped you.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

You swallowed. “I think people should buy what they want. Explore what they want. Safely. Openly.”

Something flickered in his eyes—approval, maybe. You weren’t sure, but you felt it. A charge in the air. Your heart thudded a little too hard.

Then Sonic burst through the door like a hurricane. “Shadow! Sorry! I got distracted—there was this skateboarding monkey—don’t ask.”

And just like that, the tension evaporated.

You looked away, cheeks a little warm. Shadow stepped back. Sonic, as always, dragged him off toward the ‘weird stuff’ aisle, laughing about some vibrating tongue ring he found.

But something had shifted.

The next week, Shadow came in alone again.

You were re-stocking silicone-based lubricants when you heard the door chime. You didn’t look up right away, thinking it was probably one of your regulars. But then you felt it—his presence. Heavy. Focused.

“Back again?” you asked, turning with a grin.

Shadow stood by the counter, hands at his sides, expression unreadable.

“No Sonic today?”

“No.”

A beat of silence.

Then, quietly: “I came to talk to you.”

You blinked. “To me?”

He nodded. “You’ve been… interesting. For some time.”

You froze. He what?

“I’ve seen how you talk to people. Confident. Sharp. Kind. You know more about them than they know about themselves.” His eyes locked with yours. “And I find myself wanting to know more about you.”

Your brain short-circuited.

He stepped closer. “Would you consider having dinner with me?”

Your jaw dropped.

“Dinner?” you echoed, dumbly. “Like—a date?”

He gave the faintest nod. “Yes.”

You stared.

Then blurted out, “Oh my god. Are you cheating on your boyfriend?!”

Silence. Total, stunned silence.

Shadow tilted his head. “…What?”

You gestured wildly. “Sonic! I—I mean, I thought—aren’t you two… together?”

Shadow stared at you like you’d just said the sky was made of whipped cream.

“No.”

“But you’re always here together—every week—”

“Because he finds this place funny,” Shadow said flatly. “I come with him because otherwise, he’d get banned for trying to juggle dildos.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Your brain was desperately catching up.

“You’re not dating?” you asked again, dumbfounded.

“No.”

“You’re not gay?”

“No.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “…You’ve been coming here for months. And I’ve been thinking you were off-limits this entire time.”

A pause. Then Shadow, calmly: “I am very much not off-limits.”

You covered your face with your hands. “I want to die.”

He stepped closer. His voice dropped to something low and steady. “Don’t. I’d rather you go to dinner with me.”

[cherryfcola]

🖤Fading🖤

Shadow x Reader

Angst, Drama, Romance

⚠️: Themes of death, infection, emotional trauma, implied violence, gun, probs strong angst (it depends on my playlist)

Prompt: “Please, pull the trigger”

The forest was quiet—eerily so.

No rustling wind. No chirping birds. No distant hum of insects. Just the sound of your ragged breathing echoing against the damp leaves underfoot.

Shadow held you in his arms, black fur matted with sweat and blood—some of it yours, most of it not. You leaned against his chest, feeling the strong, steady thump of his heart through his chestplate. Yours, in contrast, fluttered erratically beneath your ribs like a dying bird.

The infection was spreading.

The dull ache in your side had become a wildfire, eating away at muscle, tendon, thought. Your fingertips were numb. Your legs trembled. Your eyes struggled to focus on anything beyond the obsidian eyes locked onto yours.

“You’re burning up,” he said lowly, almost to himself. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “Dammit…”

“I feel cold,” you whispered. “That’s not good, right?”

Shadow didn’t answer.

You’d both seen what the infection did. First confusion. Then aggression. Then full… transformation. Whatever was born afterward—whatever those things were—weren’t human anymore. Or Mobian. Or anything, really.

You reached for his hand and he took it without hesitation, even as your skin had already started to gray and flake. Even as the veins in your arm darkened like ink spilled beneath your skin.

“You should leave,” you said. “You could still get away. Go back to the others—Rouge, Omega—they’ll need you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Shadow said, voice dangerously close to breaking. “Not now.”

“But I’m not—”

“You are still you.”

He squeezed your hand, hard, as if trying to tether you to this moment. This version of yourself. The one who knew his name. The one who smiled when he didn’t realize he was being funny. The one who loved him so deeply, it had terrified you both.

But that version of you was slipping away.

“Shadow…” Your voice cracked.

He stared at you for a long time, ruby-red eyes blazing under his furrowed brow, jaw clenched so tight you swore his teeth would crack.

You had to say it before you lost the ability. Before you lost yourself.

“Please,” you whispered. “Pull the trigger.”

He froze.

Your words hung in the air like gunfire, sharp and final.

“Don’t make me something I’m not,” you continued, tears brimming in your eyes. “If I change… if I hurt anyone—if I hurt you—I won’t be able to come back from that. You know I won’t.”

