#[WITH THEM CHAOS EMERALDS IN THE HOUSE

[im-so-normal-iswear]

I got new request for you! Hopfully this one wasn't as crazy as my last one. How does the triple S hedgehog boys react to their lover sleep talks?

Can be first time and how they deal with it over time.

Triple s x reader

Sonic:

Sonic was completely off gaurd the furst time it happened. He was over at your house crashing on your couch for the night. You fell asleep first, as soon as you sat down on the couch you fell asleep, he decided to stay up for a little longer. He flipped through channels on your tv.

He hears mumbles from you and assumed you were trying to tell him something, so he leaned in, only to realize you were dead asleep.

"Wait, are you…talking in your sleep?" he whispers, more to himself, as he raised an eyebrow.

Your mumbles were completely incoherent at first. But after a but sonic slowly started to peice together strings of barely coherent sentences. He tries not to laugh too loudly when you suddenly mutter something about "being too flammable" and "the fridge being haunted." It’s too ridiculous to ignore, and Sonic, being the teasing type, pulls out his phone and records a snippet to show you later.

Your words are incoherent at first, a mix of jumbled sentences and half-formed thoughts.

As time goes on, Sonic starts noticing that your sleep-talking isn’t just random, it sometimes reflects your dreams. If you’ve had a particularly eventful day, your mutterings often reference things you both did together. He thinks it’s adorable how you unconsciously process your adventures, sometimes even calling out his name in your sleep.

One night, you mumble, "Sonic…don’t eat all the popcorn…" while snuggling closer to him. He smirks and responds,"Don’t worry, I saved you some!" even though you’re not awake to hear it.

Over time, Sonic develops a habit of engaging with your sleep talk. If you mumble questions, he answers them. "Where’s the Chaos Emerald?" you mumble once, and he dramatically responds, "Safe in my hands, as always!" He jokes that he’s the best at keeping you entertained even when you’re unconscious.

At some point, he even gets used to your nighttime chatter, finding it comforting in a strange way. It keeps him grounded.

Shadow:

Shadow doesn’t notice the first time it happens. He’s too used to quiet solitude and doesn’t expect you to disrupt the silence of his home while you sleep. The first instance occurs during a rare moment when you’re resting beside him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, polishing a gun, when he hears a faint, barely audible murmur.

"Shadow…"

His ears perk up, and he freezes mid-polish. He turns to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you saying?" he mutters under his breath.

You respond with something nonsensical about "flying cats" and “Chaos Controling to the grocery store.” Shadow stares at you in utter disbelief. He’s not sure if he should be amused, annoyed, or concerned. "What on earth goes on in that head of yours?" he mutters, shaking his head.

As time passes, Shadow becomes more observant. He starts piecing together patterns in your sleep talk, often correlating them with your moods or daily activities. On nights when you’re stressed, your mutterings turn into fragmented worries about mundane things. On happier days, your sleep talk is lighthearted, sometimes even funny.

He won’t admit it, but he finds it endearing. Hearing you speak his name in your sleep makes him feel... important to you. He’s always struggled with feeling connected to others, but knowing that you’re dreaming about him, even subconsciously, touches him.

However, Shadow is the practical type. If your sleep talk disrupts his rest, he’ll wake you up without hesitation. "You were muttering again," he says bluntly when you groggily open your eyes. Over time, he does grow more patient.

When you have nightmares, though, Shadow is swift to act. The moment he senses distress in your voice, he shakes your shoulder. "Wake up," he says firmly. "You were having a bad dream." He doesn’t say it, but he’ll stay up with you as long as it takes to calm you down.

Eventually, he adjusts to your sleep talking, seeing it as just another "quirk". He tunes it out mostly, but its a reminder your still there with him.

Silver:

Silver discovers your sleep-talking habit on accident. The two of you are camping under the stars, resting after a long day of exploring. You’ve drifted off before him, and he’s lying awake, staring up at the constellations when he hears it, a soft, barely-there mumble.

Curious, Silver sits up and leans closer to you. "What did you say?" he whispers, thinking you might be awake. But your breathing is slow and steady, and your eyes remain closed.

"...Time travel is weird," you murmur, followed by something about pancakes.

Silver quickly covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. He’s always known you were a bit weird at times, but hearing your ramdom mutters and thoughts while you’re asleep is a whole new level of hilarious to him. He spends the rest of the night listening to your random murmers and mutters.

Over time, Silver starts looking forward to your sleep-talking episodes. He’s endlessly curious and often wonders what your dreams are like. Sometimes, your mutterings are so bizarre that he can’t help but write them down, thinking they’d make great conversation starters later.

"You said something about ‘psychic pancakes’ last night," he tells you one morning, grinning. "Do you even remember dreaming about that?"

Silver never grows tired of your sleep talk. To him, it’s just another way you let him into your world, even unconsciously. He treasures every word, no matter how silly or nonsensical.

[theodorenmyth]

Hello, if requests are still open, can I ask a male!reader who comes from one of the founders' (i think it's how they are call in english) lines/family/house ?

Ignore it if you don't want to write it !

Have a good day !

Legacy of the Raven

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; As Rowena Ravenclaw's heir, you’re used to expectations and assumptions—except from Mattheo Riddle, who sees the real you. Through sharp banter and shared vulnerabilities, his feelings come to light, leading to a heartfelt confession and a kiss that makes you realize destiny is about connection, not just legacy.

A/n ; enjoy hun!!

Warnings ; none!

Wordcount ; 1k+

The dungeons of Hogwarts always felt like home, with their dim lighting and the faint chill in the air. As a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, your connection to the castle was palpable. The very walls seemed to hum with recognition whenever you walked through them.

But with that legacy came expectations, ones you bore like an invisible weight. Everyone assumed you were destined for greatness, for power. It was exhausting. The only person who didn’t seem fazed by your lineage was Mattheo Riddle.

“Did you know,” Mattheo began, leaning against the stone pillar in the common room, “that half the school thinks you’re secretly building a huge library 2.0?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting on one of the emerald-green couches. “Let me guess—they also think I keep a pet raven under my bed?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly attractive way. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“You’d be the first to know if I did,” you shot back.

Mattheo chuckled, dropping into the seat beside you. His proximity sent a jolt through you, though you masked it well. Being around Mattheo was always a strange mix of comfort and chaos. He had a way of disarming you with his humor, yet there was an undeniable intensity in his gaze that often left you speechless.

“Seriously, though,” he continued, “how do you deal with it? The whole ‘descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw’ thing?”

You shrugged, tracing the outline of the raven embroidered on a nearby pillow. “It’s not like I had a choice. People hear the name, and they decide who I am before I even say a word. Either they’re terrified or… weirdly fascinated.”

“And which one am I?” Mattheo asked, his voice softer now.

You glanced at him, meeting his dark eyes. “You? You’re just annoying.”

He grinned, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling fire casting shadows across the room.

“I think it’s kind of cool, though,” Mattheo said suddenly.

“What is?”

“Your legacy. You’re literally connected to the foundation of this place. You’ve got a piece of history running through your veins.”

You snorted. “And what about you? You’re the son of Voldemort. Talk about historical significance.”

Mattheo’s smile faltered, and you instantly regretted your words. “Sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, though his voice was tight. “It’s not exactly a legacy I’m proud of.”

You hesitated before reaching out, placing a hand on his arm. “For what it’s worth, you’re nothing like him. And anyone who knows you can see that.”

His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he looked vulnerable in a way that was rare for him. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

The moment passed, and he was back to his usual self, leaning back with a smirk. “So, what does being a Ravenclaw descendant even get you? Secret passageways? Hidden artifacts? ”

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned. “Mostly just a lot of awkward conversations and people asking if I can solve somethinh.”

“Can you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to find out?”

Mattheo’s grin widened. “Depends. Are you going to use it to order a snake to bite me?”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe.”

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in as well, the space between you shrinking to mere inches. His voice was low when he spoke again. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Your heart raced, but before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the moment.

“Oi, Riddle!” Blaise Zabini called as he entered the common room. “You coming to dinner or what?”

Mattheo pulled back, his mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” he replied, his tone casual.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you, but didn’t comment. “Don’t take too long. Pansy’s already complaining about the pudding running out.”

As Blaise disappeared, Mattheo turned back to you. “You coming?”

You hesitated, still thrown off by the near-intimacy of the moment. “I think I’ll stay here for a bit.”

Mattheo nodded, standing up. “Suit yourself. But don’t hide down here all night, yeah? Even Ravenclaw descendants need to eat.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he walked away, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Mattheo Riddle was a puzzle you weren’t sure you’d ever solve, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted to try.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Later that evening, as you wandered the castle’s corridors, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Turning, you saw Mattheo jogging to catch up with you.

“Thought you were hiding in the dungeons,” he said, falling into step beside you.

“Changed my mind,” you replied.

“Good. I’d hate for you to miss out on all the fun.”

“What fun?”

“This.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a nearby alcove. Your back pressed against the cold stone wall as he stood in front of you, his expression unreadable.

“Mattheo, what—”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said, cutting you off.

Your eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he said, his voice low and intense. “You walk around with this whole ‘Ravenclaw heir’ thing, acting like you don’t care, but I see through you. You’re more than that. You’re smart, and stubborn, and you make me want to be better just so I can keep up with you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“And the worst part?” he continued, stepping closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The air between you was electric, and before you could overthink it, Mattheo leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

For a moment, all thoughts of legacies and expectations melted away. There was only him, and the way he fit so perfectly against you.

When he finally pulled back, his dark eyes searched yours. “Say something,” he murmured.

You smiled, your voice barely above a whisper. “You talk too much.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, before pulling you in for another kiss.

For once, being a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw didn’t feel like a burden. In that moment, it felt like destiny.

[starsfic]

Friendship Bracelets

This is based off a fun idea by @ldhedgehog, where Sonic and Shadow end up with a quill from each other and can use that to sense each other's emotions.

Fine. He was hedgehog to admit it.

Sonic had a bit of separation anxiety.

He and his parents chalked it up to the sudden loss of Longclaw and the ten years spent alone. Sonic had been so excited for his first day of school, with actual kids his age, but had spent most of the day deep in anxiety. What if being away from him was enough to convince Tom and Maddie that he didn't deserve to live with them? What if something happened to them? What if something happened to them and Sonic was all by himself again-

Sonic spent most of the day clinging to Tom when he got home.

It had gotten better. He had learned that Tom and Maddie were solid in their love for him. They texted each other during points in the day. Tails and Knuckles, once they were enveloped into the Wachowski fold, were also there, steadying him.

And then Shadow had come along and then was suddenly gone. There was still anger at him for hurting Tom, an anger that was only mollified by a bit when Tom admitted that he had spooked Shadow, but there was also grief.

Shadow had complemented him. It was like there was a piece of him missing that Sonic had never realized until he and Shadow were dancing in the stars, miniature shooting stars, and whispering of grief and loss on the moon. He loved Knuckles and Tails, of course, but neither could truly challenge him in speed, not until he met furious red eyes.

He had spent months convinced Shadow was dead.

And then Shadow was back, dragging Rouge the Bat with him and bursting into the scene like something out of an action movie, kicking a Metal Sonic away from Amy.

They hadn't had much time to talk, but Shadow's eyes lit up when they met, and he admitted that he had been grieving Sonic too, his hand tight around his. They weren't miniature shooting stars at the end, but they still could give one hell of an encore to their dance.

Then they had to separate again.

Shadow wasn't safe on Earth, not when GUN was around. Sonic understood, especially when Director Rockwell marched in and started screaming questions a few seconds after they shoved Shadow, Rouge, Amy, and that one robot they apparently stole from GUN through the ring portal. However, the minute they sat down in the truck, ready to head back to Green Hills where Shadow and the others would meet them, Sonic felt tears pricking at his eyes- not the normal tears he usually shed after a battle, but real, frantic tears.

What if he had just been a hallucination? What if something happened to him in the five minutes it took to set up a ring portal? What if something happened to him and Sonic was by himself again-

Panic attacks sucked. That was a fun fact that he learned. Maddie had decided, once he was back to himself, that they were all getting therapy. Nobody protested this.

Especially not Shadow, who spent the rest of the night- because his parents refused to let anyone go hungry, especially after a battle like that- hovering by his side. It took a lot of effort to convince him to let go of Sonic's hand at the end of dinner. Then Sonic had a nightmare in the middle of the night and had summoned a ring portal to Rouge's house, right as Shadow was crawling through his window to apparently check if Sonic was still breathing.

This started a pattern that was rapidly becoming an issue.

So when Maddie said she had a way to possibly help with their separation anxiety, Sonic honestly doubted her.

"It's a thing I noticed," she explained as she worked at the table, the two of them sitting across from her. "Shadow, you had one of Sonic's quills at one point, and you could tell Sonic was alive."

"Yes," Shadow said with a nod. "I think our mutual bond with the Chaos Emeralds may have infused our quills." Nobody mentioned that chaos energy was how Gerald Robotnik had lived way past his prime. The thought of Eggman possibly licking his quill made Sonic want to shiver out of his skin, he did not want to imagine what Shadow thought of his sort-of father figure licking his quill.

"Yeah!" his mom said brightly. "So, I did some research and poked at some of your quills, Sonic." She finished whatever she was doing, revealing two bracelets.

They looked like friendship bracelets, done with red and blue strings. However, when Sonic squinted, he realized that one had a lot more blue. The other had a familiar red tint to it.

"Hedgehog quills are actually hollow, making them flexible," Maddie explained as she held them out to them. "But your two's quills are way more flexible than I expected, more like human hair. I'm guessing that's because you guys aren't actually hedgehogs, but something resembling hedgehogs..." Sonic took the bracelet with more red and slid it on as Shadow slid the blue one on.

He twisted his wrist back and forth, studying the bracelet. It was close-fitting, meaning it wouldn't snag on anything, which was good. Sonic felt a burst of interest in his chest as Shadow's quills caught the light, turning a lighter shade of red.

Then he looked at Shadow, who was studying his own bracelet. The blue looked good on him. He looked nice with blue. He looked nice in general, but right now he looked cutely nice, kinda like a cat with how his ears flicked-

Shadow's ears flicked and Sonic had to resist the urge to squeal.

Shadow's head turned then.

"Did...did you just squeal in your head?" he said, sounding baffled. "I could feel that enough that I could hear it."

...oh. Maybe separation anxiety was better.

[cardansriddle]

"You know how to ball, I know Aristotle" - (tom riddle x fem!reader)

Summary: Tom finds himself harbouring a small crush on the Slytherin Chaser.

Warnings: None, just pure fluff. As always, not proofread, so apologies for any mistakes.

A/N: First post in months, hi, hello, I'm alive!!! This one is heavily inspired by the lyrics "you know how to ball, I know Aristotle" from so high school by taylor swift (obviously). And we all know Tom is the nerd in any scenario.

༻♛༺

The players soared through the azure sky, their movements orchestrated with precision and grace as the game began. Quidditch had never held any allure for Tom; he deemed it brutish and an unworthy diversion from his personal pursuits. After all, he would rather spend his hours on research to further his magical skills, become the most powerful wizard of all time and accomplish his one ultimate life ambitions.

Yet he had been dragged to the game by his persistent, relentless Knights. Half of them had already taken to the field, while the remainder bellowed raucous cheers from the stands. That is, if one could call creative chants being hurled at the Gryffindor team cheering.

With a disdainful curl of his lip, Tom reached for the book nestled at his side, fully intending to pass the time by reading. Yet, before he could even read a word, a chorus of gasps pierced the air, followed by a rush of wind that tousled his dark locks. Startled, he glanced skyward, just in time to witness one of the Chasers of his house team swooping gracefully to intercept the Quaffle hurtling towards an unsuspecting bystander behind him.

She shot a cheeky smirk at whoever she had just saved before gliding away. Something within Tom stirred—an unexpected surge of fascination seized hold of his senses and he found himself tracking her every movement with a newfound intensity. For a moment his scholarly mind analysed her movements with the same meticulous scrutiny he applied to his studies. She moved with a fluidity that seemed to defy the laws of gravity, her every manoeuvre executed with a finesse that demanded attention.

As her lithe form weaved through the chaos of the game, Tom couldn't help but lean forward to pay attention to the game. He was transfixed, his gaze glued on her as she scored a goal after goal.

"See! I told you Quidditch was fun!" Orion Black exclaimed from next to him, hand moving to pat Tom on his back before realising who he was speaking to and forgoing the action all together.

Tom did not bother acknowledging the boy.

The game came to an end as the Slytherin Seeker deftly caught the snitch after a particularly intense dive, and soon enough the entire crowd of students were rushing to congratulate the victorious team. Just like that, Tom was snapped out of his daze. He gathered his belongings and decided to leave.

༻♛༺

The party in honour of the Slytherin team was in in full swing by the time Tom set foot in the common room. He cursed under his breath as he navigated the crowded space, desperate to retreat to his dormitory and escape the chaos that engulfed the room.

