Ok so BG3 Shadowheart x Male Reader having a kid and the kid is curious how they all met including their aunts and uncles and Reader just says it straight "oh yeah we all tried to kill each other except your uncle Gale but he had a magic bomb that could kill us all"
Kid: Poppa? How did you and Momma meet Uncle Gale?
Y/N: he tried to kill us with a magic bomb
Kid: what?!
Shadowheart: technically we were ALL trying to kill each other.
Y/N: but we all care for each other now and it’s how your momma and I fell in love and had you
Shadowheart and Y/N gently nuzzle their little kid…
Summary: You help Shadowheart with her fear of wolves
Warnings: druid Tav, pure fluff!
Word count: 665
Shadowheart Masterlist BG3 Masterlist Main Masterlist
"We don't have to do this you know?" you tell her, looking at her in that gentle way that has her chest feeling funny
"Don't be ridiculous" she scoffs, "If I can't handle something as trivial as a wolf, how am I meant to handle everything we're going to need to deal with moving forward"
"Well, I don't think you have a phobia of goblins, gith, or mindflayers"
She slightly glares at you, "You know what I am implying"
"Yes, yes" you chuckle, "I understand your way of thinking. But I still don't think it correlates"
"Do you wish to help, or not?"
"Don't get so defensive, of course I'll help" you reply as you take a step back, "I am going to shift now, remember I will still have my mind. I will know you and I won't harm you"
"Right" she sighs, "Lets get on with it then"
Despite her words there is a small tremble in her tone and you can't help but notice how her hands shake. You eye her for a moment, making sure she isn't too anxious to continue before you take on your wild shape form. You now stand before her as a wolf, and you slowly wag your tail as a way to both calm her and perhaps invite her closer
Shadowheart tenses up as she watches you change but the wag of your tail is enough to get her to take a steadying breath. She takes a hesitant step forward and slowly raises her hand
"Tav?" she softly calls out, looking for recognition in your canine eyes
You wag your tail a little faster and try to soften your gaze. As she sees this all of the tension in Shadowhearts shoulders practically evaporates and she takes another step forward
"Okay, you recognize me. That's good" She mumbles more to herself than you
"I told you I would" you grumble softly
She smirks, the sound of your voice easing her, "Well I wanted to be sure"
Wanting to help her feel even more at ease you slowly sit down on your haunches and wait for her to make the next move. She extends her arm, letting her hand come near your snout. You shift forward, closing the last bit of distance and press your nose against her palm. Shadowheart jumps slightly, either from the cold dampness of your nose or the sudden pressure of it against her skin, but she settles and lets her thumb rub the side of your snout
"This isn't so bad" she sighs, "Though I doubt the wolves we face are going to let me pet them"
You let out a soft huff, "No, probably not. I didn't think you'd appreciate me acting ferocious though"
"Quite right. I'd have probably cast Ignis on your tail"
"You'd have missed" you playfully retort
She scoffs, "I would not have"
"You would have" you reply, playfully nipping at her fingers
She lets out a soft laugh, the one she reserves for only you, "I'll make you regret saying that"
To your surprise and delight she surges towards you in a playful manner. You wag your tail happily and dodge her before bounding off, trying to get her to chase
"You'll have to do better than that!"
"Get back here!" she playfully calls out as she chases, "Or I'll get Scratch to chase you down!"
"He'd have better luck!" you joke back as a warmth blooms in your chest
She's clearly at ease now, and though regular wolves would never be his friendly or playful with her perhaps exposure therapy and having fun while doing so will be of some help
Suddenly you're tackled to the ground and the two of you roll around in the underground. Her fingers tug in your fur and she lets out another laugh. You can't help but join in
"What were you saying?" she giggles
"I was distracted" you huff
She giggles again, "I'll have to distract you more often then"
Y/N: Silence, talking is not concentrating. See your friend *gestures to Shadowheart as she prays* Is she talking? Even that oaf *points to Astarion, who is painting* knows to concentrate on what he's doing
The battle had dissolved into the sort of chaos that made it difficult to tell where one clash ended and the next began. Steel rang sharply through the air, spells cracked like distant thunder, and the ground beneath your boots had long since turned to churned mud from the frantic movement of bodies and weapons. The air smelled of sweat, smoke, and hot iron, and through all of it you were doing your best to keep your footing, your focus, and your dignity.
You ducked under a wild swing, pivoted, and brought your own weapon around in a quick retaliatory strike. For a moment things felt balanced again—controlled, even. Your breathing was steady, your attention sharp. Then something shifted at the edge of your vision.