“I can find a cure,” he said. “I’ll go to the ends of the earth. Just… just hold on a little longer.”

“There is no cure.”

“There’s always a way.”

You cupped the side of his face, your fingers barely able to move, trembling like paper in the wind. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. But even you can’t stop this.”

“You don’t know that,” he snapped, almost shouting now. “You don’t get to give up on me!”

“I’m not giving up,” you said, voice barely a whisper. “I’m choosing you. I want you to be the last thing I see. Not them. Not the dark. You.”

He looked shattered.

His grip on you faltered, and suddenly his arms were around you again, tighter than ever, holding you like you were already gone.

And maybe, you were.

Shadow didn’t cry often.

He was built for battle, for silence, for sacrifice. He had seen entire cities crumble, had watched Maria fall, had carried pain for decades without letting it shape his soul. But as he held you, there was a tremble in his frame that betrayed him. His fists were clenched, nails digging into his own palms. His voice was low, rough, desperate.

“No,” he said again, but this time it sounded like begging. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

“I have to,” you choked out.

“Why?!” The word exploded from him, sharp and thunderous, echoing through the hollow forest. “Why would you ask me? After everything—after all we’ve been through—you want me to…”

You nodded weakly.

“I trust you,” you said. “And because I know it will destroy you… but you’ll survive it.”

Shadow shook his head, violently. “I won’t. You don’t understand—you are the one thing in this entire broken world I gave a damn about. I don’t survive this.”

“I want you to live,” you said, gripping the edge of his chest fur. “That’s why I chose you.”

You remembered the first time you kissed him. He had flinched, like touch was foreign, like affection was a sharp blade. But he hadn’t pulled away. And when he kissed you back, it was so gentle—like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Maybe he always knew this was how it would end.

Shadow rested his forehead against yours, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your shared breaths.

Then, almost inaudibly:

“I can’t lose you… not like this.”

You laughed, though it was weak and watery. “You already have.”

Your skin was ice now. Shadow’s fingers brushed your cheek and came away with flecks of dry, crumbling skin. Your eyes were starting to glaze, pupils shrinking into pinpricks.

And then you twitched.

Just once.

A sharp jerk in your left hand. Then a shudder in your arm. You sucked in a breath—not on purpose—and your spine arched. For a split second, your mind flared with pure, blind terror.

It had started.

“Shadow—!”

He caught you, lowering you gently to the moss-covered earth, one arm under your shoulders, the other at your side.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

You whimpered, body wracked with involuntary tremors. “I’m scared…”

“I know.” He held your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away tears that wouldn’t stop. “You’re still in there. I see you. I see you, [Y/N].”

Your chest convulsed. “Say it again.”

“I see you.”

You choked on a sob, your lungs tightening. You didn’t have long. “Stay with me?”

“Always.”

Shadow pulled his weapon from his side.

The safety clicked off.

You looked up at him, into those brilliant, aching crimson eyes.

“I love you,” you said.

His hands shook as he pressed his forehead to yours. He didn’t say it back with words—he didn’t need to. It was in every breath he took with you. Every second he hadn’t let go.

You closed your eyes.

And then—

BANG.

The sound of the shot shattered the stillness like glass.

And then, nothing.

No wind.

No birds.

No breath.

Shadow didn’t move.

You lay motionless in his arms, eyes closed, your body suddenly peaceful—no more tremors, no more fear, no more pain. Just the final stillness that comes after surrender.

Smoke trailed lazily from the muzzle of the pistol clenched in Shadow’s shaking hand.

The forest was quiet again, but this time… it was wrong. Too quiet. Hollow. Like the world itself had turned away from what just happened.

He dropped the gun.

It hit the dirt with a dull thud.

His gloved fingers curled into fists, shaking with a fury he couldn’t aim at anything. Not anymore. The thing he had been ready to fight, to kill, to burn the world down to stop—it had taken you, and he had helped it. You had asked him to.

And he had done it.

The ultimate lifeform—reduced to a man on his knees, cradling a memory.

He leaned over you, his forehead against yours one last time, breathing in the fading scent of your skin, the warmth already leaving your body.

“I hope… wherever you are…” he whispered hoarsely, “…you know how much I—”

His voice broke.

He couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t finish.

Because saying it made it real.

Saying it made it permanent.

Saying it meant you were never coming back.

⸻

Time passed. He didn’t know how long.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

Eventually, he stood. Picked up your body, so light now, too light, and held you against his chest as he walked out of the forest. The others were waiting—Rouge and Omega, broken and bloodied, watching him approach with wide, wet eyes.

No one asked what happened.

They saw it in his face.

They saw it in the way he didn’t speak.

The way he didn’t let go of you.

The way he didn’t cry.

Shadow didn’t mourn like others. He didn’t wail or scream. He didn’t bury you right away. He carried your body back to the ruins where you once slept curled beside him, head on his shoulder, murmuring nonsense dreams into the soft hours of morning.