Pushing his way through the throng, he passed by the large emerald couch when his eyes caught sight of her. She sat with her friends in a small circle, an amused smirk playing on her lips. The boisterous energy of the celebration seemed to ripple around her. Tom's ears perked up as someone called her name, attempting to draw her attention. He quickly noted the name, etching it into his mind with the same precision he used for memorizing spells.

"It's your turn!"

She waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm good."

"Oh come on! It is not fair for you to give out the most ridiculous dares then run away when it's your turn. Come on, don't be a coward!" Her friend goaded.

"Perhaps if I were a Gryffindor I would be insulted." she replied with a shrug. Despite her nonchalance, her friends’ uproarious protest began to wear down her resolve. Tom could see the determination flicker in her eyes before she finally relented. "Okay, fine! I will play this once!"

"Truth or dare?"

Tom resisted the urge to scoff at the ridiculously childish game they were partaking in. He should have left right then, but he could not deny that something tugged at his curiosity despite his best efforts to remain aloof.

"Dare."

"What happened to you were not a Gryffindor?"

"I'm just trying to determine if I would be a lousy one or not."

Her friend’s eyes narrowed in thought, clearly plotting the perfect dare. Tom was about to move away when her friend's eyes landed on him, and he saw them sparkle in mischief. He was quick to turn away, pretending he could not hear them.

Just as the girl was announce the dare, a couple crashed into him in their impatience to get through, fingers weaved together, jostling Tom and forcing him to step aside. He grimaced as they hurried past, clearly headed for the dorm rooms. When he turned his attention back to the group, he noticed with a start that the girl had disappeared.

Trying ignore the bizarre pit of disappointment in his stomach, he turned on his heel to head up to his room for the night. He had already lingered more than enough. Just as he turned, another figure crashed straight into his chest. With a string of colourful curses under his breath, he automatically grabbed to steady the person. Tom had lost all his patience, and he was about to snap with something mean when his gaze landed on the Slytherin Chaser.

Whatever sharp words he’d been preparing evaporated in an instant. His focus shifted entirely to the pair of wide, doe-like eyes staring up at him innocently. Too innocently. His instincts told him it spelled trouble.

"Oh, Riddle! I'm sorry, I tripped over my own feet." She said with a sheepish smile, a feigned apology dancing on her lips. Tom narrowed his eyes. She was an athlete, her entire existence on the pitch was defined by her precision and grace. He knew well enough she wasn’t the type to stumble over her own feet.

He opened his mouth to retort but she beat him to it. "Did you watch the game today?"

"Yes," he responded curtly, his gaze never leaving hers, trying to decipher her game.

"Really? I thought you never attended the games. Well, what did you think of it?"

The corner of Tom's lip curled as he replied. "First and last time. Your Quaffle almost disfigured my face."

She raised a brow. "No, the ball almost disfigured Adrian. Your charming smile was in no danger, I assure you."

"My charming smile, yeah?"

A delicate blush crept up her cheeks, turning them a pretty shade of pink under his teasing gaze that she was trying—and failing—to conceal. Tom felt a wave of smug satisfaction at the reaction he had drawn from her. Slowly, he twirled his wand between his long fingers, savoring the moment, letting the tension simmer in the air between them. His movements were slow, deliberate, before he lifted her chin ever so slightly with the tip of the wand, the cool wood brushing against her skin.

"Well, in any case, congratulations on your victory," he murmured, his voice low as he held her gaze firmly in his. "Disfigured smile or not." Then, with the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, Tom broke away to walk past her, heading toward the dormitory.

He was halfway across the common room when a sudden shout rang out amidst the loud crowd.

"Tom!" Her voice rang out, and just as he was about to glance over his shoulder, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, turning him around with unexpected force. His brows knit in confusion as he looked down at her, words forming in his mind but never reaching his lips. Before he could react, her arms were around his neck, pulling him down in one swift motion. Her lips crashed against his, bold and unapologetic, her kiss catching him entirely off guard.

Tom stood frozen, momentarily stunned, every thought, every calculated plan vanishing in the instant their lips met. For a man who prided himself on control, it was the first time in a long while that he felt completely unmoored. The kiss, with its suddenness and intensity, left him reeling in ways he hadn't deemed possible.

He tuned out the instant cheers and whistles breaking out in a wave of noise at the display, his thoughts consumed only by the soft lips moving over his own.

But the moment was over a moment far too soon. her breath uneven, eyes gleaming with nerves. Tom’s heart, which had betrayed him for just a moment, slowly began to settle back into its steady rhythm.

She bit her lip, a sly smile forming as she met his gaze again. "Sorry… I was dared to do that," she said, almost apologetically.

Tom’s expression didn’t falter, but a flicker of irritation crossed his mind. The kiss, the boldness—it had not been her choice. “Of course,” he replied coolly, his voice measured as he ran a hand through his hair. "A dare.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Tom leaned in just enough to let his words hang in the air between them, lips brushing against her cheek, his voice low and filled with a subtle challenge. “Then… I dare you,” he began, his gaze locked on hers with a teasing intensity, “to do it again.”

He smirked as her eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by his response. Her gaze flickered to his lips for just a second before she pulled back, her smirk widening. "Careful what you wish for, Tom. You might regret it.”

"Only if it results in your Quaffle flying at my face again."

"If you refrain from reading your book at my game, I promise to keep it away from your vicinity next time." She rolled her eyes, but before either of them could speak again, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again, this time softer, slower, the lingering laughter fading into something sweeter.

[tacobacoyeet]

Hello! Can I request a harry potter x slytherin reader story where they are in fifth year and the reader has the biggest crush on harry but he likes cho, but one day the reader didn't want to go to any of the D.A meetings anymore because seeing cho and harry broke her heart. But time has passed and Umbringe finds out about the club and like we see it in the movie she makes them writes stuff with that horrible quill and even though the reader didn't go to the meetings anymore she finds herself doing those detention and after one of them harry takes her to the Gryffondor common room and try to heal her hand but she decide to go because having all those contact with him makes her just fall more in love and she doesn't want to because she knows that he likes cho and not her. But after that whole valentines thing (idk if you have read the books) cho and harry do not talk anymore and some weeks after he starts to realise that he actually do not like cho but the reader so he goes talk to her (maybe in the astronomy tower) and tell her about his feelings and they kiss!!

(also like they are best friends and harry is very worried that he did or say something wrong at first or because Ron said stuff like "those slytherin's are just stupid to love that umbringe" so he was probably thinking it was because of that that she don't talk to him any more)

not too late | h.p.

a/n: i can never resist writing for harry. there's not enough love for him on this website.

warnings: harry james potter being just the best as always, a touch angsty, tooth-rottingly fluffy, NOT PROOFREAD!

fifth year at hogwarts had been a whirlwind of chaos, change, and confusion. for you, a slytherin caught in the crossfire of house rivalries and divided loyalties, it was even more complicated. but nothing—nothing—was more consuming than the way your heart clenched every time harry potter smiled.

you didn’t know when the feelings had started. maybe it was in third year when he had smiled at you after you had helped him find a misplaced defense against the dark arts book. or perhaps it was when you partnered together during a potions class last year, and his determination to brew a perfect draught of peace had lit a spark of admiration in your chest.

but this year, that admiration had bloomed into a painful, unreciprocated crush. every glance at him made your stomach flip, and every moment spent together in the d.a. meetings made your heart ache. especially now that cho chang was in the picture.

watching harry laugh with cho, the way he looked at her as if she hung the stars, was unbearable. it felt like a knife twisting deeper each time you saw them together. so one day, you made a decision: you wouldn’t go to the d.a. meetings anymore. you told yourself it was to protect yourself from umbridge’s wrath if the group got caught. but deep down, you knew the real reason.

weeks passed, and you buried yourself in your studies. harry had asked about your absence at first, his emerald eyes filled with concern. “is everything okay? did something happen?” he’d asked after charms one day, his voice tinged with worry.

you had plastered on a smile and waved him off. “just busy with homework. you know how snape is.” he hadn’t pressed further, though you noticed the slight frown that tugged at his lips as you walked away.

but now, you were regretting your decision to distance yourself. despite avoiding the meetings, you weren’t spared from umbridge’s wrath. the moment she got wind of the d.a., she dragged every name associated with it into her office—including yours.

“you may not have attended every meeting,” she had said in her sickly sweet voice, “but you’re still guilty by association.”

that was how you found yourself seated in her dimly lit office, gripping a cursed quill as it carved i must not tell lies into the back of your hand. tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

when the session was over, you stumbled out of the office, cradling your bleeding hand. harry was waiting for you outside, leaning against the wall with a stormy expression on his face.

“let me see,” he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

“i’m fine,” you lied, hiding your hand behind your back.

“no, you’re not.” his hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand into view. his face darkened as he took in the angry red cuts spelling out the words. without another word, he took your uninjured hand and started leading you toward gryffindor tower.

“harry, what are you doing?” you protested, though you didn’t pull away.

“i’m helping you,” he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.

in the gryffindor common room, he sat you down near the fire, fetched a first aid kit from his dorm, and knelt in front of you. his touch was gentle as he cleaned and bandaged your hand, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“you shouldn’t have been in there,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “this is my fault. i should’ve stopped her before it got this bad.”

“don’t blame yourself,” you said softly, your heart aching at the guilt in his voice. “it’s not your fault.”

he looked up at you then, his green eyes filled with something unreadable. the closeness made your breath hitch. you wanted to reach out, to brush a lock of his hair away from his face, but you didn’t trust yourself. not when every moment with him made you fall even harder.

“i should go,” you said abruptly, standing up.

harry blinked, startled. “what? why?”

you forced a weak smile. “i just… need some air.”

before he could protest, you slipped out of the common room, your heart pounding in your chest.

weeks passed after that night. you avoided harry as much as you could, though it hurt to see the confusion and hurt on his face whenever you brushed him off. valentine’s day came and went, and you heard whispers of harry and cho’s disastrous date. you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him about it, though the rumors suggested they weren’t speaking anymore.

then one evening, as you stood alone in the astronomy tower, gazing out at the stars, you heard footsteps behind you.

“i thought i’d find you here,” harry’s voice said softly.

you turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets. his expression was uncertain, almost nervous.

“harry—” you began, but he cut you off.

“why have you been avoiding me?” he asked, stepping closer. “did i do something wrong? if it’s about the d.a. or ron—he didn’t mean what he said about slytherins—”

“it’s not that,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“then what is it?” his voice cracked slightly, and the vulnerability in it broke your resolve.

tears pricked at your eyes as you turned away. “because it hurts, harry,” you admitted. “being around you hurts. you like cho, and every time i see you with her, it’s like a reminder that i’ll never—”

“stop,” he said, his voice firm but gentle.

you felt him step closer until he was right behind you. slowly, you turned to face him, and the look in his eyes stole your breath.

“i thought i liked cho,” he said, his voice low, “but i was wrong. it’s you. it’s always been you.”

your heart stopped. “what?”

“i didn’t realize it at first,” he admitted, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “but these past few weeks, when you weren’t there… i missed you. i wanted to see you, talk to you, make you laugh. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

his words left you speechless, your mind racing. before you could respond, he reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“is it too late?” he asked quietly.

instead of answering, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. the kiss was soft and hesitant at first, but it quickly deepened as you poured all your bottled-up emotions into it.

when you finally pulled away, harry rested his forehead against yours, a small, breathless smile on his lips.

“it’s not too late,” you whispered.

for the first time in what felt like forever, your heart felt whole again.

[peachiejeongin]

Crimson Christmas | Bang Chan

Day 8 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

Synopsis: It is time for the annual Stray Kids (plus one) gift exchange, and Bang Chan has an interesting gift up his sleeve for you.

Pairing: bf!Bang Chan x fem!gf!reader

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Suggestive

Warnings: Lingerie, allusions to sexual intercourse

Notice: Hello, darlings! Welcome to the eighth day of Staymas! This is the one and only truly "suggestive" fiction for this series, so....Merry Christmas, lol! Enjoy the reading, and check out the other stories if you would like to :)

The dorm was alive with festive energy, every corner glowing from the soft, golden twinkle of the Christmas lights. The scent of cinnamon candles mingled with the aroma of Christmas dinner. Blankets and pillows were strewn across the couches, a few draped haphazardly on the floor, where some of the Stray Kids members were already sprawled out.

You balanced a tray of steaming mugs, each topped with a creative swirl of whipped cream and crushed candy canes, carefully dodging an excited Han who was attempting to wrestle a pillow away from Seungmin.

"Felix, if we watch 'Home Alone' one more time, I'm going to scream," Seungmin grumbled grumpily, his tone as flat as ever. He narrowly avoided the pillow that Felix launched in retaliation.

"Leave him alone!" Hyunjin drawled from his self-designated throne of throw pillows near the fire place, his hair catching the flicker of the flames like a halo. "Let him live his festive truth!"

"Forget his festive truth," Minho reorted, reaching for a marshmallow from the tray you were precariously holding. "Let us live without the same movie on repeat each holiday season."

"Minho!" you scolded, twisting your body to save the tray from certain disaster. "If you don't let me put this down, you're all getting instant coffee instead of hot chocolate next year."

"Babe, you're doing amazing. Don't let them get to you." Chan, perched on the arm of the couch, chuckled softly at your exasperation.

Finally, you placed the tray on the coffee table, passing out the mugs one by one to a chorus of, "Thank you, y/n!" and exaggerated sighs of relief. Chan tugged you down beside him as soon as your hands were free, his arm slipping around your shoulders.

"You spoil them too much," he murmured, his lips barely brushing against your temple.

"That's what Christmas is for," you replied with a grin, gesturing towards the chaos as Felix launched into another impassioned defense of 'Home Alone.'

As the boys finally agreed on 'Elf', albeit, after much negotiation and a few suspicious rock-paper-scissors matches, you reached behind the couch and pulled out a stack of boxes. Each one was wrapped in crisp red paper with little silver ribbons tied in bows.

"Alright, children," you announced, setting the boxes down on the coffee table. "It's time for presents!"

They scrambled over the gifts like actual children, eagerly grabbing their boxes and tearing into them. Each box contained a matching pajama set, fluffy socks, and a small treat you had picked for each of them, such as a minature fox plush for Jeongin, a new sweets recipe notebook for Felix, and a scented candle for Changbin.

"Y/n, you're the best," Han declared, already pulling his socks on.

"This is so soft," Hyunjin announced, grinning as he held up his pajama top.

You basked in their delight, feeling the warm glow of satisfaction that came from making the people you love happy.

"Well, my love," Chan suddenly began. "We can't you go without a gift, now can we?" Chan reached behind the couch, pulling out his own gift box; this one was a chartreuse color, wrapped in a golden bow. Your name was scrawled on the tag in Chan's familiar handwriting.

"Let's see what the man of the house picked out for me," you teased, lifting the lid.

Inside was a pair of cozy flannel pajamas in a soft cream and emerald green pattern, folded neatly on top of a small bundle of tissue paper. You smiled, lifting the fabric to admire it, only to freeze as the tissue paper shifted, revealing something entirely unexpected.

Your breath caught as your fingers brushed against delicate lace, deep crimson and impossibly intricate. The lingerie set nestled beneath the pajamas was impossibly intimate, and your cheeks flamed the same color as realization hit.

You shot a wide-eyed glance at Chan, who was already watching you with a mischevious twinkle in his eyes. His lips quirked into a barely suppressed grin.

Before you could react, Seungmin, ever the curious one, leaned over to peek into the box.

"Wait, what is that-"

"Chan!" you exclaimed, slamming the lid shut with a sharp thud. "Not in front of the children!"

The room erupted into chaos. Han choked on a marshmallow, his laughter turning into wheezes as he rolled onto the floor. Changbin and Felix clutched their stomachs, their faces bright pink from laughing so hard.

"Chan!" Minho screeched, clutching his chest in mock scandal. "On Christmas Eve?! Really?!"

Hyunjin, the ever dramatic one, flopped onto the carpet with a hand over his heart.

"This is better than the movie," he declared, wiping a fake tear from his cheek.

Chan leaned closer to you, his face flushed but his grin shameless.

"What? It's festive."

"Festive is not the word I'd use," you muttered, glaring at him, though your lips betrayed you with a twitch of amusement.

The boys continued their exaggerated uproar, shouting over each other with increasingly dramatic reactions. Changbin gasped about being scarred while Jeongin muttered something about needing therapy.

Chan, unfazed by the chaos, pulled you closer, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, "Merry Christmas, baby."

You could not help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned into his warmth.

"You're unbelievable," you uttered quietly, a soft smile on your lips contrasting your stark words.

"Maybe I could make it up to you?" he questioned, his voice shushed to where only you could hear him. "I could always give you another present."

"Oh yeah?" you challenged. "Like what?"

"Well, I'd have to show you, but I will say you'll have to wear the present I got you in order to get it." Chan's eyes darkened slightly, yet the cheeky grin on his face was ever-present. You stared into his gaze, your face flushed but your lips twisted into a daring smirk.

"Deal," you agreed, eliciting an eyebrow raise and soft giggle from Chan as he pulled you closer into his embrace.

Despite the teasing, the laughter, and the absolute mayhem, you could not imagine a more perfect Christmas Eve.