A figure lunged from the side, blade already arcing toward you before your mind fully processed the movement. You twisted to meet it, but the angle was wrong, your stance half-turned, and in the split second it took you to realise you might not block in time—
The world abruptly tilted. A startled sound escaped you—high, undignified, and entirely involuntary—as the ground vanished beneath your feet. Because Karlach had simply picked you up.
There was no warning, no shouted instruction. One moment you were braced for impact, and the next a powerful arm had hooked firmly around your waist, hauling you bodily off the ground with effortless strength before depositing you over her shoulder as though you weighed little more than a sack of grain.
“Hey—!” you yelped, arms flailing instinctively as the sudden movement stole your balance.
“Hang on!” Karlach called back over the roar of the fight, already moving.
And moving fast.
Your stomach swooped as she broke into a sprint, one arm locked securely around the backs of your legs to keep you in place while you bounced once—twice—against her shoulder with every powerful stride she took. The solid heat of her through your armour was impossible to ignore, and the sheer certainty of her grip made it abundantly clear that struggling would accomplish absolutely nothing.
“Karlach!” you protested, voice coming out embarrassingly higher than you intended as you grabbed at her shoulder for balance. “Put me down!”
“Not a chance!” she shot back without slowing, ducking neatly past a clashing pair of fighters as if carrying you over her shoulder was the most natural thing in the world. “You were about two seconds from getting skewered!”
“I had it handled!” you insisted, though the argument felt increasingly weak as she continued barreling away from the thickest part of the fight like an unstoppable infernal freight train.
“Sure you did,” Karlach said brightly. “But I got there first.”
The words were light, teasing—but there was something undeniably firm beneath them, an unspoken decision that she had made and fully intended to stick to. And for reasons you didn’t want to examine too closely in the middle of a battlefield, that firmness made heat rush straight to your face.
Karlach didn’t hesitate. Didn’t debate. She’d simply seen you in danger and decided that meant you were coming with her, your protests be damned.
The confidence of it—the ease with which she carried you, the steady strength in the arm keeping you pinned securely in place—left you feeling strangely flustered, even as the logical part of your brain reminded you that this was, objectively, an extremely practical rescue.
Eventually the sounds of battle softened slightly behind you as Karlach slowed near the edge of the clearing, ducking behind a cluster of rocks that offered some cover from the worst of the fighting.
“Alright,” she said, catching her breath only slightly as she shifted her grip. And then, with surprising gentleness, she lifted you back down onto your feet.
“There,” she added, stepping back half a pace as though making sure you were steady. “Safe.”
You stood there for a moment. Or… attempted to. Your knees, unfortunately, had other plans.
The world felt oddly unbalanced—not from the sprint, not from the battle—but from the lingering awareness of just how easily Karlach had hauled you around like that. Your legs felt suspiciously weak, and you were very aware that your face had not cooled down in the slightest.
Karlach rubbed the back of her neck, looking just a little sheepish now that the immediate danger had passed.
“Uh… sorry about the manhandling,” she said, flashing you a crooked grin. “Kinda went into protective mode there.”
You cleared your throat quickly, straightening your posture in what you hoped looked like a composed and dignified recovery.
“It’s fine,” you said, waving a dismissive hand that was perhaps a bit too quick to be convincing. “Perfectly fine. Very… tactical.”
Karlach’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. Then her grin slowly widened. It was the sort of grin that made your stomach do something deeply unhelpful.
“Well,” she said, leaning just slightly closer, voice dropping into a warm, amused rumble, “good.”
Her gaze flicked briefly down to your still-unsteady stance before returning to your face, clearly enjoying the effect she’d had on you.
“Because you looked kinda cute all flustered like that.”
Your brain stopped working. Karlach straightened before you could form anything resembling a response, scooping up her weapon again with easy familiarity.
She threw you a quick wink over her shoulder as she turned back toward the fight.
“See you later,” she called casually, already jogging away.
You remained standing there for a few long seconds after she disappeared back into the chaos, the heat in your face stubbornly refusing to fade while your knees still felt slightly unreliable.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, a single, deeply troubling thought settled in with quiet certainty. Karlach was absolutely going to be the end of you.
Minthara:
The battle had dragged on long enough that the initial rush of adrenaline had begun to wear thin, leaving behind only the grinding persistence of survival. The ground beneath your boots had been churned into dark mud by the constant movement of bodies, blades, and spellfire, and the air itself seemed thick with the scent of smoke, blood, and damp earth. Shouts echoed from every direction—orders, warnings, cries of pain—and somewhere beyond the immediate clash you could hear the dull thunder of magic being hurled back and forth like artillery.