He sat there with you.

For three days.

He didn’t eat.

Didn’t sleep.

Didn’t speak.

Just sat, one arm draped around your still form, a silence so thick it filled the air like smoke.

Rouge checked in once. She said nothing. Just left a folded blanket by the door. Omega powered down nearby, silent for once.

And on the fourth day, Shadow stood.

He wrapped you in that blanket.

He dug the grave with his own hands.

And he didn’t mark it with a name.

He marked it with a simple phrase, carved into a piece of old stone, worn and uneven:

“I saw you. I loved you. I remember.”

⸻

He visits that grave every day.

And though he says nothing, there’s always something in his hand when he goes—something small, something that was yours. A ring. A hairpin. A folded note. A sketch. He leaves it, then vanishes into the wind.

Because Shadow the Hedgehog survived.

But he never truly healed.

And every time the wind brushes the leaves above your grave, it sounds like your voice whispering:

“Thank you.”

[cherryfcola]

The Midnight Escape

Shadow x Reader | Princess x Knight | Forbidden love

⚠️: Graphic violence, blood mentioned, mature themes, power imbalance, running away

Still no word count, I guess I’m just not fancy like that

Ty for reading kittens <3 let me know what you think! If you’re interested in full Shadow x reader books check out my wattpad: cinnamqngirly 🌸

Buckle up!! 👹 and let me know if you want me to make a part 2 perhaps. I’m still figuring out tumblr’s posting mysteries, I feel like a grandma 🥲

The setting sun bathed the castle in molten gold, casting long shadows across the marble floor of the throne room. You stood silently at the stained-glass window, your fingers resting lightly on the sill as you watched nobles gather in the courtyard for the upcoming announcement.

Your heart felt heavy. The kind of weight that dragged your soul down with every beat.

You didn’t want to turn around. You didn’t want to speak the words aloud. But you knew he was behind you — you always did.

“Sir Shadow… thou wert long in coming,” you said, voice soft as breath.

He stepped forward, his presence dark and solid behind you. You could feel the heat of his quiet fury before he even spoke.

“Thou hast been summoned by the King,” he said, the words laced with barely restrained tension. “Tell me, is it true? Art thou to be wed against thy will?”

You looked away, eyes stinging. “Aye. To Prince Elion of the Northern Reaches. The pact is to be sealed by my hand — his armies for our coffers.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips.

“A union forged not by love, but by ledger.”

Shadow’s fists clenched at his sides. His crimson eyes burned like coals in shadow.

“Thou art no coin to be traded, Princess.”

“Yet that is all I have ever been, is it not?” you whispered. “A piece upon the board. Moved here, sacrificed there. Always for the good of the realm.”

He took a step closer. The space between you seemed suddenly smaller, charged with something unspeakable.

“Not to me,” he said, voice low. “Ne’er to me.”

The silence that followed was thick as velvet. His words hung in the air like the hush before a storm.

You turned slowly to face him, your heart a thunderclap in your chest.

“I do not wish this fate, Shadow.”

“Then forsake it.” His voice was hoarse now, edged with fire. “Run.”

Your breath caught.

“Run? Whither?”

He did not blink. “With me. Wherever the road may lead. So long as it leadeth away from this prison.”

You stared at him. Shadow — your knight, your silent shadow since youth — now stood before you not as a protector, but as a man on the edge of surrender.

“Wouldst thou truly abandon all? Thy post? Thy name? Thy honor?”

“I did abandon all, the day I swore my life to thee. Not thy crown. Not thy father. Thee.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling silently.

“I cannot go… not without bidding farewell to my brother, to—”

“Nay. If thou sayest goodbye, they shall ne’er let thee leave.”

He stepped closer, gloved hand lifting to brush away a tear — so gentle, so reverent.

“Midnight,” he whispered. “At the stables. Cloaked, and silent. I shall have horses prepared. Say but the word… and I shall bear thee far from this wretched fate.”

And then he was gone.

Only the echo of his words remained, and the fire they’d lit in your chest.

The bells tolled twelve times, their echo rolling like thunder across the silent hills beyond the castle. Midnight had come.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, pale and solemn, cloaking the stables in silver. You moved like a wraith through the cold stone halls, your cloak drawn tight, your breath caught in your throat. Not a soul stirred. Not a guard blinked.

Shadow’s warnings rang in your ears: Say naught to any soul. If thou speakest of farewell, they shall bind thee here forevermore.

You passed the door to your brother’s chamber and paused — only for a breath. One heartbeat of doubt. One thought of the life you were about to leave behind.

And then you turned away.

The stables stood just beyond the south wall, near the edge of the woods where the castle lanterns could no longer reach. A single lamp burned low within, its flicker dancing on wood and iron.

He was there, waiting.