[dorabellingham]

Christmas lunch

warning: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when you go to Real Madrid's famous end-of-year lunch and he takes the opportunity to introduce you to the team

request: yes!

may contain spelling and translation errors!

Your and Jude’s first Christmas together in Madrid was a special event. It was the first time you celebrated the holidays as a couple living outside of England, far from the family traditions you had both grown up with. The Christmas atmosphere in the Spanish city was different, but no less magical. Trees were lit up in the squares, the streets were bustling, and you were looking forward to a special reason: the traditional Real Madrid Christmas lunch, where you would meet Jude’s teammates and some of their families.

On the morning of the lunch, you were standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your emerald green dress, which was simply cut but elegant. Jude, sitting on the bed already dressed in a wool shirt and impeccable black tailored pants, watched his girlfriend with an admiring smile.

—You look amazing, babe. —He said, standing up to hug you from behind. —The guys are going to die of envy.

You laughed, a little nervously.

—I hope they like me... You know, I don't want to be just 'Jude's girlfriend'. I want them to see that I'm fun too.

—Trust me. —He replied, kissing the top of your head. —You're going to be the star of the lunch. Everyone will love you.

You left the house and, on the way to the event venue, you tried to relax, but your nervousness was evident. When you arrived, the reserved restaurant was beautifully decorated, with shades of gold and red, and a party atmosphere took over the place. As soon as you entered, you were warmly welcomed by Jude's teammates and their families.

The first to approach was Dani Carvajal, who smiled hugely when she saw Jude.

—Finally brought your girlfriend, huh, Bellingham? —He said, greeting her with two little kisses on the cheek. —Nice to meet you, Y/n. He only talks about you, you know?

You smiled awkwardly.

—Nice to meet you, Dani. I hope he only says good things.

—Oh, it depends on the day.

Dani joked, making everyone laugh.

Vinícius Jr. soon approached with his contagious energy. He hugged Jude as if they were brothers and then greeted you.

—So you’re the famous Y/n? Girl, Jude never shuts up about how amazing you are.

You laughed, feeling more at ease with the Brazilian’s relaxed manner.

—I hope I don’t disappoint after all this publicity.

—Impossible. —He replied, winking. —Welcome to our little chaos.

During lunch, you noticed how united the team was. Luka Modrić, with his calm and friendly manner, asked about your life in Madrid and how you were adapting. Eduardo Camavinga, young like Jude, made you laugh by telling you stories from behind the scenes of training. Even Carlo Ancelotti, the coach, made a point of greeting you.

When the main course was served, Vinícius Jr, who was really excited, raised a glass and made a brief toast to celebrate the team spirit and family.

—And to Y/n. —He added with a smile. —Who is already part of our family for being our Jude’s soulmate.

You blushed, but thanked him with a shy smile. Jude, next to you, squeezed your hand discreetly under the table.

While everyone was talking and laughing, Jude leaned towards you.

—See? I told you you would do well. They already love you, love.

You smiled, leaning towards him.

—They are amazing. But I still think I’m here because I’m your girlfriend.

Jude chuckled softly.

—You are my girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a star on your own. Look how they’re laughing at your jokes.

You looked at the table, where Dani, Vinícius and Camavinga were laughing at something you had said moments before. It was true. You felt accepted, more than you expected.

After lunch, while the players took pictures with their families and joked around with each other, you and Jude posed together for a photo. He put his arm around your waist, while you smiled for the camera.

—First Christmas together in Madrid!

He said softly, looking at you.

—And the first of many!

You replied, leaning your head on his shoulder.

When you got home that night, you took off your shoes and threw yourself on the couch, relieved and happy.

—They’re so nice, Jude. It was so much better than I expected.

Jude sat down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

—I knew it would be like this. You win everyone over without even trying, sweetie.

You sighed, satisfied.

—You know, I was afraid I wouldn’t feel at home here in Madrid. But I guess, with you and the people around us, it’s starting to feel like my place.

Jude kissed the top of your head, smiling.

—Because it’s your place. Wherever we are, Y/n, you’ll always be my home.

And so, your first Christmas together in Madrid became an unforgettable memory, a milestone in the beginning of the new life you were building together.

[wifelivvyx]

can you write George Weasley scenario where george x y/n (rich pireblood slytherin) are in relationship, they are kissing in corridor and umbridge break them apart with a spell then she gives y/n that she deserves much better than George. Thank you 🩷

The dimly lit corridor of Hogwarts was quiet, save for the faint rustle of robes and the soft echoes of footsteps far in the distance. George Weasley leaned casually against the cool stone wall, his fiery red hair tousled as always, his mischievous grin firmly in place. He reached out, pulling Y/N closer, their fingers brushing before she relented and stepped into his arms.

“You know,” Y/N said, tilting her head slightly, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement, “if we get caught, it’s your fault.”

George smirked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Worth it.”

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that made her momentarily forget where they were. In that moment, house rivalries, the chaos of Hogwarts, and everything else faded away.

Until—

“Depulso!”

A bright light shot between them, forcing them apart as a magical force yanked them away from each other. George stumbled slightly, catching himself against the wall, while Y/N gasped, her heart racing as her wand slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

Standing a few feet away, wand raised and an expression of smug triumph on her toad-like face, was Dolores Umbridge. Her pink cardigan and prim bow seemed even more grotesque under the flickering torchlight.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her high-pitched voice oozing with false sweetness. “What do we have here? A little… interhouse fraternization, shall we call it?”

Y/N straightened, brushing her robes as she glared at the woman. “Professor, with all due respect—”

“Oh, no need to explain, my dear,” Umbridge interrupted, cutting her off with a sickening smile. She turned her beady eyes to George, her gaze dripping with disdain. “A Weasley, of all people. How utterly… disappointing.”

George clenched his fists, but his voice was calm, though biting. “Didn’t realize my name offended you so much, Professor.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed as her smile widened, a dangerous combination. “Miss Y/L/N,” she said, ignoring George entirely, “you are a pureblood. A young lady of your standing should know better than to squander your time on… well…” She gave George a once-over, her nose wrinkling as though she’d caught a whiff of dungbombs. “This sort.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Professor,” she said evenly, stepping forward, “I don’t believe who I spend my time with is any of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is,” Umbridge said, her tone turning syrupy with mock concern. “Someone of your breeding deserves so much better. Tradition, status, and decorum must be upheld, after all. A Weasley could never hope to understand the significance of such things.”

George stepped forward, his voice sharper now. “I think Y/N deserves someone who treats her like a person, not a prize for her bloodline.”

Umbridge’s smile finally faltered, replaced by a cold, steely glare. “Ten points from Gryffindor,” she snapped. “For your insolence, Mr. Weasley. And Miss Y/L/N…” Her voice dripped with condescension. “You will report to my office tomorrow for a discussion on appropriate behavior.”

With a flick of her wand, Umbridge turned on her heel and marched away, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor.

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, George turned to Y/N, his jaw still tight. “Are you okay?”

Y/N exhaled slowly, picking up her wand. “I’m fine. Just furious.”

“She’s a nightmare,” George muttered, his hands running through his hair. “And I don’t care what she says. You’re way too good for her, not me.”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping closer. “She can say what she wants. It doesn’t change anything.”

George’s grin returned, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes rekindling. “That’s my girl.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly before pulling him into another kiss—this time making sure they’d hear anyone coming.

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

Hello💜 I know I basically just put in a request BUT I had this in mind for long and I just saw that you're doing AU's, soooo...

It takes place in Sonic Prime, it's just a bit different. First difference is that there are multiple universes (I'm counting the whole world from Sonic Prime as only one of them) snd every one of them has a crystal and it's handler. The crystals of different universes can do different things, but basically, the more complexed the world, the more powerful the crystal. It's handler has to protect it and can also make use of more of it's power then others who want to try it (like Nine or C.C.).

The handler of the Prime universe was Shadow and the handler of the "Earth" universe is the reader. They kind of met when one of them was exploring the others universe and became friends.

Because Shadow managed to lose the crystal (I don't remember it's name) and the Chaos Emerald, he wasn't really able to contact the reader in anyway.

The fight also went a bit different - Nine was too late to realised that what he was doing was wrong, just as the last of their universe was about to shatter, so Shadow used that crystal and managed to transport everyone to reader's house, sadly losing his and his friends universe at the end.

So the main story starts when reader was basically chilling in their house (it's far from others and quite big, so there won't be any issue with that), when suddenly everyone from that battlefield teleported there. Shadow introduces them and asks for reader's help in giving them a new home

Hope you understood it, I can't wait to see you make it😁 Love ya🥰

“No Way Back…”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Human Reader

AU: “Keepers of the Crystals”

Requested: Yes (by @grapegirlpoland ).

Description: Well. You definitely didn’t expect to become the keeper of a bunch of Mobians. But life is just the strangest thing ever, isn’t it?

Notes: My first AU request!!! I really hope I do this one well! Hope you enjoy! ^^

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Something was wrong.

You could just feel it.

Your danger sense was just telling you that something was about to happen.

So you set your book down and rushed outside from your house (which was in the middle of nowhere, and for good reason).

Before you can do so much as blink, a bunch of mobians are in front of your house, along with five strange-looking humans.

In the middle of them all is one you recognize, that being a very exhausted Shadow, who was the guardian of the Paradox Prism.

You only knew him because you had visited his world before a few times, but you had visited less and less due to you having to guard the Earth’s special crystal, known as the Earthly Emerald.

“Shadow! What the heck happened?!” you ask, rushing over to him.

He lets out a few sharp exhales, out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters out after he catches his breath. “I couldn’t protect the Prism. It…It’s been destroyed.”

“That explains all of the mobians on my doorstep…” you mutter.

“I’m sorry. I thought your place was the safest bet for where we could stay,” Shadow says.

You let out a sigh.

“You all can stay. But I’m in charge,” you say. “No fighting, no leaving the house, and no murder. And don’t touch the Earthly Emerald. I will know if you’ve gone near it.”

“Thank you, [Name],” Shadow says.

“I’m not sharing a room with any of you,” one of the two-tailed foxes states.

“That’s fine, I’ll just set up room preparations…” you mutter. “You, Shadow, are lucky I have a big house in the middle of nowhere, and that I like you.”

“Ooooh, Shads is in lo-ove!~” Sonic teases.

Shadow lets out a yell and jumps onto Sonic, who screams, a cloud of smoke appearing around the two as they fight, causing you to facepalm.

You go to the side of your house and turn on your hose, spraying the two hedgehogs, getting them to stop fighting.

This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

But you would manage.

[ghostlyvoidbones]

Sonadow Lovebug AU - Pt. 3

a/n: Right so I have no excuses. It started- it started... look this chapter was supposed to be simple with just a teensy bit of action. I don't know what happened. I got flustered. Just take it. Take it and don't look at me-

summary: Sonic is made aware of Shadow's... situation. He's just as confused. Then he is flustered. Shadow is completely lost in the sauce.

contains: Shadow's drug induced delusions, dubious consensual light touching, uncomfortable situation, one sided affections, unwilling affection (given and received).

wc: 3K

Rouge’s phone call to Sonic had been short and… telling.

She’d asked Sonic if he and Shadow were dating and the answer she got was a resounding no. She even made sure to ask four times just to make sure. She’d only stopped when Sonic cut her off to check if she was feeling alright or if she was in danger. 

It was safe to say that whatever happened yesterday, it was definitely doing something strange to Shadow. Which made the situation all the more urgent.

Clad in her usual outfit, Rouge made her way back to the living room, careful to keep a calm exterior. She would not be bringing up the phone call with Sonic. After all, based on Shadow’s previous reaction to her poking at the subject, it seemed like a smart idea not to mention it.

Shadow was exactly where she’d left him earlier, a deep set frown on his face as he looked down at his phone screen.

“Everything alright?”

“I can’t find any pictures on here either.”

“Right. You can worry about that later, right now we have work to do.” She sidestepped to be next to him, hand perched on her hip. “Do you remember where you were yesterday when you had that dizzy spell?”

He did look up for that one “Yes. I was with Sonic.”

Rouge had to physically fight the urge to face palm. Now that she had a vague idea of what was going on, she couldn’t believe she didn’t notice how weird Shadow had been acting since earlier. Instead she let out a soft sigh, rolling her shoulders and redirecting the conversation back on topic.

Hopefully this wouldn't be a common trend throughout the day.

“No, as in the location. Do you know the coordinates?”

Shadow drooped minutely at the subject change. “I do.”

“Wonderful, let’s start there.”

Shadow nodded and tucked his phone away, pulling out his favored chaos emerald in its place. Rouge braced herself for the swooping feeling in her gut and prickling buzz of teleportation as Shadow called out ‘chaos control.’ The fuzz in her vision lasted for half a second and she blinked it away, expecting to see trees or a grassy hill.

What she got instead was a face full of Sonic the Hedgehog.

Sonic blinked at the newcomers from where he sat on the couch of his own living room, a spoon held up halfway to his open mouth. Rouge knew her expression mirrored the hero’s, and even more infuriatingly, she knew that the hedgehog beside her wasn’t phased in the slightest.

They needed to get this issue with Shadow’s head taken care of. Like now.

“Uh… hey guys.” Sonic gave them a small wave, confusion evident in his lopsided smile. “Nice of you to drop in?”

“Hmmm, yes.” The strained smile Rouge returned came off as more of a pained grimace. “One second.”

With that, she twisted around, snatching Shadow by the shoulder and yanking him along with her. Scooting forward a bit further away, she pulled him down into a huddle.

“Shadow, I know for a fact you never went to Sonic’s house yesterday. Which begs the question; why are we at Sonic’s house right now?!” She hissed out, piercing her friend with a searing glare.

Not that it bothered Shadow in any way. The hedgehog in question was blatantly trying to twist his head back around to look at Sonic.

“I told you I was with Sonic. I was reminded of it so I must have unintentionally imagined being where he is now instead of where we’d been yesterday.” Rouge gaped at him. “That works well enough. Sonic can come with us.”

It was then that Rouge realized this wasn’t going to work out. With Shadow being like this, there was no way he was going to be able to get anything done. So, throwing caution to the wind, she straightened back up and turned to face the blue blur.

“Sonic, I need your help.” 

At the serious tone of her voice, lacking her usual teasing lilt, Sonic placed his bowl down on the coffee table in front of him and stood up. “Sure, what do you need?”

“Shadow said that he had a dizzy spell when he was with you yesterday and I think something… weird happened to him. Can you tell me where you both were when that happened?”

Recognition fluttered across his features. “Oh! Yeah, after we finished our race, right?” He addressed Shadow at that part who nodded dumbly, gaze transfixed by every single motion Sonic made. “I think we were on top of that one hill by the loop-de-loop. The one with the daffodils.”

“Okay, I know where that is. Thank you.” Rouge began making her way over to one of the windows, fiddling with the latch and pulling it open.

“No problem, but uh… what’s going on with Shadow, exactly?”

“He’s delusional. We were supposed to go together but now we’re here instead. Whatever happened yesterday messed with his head and he can’t think straight.” She paused for a second, coughing through a small chuckle. “Since he clearly can’t do any investigating himself, do you think you can keep an eye on him until I come back?”

“Uh, sure? What kind of delusional are we talking about here?”

She only gave him a pitying look. “Oh, right. Call Tails, we might need his Science know-how to figure out what’s going on with Shadow.” Then she was out the window without another word.

Deciding to just go with it, Sonic turned back to Shadow, trying to figure out where the issue was. He was slow to realize that Shadow hadn’t taken his eyes off him since the two G.U.N. agents got there.

“Everything alright there, Shadow? Rouge looked pretty stressed out.”

“I told her I was perfectly functional.” Shadow lightly shook his head, casting a brief frown at the window Rouge left from. “She’s being dramatic because I failed to inform her about every little thing that goes on in my private life.”

“That doesn’t really sound like Rouge.” Sonic tapped his chin in thought. “What kind of thing was it?”

He asked because he was curious, despite knowing full well that Shadow’s response would be along the lines of ‘none of your business hedgehog.’ Only to be pleasantly surprised at the genuine answer he received.

“She accused me of lying about our relationship.” Shadow huffed out a displeased sound. 

“What did you say to her about it that she got so suspicious of you?” Sonic raised a brow, a smirk playing on his muzzle.

Shadow sighed. “I let it slip that we’re romantically involved.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I’m sorry,” Sonic began, after a while of trying to get his jaw unstuck, “we’re what?”

“In a romantic relationship.” The statement was delivered in Shadows' usual deadpan tone. A part of Sonic felt like he heard a joke, and admittedly a very strange one. But the serious look on the other’s face made it clear that it was anything but.

“Shadow… we’re not… dating.” Sonic said, slow and careful. Unless he’d missed something extremely important, he was pretty sure that was the truth.

Shadow’s eyes narrowed on him, nose scrunching up and gloved hands balling into fists at his sides. “Yes we are, Sonic. At the very least, I thought you would know that.”

“I thought I would know that too.” Sonic mumbled under his breath, “Which is why I’m so confused right now.”

Rouge had mentioned that Shadow was delusional, but this? It felt a bit too much, even for him.