Shadow stood beside two saddled steeds — one dark as midnight, the other white as frost. He looked as he always did: tall, sharp-eyed, cloak brushing the ground like a second shadow. But his crimson eyes found yours at once, and softened.

“Thou hast come,” he said, voice low but full of something raw — hope.

“Didst thou doubt I would?” you whispered.

He stepped to you and pulled back your hood, his gloved hand brushing your cheek.

“Not once. Yet still I prayed.”

You looked to the horses. “Where do we ride?”

“Eastward, through the Silverwood. Past the river and beyond the reach of thy father’s men. There be villages that owe no fealty, and lands too wild for law. I shall keep thee safe.”

A pause, thick with all you could not yet name.

“Art thou ready to be nameless? To wear no crown, to claim no title?” he asked.

You held his gaze.

“Aye. So long as I may walk beside thee. I shall be naught but woman, and thou naught but man — and that shall be enough.”

His lips parted as though to speak again, but the moment faltered — not with words, but with closeness. He leaned in, and your breath caught.

“If I kiss thee now,” he murmured, “I shall ne’er let thee go.”

“Then kiss me, and let the world burn behind us.”

And so he did.

The kiss was not gentle — it was years of silence, of longing buried beneath oaths and duty. It was the clash of iron hearts, the surrender of a knight and a princess who had never been free.

When you parted, the world felt different. The air itself had shifted.

He helped you to the white mare, mounted the black, and together you turned from the stables.

No words were spoken as you rode from the castle walls, only the thunder of hooves and the wind in your hair.

But somewhere, deep in the shadows, a light flickered — not a torch, but the golden glint of watchful eyes.

And though you did not know it then…

You were not alone.

The Silverwood stretched before you like a labyrinth of frost and shadow. By dawn, the moon had fled, and the trees stood tall and solemn, ancient as the bloodlines you had abandoned.

Your cloaks were heavy with mist. Hooves pressed into damp earth. No words had passed between you and Shadow for near an hour, though his eyes flicked often to yours — each glance a silent vow: I am here. I will not let thee fall.

You rode until the morning light pierced the canopy in slivers of gold.

And then, a sound. Distant, yet clear.

Hooves. Not thine. Not his. Others.

Shadow reined in, his body tensing like a drawn bow. He turned to you.

“Dismount. Now. Into the trees.”

You obeyed without question, your feet light as your heart was heavy.

He tied the horses swift and low, whispering to them in a tongue you did not know — and then he drew his blade.

You heard it then, behind the hill. Six — no, more — riders. The ring of steel. A voice called out:

“In the name of King Alden, halt and surrender the Princess!”

You ducked behind the trunk of a fallen tree, heart pounding.

Shadow stood tall in the open path, sword gleaming faintly in the morning haze.

He did not run.

He never ran.

The first of the king’s riders crested the hill — armored, grim-faced, his banner bearing your father’s crest. His horse stamped impatiently.

“Knight of the Black Flame,” the captain called, “you bear the King’s charge. Surrender her, and thy life shall be spared. Resist, and be cut down like traitor’s grass.”

Shadow’s voice rang like iron.

“Thou speakest boldly for one who forgets his place. I serve not thy King. I serve her. She is mine to guard, and I shall spill blood ere I break that oath.”

He stepped forward, the forest holding its breath.

“Come, then. Let us see if thy sword sings as loud as thy tongue.”

“Shadow!” you cried, rushing from your hiding place.

He turned sharply. “Nay, stay back!”

But it was too late. The soldiers saw you — your hair, your cloak, the unmistakable gold that marked you as Solara’s heir.

“The Princess!” one cried. “Seize her!”

Steel flashed. Hooves charged.

Shadow moved like wind and flame.

He struck the first man down before his blade even raised, twisting midair to parry the second. Sparks flew. Shouts rang through the trees. You ducked behind the fallen log again, heart in your throat, teeth clenched against a scream.

Two more fell. Then three.

But they were too many.

And he — he bled.

You saw it — crimson against black, seeping down his side as he fought like fury itself. His breaths came ragged now, but he did not falter.

A blade came for your shoulder.

Shadow was there before it struck, shoving you behind him and taking the blow to his own arm.

“Touch her again, and thou shalt beg the earth to swallow thee.”

At last, a horn blew — retreat.

The few remaining riders, bloodied and breathless, turned tail and vanished into the trees. You knelt beside him, hands pressed to his wound.

“Shadow, thou’rt hurt — gods, let me see—”

“’Tis naught,” he rasped. “I have known worse… though not since the days I first took sword in thy name.”

Your eyes filled with tears. “Foolish, noble man… why didst thou not flee with me? Why didst thou fight alone?”

He looked at you then — truly looked — and there was no pain in his eyes, only fire.

“Because thou art not to face this world alone. Not while I yet draw breath.”

And you knew then: this was no mere flight.