Sonic knew Shadow was a good guy at heart. After all, he saved people almost as much as Sonic did, even though he wasn’t the type to talk about it. But the thing was, Sonic also knew that Shadow greeted him with a fist to the face over a friendly wave one too many times for their relationship to be anything even remotely close to something so emotionally intimate as dating.

Going over all their past interactions in his head, he couldn’t pinpoint a single time where they’d talked about being together. Even Sonic’s attempts at being friends never ended well. And this definitely wasn’t the sort of thing Shadow would ever joke about, so Sonic quickly understood why Rouge was so thrown off. Her earlier phone call made a lot more sense too, now what he thought about it.

And if this was someone messing with Shadow’s head, why make him think he was dating Sonic? Why make him think he was dating anyone in general?

Sonic eased up. Shadow wasn’t in his right mind, but that was ok. He said he’d help and he meant it. And despite how heavily in denial Shadow was about it, Sonic still saw them as friends and wouldn't leave him stranded in a situation like this.

“Hey, uh… I’m gonna go get Tails real quick. I can see Rouge was right, something’s obviously going on, so I think he’d be a big help. I’ll just run out, grab him, and come right back, okay?” Sonic pinned an easy smile on his face while jutting a thumb over his shoulder at the front door.

Shadow took an immediate step forward toward Sonic, red eyes fixed on the blue hedgehog with sharp clarity. “I’ll go with you.”

Sonic unconsciously took a step back. “You really don’t have to do that. You know me, I’ll be back in a flash! You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Shadow followed, one step closer. “I can keep up, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t see why I need to wait here for you.”

 “Seriously Shads-” Shadow’s ear flicked at the nickname, Sonic now holding his hands up in a somewhat placating gesture. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Another step forward. “You’re avoiding me.”

A step back. “No, I’m not!”

So close, a hand reached out and fingertips nearly grazed blue fur. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one acting-” The back of Sonic’s knees hit the corner of the coffee table and it almost made him buckle to the floor. Instead, his feet tripped over themselves and he stumbled.

In one, fluid movement, Shadow’s gloved hands glided along the fur of Sonic’s arms, stopping beneath his elbows to help him correct his balance. The hold was firm and Sonic felt it when they slid up to gently squeeze his forearms. 

“If you’re going to avoid me, at least be careful not to hurt yourself when you do it.”

Sonic’s fur stood on end and he pushed out of Shadow’s grip. He rounded the coffee table to stand on the opposite side, keeping the low piece of furniture between the two of them.

“Y’know what? I think I’ll just call him.”

Spinning around with his back to Shadow, Sonic pulled out his phone and frantically dialed Tails’ number. He refused to turn and look at the other hedgehog and tried to brush off the feeling of eyes burning holes into his back from behind him.

Breathing out a sigh of relief when the call went through, he spoke quickly to the voice on the other end.

“Heyyyyy bud! I’m at my place right now and I’m gonna need you over here pronto. Yeah. No, Shadow’s here too, uh- Rouge thinks Shadow’s been… Look, somethings up with him and we’re really hoping you might have something that can help work out what’s going on.” He caught the low scoff from behind him and pressed on. “So if you could come by as soon as you can that would be- yeah, yeah that sounds great! Thanks Tails, knew I could count on you. See you in a bit.”

When the call ended, Sonic finally dared to look back over at Shadow. He’d managed to also circle round the table and get closer to where the hero stood, but he wasn’t so close that he was in danger of invading Sonic’s personal bubble.

“Honestly, you’re being ridiculous.” His features settled on something neutral, arms crossed as he held Sonic’s gaze, but there was a twinge of irritation there. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but we should be able to work this out with having others interfering.”

“I’m being ridiculous?” Sonic eyed him warily, paying close attention to Shadow’s body language. “Shadow, why do you think we’re dating?”

The dark hedgehog was painfully unamused but seemed willing to entertain Sonic’s sudden denial of their relationship.

“I don’t know, perhaps the numerous dates? The special occasions we’ve celebrated together? Or maybe even the multitude of private moments we’ve shared? That all sounds pretty self explanatory to me.” There’s a bite to his words, brought out further by the way Shadow practically bared his teeth while he spoke.

Yup, Sonic can confidently say that he can’t remember doing any of those things. Whatever it was that made Shadow believe they were together was definitely doing its work. Especially if he’d not only just re-contextualized old memories but also, from what it sounded like, created brand new ones that never actually occurred.

Right now, all he could do was hope that Rouge managed to find a lead. And with Tails help, they should be able to start working on a solution to get Shadow back to normal. Not that having a Shadow that likes him isn’t nice, but the sudden affection and responsibility of a relationship was something Sonic really wasn’t prepared to handle.

Besides, all of these thoughts and memories are happening against Shadow’s will. He was pretty much manipulated by some external force into believing he was close and intimate with someone he wouldn’t be with outside of its influence. Deep down, Shadow could probably still recognize that and feel horrified at it. He wasn’t someone who liked being vulnerable with others and this was violating that part of him.

Sonic’s jaw tightened, sympathy swirling in emerald green eyes as he thought about what this situation meant for Shadow. Letting out a sigh, he closed the gap between them to place a comforting hand on Shadow’s shoulder.

“Listen. I don’t really know what’s doing this to you buddy, but I promise we’ll figure this out.” Sonic gave him a reassuring smile, thinking it would help ease his friend at least the tiniest bit. 

Although, he couldn’t tell if it was working with the other’s frown still firmly in place.

“I’m not your buddy.” Shadow gritted out lowly, almost spitting out the word ‘buddy’ like it personally offended him. His hand reached up to rest over where Sonic’s still sat on his shoulder. “And your nonsense is starting to get on my nerves.”

With a swift, smooth tug, Shadow pulled Sonic closer. Sonic’s breath caught as he fell forward, their chests bumping and faces so close he could smell the strong scent of lavender drifting from the ebony of Shadow’s fur.

“If you weren’t so cute, I’d do something about it.” 

Shadow's voice, with its rough and deep timbre, rumbled in Sonic’s ear and made it swivel away from the invasive sound. Even if hadn’t heard it, he felt the vibrations from his chest. Then the hand that wasn’t holding Sonic’s captive in the air came to rest on his waist, curling into the blue fur just below Sonic’s rib cage.

A violent shiver rippled through him and his face burned. The resulting flush turned the peach of his muzzle a whole shade darker.

“Woah-ho-ho okayyy. H-hey, let’s maybe calm down a bit there.” Sonic couldn’t help the way his voice pitched up nervously. He tried to carefully pull out of Shadow’s grip only to feel it tighten.

“I am calm.” Shadow certainly sounded like it, which really wasn’t helping. “Now tell me why you’re avoiding me.”

Sonic’s senses were full of lavender, gunpowder, and a faint undercurrent of coffee. He could feel the warm brush of breath against his cheek and his head spun so fast it rivaled the dizziness he experienced after going a few rounds through the loop-de-loop.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not!”

“Sonic-”

“Fine.”

Sonic ripped himself out of Shadow’s grip, leaving the darker hedgehog’s hands hovering in the air where they once held onto him. The deep breath Sonic took was that of a drowning person getting their first gulp of air after escaping a powerful ocean current.

“Fine, ok. Yes, yeah, I am. But it’s because you’re-” His hands floundered around. “I’m uncomfortable. And I’m not… the biggest fan of the situation we’re in right now. There, happy?”

“Not really. I don’t feel particularly good when you’re upset.” Shadow’s brows furrowed, arms finally dropping back down to his sides. “What ‘situation’ are you talking about? You’re still not telling me what’s going on.”

And if Sonic were to consider things from Shadow’s perspective, that was a fair argument to make. Which made this all the more difficult. Especially when ‘we were never dating’ doesn’t seem to be cutting it as a reason on its own.

“This, Shadow, you- I’m not used to you being so… affectionate? Clingy?” Shadow huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes.

“I am not clingy.” Sonic pointed to where Shadow had subtly started trying to reach for him once again. “That doesn’t count. I’m trying to keep you from running away from me.”

Sonic threw his arms up in the air. “I’m literally not going anywhere! I can’t leave because I’m waiting for Tails to get here! So I can tell him what’s going on! Because I don’t even know what’s going on!”

Shadow’s advances stopped. A flicker of concern passed over his face as he watched Sonic grow more and more frazzled with each sentence that came out of his mouth. A look that was unusual on the usually carefree hero.

“I think you should sit down. You’re getting worked up and I’m concerned you’re going to pass out.” Shadow’s tone was light and it helped bring the blue hedgehog back from the near panic he’d started spiraling into.

Sonic took a deep breath and gave a slow nod of his head. “Y’know what? Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

Rubbing the ridge of his muzzle to try dispelling the oncoming headache blooming behind his eyes, Sonic headed over to the couch. He swiveled on his foot and let himself fall back onto the cushions, to immediately find something was out of place. Staring up at the ceiling, he took note of how he was supposed to be more far back than this.

“Shadow.”

“Yes, Sonic?”

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting with you. Obviously.”

“Right. I meant, why am I on your lap?”

“Because it’s more comfortable this way.”

Sonic didn’t even jump when he felt those familiar arms snaking across his stomach and locking him in place. His back was pressed to the soft white fluff of Shadow’s chest fur and the scent of lavender returned to tease at his nose.

“There’s so much room on this couch Shads. You can literally sit anywhere and still be next to me without having us be on top of each other like this.”

“But you wouldn’t be in my arms then, would you.” Shadow commented loosely, tucking his face into the safe spot between Sonic’s shoulder and his quills.

Sonic smothered his own face into his gloves, curling as far forward and away as his current position would allow. 

“This is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday.”

*

When Tails finally arrived not too long after, needless to say the sight that greeted him was a shock. The fox would never forget the pitiful little ‘help’ Sonic directed his way as he was being cuddled on the couch by a very content looking Shadow.

<< PREV / NEXT >>

[blackenedsnow]

IT'S ME AGAIN! YES I KEPT THE PROMISE AND I HAVE AN IDEA AGAIN BUT THE OTHER FIC INFECTED ME SO BAD I HAD TO GIVE PART 2 OR SUM?!?!? And I see that you have A LOT of request lately please do take care of yourself sometimes! 🤍

Anyways hold your tits! I'm explaining the part 2 of forgotten project AKA Raiden shogun!reader, (I don't know if you've ever received a request about yandere sonic characters or a love triangle with sonic characters but being the first one is flattering for me 😼)

After the massive attack on the city and litte bit of drama teader and shadow made up with each other (she made peace with Sonic, of course, and she apologized all of them) months later they all wanted to hang out together it was of course Amy's idea, but reader didn't know shadow was starting to like her...but I think it is little to like he was obsessed with her, Knuckles were coming from behind shadow because every day she and him would go to protect Chaos Emerald(s) on the angel island. And Shadow and Reader would hangout in a quiet place talk about their past or what happened to her after 50 years ago. Anyway, I'm getting to the point. They all came to the picnic together (she convinced/begged shadow and knuckles to come to the picnic) but there was only one problem..reader was getting a princess treatment by the two of course reader was cold to them because she was surprised like.....lemme give a scenario ↓

↝Reader didn't know how to tie shoelaces while everyone was waiting in the car she was in her room trying to tie their laces, then shadow and knuckles came into the room a few minutes later, and when shadow saw her pathetic state, she put him on the bed and tied her shoelaces as knuckles brushed her hair cuz her hair was messy, after doing their princess treatment for her she stared at them for a while before immediately leaving the room.

It may seem normal, but you can't call it normal when an obsessive person falls in love with you, but let's say reader/she already has a boyfriend, she was hanging out with her boyfriend, shadow and knuckles were watching them in the shadows/dark places.

One day when reader came to her house which is all of the sonic team lived of course they we're outside so sonics werent home,she was tired because of her last mission but when she entered the kitchen she found her boyfriend dead on the floor the blood was everywhere she trembled and dropped the bag in her hand to the floor, just as she was about to ran away, she turned to her back and there were two shadows infront of her..she closed her eyes after screaming for help.

I LEAVE THE REST TO YOU BECAUSE SOMETIMES YOUR FICS CAN BE SO TERRIBLE (what I mean, it can be so scary that I think of a lot of ideas, long story short..youre doing it perfectly)THAT MAYBE I CAN COME BACK WITH ANOTHER IDEA WHICH IS PART 3 OR SUM BUT I DON'T WANT TO BOTHER YOU!! PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR HEALTH!! TAKE CARE!! 🤍

twisted

WARNING: Yandere behavior, obsession, possessive behavior, murder, gore, violence, angst, manipulation

PAIRING: Yandere! Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader, Yandere! Knuckles the Echidna x Reader

NOTE: I'm so happy to see you again, and I’m thrilled you enjoyed the first part! Your idea for the continuation is absolutely amazing, and I loved writing it! Thank you so much for your kind words; I’m definitely taking care of myself too! Hope you enjoy part two! 🤍

SUMMARY: After the battle for peace, things should have returned to normal. But obsession runs deep.

FIRST PART: Here

The sky over Angel Island was a quiet expanse of blue, broken only by the distant cry of birds. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded months earlier—the storm, the destruction, the agony that had coursed through your veins like lightning. Now, the world had quieted. You had quieted. But in the silence, something far more sinister was brewing.

You glanced at Shadow, walking beside you in the stillness. His eyes were focused ahead, sharp and brooding as always, but there was a weight in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. His presence was more intense, his proximity something you could feel even when he wasn’t touching you.

There had been a time when his company brought a strange sense of comfort, his silent understanding of the chaos within you something you had clung to. But lately, that comfort had begun to morph into something else—something darker, more suffocating.

Knuckles appeared behind you both, his usual gruff demeanor softened as he fell into step beside you. He had become your protector in recent months, always by your side when you made the daily trip to the Master Emerald. His presence was different from Shadow’s—warm, grounded, safe. But even his quiet companionship had taken on an edge, a possessiveness that unsettled you.

You’d been so focused on piecing yourself back together after everything that had happened that you hadn’t noticed the shift between them.

A picnic. A simple suggestion from Amy, who always seemed to know how to bring everyone together. It had been months since the attack, and she wanted things to feel normal again—to heal the rift between you and the others. Sonic had forgiven you, of course, with his usual breezy smile, as if the destruction you’d caused had been a bad dream. Tails had been cautious, but understanding. The others had followed suit, but things between you and Shadow had... changed.

And Knuckles—sweet, stoic Knuckles—had become something of a quiet shadow himself. Always there, always watching.

Now, the two of them flanked you as you all made your way to meet the others, the air tense with something unspoken. You were lost in thought, your fingers fidgeting with the laces of your boots as you had stopped walking to tie them. The delicate motion distracted you from the strange tension building between your two companions.

The sun was no longer warm on your back as you had reached your room, but the laces still wouldn’t cooperate. Your fingers fumbled again and again, tying knots that weren’t quite right, your frustration mounting with every failed attempt.

Just as you were about to give up, a voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "Need help with that?"

Shadow’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, low and calm. He was already standing by the door, watching you with that unreadable look he always had.

You didn’t answer, but before you could react, he was there. In a blur of movement, he was in front of you, kneeling down. Without a word, his gloved hands moved over your boots, undoing the messy knots you had made. His touch was firm, precise, and his closeness sent a strange chill down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come.

And then, as if the atmosphere wasn’t already thick enough, Knuckles entered the room.

You hadn’t even heard him approach, but suddenly he was there, his large, strong hands reaching out to gather your hair. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his touch, surprisingly gentle for someone with such raw strength. You hadn’t realized your hair had gotten tangled, hadn’t felt the knots forming in the strands, but he worked through them with an almost methodical care. His fingers brushed against your neck, feather-light and deliberate, the sensation making your skin prickle with a strange mixture of unease and warmth.

You stared at the two of them—Shadow tying your laces with mechanical precision, Knuckles carefully brushing your hair, their actions so casual yet so heavy with meaning. You should have felt comforted by their care, but instead, unease twisted inside you like a vice.

“There,” Shadow said, his voice soft but steady. He rose to his feet, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth that made your pulse quicken.

Knuckles was silent as he finished with your hair, stepping back just enough to let his hand linger on your shoulder, a quiet reminder that he was still there.

For a long moment, the room was thick with tension, their presence pressing in on you from both sides. You could feel the weight of their stares, as if they were waiting for something—waiting for you to say or do anything.

You forced a smile, standing quickly and brushing past them. "I’m... going to get my bag. We should head out."

The picnic was a welcome distraction, but the air was still heavy with an undercurrent you couldn’t ignore. Shadow and Knuckles stayed close, hovering like silent sentinels while the others laughed and talked as if everything were normal. Amy was her usual bright self, Sonic’s laughter ringing through the air as he teased her. Tails was chatting with Cream, and everything seemed perfect on the surface.

Except you weren’t sure what was real anymore.

Shadow’s dark eyes followed you everywhere, a silent intensity behind them that made you feel like prey. And Knuckles... He was different, too. His usual grounded presence felt more like a protective cage, his every glance heavy with meaning.

But it wasn’t until later—when you found yourself alone in the quiet shade of a tree with Shadow—that things began to unravel.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Shadow said quietly, his voice deep and soft as the two of you sat under the trees. His eyes were piercing, and there was something dangerous beneath his calm tone. "You’ve changed. We’ve changed."

Your heart raced in your chest, and you swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, pinning you to the spot.

“We’ve both been through hell, haven’t we?" he continued, his hand brushing against yours, his touch cold and firm. "But I’ve realized... you’re the only one who understands.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with an implication you didn’t want to acknowledge. You pulled your hand away from his, standing quickly as the unease in your stomach twisted into something darker.

"Shadow, I—"

Before you could finish, Knuckles appeared, his eyes narrowing as he saw the two of you together. His usual calm demeanor had a sharp edge to it now, and for a moment, you could feel the tension between him and Shadow flare like a fire ready to burn out of control.

The following weeks were a blur of confusion and tension. Shadow and Knuckles were always there, always watching, always too close. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing—that they were just being protective after everything that had happened. That they were just being good friends, looking out for you.

But then there was your boyfriend—the one source of normalcy in your chaotic life. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that things could still be okay. You spent time with him whenever you could, clinging to the feeling of peace he brought.

But Shadow and Knuckles... they didn’t like it.

They would watch you from the shadows, their eyes always on you when you were with him. Their jealousy was palpable, their obsession growing with every passing day. And you... you somehow noticed everything except for that.

One night, you returned home late, exhausted from whatever the hell it was you were doing. The house was quiet, too quiet. You set your bag down on the kitchen table, rubbing your temples as you tried to shake off the lingering fatigue.

That’s when you saw him.

Your boyfriend. Lying on the kitchen floor, motionless. His body twisted in a way that no living person could survive. Blood pooled around him, staining the floor, the scent of death thick in the air.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as terror clawed at your insides.

"No... no, no, no..." You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch him—only to pull back as the reality of the scene hit you like a sledgehammer.

He was dead.

The blood... it was everywhere.

Before you could react, a shadow fell over you. You turned, your heart slamming against your ribs as two figures emerged from the darkness—Shadow and Knuckles, their expressions cold, unreadable.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice trembling, your eyes wide with disbelief. "Why did you—?"

Your world shattered in an instant. The weight of your boyfriend’s lifeless body lay heavy in your mind, the blood on the floor an all-too-vivid reminder of what had just been taken from you. It was impossible to process—the violence, the senselessness, the betrayal. You couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Knuckles and Shadow stood before you, shadows in the dim light of your kitchen, their figures imposing and silent. The air was suffocating, the silence more deafening than any words they could have spoken. It felt like time had slowed to a crawl, the seconds stretching into painful, excruciating moments where nothing made sense.

Your voice cracked as you tried to find words that wouldn’t come. "Why...?" you whispered again, your gaze flicking between the two of them. Their expressions—so cold, so calculated—stopped you in your tracks. This wasn’t them. This couldn’t be them.

But it was.

Shadow was the first to speak, his voice low and eerily calm. “It had to be done.”

His words sliced through the air like a blade, their weight knocking the breath from your lungs. You recoiled, stumbling back from your boyfriend’s body, as if distance might somehow undo what had already been done.

Knuckles, ever stoic, looked down at you with something far more unsettling than anger. There was no regret in his eyes, no hesitation in his stance. “He was in the way. We couldn’t let him hurt you.”

"Hurt me?" The words felt foreign on your tongue, your mind reeling. You had been through so much, survived countless battles and moments of chaos, but this—this was a different kind of horror. "He didn’t... he wouldn’t..."

Shadow stepped forward, his presence overwhelming in the small space, his red eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. "You don’t understand. We had to protect you. He was weak. You deserve more than that."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head in disbelief. "Protect me? You—You killed him! How is that protecting me?"

Knuckles knelt beside you, his frame making the room feel even smaller. His hand reached out, brushing against your cheek with surprising gentleness. “We did what we had to. You’ve been through so much, and we can’t let anything hurt you again.”

But it wasn’t comfort you felt from his touch. It was dread. Every word they spoke sent chills down your spine, their distorted sense of protection wrapping around you like a noose.

"You’re safe now," Shadow added, his voice unwavering. “With us.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the panic setting in fully. Safe? Safe from what? From them? The very people who had taken everything from you in the name of protection? You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, the room spinning around you as the full weight of the situation pressed down on you.

"Please," you begged, your voice shaking, "this isn’t what I want. You’ve... you've gone too far."

But they didn’t hear you. Or worse—they heard you, and they didn’t care.

Shadow’s hand closed around your arm, his grip firm but not painful, as if he believed what he was doing was for your own good. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore."

Knuckles rose to his feet, towering over you, his expression softening just a fraction. “We’ll take care of you. No one else can do that like we can.”

It was suffocating, the weight of their presence, their obsession. How had you missed it? How had things gone so wrong?

You tried to pull away, your breath coming in short, frantic bursts, but their grip—both literal and metaphorical—was unyielding. You were trapped, caught in a web you hadn’t even realized had been spun around you.

"I didn’t want this," you choked out, tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of the situation settled in. "I never wanted this."

But your protests fell on deaf ears.

Shadow’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and for a moment, you thought you saw something normal beneath the intensity—a flash of something almost like tenderness. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same unwavering determination.

"You’ll understand in time," he said, his voice almost... soothing. "We’re doing this for you."

Knuckles stepped closer, his large hand resting on your shoulder again, his strength radiating from him like a silent promise. “We won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

But in that moment, you realized the truth. The ones who were hurting you... were standing right in front of you.

[lavenderfields14]

From the back they could almost be mistaken for siblings. Maybe if Harry smoothed his hair down a little or if Tom mussed his own a bit.

But from far away, no matter how much the Slytherin towered over the Griffyndor, it was easy to notice the similarities: the pale skin of summers spent indoors at the orphanage, the inky hair of different genetics, the gangly, malnourished bodies of being under fed for eleven years.

It also didn't help their case that they acted so similar. Granted, Harry had a more natural chaos about him and Tom a certain superiority in his voice. But the hand gestures they made, the cool, calm voices, the straight backs and raised noses. They played off of one another in every scenario whether it be a duel or a potion, a praise or an insult, they complemented each other beautifully.

After all, they had spent years together, just the two of them, stuck in a small building with heathens, Tom's only handle to sanity being Harry and Harry's only source of happiness being Tom.

There had been periods of time when they would only talk to each other and play the game where they pretend no one else existed.

The longest they had ever gone playing that game was 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days. They had only stopped because Mrs. Cole had threatened a beating for them each.

For all the similarities, they did have their differences: Tom was covered in moles, not too many but enough, Harry had a dark scar above his eye that resembled a lightning bolt, Tom's nose was slightly crooked no matter how much he glamoured it, Harry's chin was pointer and so were his elbows.

Then, of course, there was their eyes. Emerald green and scarlet red. A daring combination.

They were inseparable even in different houses. They just gravitated towards the other without meaning or hesitation.

They were Tom and Harry, the orphans.

[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part seven

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

word count: 10.0k

a/n: this chapter got a little longer than intended so grab some popcorn for this one and thank you to everyone who has sent asks / left comments on this work! i am having so much fun writing this and it is lovely that it is being enjoyed.

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Highgarden is recalled as a soft spring day upon Lady Tyrell’s mind. A clear afternoon spent tucked into a shaded passage underneath an archway of flowers, a thick book with aging pages raptly capturing her attention as a lute player’s song drifts over the hedges in melodical swirls. The evening winds upon her and her sister, barefoot and dressed in slips of light silks, running through fields of golden roses that stretch out endlessly until the sun sets into pinks and oranges and yellows against the horizon. Crystalline laughs, blithe and innocent, when she and the other young ladies would convince their parents to allow them to take gracefully carved boats out upon the Mander, weeping willows dipping over the river full of emerald grasses and brilliantly colored flowers that grow beneath the water’s surface. She can picture her mother, under the shade of a large and lacy parasol of pastel fabrics, who would occasionally lift one gloved hand to wave elegantly at her daughters from the banks.

As a child, her mother had been the very pinnacle of desired sophistication and grace. With easy charm and poise, the Lady of Highgarden can command any room simply by entering it. From the moment Lady Tyrell was born, it has been expected of her to carry herself with similar elegance. To shine, to play darling and enchant those she meets, to excel at all typical ladylike pursuits. Unfortunately for her, it had not all come naturally. But what she had not been blessed with upon her birth – an easygoing nature, a soft-spoken tongue, a quiet countenance – she found could be learned.

And as time passed, as she gained the perspective upon her parents that only time could provide, Lady Tyrell came to realize that she is certainly, undoubtedly, her mother’s daughter. What she had perceived as perfection as a child was actually patience. The ability to bide one’s time productively, to study oneself and to learn one’s flaws and weaknesses and those of their allies and enemies. When weaponized, patience and a sharp eye blossom into a spider’s web that ensnares unsuspecting prey lured in by the beauty of a blooming rose. How astutely the lady has watched this dance unfold beneath the glittering stars since her mother rose to power in Highgarden. The enemies of House Tyrell did not survive the succession war, although one could hardly say it solely happened by fate’s generous hands. Tongues that rose up against them soon found themselves choking and spitting over their words, poison sweet and lethal upon them. 

If the Lady Tyrell is considered clever and fierce, these traits passed to her through her mother’s blood. When the hour draws late, the bells chiming and tolling out the highest point of the moon in the sky, she often wonders if she possesses as ruthless a spirit. She does not long for the day when that might be tested. To secure the safety of their family, of her children, Elinor Tyrell has tightened her grip upon her web, drawing in the flies and scorpions and snakes. Yet in her recent years, the Lady of Highgarden has grown more and more ambitious, eyes often cast to the winds of fortune and their ever-changing flow. With two eligible daughters, now would be the ideal time to firmly grasp power through advantageous betrothals. 

Betrothals without consideration for the character of the men in question.

A letter of rolled parchment is gripped tightly within Lady Tyrell’s closed fist, her fingers crumpling the tan paper with a constricting hold. Peaking out from beneath her fingers is a wax seal of a single rose, the color of the darkest blue. As her shoes echo sharply within the decadent halls of the Red Keep, a spiked anxiety jumps rapidly underneath her skin. Her brows are drawn above her eyes, which dart from stone wall to marble pillar as her mind composes and discards a multiplicity of strategies that might convince her mother to abandon her quest for greater power. The more she considers the issue at hand, the more abrupt her steps grow. Once upon a time, when the notion of fairy tales was still harbored with childish hope in the cavity beneath her breastbone, she had spun similar designs for a far more romantic purpose. Childhood love, falsely and treacherously placed as it was, drove her nearly mad. 

As she approaches the Queen’s Chambers, the guards immediately draw back from her path, nodding at her after growing quite accustomed to her presence in Maegor’s Holdfast. There is no need to question her being there after their liege lord has brought her past them on many a night. The early hour of the day does not seem to give them pause, nor does her agitated expression and pace. With the arrival of more nobles to the castle that very afternoon, notable allies of the Northern forces whom had recently finished with the remaining issues in the Riverlands, neither Cregan nor Lady Tyrell could surmise how much time the meetings might take as the upcoming trials were further discussed. Unwilling to allow a day to pass without seeing Jaehaera, she had inquired if Cregan might accompany her for a visit in the earlier hours of the day as opposed to their usual meetings which occurred after supper. The Lord of Winterfell had been swift in his granting of her request. She purposefully declined to dwell on how frequent and genuine his accommodations of her desires have become as of late. 

So distraught by the contents of the letter in her hand, Lady Tyrell cannot even muster a saccharine smile to wax demurely across her face. The skirts of her morning gown swish in an angry rhythm across the cold floor, the noise prominent in the otherwise silent passageway. Once, this section of the castle had brimmed with busy servants and giggling ladies maids, clinging upon each other’s arms as their eyes shone with laughter and mischief. Now, it served only as place for ghosts and fragmented memories to linger in hazy and liminal echoes. 

A frown creases upon her face at the sight of the arched oak door, already partially ajar. A warm ray of golden sunlight has snuck past the marble pillars upon the walkway overlooking the enclosed courtyard below, relaxing languorously before the doorway. Her steps draw to a halt before the wood, her unoccupied hand outstretched to press the pads of her fingertips against the smooth wood, the centers of her brows drawn together as she peers into the room. Before her eyes might inform her of anything, a voice that has grown all too familiar reaches her ears.

“Good, princess. Now attempt it once more.” The Lord of Winterfell’s low timbre, stern still albeit it considerably more gentle in that moment, fills her agitated mind as she pushes the door the remainder of the way open. Inside the extensive chambers of the room stand Cregan and Jaehaera, the latter of whom clutches a small wooden sword in her hands. The girl has an expression of utmost concentration upon her face as she swings the toy weapon through the air in front of her, her wide eyes immediately gazing up to the lord to inquire as to how she had performed. Her hair has been pulled back into a single braid, similar to the style the Lady Tyrell has often woven in the princess’ silvery locks. Cregan parts his lips to speak, the telltale raise of the corners of his lips signaling his approval, when both become alerted to the lady’s presence within the room. Jaehaera lights up immediately, a sweet smile upon her face as she lowers the sword. Cregan, in turn, finds his immediate softening at her arrival rapidly morph into hesitation when he sees the look upon her visage. 

So familiar with her expressions has he become, that as Jaehaera hurries across the room to take Lady Tyrell by the hand and begin to explain what she has been learning, Cregan experiences a slight drop in his stomach at the tightness of her closed fists and the creases at the corners of her mouth. As the princess extends the pretend weapon for the lady to view, he wonders if she is angry with him for providing the young girl with lessons, no matter how rudimentary. Perhaps he has overstepped in his decision, in acting prior to consulting her first. With some effort, the lady gives Jaehaera a smile and nods as the girl continues to speak, but Cregan can surely perceive it to be forced. He shifts his weight to his alternate foot as he finds himself with the rare and uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty. A cool morning breeze blows the sheer curtains into the room further, billowing as if the sails of a boat. 

Jaehaera reaches out a small hand to bequeath the wooden sword to Lady Tyrell as the princess wanders into the next room to retrieve a book in High Valyrian she has been reading, the lady’s eyes following the girl out of the main chamber. Only when Jaehaera has slipped through the connecting door does Cregan speak, his voice lowered to a deep hush so that the girl might not overhear. With a single step towards her, a squaring of his broad shoulders as his stern eyes search her face thoroughly, he attempts to phrase his intention clearly. “If I have overstepped, Lady Tyrell, I do apologize. I had only thought upon your own anxieties and wished to perhaps provide the princess with basic knowledge to defend herself.”

Lady Tyrell’s eyes widen as the words fall from his lips, her own parting in soft denial as she realizes how Cregan has interpreted her distressed stance and expression. Her shoulders lift and then sag as a portion of the weight from her turbulent thoughts escapes through a concentrated sigh and she intentionally loosens her hold upon the parchment clutched in her anxious hands. The movement causes light to catch the delicate gold jewelry atop her prominent collarbone, drawing attention when juxtaposed by the depth of the neckline of her gown. She can feel the parchment retaining its crushed shape from the strength with which she had been squeezing it. 

“No,” It comes out as a weary breath, followed by a soft swallow and the brief closing of her eyes as she collects her thoughts that have been scattered about her brain like blushing petals from a spring tree. A hand reaches up to her forehead, lingering tiredly atop her skin as if the motion might vanquish the headache that has formed from her incessant worrying. Should she fret any longer, her skin will surely erupt into reddish hives that bloom across her arms like the remnants of a wayward flame.  It is impossible to not be softened by the gentle look she had glimpsed in Cregan’s eyes as he had instructed the princess, by the way the girl has seemed to grow accustomed to Cregan’s presence slowly. For that brief moment she had witnessed them, uninterrupted by the world, she could tell at once how kind and attentive of a father Cregan must be to his own young son. It had seemed as natural as drawing breath, to spend time instructing and guiding the girl. “No, you are right to teach her. You have my gratitude for it, Lord Stark, please do not mistake me.”

In truth, she might rest easier at night with the knowledge that Jaehaera can at least make a valiant attempt at defending herself if something were to happen. She desperately wishes to keep weapons from the girl’s hand, considering her young age and the violent tragedies that have befallen her family, but there shall be no safety for the princess so long as she remains within the castle. The last of her direct lineage, the sole survivor amongst her immediate family upon that side of the war. Many watch with drool dripping from their fangs, twisting hands reaching out to ensnare the child within their grasp and attach puppet strings to her back. If they cannot control her, it is likely at least one attempt on her life shall be made. At present, she remains safe within her chambers, a constant system of guards posted outside her door. But such measures of security shall not last forever, and Lady Tyrell would much rather give the girl a fighting chance rather than end up like her, unable to truly physically protect herself. “You do me a great favor by instructing her, if you truly do not mind doing so. I do wish for her to have some knowledge, given the precarity of her position.”

As Cregan approaches her, seemingly placated by her gentle correction of his misunderstanding, worry of his own flickers tenderly across his face as he seeks out the cause of her agitation. As his imposing figure shadows her own, strands of reddish hair fall about his face and to the tops of his shoulders when he brings his voice impossibly lower, impossibly deeper. Merely a breath away from him, her chin lifts with gentle hesitation to reveal the depth of her concern to his prodding eyes, the distinct color of storm clouds. “Then what troubles you so, my lady? Allow me to rectify it, if it might be within my power.”