It was a war.

And you — the runaway Princess — were no longer running.

The Silverwood stretched before you like a labyrinth of frost and shadow. By dawn, the moon had fled, and the trees stood tall and solemn, ancient as the bloodlines you had abandoned.

Your cloaks were heavy with mist. Hooves pressed into damp earth. No words had passed between you and Shadow for near an hour, though his eyes flicked often to yours — each glance a silent vow: I am here. I will not let thee fall.

You rode until the morning light pierced the canopy in slivers of gold.

And then, a sound. Distant, yet clear.

Hooves. Not thine. Not his. Others.

Shadow reined in, his body tensing like a drawn bow. He turned to you.

“Dismount. Now. Into the trees.”

You obeyed without question, your feet light as your heart was heavy.

He tied the horses swift and low, whispering to them in a tongue you did not know — and then he drew his blade.

You heard it then, behind the hill. Six — no, more — riders. The ring of steel. A voice called out:

“In the name of King Alden, halt and surrender the Princess!”

You ducked behind the trunk of a fallen tree, heart pounding.

Shadow stood tall in the open path, sword gleaming faintly in the morning haze.

He did not run.

He never ran.

The first of the king’s riders crested the hill — armored, grim-faced, his banner bearing your father’s crest. His horse stamped impatiently.

“Knight of the Black Flame,” the captain called, “you bear the King’s charge. Surrender her, and thy life shall be spared. Resist, and be cut down like traitor’s grass.”

Shadow’s voice rang like iron.

“Thou speakest boldly for one who forgets his place. I serve not thy King. I serve her. She is mine to guard, and I shall spill blood ere I break that oath.”

He stepped forward, the forest holding its breath.

“Come, then. Let us see if thy sword sings as loud as thy tongue.”

“Shadow!” you cried, rushing from your hiding place.

He turned sharply. “Nay, stay back!”

But it was too late. The soldiers saw you — your hair, your cloak, the unmistakable gold that marked you as Solara’s heir.

“The Princess!” one cried. “Seize her!”

Steel flashed. Hooves charged.

Shadow moved like wind and flame.

He struck the first man down before his blade even raised, twisting midair to parry the second. Sparks flew. Shouts rang through the trees. You ducked behind the fallen log again, heart in your throat, teeth clenched against a scream.

Two more fell. Then three.

But they were too many.

And he — he bled.

You saw it — crimson against black, seeping down his side as he fought like fury itself. His breaths came ragged now, but he did not falter.

A blade came for your shoulder.

Shadow was there before it struck, shoving you behind him and taking the blow to his own arm.

“Touch her again, and thou shalt beg the earth to swallow thee.”

At last, a horn blew — retreat.

The few remaining riders, bloodied and breathless, turned tail and vanished into the trees. You knelt beside him, hands pressed to his wound.

“Shadow, thou’rt hurt — gods, let me see—”

“’Tis naught,” he rasped. “I have known worse… though not since the days I first took sword in thy name.”

Your eyes filled with tears. “Foolish, noble man… why didst thou not flee with me? Why didst thou fight alone?”

He looked at you then — truly looked — and there was no pain in his eyes, only fire.

“Because thou art not to face this world alone. Not while I yet draw breath.”

And you knew then: this was no mere flight.

It was a war.

And you — the runaway Princess — were no longer running.

The fire crackled low, casting gold across the rough walls of the hollow, but it was nothing beside the heat blooming between you and Shadow. His forehead rested against yours, his breath feathered soft across your lips, and neither of you moved — as though even one breath might shatter the world you’d built in this dark, stolen place.

And then, at last — you moved.

Your lips touched his.

Not with hunger, not yet, but with reverence. A kiss not of conquest, but of quiet devotion — two souls, no longer separated by title, duty, or fear.

He drew you close, slow as moonrise, his hand sliding to the small of your back. You straddled his lap, skirts bunched above your knees, and he held you like something fragile and holy.

When he spoke, his voice was raw silk.

“Tell me to stop, and I shall. Swear it. Thou needst only breathe the word.”

You looked down at him — the strongest man you had ever known, now holding his own desire in chains for your sake.

“Then I shall not breathe,” you whispered, “unless it is thy name upon my lips.”

His control slipped.

His mouth claimed yours — deeper this time, urgent, aching. His hands roamed your waist, your hips, your thighs. You tangled your fingers in his dark quills, pulling him closer until there was no space between you but the thrum of your hearts.

He kissed down your neck, slow and deliberate, as though memorizing the path. Your body arched into him, seeking more — needing more.

“Thou tremblest,” he murmured against your skin.

“Not with fear,” you breathed, “but want.”

He laid you down upon the moss, his cloak beneath you, his body warm above yours — but never heavy. He gazed down at you as though you were not his beloved, but his prayer made flesh.

“I have dreamt of this,” he said, voice husky. “But ne’er did I dare believe I would be permitted to worship thee thus.”

“Then do so,” you said, lifting your hand to his cheek. “I am no longer crown nor title. I am woman. Thine.”

His hands found your skin — your thighs, your hips, your waist — and you shed the layers between you as if discarding armor, both of you vulnerable now in the way only lovers dare be.

There were no rushed motions. No frantic desperation. Only fire — slow, uncoiling, inevitable.

He kissed every inch of you he could reach, and when he entered you, it was not with haste, but with awe — his hand entwined in yours, his forehead pressed to yours again.

Your breaths mingled.

Your bodies moved as though they had always known one another.

It was not your first kiss that made you his.

It was this — the way he held you through each soft gasp, the way he whispered your name as though it were sacred, the way his arms wrapped round you afterward, holding you as though you might vanish.

And when sleep did come — long after the fire had dwindled to coals — it found you in his arms.

No longer a princess.

No longer a knight.

But two hearts, unburdened, entangled in the dark.

[cherryfcola]

Off Balance

Pairing: Shadow The Hedgehog x Reader

Tension, Mild angst, Fluff, Reader is a pole dancer, old friends

Warning: slightly suggestive content, language

I’m gonna be honest idk how people do their word count on their phone, so idk… it’s long I guess? T.T

|English is not my first language so I’m always open to critique and help, I’ll try to improve from it! Thanks for reading kittens, hope you enjoy! 🌸|

You’d danced a thousand times.

Shadow had watched a thousand and one.

And never — not once — had he made you feel like this.

Not until lately.

You hung upside down from the pole, the stage lights like fire on your skin, catching on every inch of glitter and shadow. Your latest outfit left almost nothing to the imagination, but it wasn’t new — you’d worn less before. You knew how to move. How to hold a room. You were a performer, and this was your job.

But tonight? You could feel his eyes.

And you weren’t imagining it.

You glanced toward the corner where Shadow always stood — silent, stoic, a part of the wall more than the crowd. You’d always known when he was there. Somehow his presence grounded you. Made you feel safe. You never let yourself think more of it than that.

Until now.

Because now he wasn’t just watching.

He was staring.

You slipped down the pole with practiced ease, landing in a slow roll that left you on your knees. The applause faded into background noise. All you could see was the way his crimson eyes followed you — not with the calculated disinterest of someone watching a friend work, but something else. Something hotter. Hungrier.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

After the show, you toweled off backstage, tugging on your robe more out of habit than modesty. The dressing room buzzed with chatter and hairspray. But you barely heard it.

Because Shadow was waiting in the hallway.

“You look like you swallowed a lemon,” you said, half-teasing, brushing past him.

He didn’t smile. Shadow rarely did.

“You’ve changed your routine,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

You shrugged. “New choreographer.”

Another pause. His eyes lingered on your legs, barely visible beneath the hem of your robe. You raised an eyebrow.

“Something you wanna say, Shads?”

He shifted — subtle, but you caught it.

“I’ve seen you dance a thousand times,” he muttered. “It’s different now.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Different how?”

Silence.

Then his voice, rougher than before. “It gets harder to look away.”

Your breath caught.

“You saying you want to?”

He met your eyes, something stormy and unspoken between you.

“No,” he said finally. “That’s the problem.”

———

The club was chaos tonight — lights flashing, bass booming, drinks flowing like a river that had long since overrun its banks.

You were thriving.

“Another one!” a man at the front of the stage shouted, tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the floor. He held up a shot glass, grinning. “For the goddess!”

You twirled down the pole in response, body arching like silk in the air, and landed in a sway that made the crowd howl. Your skin shimmered under the strobes, slick with sweat and just enough spilled champagne to make you sparkle.

You blew the man a kiss. “If it’s top shelf, I don’t say no.”

And you didn’t. Not to him. Not to the next guy. Or the next. They tipped in cash, in drinks, in adoring eyes and wandering hands. The night was yours — and you loved it. Loved the heat, the pull, the control you had over them all.

Well… almost all.

Across the club, near the edge of the VIP rail, Shadow stood like a storm on pause. Arms folded, jaw tight, crimson eyes locked on you like a loaded weapon with nowhere to fire.

You felt it. Every time his gaze cut across your skin.

You danced harder.

By your third round, someone poured Moët down your neck and took a shot straight from your chest — and you cackled. Your robe was gone, your heels were killing you, and your mouth tasted like citrus and smoke.

You didn’t even notice how close Shadow had moved.

Not until a voice as sharp as obsidian murmured: “You’re drunk.”

You turned, swaying slightly, drink still in hand. “Aw, Shadow. You jealous they’re having more fun than you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not here to have fun.”

“Then why are you watching me like that?” you purred, stepping closer. Your words were slightly slurred, but your smirk was deadly. “You’ve seen me drunk before. Seen me dance drunk before.”