How certain his quiet words are, nearly comforting in their strength and assurance. If only it were so simple, to surrender her worries to the Lord of Winterfell and wait patiently for him to straighten each one out. But far too much rests upon his plate at present, and this matter might be out of even his control. Another soft sigh from her lips and she clasps her hands together, unable to resist the childish habit of pressing her fingers into her palms. Cregan’s eyes flick down at this, finding himself only barely able to resist the urge to draw her smaller hands into his own, the way he had when he had bandaged her wrists within the quiet warmth of her chambers. Instead, he involuntarily tightens his jaw while waiting with the steady patience he has come to extend to her whenever she might need it.

“You need not send Lord Blackwood to treat with Highgarden,” The airy and exasperated quality of her words is far from lost upon Cregan, as her tone adapts the rushed cadence she speaks with when her mind becomes embroiled with worry. The letter in her hands seems to hold a weight akin to a stone pulled from a garden’s soft dirt. “Highgarden shall come to you, my lord. My mother and sister will arrive with a small traveling party within the week. She has long since been underway.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow at this, his gaze continuing to search her face while the implication of the news takes firm root within his mind. With a quiet inhale through his nose, he gives her a slow nod. “I had imagined the upcoming trials might draw in more of the prominent families of the South. I did not know your lady mother would wish to attend.”

“The scales of power are in constant motion at this time, and the turbulence of the war has only increased the amount of  opportunities for those who have long since minded themselves and heeded the Targaryen rule,” Lady Tyrell might do well to mind herself and her own words, tending to her personal interests before she foolhardily presents her honest opinion to another, but finds it difficult to not tell Cregan the entirety of the truth. She need not wonder upon how long it has been since she has had a true confidant in whom she can confess the extent of her thoughts – the lady can count the exact number of days that have passed. Perhaps that is why conversing honestly with the Lord of Winterfell has proven so undeniably tantalizing. His stature and countenance might play a considerable role, but following their first truthful encounter it would seem neither of them is eager to raise the issue of the tension up in conversation. Jaehaera’s quiet voice can be heard briefly from the connecting room, in soft conversation with her Septa. “With two eligible daughters, she ought to be here, where she might confirm what I suspect are her desired matches.”

The lady gives a sharp breath at this, managing only barely to keep the words from dripping with sardonic bitterness and exhausted dread. Her eyes drift to the window, as they so often do when unpleasant emotions coil up in her stomach, and she misses entirely the seriousness with which Cregan Stark is taken aback by her words. His eyes narrow further, his shoulders drawing back so that he might appraise her with tight lips and an even tighter jaw that twitches slightly as he is met with an unexpected brush of an emotion adjacent to irritation twisting within his chest. His gaze moves about her face, before he looks down and makes a stoic attempt to reason with himself over how improper it might be to speak brashly upon the matter. Given her beauty, it will prove exceedingly difficult to find a man who would not fall to his knees for but a taste of her, to claim her as his own. The idea of such an atrocity only serves to bring his hand into a tight fist, knuckles nearly white at the thought. She, who has fought so valiantly with the skills she possesses in the face of brutal masculine strength and wanton violence, should not be subjected to such a fate after surviving the war while living amongst vipers and dragons. 

“Are you not of an age where you might seek out a match yourself, my lady?” The words are offered as a low interjection into the silence that has fallen between them, yet perhaps Cregan is unable to fully banish the sharpness from his tone as he presents his inquiry. She is barely younger than Cregan himself, and having been in such a prolonged betrothal with the late prince Daeron she has avoided the fate of marriage in her teenage years. While she has spoken upon a number of occasions about the upcoming engagement of her sister, she has not mentioned an imminent marriage for herself. One edge of her mouth twists up resentfully at his words and she tilts her chin slowly, eyes still cast away as the curtains sway gently in the breeze seeping in through the open window. 

“Such an age seems like a lovely dream, one I have not the luxury of possessing.” The bitter lamentation disfigures itself into forlorn and disconsolate acceptance. She desires to cease discussion upon the matter, holding no wish to appear as one who complains futilely of their fate. Yet thickly veiled sorrow flickers behind the curtain of indifference she sweeps over her glassy eyes. “It matters little. Of greater importance, you shall not be seeing a host from Oldtown within the coming days nor months. They have agreed to stand down.”

This brings the turbulent discourse within Cregan’s mind to a temporary stillness, the leader within him long since used to prioritizing matters of duty over matters of a more personal consequence. There is a quiet mix of relief and lassitude at the realization that the fighting truly has ended, combined with worry over his people, who will have to march north to return to their struggling families as winter bares its fangs and prepares to descend upon the lands. His eyes drift downwards, her expression growing sterner and then weary as he sighs heavily. “Good then, that the trials shall commence sooner rather than late. Too long has this crisis endured, and now it shall end.”

Her hands remain drawn together atop the light fabrics of her gown, her shoulders lowered and her eyes big as she watches him with a reserved look upon her features. The subtle manner in which she recalls all hints of emotion, as if reigning in every outer expression of her own thoughts upon the matter, does not go undetected by Cregan. So much has she lost in the war and so little she gained, save for a broken heart and a tiredness unbecoming of her age. The concept of such a catastrophe within her life having finality to it must weigh disconcertingly upon her heart. He does not envy her for experiencing it now, as he has experienced it before. “I shall not forget your assistance with the Hightowers, nor with the princess or managing the nobles at court. You have been of great help to me, Lady Tyrell.”

Lady Tyrell’s eyes narrow with ambiguous deflection, her brows raising as she draws her arms across her chest slowly. The concept of being thanked with such solemn genuineness has become foreign to her as of late and sets her lashes aflutter as she searches internally for a way to change the topic of discussion once again. But any thoughts upon the matter – or any thoughts at all, in truth – are vanquished from her mind into wispy clouds of white smoke as Cregan draws impossibly closer to her, broad shoulders leaning forth. Her eyes instantly meet his own, delicate confusion and wariness upon her face even after their growing familiarity. The memory of his hands upon her lower back and the curve of her hip as he taught her to fight burn hot against her skin, and perhaps this is why her eyes traitorously flicker to his lips, parted softly as he considers his next words. 

At the nearly imperceptible drop of her eyes, Cregan too is robbed of words and coherent thought. His face seems to melt with slow wanting, heavy and thick as golden honey. The hesitation within her eyes is not lost upon him, nor the very gradual manner in which he has been seemingly gaining some amount of trust from her. He knows it is not an easy thing for her to give. There is a flutter of breath that catches within her chest, the effect of steeling herself to stand before him rather than draw away at such weighted proximity. Cregan’s brows draw together with an aching softness at the sweetness of her acceptance, of her belief in his character and intention. Never will he allow a hand to harm her again, never does he wish to see fear upon her lovely countenance. Her heart is well-guarded, separated from the everyday happenings of the capital by barbarous briar hedging, but he swears he can catch a glimpse of the pure tenderness through the twisted maze. The Queen’s Chambers have faded to a soft and distant background behind her, she who shines in perfect focus within his gaze. Any wish to verbally affirm the appreciation he has for her has been lost, replaced by a burning yet tempered desire to provide physical proof of it. Words such as decency and propriety dance briefly upon his mind but are hesitantly pushed aside with the slow raise of his arm. Unlike when teaching her the sword, Cregan has no excuse for his closeness nor the want within his eyes. “You said once that I might endeavor to act upon my gratitude, rather than speak of it.”

His large hand casts a warm shadow upon the skin of her cheek, as she parts her lips unconsciously, mirroring Cregan’s own. Her refusal to draw away from him only solidifies the timid trust she has placed in him, and if it were not wholly unbecoming, the Lord of Winterfell might find himself upon his knees to ask her for something he should not. The concept of her marrying a stranger only fuels the fire within his chest, a petulant selfishness whispering in his ears to forbid someone who does not know her from attempting to come near. To whisk her back to Winterfell, with her approval, if only to keep her out of the reach of unworthy hands. But in this moment, his desire is simple. 

“May I, my lady?” A tantalizingly low echo of his previous words, just as reverent yet more needing than when he had last spoken them. At her silent consideration, that hint of a smile she has come to long for finds its way to his lips. “I am not above petitioning at length, should it please you.”

Lady Tyrell cannot claim that she understands exactly what Cregan Stark is seeking permission for. In an even more dire realization, she finds it does not matter to her. Her answer remains the same, so long as it is he who is asking. A soft breath of disbelieving protest at her own foolishness escapes her lips, the near whine sending heat directly between Cregan’s thighs. Ally or not, she might kill him yet. 

“You need not do such a thing.” The phrase does not take as certain of a shape as she might wish, but the lady manages to whisper the words into the small space between them without her voice breaking. Curse her own idiocy, her own desires. It would seem she has not become wise regarding matters of this nature, despite previous lessons hardly and cruelly learned. A long time coming has this intimacy been, from the very moment their eyes locked within the throne room. Before there had been respect and wary alliance, there had been want. 

The pads of his fingers brush against the plush skin of her cheek, the roughness of them a stark contrast to her softness. Cregan inhales quietly at the touch, the callouses of his battle worn hands tender upon her face as he slowly envelopes her cheek within his grasp, cupping it with a gentleness she imagines few would expect from such an intimidating and large leader of men. His towering over her matters little when his caress is so fond, as if she is some sacrosanct being he wonders over the rightness of touching. Her head leans almost instinctively into his palm, her chin raised so that she might look him in the eye. His eyes are low-lidded, his warm breath dancing gently atop her own.

Her given name is breathed into the space between them, reverent and weighty upon his lips as if from sacred scripture. 

No sooner do light footsteps pad through the door of connecting chamber, and Lady Tyrell jolts back from Cregan as if lightning has descended upon her. In her absorption in their intimate moment, she has nearly forgotten they stand in Jaehaera’s chambers, with the intention of spending time with her. The guilt at this lapse of memory has her quickly turning her back to Cregan, forcing an easy smile upon her face as the princess begins to explain the book she has retrieved. The lady’s heartbeat is so rapid, she wonders if Cregan can hear it as he stands behind her.

“Would you read it with me?” Jaehaera inquires softly, unaware of the tension that hangs thickly between the adults in the room. With such precious little time that the lady has to spend with the princess, she can hardly refuse her. She reaches her hand to gently brush a strand of silver hair that has fallen loose from Jaehaera’s braid and gives an earnest nod.

“Of course, darling. Come, let us begin now.”  Lady Tyrell’s voice is soft and full of the tender love she only presents when around the child. As the two of them cross the room to the cabriole leg sofa by the fire, discussing the book in gentle voices, Cregan can hardly find himself displeased. Conversely, a rather clear image has settled into his mind of tender moments interrupted by the soft voices of children, the halls of Winterfell once more filled with laughter and light. How long it has been since he has acknowledged this dream, let alone believed it might yet happen within his lifetime? When the lady pulls Jaehaera into her lap, opening the book with a sweet smile of pure and devotional love upon her face, there is no doubt in Cregan’s mind upon what he feels within his chest. It is love.

To his surprise, the princess then looks across the room at Cregan expectantly. She does not request anything, but she does not need to. Cregan gives a small nod to indicate his understanding, and makes his way to the sofa, sinking down next to Lady Tyrell as the woman’s face conveys how softly impressed she is by his winning the princess over. As Jaehaera begins to read the words of the story aloud, a gallant tale of the adventures of a knight and his squire, a warm peace has filled the room.

For the first time since the Northerners arrived at the Red Keep, new forces are allowed past the castle’s imposing gates and into the expansive front courtyard. Allies of the Lord of Winterfell, those who had fought beside him during the arduous descent from the North to the capital city, that had been straightening out the remnants of those who had supported Aegon II and the Green faction during the war. The open iron-barred gates let in a long line of weary soldiers, shoulders raising as they dismount their armored horses within the walls of the ruling seat of the Seven Kingdoms. Banners decrying the identity of the gathering Houses are taken careful note of by Lady Tyrell, who remains atop a balcony overlooking the bustling activity below. At her side is the Lady Jeyne Arryn, whom had suggested that the lady join her to observe the happenings prior to the meeting that is to be held. Lady Tyrell has developed a true fondness for Lady Arryn, her admiration for the Lady of the Vale having been in great supply since their first meeting. Learning more of her past has only served to increase her desire to learn from the other woman.

Many wagons roll through the gates, carrying what little supplies are still possessed by the troops, their wooden wheels bumping atop the tiny rocks dotting the courtyard’s ground. Loud and deep voices boom out into the air, laughter heard as friends reunite and begin to speak of their great victories during the campaign. Men clap each other upon the back, talk of drinking and whoring within the capital city that night already heard in plethora throughout the busy space. There are sounds of metal clanking together as armor is stripped and swords are sheathed, of neighing of the horses, of interspersed shouting from guards as the gates are manned. It is such a lively scene that the lady is swept into the unwilling remembrance of a bitter nostalgia, her mind recalling days where such vivacity occurred at the gates each time the sun rose. A cool breeze upon her cheek and the smell of seawater drifting in from the Blackwater stirs her from her thoughts, a quiet acceptance upon her countenance. 

“Lord Stark has told me of the resolution of our problem regarding House Hightower,” Lady Arryn muses in an even tone, her eyes as sharp as steel as they scan the incoming men. Yet there is no harshness to her words, simply the direct Northern practicality that Lady Tyrell has come to find unfortunately endearing. “And so this shall be the remaining arrival of troops to your doorstep. I imagine you shall be relieved to see us depart, Lady Tyrell.”

“I cannot lie and pretend I do not wish for the ending of being trapped within these walls, nor the ending of such a tragedy,” Lady Tyrell finds that the resigned smile upon her lips is rather genuine, and she tilts her chin, eyes wandering across the commotion beneath them calmly. The matter is far too complicated for her to voice her true opinions on, should she herself even manage to ever put her thoughts upon the war into words. The strangeness of its ending has not yet settled fully within her chest. “Yet neither can I truthfully say I wish you all to be gone from my sight permanently.”

Cregan Stark’s Northern council is filled with those the lady truly does not mind the company of. Lady Arryn is perhaps her favorite, but the young Tully lords are bold and entertaining, and she still retains the hope of introducing her sister to Lord Blackwood. Even the lords Corbray have grown upon her, despite her initial uncertainty. It speaks to the quality of Cregan’s character, to surround himself and fill the chairs of his table with those who uphold honor and integrity. As she meets the other woman’s eyes, her smile softens. “Perhaps I shall pay a visit to the Vale once matters have settled further. Your bannermen speak often of the beauty of the Eyrie.”

Lady Arryn beholds her with an unreadable expression for a moment before her eyes crease slightly at the corners, a dip of her head indicating her approval. “We would be honored to host you, my lady.”

“And I honored to be received into your halls.” Another gust of wind graces Lady Tyrell’s face, blowing sections of hair behind her in a gentle wave. Remembering the rumors that had stirred in the castle prior to the arrival of the men from the North, she is quite glad to have discovered for herself their true nature. Rather than bloodlust and violent savagery, the Northern nobles carry a stern upholding of duty and a blunt pragmatism that has served the capital well since their rise to power. Not far in the past are days when she could never have imagined herself with allies from the North, and yet here she stands. 

Her attention wanders down to the courtyard as she steps forward with reserved curiosity to gaze upon the lord who has caused her such upheaval since the day he arrived. Cregan Stark appears every inch the fearsome warlord when amongst the other men, and it is clear from the manner in which they acknowledge him that he commands great respect. But when she catches sight of him, her eyes narrow and her expression grows more serious as she watches. 

Before the Lord of Winterfell stands a lady, dressed in attire far more suited to hunting and fighting than a gown might be. Hair as dark as a starless sky, cascading in small curls down to the tops of her hips as the edges catch loose droplets of warm afternoon sun. A quiver of black arrows rests upon her back, and the ease with which she holds a bow within one leather-gloved hand signals to many years spent familiarizing herself with its use. Her height leaves her upon even footing with many of the men within the courtyard, and her wiry frame still reveals the strength of her arms and of her lithe legs. Boots are laced up to her knees, meant for riding far distances. There have been no alterations to emphasize any one quality about her; it would seem she simply adorns herself with what might be beneficial in battle. She might not be considered a great beauty amongst the nigh impossible standards at Court, but that matters little to Lady Tyrell at present. It is the way Cregan looks at her. Dark eyes shimmer as she laughs, hearty and genuine, at words the lord speaks to her with a stoic fondness. There is an effortlessness to the exchange, a familiarity with each other that sends a worrying gnaw into the pit of Lady Tyrell’s stomach. 

This, she finds unacceptable. To be driven to worry over a conversation – it is entirely possible, the Lady Tyrell decides silently, that she has lost her mind altogether. The recollection of the sensation of Cregan’s fingers upon her face flutters delicately atop her skin and disappears at the sight of the corners of the Lord of Winterfell’s lips upturning to indicate true liking for the woman before him. Never has she seen him look at another in such a way. Her mind races to identify the emotion in his reserved eyes, her own darting across his face as her posture draws up tightly, strung and sharp. 