“Not like this.”

That stopped you. He was close now — too close — and you could feel the heat rolling off him despite the freezing AC.

You blinked slowly, the alcohol spinning your vision just enough to make his outline blur — dark, dangerous, undeniably beautiful.

“Is it the outfit?” you teased, voice lower. “Or the way they look at me like I’m dessert?”

He didn’t answer. But his gaze dropped — finally dropped — to the curve of your body, soaked and shimmering and barely dressed.

You leaned up, lips near his ear. “Or is it the fact they get to touch me and you won’t?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “They don’t know you like I do.”

You pulled back, grin lazy, victorious, even as your knees threatened to buckle.

“Then stop acting like you’re just my shadow.”

His hand caught your wrist before you could step away — gently, but with purpose. The look in his eyes was dangerous now.

“You keep playing like this,” he murmured, voice a thread of thunder, “and one day you won’t be able to walk off that stage without me carrying you out.”

Your heart thudded — from the alcohol, the heat, or him, you weren’t sure.

You licked your lips. “Is that a promise?”

His silence was answer enough.

———-

Nights like this were the reason you loved your job.

The club was packed. Thick with bass-heavy music, flashing lights, and a hundred open mouths hungry for a taste — of booze, of touch, of you.

And tonight, they were paying for it.

You moved through the crowd like fire, body swaying with every beat, glitter catching on your skin with every twist of your hips. Your outfit clung to you in the barest way — short where it needed to be, tight where it had to be, and revealing in a way that made men beg to earn your attention.

And tonight? You gave it.

For a price.

“Fifty for the mouth, eighty for the chest,” you teased, holding up the half-empty bottle of gold tequila. You straddled the lap of a man in a too-tight button-up, grinning like the devil. “No hands. Unless you want me to break them.”

He grinned — dumb, drunk, eager — and held up a hundred-dollar bill.

You didn’t hesitate.

You took a long, deliberate swig, then leaned in slow. His mouth opened. You let the liquor fall past your lips into his with practiced ease, dribbling just enough down your chin to make him groan.

He swallowed it. Dazed. You peeled the bill from his fingers with two painted nails and winked before sauntering away.

The crowd howled.

Cash flew.

You were already spinning back onto the dance floor, rolling your body against the pole like it was your second skin. You were drunk, yeah — but functional. Lit up from the inside. Every movement felt slow and sweet and just dangerous enough to keep them leaning in, hoping for more.

And through it all, you felt him.

Shadow.

Watching you.

Always.

You didn’t need to look — you knew where he was. Propped against the far wall near the security booth, arms folded, eyes tracking your every step. His presence was heavy. Electric. Like a storm waiting to snap. And even though he never moved, never said a word, you felt it every time his eyes dipped to your hips, your thighs, the edge of skin just below your top where the tequila still glistened.

You wondered if he noticed you spit more slowly when he was watching.

If he noticed how you always faced his side of the room.

If he knew you were imagining his mouth instead.

Another body shot. Another dance. Another swig of something you didn’t bother to identify.

The club was boiling. You were the match.

But eventually, even fire burns out.

It hit you mid-step. A wobble in your ankle, a sway in your balance. Your fingers missed the pole by a second and you stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of a table. The room tilted just slightly — not enough to fall, but enough to feel not right.

You blinked. Laughed. “Oops…”

And that’s when he moved.

You didn’t even see him cross the floor. One second he was a shadow across the room, the next he was at your side — solid, steady, hand around your arm like steel wrapped in velvet.

“You’re done.”

You tried to pull away, even as the floor pitched again. “Nahh—I’m good. Just a lotta tips, I’m just…”

“Drunk.”

You looked up at him — eyes heavy, skin flushed. He was so close now. So warm, even through his jacket. You could smell his cologne, something dark and clean and nothing like the sugary scent of the club. He was a full breath taller than you, unshakable, voice calm but sharp beneath the quiet.

“I’ve seen you tipsy,” he murmured. “This isn’t that.”

You could’ve fought it.

But you didn’t.

Because when he wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you away from the crowd, something in you relaxed. Not collapsed. Just let go. And it felt so good not to carry the weight of every eye in the room for once.

Shadow led you past the VIP booths and backstage doors to a private room you’d used for costume changes and post-shift power naps. Low light, plush couch, too many mirrors. He closed the door behind you, and for the first time all night — you were alone.

He helped you sit. You let yourself sink into the velvet cushions with a low groan.

“Ughhh. My legs are dead. Also? I think I’m still sexy, but like… tilted.”

That almost made him smile. Almost.

“You’ll feel worse if you keep moving.”

He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge, cracked the seal, and handed it to you. You took it with a half-smirk.

“You’re not mad?”

His eyes met yours, unreadable. “I’m always watching.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sat across from you, legs spread, forearms resting on his knees. His jacket still hung open, and you could see the tension in his frame now that you were looking — like he was holding something back. But not anger.

Something hotter. Quieter. Tighter.

“I’m not mad,” he said slowly. “But I’m not made of stone either.”

You blinked at him. “Oh?”

“Watching you all night,” he continued, voice low, “watching them… touch you with their eyes. Open their mouths for you like dogs.”

A pause. His jaw clenched, just slightly. “It doesn’t make me jealous. It makes me want.”

Your breath hitched. The room was too quiet. The air too thick.

“You want them gone?”

He shook his head. “I want you to want more than that.”

You leaned back into the couch, dizzy in a whole new way. “And what if I already do?”

His eyes locked on yours. For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then: “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to lie.”

Silence stretched between you.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You think I haven’t noticed how you always look for me after a set? How you make them think they have a chance while you wait for me to do something about it?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe I was hoping you would.”

That… landed.

He stood slowly. Walked to where you sat. And without a word, dropped to one knee in front of you.

His hands were warm as they found your ankles, lifting one leg up into his lap as he reached for the clasp on your heel.

“Rest,” he said, focused, voice quieter now. “I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”

You watched him undo your shoe, then the other, careful and deliberate.

And for the first time all night — maybe all year — you didn’t feel like a performance. You felt like a person.

Maybe even something more.

[cherryfcola]

The Night the Crown Fell into Laughter

Shadow x reader Royal au

Drunk Shadow and Reader

This is a snippet from my book on wattpad, if you liked this drabble please check out the whole book!

Wattpad: @ cinnamqngirly

—A Festival of Flame, and Two Royals Who Forgot the World—

The square had never looked like this before.

Flowers tumbled from balconies.

Musicians played on every street corner.

Spiced wine and fruit-slick mead spilled from goblets too full, too fast.

It was a celebration, one not of war or treaty—but of triumph.

Your court had returned undefeated. Unbroken. Crowned in steel and glory.

And your people?

They wanted to thank you the only way they knew how:

With joy.

You and Shadow emerged from the palace balcony draped in twilight and fireworks, dressed not in formalwear, but in simple silks and linen—no crowns, no weapons.

Just the two of you.

Alive.

Victorious.

Theirs.

And the people?

They cheered like thunder.

The fire pits were lit.

There were dancers with veils and painted hands, children throwing petals at your feet, acrobats leaping through rings of flame.

You sat beside Shadow at the high table, watching the blur of it all.

You sipped from your goblet. Then again.

And he did the same.

Then again.

By the third refill, Shadow leaned toward you with a rare, flushed grin.

“Is the room spinning or are we finally moving slow enough to feel it?”

You laughed.

You actually laughed.

“We’re drunk.”

“Good.”

“Very.”

It started with music.

Something fast. Bold. Percussive.

Rouge pulled Amy onto the square, followed by Knuckles — who swore he didn’t dance but was soon proven wrong.

Silver and Tails made a show of “failing” at folk steps just to charm the crowd. It worked.

But you?

You sat, your cheeks flushed, your knees brushing Shadow’s—

Until he stood.

And reached out his hand.

“Dance with me,” he said, low and unpolished.

You stared.

“You don’t dance.”

“I don’t lose either. And I intend to win your laughter tonight.”

You took his hand.

And the crowd roared.

You danced like you were drunk on more than just wine.

You stumbled, he overcorrected, you tripped, he caught you by the waist—

—and the two of you collapsed into laughter in the middle of your people.

Not rulers. Not tacticians.

Just two fools in love with life.

Two gods of war who forgot how heavy the world was.

Shadow tried to say something regal, but slurred it into nonsense and a kiss on your shoulder.

You threw your head back and howled with laughter.

The crowd cheered.

The circle?

Stared like they were watching something sacred crack wide open.

“…We should probably stop them,” Tails murmured.

“Why?” Sonic grinned. “This is the best morale we’ve had all year.”

Shadow pulled you onto his lap somewhere between the third round of dancing and the sixth cup of wine.

Your fingers played at the edge of his collar. His hand traced patterns across your thigh under the table. Your head fell against his.

And for once?

You didn’t care.

Not about posture.

Not about propriety.

You kissed him in full view of your people—slow, lingering, with both of you smiling too wide and too loose for court decorum.

“You’re mine,” you whispered into his mouth.

“In front of the gods,” he replied.

“And the bakers. And the street rats. And that woman selling pears.”

“Perfect.”

As the firelight dimmed and the drums softened into night, your court guided you gently back toward the palace.

You didn’t walk straight.

Neither did he.

But your fingers were interlaced.

And as you were helped to your rooms, you looked back once—over your shoulder, at the lights still twinkling, at the people still dancing.

You smiled.

“Just one night,” you whispered. “That’s all we needed.”

“And it was ours,” Shadow said, resting his forehead to yours.

And it was.