“The lady whom Lord Stark converses with,” She begins, intentionally manipulating her voice to be pleasant and soft to avoid giving any external indication of the nonsensical concern tugging insistently at the strings of her heart. Especially in front of Lady Arryn, who seems to take great pride in being exceptionally practical. “Who might she be?”

Lady Arryn’s eyes scan the courtyard, her head tilting as she searches for the origin of the lady’s line of questioning. When the other woman notices the exchange below, she observes for a brief moment before leaning towards Lady Tyrell, her eyes remaining fixed upon the two within the courtyard. “That would be the Lady Alysanne Blackwood. She lead her men upon the battlefields as they marched south.”

The name sparks a quiet grasping for any information that Lady Tyrell has ever heard regarding the other woman. With some difficulty, she remembers that Lord Benjicot Blackwood has an aunt upon his father’s side, a lady of true Blackwood blood who has been assisting the young lord since the death of the previous Lord of Raventree Hall. It had been a passing fact she had learned and paid little mind to, but as she watches the conversation continue with smiles from both parties, she curses herself for not seeking out more information on Lady Blackwood. Nothing makes her more anxious than to be uninformed or unprepared, and she seems to have become both of those over a rather unexpected matter. It is not unimaginable that Lord Stark has admirers, nor women he is fond of. She cannot say she has not thought upon the matter briefly, but her time at court has left her rather confident in her ability to outmaneuver another to seek out what she wants. She is familiar with the games the other ladies play at court to win the attention of men. Alysanne Blackwood does not seem to be playing a game at all. It is the raw and brash manner in which she carries herself and speaks that stands out to the Lady Tyrell and with another sickening drop of her stomach, she realizes that this is likely what Cregan finds appealing. 

“She fought in the battles herself, then?” It is with practiced expertise that she keeps her voice light and airy, as sweet and nonchalant as if she were asking about the state of the weather. Truthfully, the concept of a woman fighting upon the battlefield is quite fascinating to her. If only the Lady Blackwood had not captured Cregan’s attention so, Lady Tyrell might have found herself eager to converse with the woman herself. 

“Aye. And a rarity it is, even with her talent. I myself cannot claim to have done so.” Lady Arryn’s casual remarks upon the matter do little to soothe the lady’s troubled mind. She wonders briefly if a lady need not have beauty if she is instead utterly fascinating, and then if perhaps the Lord of Winterfell prefers to be fascinated himself. The conversation within the courtyard carries on quite amiably amidst the bustle of the incoming troops.

“A rarity indeed.” It is a saccharine breath of agreement, accompanied by the brief narrowing of her eyes and upturning of her chin. Over the tip of her nose, she watches the easy way that Cregan angles his broad shoulders towards Alysanne Blackwood, nodding his head as he explains some happening that has occurred since their last meeting. As the Lord of Winterfell leans forward to brush off a dry leaf that has fallen upon Alysanne’s hair, the pit in her stomach hollows in cavernously and the Lady Tyrell is left all but reeling once more, her mind scrambling for logic or sense or a reference of information that might prove a useful balm to her tumultuous state of being at the simple touch. All she manages to do is press her lips together tightly, her smile slipping from sweet to sickeningly so. “He appears rather fond of her.”

Lady Arryn’s expression is tinged at the edges with something akin to amusement at this, and the other woman gives the lady a look out of the corner of her eye. Lady Tyrell is far too occupied with staring quite pointedly down at Cregan – the Lady Arryn finds it a wonder that her liege lord does not simply burst into flames from the severity of the gaze. After a moment, she dips her head in acknowledgement. “I believe they enjoyed each other’s company when their armies met.”

A crinkling of the corner of her eyes is the only indication of Lady Tyrell’s agitation. The phrase is quite vague, and while she desires fiercely to delve further into the meaning of it, she restrains herself. The lady is far too ruffled by this, more so than she cares to be, and she need not allow Lady Arryn to perceive any more of that frustration than the other woman already has. Little can be kept from the discerning gaze of the Lady of the Vale, but she shall try nonetheless. 

The nobles gather in the former Small Council chamber soon after the troops have all entered the walls, talking amongst themselves whilst standing around the long rectangular wooden table. It is not as crowded as she might have expected, most of the men eager to engage in more pleasurable pursuits despite the night not yet having fallen, but Lady Tyrell is not as vigilant as she ought to be. The new faces in the room would normally draw her observant gaze, as she might attempt to study their character and decide who might prove useful in the remaining days the Northerners will reside at the Red Keep. She knows well she captures their attention, her effect on men is severely understood by her and she remains the only Southern presence within the room aside from the twin princesses Baela and Rhaena, whom Cregan has invited to the meeting as an offering of peace. But wandering eyes and wistful looks are spared no thought, not when Alysanne Blackwood has seemingly settled comfortably at Cregan’s side, walking next to him as they discuss something in a low tone.

The Lord of Winterfell is met with a pair of icy eyes when he scans the room for the Lady Tyrel’s presence. It gives him pause.

She does not seem interested in elaborating her thoughts upon the matter, busying herself with a soft smile and pleasant conversation with the lord standing next to her who is all too eager to speak to the lady. Soft light streams in through the small circular windowpanes upon the far wall of the room, the rather dull space only slightly more revitalized by the welcoming of more lords and ladies within its stone columns. Lady Tyrell’s hands remain folded atop her gown the color of the clearest sky as she asks politely after the battles seen by the lord at her side – Lord Hugo Vance, who appears to be around her age and is not an abhorrent partner to converse with. On the contrary, she finds his manner of speaking rather interesting, and he seems to be both grounded and reasonable. Not traits in high supply at King’s Landing. Despite the general geniality of the conversation, the matter with Lady Blackwood has another masculine voice echoing in the darker parts of her mind. 

A flash of violet eyes, the curl of a scornful lip, whisperings of her worst traits and shortcomings. How brutally foolish she had been once, manipulated by the sweet fruit of childhood love that had led to a garden of poisoned apples and dying trees. For all her shrewdness, nothing can save her from the way she can twist the cruelest truths to better reflect upon a person she adores until a knife is pressed to her throat and only her own spilled blood can wake her from the dream. As Lord Vance recounts a particular sword fight from the war, Lady Tyrell cannot shake the numbness accompanying her wondering upon whether or not she has been led astray once again. Wrapped in weary cynicism, she cannot help but consider that she has made the same disastrous mistake twice. She will not be made a fool of by a man again.

Nodding sweetly, she gives a smile that does not quite reflect in her dulling eyes. As Cregan calls for the attention of the nobles, never needing to work too hard to command a room, Lady Tyrell does not bother to gaze in his direction. His speech thanking the lords and ladies for all their hard work, for all the sacrifices made to achieve the peace that is only just upon the horizon, is nothing but a faint hum in her mind. With Lady Blackwood at his side, a woman who is more familiar with the world of battle and typically masculine pursuits than Lady Tyrell can ever hope to be, she can see a vision of the true North. A glimpse of something she wants – power and strength, a respect that is given only to those whom men consider strong.Callouses upon hands that come from wielding weapons, from being able to defend oneself in a way that she cannot. To live without such fear, to be seen as someone who might be an equal. There is a lady who can stand by the Lord of Winterfell. 

Exhaustion has seeped far into her bones by the time Cregan finishes speaking, earning a rousing cheer and applause from the other men. Her eyes briefly catch sight of Rhaena and Baela, their faces still rather grim. Lady Arryn is observing with calm seriousness, a matter clearly weighing upon her mind. The few women within the room do not seem nearly as enthused as the lords. Lady Tyrell cannot bring herself to look to Lady Blackwood again, but it would not seem she needs to gaze far. As Lord Vance attempts kindly to rekindle their conversation, she hears her name and title upon Cregan’s lips behind her. She pauses, her figure drawing up tighter, a thin swallow making its way down her drying throat. Wondering briefly upon how rude it might be considered to pretend she simply has not heard, she continues to nod and smile. The warmth of a gentle hand upon her lower back signifies she shall not be escaping so soon. 

Sucking in a soft breath, she turns as the Lord of Winterfell offers a small dip of his head to her and then Lord Vance for interrupting their conversation. At the sight of his liege lord’s hand upon the lady, Lord Vance is quick to nod in understanding and give her a bow before departing to speak with one of the Tully lords. Cregan’s large hand has settled into the small of her back as he guides her closer, the action bringing all of her pessimistic thoughts to an abrupt halt. Never has he touched her so casually, and certainly not in the presence of others. She blinks up at him, soft eyes that only partially reveal her confusion and desire for clarification upon this change. A few of the other lords seem to have taken note of this familiarity, raised eyebrows and meaningful looks exchanged with knowing smiles between the men. Lady Tyrell might have been angry if any other man had reached for her in such a familiar manner, but she allows him this closeness as Lady Blackwood approaches.

“Lady Tyrell, I wish for you to meet Lady Alysanne Blackwood. Our forces fought together on our journey south.” The introduction is simple and straightforward, and Lady Tyrell merely smiles pleasantly as Lady Blackwood gives a firm nod, offering her a neutral look. Lady Tyrell offers a small curtsy in response, her fingers curling into the embroidered fabrics of her skirts tighter than necessary. 

“It is my pleasure, Lady Blackwood. The realm is grateful for your service.” Lady Tyrell’s voice retains a sugary quality, her posture demure and her hands returning to clasping each other delicately in front of her dress. Her lashes flutter slightly as she speaks, her chin tilting down. Lady Blackwood does not seem to harbor any of the pressures expected of a lady during introductions, something the Lady Tyrell finds envious. Instead, the other woman simply presents a look of general affability and regards her thoughtfully.

“It is good to meet you, my lady. Cregan has written of you in his letters, it is excellent to put a face to your name.” Her tone is light yet has a weight to it that wraps around her words and bestows upon them a quality of certainty. Lady Tyrell does her utmost not to let her smile twitch at the casual use of the lord’s given name, nor the revelation that they have been exchanging letters. Her stomach continues to twist itself into a nauseating knot. The information regarding her being mentioned in such letters seems of little consequence compared to the anxiety filling her chest. She scoffs internally at her own thoughts, wishing that this sort of worry would be beneath her. Rather than attempting to formulate a proper answers, she merely widens her smile slightly, her eyes narrowing a moment as she does. Cregan looks down at her, hand still pressed firmly to her back, and tilts his head slightly.

“A dinner shall be held tonight, to welcome those who have just arrived. Shall you join us, my lady?” The Lord of Winterfell extends the invitation with the utmost sincerity and courtesy but Lady Tyrell has worked herself up into such a state, one that will surely worsen if she is forced to endure a whole meal in this situation. 

“I must unfortunately decline, my lord. I am quite weary and shall leave the festivities to all of you.” As she speaks, she gently maneuvers herself out of Cregan’s grasp, sliding her waist out from his warm hand. She does not look up to register the slight frown, nor the drawing of his brows at her obvious desire to escape him. Offering a small smile to Lady Blackwood, she slips out with the rest of the nobles before she can be questioned further. 

Late is the hour when a heavy knock falls upon her chamber door. It rouses her from her aimless staring into the depths of her fireplace, eyes empty as they gaze into the golden flames and crackling logs of thick wood. Her intentions for the remainder of the night had been to soak in a hot bath, allowing time for her nerves to settle and her mind to still. The warm water had only served to send her thoughts into a further spiral, the scents of various florals reminding her poignantly of her own fragility. Adelin had been given the night off, casting a long look at the lady before she had left. Sinking into her plush armchair, barely having the energy to adorn her body with a thin nightgown the color of sea pearls, Lady Tyrell had only wished to sit for a moment. 

One part of her wishes to pretend she has gone to sleep, but she knows the firelight casts a soft glow underneath the crack of the door. And her heart, exhausted as it is, gives a weak flutter at the weight of the knuckles rapping against the wood. Inhaling through her nose, she wraps a sheer robe atop her evening slip and softly makes her way across her chambers. Hands upon the cool metal of the latch, she barely pulls the door open wide enough for her figure to be seen before she pauses, hovering about the edge of the wood. The Lord of Winterfell stands before her, stoic and steady as always, his eyebrows lifting slightly upon seeing her. Within his hands he holds a bowl of soup, steam curling upwards in silvery helices.

The door is left to drift ajar lazily, leaving her fully visible as she stands beneath the door frame. Cregan is given momentary pause at the casualness of her dress, the slip clinging precariously to each soft curve of her body as if fresh powdered snow atop gentle hills. Despite the heat in his lower stomach, he forces his attention upward. Her eyes reflect the slight surprise that bubbles within her chest at the sight of him, hopeful yet hesitant at the unexpected visit. The warm scent of the hearty soup drifts softly to her nose, greeting her with hints of potatoes, tomatoes, onions and carrots. As her gaze devours the bowl with thinly veiled interest, Cregan gives her a softer look.

“I had not known if you had eaten, my lady,” His low tone is a welcome wave that washes over her body with a comforting and slow rhythm. Her gaze stutters slightly at the simplicity of the words, yet the thoughtfulness they imply. From the heat of the soup, which she can feel as she steps closer to Cregan, it would not seem that he has merely grabbed her leftovers either. “I asked the kitchen which soup you might prefer. I hope it is to your liking, if you are still in need of supper.”

As she turns her gaze upward to meet Cregan’s, she can scarcely keep the affection from flickering warmly in her eyes as if candlelight dancing behind stained glass. Lips press together as her brows draw closer, gratitude light upon her tongue.

“I am, it would seem.” She breathes it between them, a feather of a phrase that floats in the silence of the hall. Torchlight burns low across the stone corridor, illuminating Cregan’s commanding figure at the edges. There is that golden glow at the tips of his reddish hair that always calls her attention so captivatingly. Her weariness still aches deep within her tired body, but the small gesture has rekindled the dying embers in her chest. So quick is she to dismiss the possibility of affection and attachment, but she has not done so completely. As he reaches out to hand her the soup, his lips part slowly.

“Careful, it is quite warm.” The Lord of Winterfell cautions softly, ensuring she cups the bowl from the sides before he allows it to pass to her hands. His own calloused fingers brush tenderly against hers as he releases his hold, filling his senses with her smooth skin. Her lashes flutter gently at the innocent touch, a soft swallow upon her throat as she draws the warm soup closer to her chest. After a moment of easy silence, Cregan dips his head low. “I ought not to keep you from your rest, Lady Tyrell.”

As she lingers uncertainly in her doorway, her mind recalls earlier that day when Cregan had spoken her given name as a sacred devotion into the centimeters between their lips. How anxious she has been since then, how fretful over a man who is not her betrothed nor beloved. It is not in her character to be so easily swayed, not after her previous dealings in matters of the heart. And she finds, much to her own concern, that Cregan Stark has unexpectedly become a matter of the heart indeed. Taking a small breath, she resolves not to be so quick to resort to judgement. “I shall not retire until I have finished my soup, my lord. Perhaps you might join me until then?”

The invitation catches Cregan’s attention at once, his eyes widening slightly as his shoulders lower. Given the agitated state she had been existing in for most of the day, he had not believed she would wish to speak with him further. The opportunity for a quiet moment to sit beside her is not one he desires to ignore. “Aye, I would gladly do so.”

Lady Tyrell turns without further comment, not wishing to be caught standing before a man in her nightgown by any who might be passing by at the late hour. As she pads across the floor, her slippers soft upon the rich oak, she returns to her armchair and settles into it with a swish of her sheer robe. Cregan is left to watch for a moment, eyes tracking every move and step as the lady makes herself comfortable in front of the golden fire glowing within the hearth. Despite the stress from the day, she looks comfortable and soft within the firelit room. He then endeavors to join her, sinking into the chair across from hers as she begins to sip the hot soup with a neutral expression of content upon her face. As the liquid brushes her tongue, she winces at the heat and her brows knit together in a small frown. Cregan can do nothing but smile gently at the endearing expression.

“I did warn you it is hot.” Cregan offers quietly, amusement flickering across his face alongside light from the fire. Lady Tyrell lets out a huff in return, frustration upon her visage as she blows harshly overtop of the creamy soup.

“So you did.” It is the closest thing to a growl that he has heard escape her pretty lips. Shaking his head, the rumblings of a low laugh echo into the warm air between them, accompanied by the crackling of logs within the fireplace. Lady Tyrell wholly forgets the soup in her grasp and the stress of the day and every other thought that has ever entered her mind. Her mouth drops open slightly, her eyes wide as saucers as she stares blankly at him. Here sits the Lord of Winterfell, the feared Wolf of the North, laughing so easily within her chambers. The warmth in her chest is hotter than the bowl in her hands. 

“I have missed the soups of the North,” Cregan sighs nearly wistfully as he gazes into the flames. The smell from the earthy potatoes had brought him back to days of wild youth, running breathlessly through fallen snow and underneath ancient pines. The puff of his own breath before him, his fingertips turning red from the biting cold. “Too long has it been since I have tasted home.”

The lady is completely placated by his presence, by the taste of the rich soup within her mouth. She sighs, pleased and warm, curling her legs beneath her in a most unladylike manner. “You have been away for some time. It must be difficult.”

It is a soft murmur, spoken around breaths used to blow gently into her food to spare her tongue the burning sensation each time the creamy liquid sits atop it. Cregan watches with a gentle approval, pleased to see her eating. He had worried over her, when she had declined to join the nobles for dinner and is glad he decided to ensure she had gotten something for supper. “And you, my lady? Do you miss home as well?”

“I do not know, in truth,” Lady Tyrell muses, her shoulders dropping elegantly as she shifts within her seat. Her eyes wander slightly, as if her mind is drifting to a place far from here. After a second with her thoughts, she shakes her head, the edges of her hair glowing in the warm firelight. “I had always known I would leave Highgarden one day. It was only that I believed King’s Landing would be my home, and it is…not. Not any longer.”

A small, weak smile is offered with the explanation. Her attention returns to her soup, the silver spoon held tenderly within her delicate grasp. As she brings it to her lips, she tries not to dwell upon the idea of home too seriously. 

Cregan frowns at this, his brows low as he casts his gaze down to the plush rug that rests upon the wood in front of the hearth. Winterfell has been his home for the entirety of his life, and while he had been forced to fight for that home, it has always been his. His birthright, the lands that have raised him and all of his ancestors before him. How strange it would be, to have such uncertainty surrounding where one belongs. The North is in his blood and in his bones – he would not know his own identity if he were forced away from it permanently. The idea of her not having a place to belong to does not sit right within his chest. “You ought to have a home you can be certain of.”

A light raise of her eyebrows is given at this, while she keeps her eyes upon her soup. Her hands shift the ivory bowl back and forth absentmindedly, yet the seriousness of his voice is not lost on her. Still, there is not much she can do to rectify her own situation. Instead, she merely gives a small dip of her chin. “I would very much like that, my lord.”

“I hope that after the trials conclude, the Realm might have a better chance at peace.” Cregan sighs, a weight to the phrase from all the pressure that he has been carrying since his arrival. Being the Warden of the North has prepared him well for the power he currently holds within the capital, but it does exhaust him so. He cares little for Southern politics and the tumultuous remnants of the succession war. Although he cannot truthfully say he wishes he had never come – not when she sits across from him, gently lit by warm firelight, her visage a heavenly blessing upon his tired eyes.

“You have worked tirelessly for the bettering of the Seven Kingdoms,” The lady acknowledges, her voice quiet as she stirs her soup while keeping her gaze downwards. There is a certain comfort in sitting here with Cregan at the late hour, in simply being around him within the familiarity of her chambers, with no chance of being caught or interrupted. “I had strong doubt at first, but I do now believe you genuinely mean to carry out justice and return to the North.”

Cregan rubs a hand across his face, trailing it up through his hair as his eyes close. There has been far more ruling involved than he had anticipated when he had agreed to fight for Rhaenyra Targaryen. But fate has its own plans for the Lord of Winterfell, and he cannot turn away from a situation that mirrors his past so closely. “The young prince Aegon reminds me much of myself, when I was a lad. Mine own family had a similar issue with succession. My seat was hard won, against kin.”

Lady Tyrell has heard tale of how Cregan had imprisoned his own uncle and cousins after they had attempted to retain power once the lord came of age. Hearing him speak of it now, the way his jaw tenses as he does, she can tell it is something that was quite difficult for him. Her eyes flicker across his face, the way his reddish lashes fall atop the curves of his cheeks. The softness of her voice, barely above a whisper, betrays hints of the true affection she has come to hold in her heart for him. “It is kind of you then, to extend to Aegon the assistance you did not receive as a child.”

His eyes open at this, his chin lowering as he fixes his heavy gaze upon her. The lady holds his stare for a moment, before taking a small sip of her soup once more. “it is in my nature, I suppose. The need to rectify a present situation to ease the pain of a past one, even if it only is for the next generation. And in yours as well, I would say.”

It is an accurate assessment of her character; one she suspects few would know. But there is no hiding the truth from Cregan, who has seen her with Jaehaera every night. While she loves Jaehaera deeply, as she has since the girl was born, her guilt and pain over Helaena does additionally drive her need to ensure that the princess has a brighter future than her mother did. It cannot fix anything, but the thought of creating a peaceful life for Jaehaera does bring the lady some semblance of hope. 

“It is all I can think, somedays. If only to give myself something to do, lest I go mad from my own helplessness.” It is a soft musing, spoken from someone who has sat for many hours within the cold grasp of grief’s unyielding hands. Cregan recognizes it well, as he so often does. It is peculiar to him at times, how he sees himself mirrored in this woman whose upbringing was vastly different than his own. Yet there she is, reflecting pieces of himself he needs to examine more closely, forcing him to think harder about why he is the way he is. 

“We cannot change our past, but we have it in our power to make an attempt towards a better future. It might be in vain. We might never see it, or we might fail before we create it. It is our mortal duty to try nonetheless.” The heaviness in his tone forces her to look up at him, her eyes meeting his as she inhales softly. A better future – might it yet be possible for her, for Jaehaera? As she gazes into Cregan Stark’s eyes, searching for any sign of doubt and finding only stern certainty, it does not seem like a distant dream. 

a/n: slowburn is definitely slow but stay tuned for the next chapter, i imagine it's what a few of you have been waiting for ;)

[ablobwhowrites]

Hello, I've been a fan of your yandere ramblings, especially the sonic ones since no one does those really on this.

So I came with my own little ramblings for a human y/n that gets sucked into mobias (basically a reverse sonic X)

First of all, y/n is always staying at someone's house in a rotation (from cream and vanilla to tails to Amy, etc), and isn't allowed to sleep on their own without some mobian cuddling them.

Also y/n pulls a generations and meets different eras of the sonic cast, first meeting classic sonic, tails, knuckles, Amy, robotnik and metal sonic. And robotnik just being intrigued by this other human, and has metal kidnap them (who grows obsessed, yandere robot go brr).

And after a lot of classic obsession and shenanigans, y/n is transported to the mid modern era (sonic adventure and advanced series), and meets new characters like cream, big and chaos.

Cream is the only normal one (still is clingy), and tails is slightly more obsessive (still normal tho), and chaos just plays hot potato of constantly nabbing y/n during adventure 1.

Then onto generations itself and the time monster decides to also nab y/n because Eggman told them to (definitely not because it finds this human adorable).

Also fleetway sonic and scourge being the clingiest and jealous hedgehogs ever.

Omega also likes to just hold y/n randomly, like he does with cream and cheese in the comics

(tails and cream and chao's are strictly platonic yanderes for any yandere sonic stuff I do and may add to the platonic only if needed)

I do imagine they have their are scared as all hell but for classic sonic I do imagine he is shorter kinda how it is in other modern games and just imagining y/n in changing styles everytime they are put into a new sonic generation just to fit into the era. And is the classic era kinda wearing something like eggmans fit but modified to be their own and kinda fitting the hero style but they do try to take their gloves off but it's a struggle. And just imagining classic knuckles keeping y/n near the master emerald as that way he can protect two things at once. Tails is kinda like a that little brother who always wants to show you stuff even if your already doing something. Like tails will come to y/n and holds up his newest invention and y/n is like "oh cool. But tails I'm really busy right now t-" and tails is like "hold on let me show you want it does" and ends up destroying the only portal way home for y/n.

I do imagine just y/n at classic Amy's place and is just like "I wonder if I can make a run for it to see what would happen." But mostly just waiting for the right moment to run like when classic eggman and sonic were fighting and ended up tripping into a open portal somehow and now are in the mid modern era and I like to think their outfits changes to corespondents with the sonic era they are in. And imagining with some cross over games may or may not become obsessed with y/n like the sonic characters are and it's hell for y/n cause like bro has to deal with this now.

Plus imagining omega just being a kinda bodyguard for y/n is nice. They don't know omega is obsessed to buy keeps it more professional and so is shadow because he grows more insistent that he go everywhere with y/n to keep them safe even if not endanger, he still goes just to be sure nothing happens and then rouge is like "oh the master emerald and y/n! What a package deal!" and steals both but if she cannot get the emerald, she goes for the better option and y/n having to cling into rouge because like they do not wanna fall from how high she flys cause like bro you wouldn't be scared just looking down to see how far from the ground you are from?

Plus imagining y/n having a bunch of chao's walking behind y/n like ducklings because I say so and y/n wanting to take one because it decided to sleep on y/n's lap but they can't take them out of the chao garden. I love chao's they are so silly.

Also metal sonic after he sees y/n standing minding their own business:

Metal sonic and y/n are bascially that scene with miles running away and Miguel chasing him. And imagining that metal sonic dragging y/n back to eggmans base by the ankle because like I know if metal sonic held hands with y/n, he ain't never letting go of y/n's hand

(that's it's for my yapping for rn, but anyways if you guys like this y/n or idea please don't feel shy and request your ideas or y/n ideas. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[mama-qwerty]

oh i had a thought btw and i wanted to share in the chat we're in but i got no access at the time i'm typing this BUT I FIGURED I COULD SAY IT TO YOU

me and my roommate after seeing the movie had a thought about what Shadow would do next after the events of the movie and the scene at the end credits of him surviving.

we imagined like...what if he just tries to wander the earth, slightly aimless but also trying to take stuff in. he had spent so long here and most of his exposure was through Maria and doing things with her. And that was it. 50 years he was locked away, and when he got out he just went straight into mission mode and even after saving the earth, it occurred to him he probably hadn't seen much of it.

and the idea of him somehow being found my sonic and the gang and them offering to house him but him declining, thinking he caused them too much trouble and it'd be best to keep his distance... even though he wouldn't know where to go and where's a safe place for him to not be bothered by gun agents or humans likely after them, him especially. Heck, Sonic even offering to show him around some places, not even Green Hills but just in places he knows off the top of his head. Lil bonding moment, nice moment between the two despite Shadow not knowing what the hell Sonic is talking about with his ramblings.

And then the final piece of Sonic realising that Shadow could maybe stay in his old cave, it served as his safe spot for so long so maybe it can serve as Shadows. Shadow even seeing Sonic's little drawing on the wall and him saying he drew it the first night he came here, just showing he did have someone he loved and lost. And my roommate even said the idea of him choosing the stay and even draw a picture of him and Maria (maybe not the doctor after all that happened but maybe so, who knows how he feels about him now).

and then just him very very possible occasionally maybe hanging out with the boys... or at least the offer is there. and getting slowly introduced and catching up on things he's missed these last 50 years...

ANYWHO I'LL STOP HAHA

I can totally see Shadow roaming for a while. Learning about the world, people watching.

He had never left the facility before, and this was all completely new to him. Maybe Maria told him about things while they were together, movies she'd seen, places she'd like to visit when she was older and could strike out on her own.

And maybe he visited them, thinking about how Maria would have loved this, or hated that, or been so excited by this other thing. It would hurt so much that he was seeing these places alone. That she hadn't had a chance to travel and see or do everything she'd dreamed of.

And maybe when it hurts too much, when he can't take the heartache of not sharing these experiences with the one person he loved, he would return to Green Hills. He wouldn't specifically seek out Sonic and crew. He'd formed an alliance with the blue hedgehog during a time of war, and he wasn't sure if that friendship extended any further than that. But he could sense the chaos energy within Sonic, and Knuckles, and from the Master Emerald. And that was comforting.

But maybe Tails has some antennas posted around town. (Or he hacked into GUN's satellites.) And maybe he gets a blip when a spike of chaos energy appears. Sonic goes to check it out and finds Shadow, sitting alone on a cliff overlooking the town.

They talk. Sonic tries to invite Shadow to the house, but he refuses. He'd injured Tom, he doesn't deserve their kindness. Sonic tries to argue, but Shadow is stubborn and makes to teleport away, when Sonic calls out to wait, he knows the perfect place Shadow can hide away when he needs someplace quiet.

And he leads Shadow to his old cave.

"It ain't the Ritz," Sonic quips, before catching himself. "Wait. Do you know about the Ritz?"

Shadow turns to him with an eyebrow raised. "The crackers?"

Sonic snickers. "Right. Nevermind. Anyway, it can get a little damp when it rains, and a little cold when it snows, and a little dark when it's night . . . but it was my home before I found my family."

Shadow stops before the crayon mural on the wall. He stares at it for a long time.

"It will do."

Sonic smiles. "Wow, high praise from the Ultimate Lifeform. Okay, well, I can bring you some food and comics and stuff to keep you entertained--"

"I don't need your handouts."

The blue hedgehog nods with a sigh. "Right. Mr. I'm So Edgy can take care of himself."

"That's right."

Sonic doesn't say anything for a moment, and when he does, his voice is softer, the joking lilt gone. "Listen, as one formerly lonely hedgehog to another, it's nice to have people care about you. Worry about you. So just . . . don't turn your back on people who want to help, okay?"

Shadow stands quietly for a moment. "Fine."

And Shadow isn't always in the cave (heaven forbid we say he lives in it, amirite SEGA?) but Sonic leaves him things anyway. Cans of food, books he thinks Shadow would like, lots of blankets.

And maybe Sonic tells the family about Shadow taking shelter in his old cave, and the next time Shadow reappears there, it's better weather sealed and more comfortable and homey. The opening is covered with an actual door, one that keeps animals and rain out.

And maybe there's a note left. One that tells Shadow they don't blame him for what he did to Tom. They understand he was stressed and confused and hurting. They forgive him. And their home is always open for him, if he were hurt, or hungry, or just wanted some company.

And maybe, one night, when the family is sitting down for supper, a flash of light appears in the backyard. Ozzy runs to the door, barking at the sudden intruder in his territory, Knuckles close behind.

And there in the middle of the yard, stands Shadow. Looking very uncomfortable. Looking like he's second guessing his presence. Looking like he's just about to teleport away.

The family stands in the doorway, looking out at the black and red hedgehog. Without a word, they turn and head back to the supper table, but leave the kitchen door open.

The choice is his. Join them. Or leave.

He stands there for a long few moments, watching as they sit down, dishing out the food. Maddie moves to the cabinet and brings another plate to the table, placing it between her and Sonic. Silverware joins it. And a glass of water.

Shadow is frozen.

He takes a step forward. And another.

And takes his place at the table.

He doesn't move in with the Wachowskis. He's not there all the time. But they always make sure to have plenty of food to go around if he chose to join them.

There's always a place at their table for a lonely hedgehog.

[vylad243]

Even more Sonic character headcanons

Shadow runs hotter than the average mobian, so he has gotten used to Rogue, Amy, and Cream hugging him for warmth. He will hit anyone else who tries

Omega and Shadow make bets on how many different outfits Rogue will wear each week

Knuckles has nightmares about Amy's hammer

Vanilla taught Shadow how to cook and bake

Amy gives everyone tarot readings every new year

Rogue keeps stealing Shadow's things

Shadow will act as a bodyguard when Rogue goes bar hopping

Shadow is a chao magnet

Sonic once tried to pet a human who tried to pet him

Shadow once threatened to blow up if he kept being asked for interviews

Sonic likes fishing with Big, but he doesn't have the patience for it

Sonic has a scar on his arm from when Shadow bit him

That was also how they learnt Shadow has really sharp teeth and would use them as a weapon

Rogue has a quota of items she needs to steal that she has to meet every month. Simply for her own ego

Shadow is an insomniac and can only sleep if someone else is in the room

Infinite is partially blind

Eggman, despite trying to take over the world, has a pretty friendly relationship with Sonic

Shadow refers to Eggman as 'Doctor' because he does respect Eggman just the tiniest bit

Omega has downloaded 'Never Ginna Give You Up' and has played it at random times

Shadow has learnt how to mute Omega and now is immune to being rickrolled

Tails once threw his wrench at someone and then cried when he thought he damaged it

Tails got extremely skiddish because his trauma was finally catching up, but they got him in touch with a really good therapist and he's doing better now

Tails is now support only though because they don't want to make it worse

Shadow is left-handed

Amy and Sonic have tried to eat coffee beans and both of them had to spit them out

Knuckles actually really likes when Rogue visits because he feel lonely a lot, and even though she's trying to steal the emerald, it's nice

Everytime Shadow sneezes, he teleports somewhere random. No one knows why but everyone has accepted it

Shadow wants to continue Gerald's work in making cures, but he doesn't want to be experimented on again

Shadow can and will teleport his friends to space if they piss him off enough

Infinite actually uses his time in Null Space to fix any rifts in reality. No one knows he does this, and he likes it that way

Infinite's still pissed Shadow killed his family and will not hesitate to attempt to drop a sun on him again, though

Amy loves taking pictures with her friends

Shadow and Amy are best friends. No one knows when that happened

Rogue is mildly offended that Shadow replaced her

Cream thinks it's sweet that Amy is close with Shadow and she's okay with the two being best friends because she knows Shadow needs it

Besides, they both babysit her and she's the queen of the house when they do

Sonic once tripped over Froggy while running

Shadow hates chilli dogs. The texture throws him off

Omega loves beach days

Rogue, Shadow, and Omega like to watch sunsets together

Rogue finds it hilarious that Shadow could fly and that he's afraid of heights

Shadow calls Tails by his first name, and Tails finds it mildly threatening