You were still standing in the worst of it.
Your sword rang sharply as it caught another strike, the vibration running all the way down your arm. You twisted your wrist, knocked the enemy’s weapon aside, and drove forward in a clean counterattack that forced them stumbling back. Another figure moved in from the edge of your vision and you pivoted immediately, shifting your stance to keep them both in front of you.
The fight had narrowed to instinct now. Parry. Strike. Shift your footing. Breathe. You barely registered the sharp voice cutting through the chaos behind you.
“Move.”
Minthara.
You didn’t turn. You didn't need to.
“I’ve got it,” you shot back over your shoulder, already stepping into another exchange.
The answer was reflexive, stubborn, automatic. You did have it, or at least you were determined to prove that you did. The last thing you intended to do in the middle of a battle was retreat simply because someone else thought you should.
The next few moments blurred together in a rapid sequence of movement. A blade scraped along your side—not deep enough to slow you, but enough to sting—and you shoved the attacker back with a forceful strike that left them scrambling to recover their balance.
“I said move.”
This time Minthara’s voice was closer. You ignored that too.
“I am fine,” you snapped, glancing briefly over your shoulder as you readied yourself to rejoin the push forward. “Handle your own flank.”
That was, perhaps, the worst possible thing you could have said. Before you could turn fully back toward the fight, Minthara stepped directly into your path, her blade flashing once in a swift, brutal arc that ended the enemy advancing toward you before they even realised she was there. The body had barely hit the ground before her attention snapped back to you. Her eyes burned with sharp, unmistakable fury.
“I said,” she repeated coldly, “move.”
“I’m not retreating,” you replied immediately, lifting your weapon again.
Her gaze dropped briefly to your side, where the earlier strike had left a narrow line of blood darkening your armour. “You are bleeding.”
You glanced down for less than a second. “It’s nothing.”
And then you stepped forward again. You barely made it two strides.
The world lurched violently as something seized the back of your armour and hauled you bodily backwards with a force that completely destroyed your balance.
“Hey—!” The protest left your mouth before you even understood what was happening. Minthara.
Her grip was iron. One hand locked firmly into the back of your armour while the other came across your chest, bracing you as she dragged you away from the thick of the fighting with uncompromising strength.
“You will not die here out of sheer stubbornness,” she hissed sharply beside your ear.
“I wasn’t dying!” you shot back, twisting to break free.
It was a pointless effort. Minthara simply tightened her hold, adjusting her stance with the efficient precision of someone who had manhandled far more resistant opponents than you. When you tried to plant your feet and force yourself to stop moving, she responded by lifting you just enough that your boots briefly left the ground.
The indignity of it sent heat rushing to your face. And the closeness didn’t help. Her arm was solid across your chest, her body pressed just close enough that you could feel the controlled strength in every movement as she hauled you behind a fractured section of stone that offered cover from the worst of the battle.
Only once you were fully out of immediate danger did she release you. You stumbled forward half a step before catching yourself, spinning back toward her immediately, frustration sparking hot and fast.
“I had that handled,” you snapped.
Minthara stared at you for a long moment, red eyes glinting. Then she stepped forward again. Slowly. Deliberately.
“You had nothing handled,” she said, her voice low and dangerously calm. “You were injured, surrounded, and too proud to retreat.”
Your jaw tightened. “I wasn’t running.”
“No,” she agreed without hesitation. “You were preparing to die.”
For a brief moment neither of you moved. The sounds of the battlefield continued around you—distant clashes, shouted commands—but in the narrow space behind the broken stone the world seemed to narrow to the two of you standing far too close together.
This tension between you had existed for a long time now, sharp and unresolved, built from too many lingering looks, too many arguments that strayed dangerously close to something else entirely. Neither of you had ever acknowledged it. Neither of you ever would—at least not easily.
But right now it was impossible to ignore.
“You had no right to drag me away like that,” you muttered, though the heat in your face betrayed you slightly.
Minthara’s gaze flicked once more to the blood along your side before returning to your eyes.
“I had every right,” she said evenly.
“Why?”
The question left you before you could stop it.
Minthara’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes shifted—something sharper, quieter, more personal than the cold authority she usually wore so easily.
She stepped closer again. Close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to meet her gaze.
“Because,” she said slowly, each word measured, “I will not stand by and watch you throw your life away when I intend to keep it.”
Your breath caught. The words hung between you for half a second that felt far longer than it should have. Then, as quickly as the moment had appeared, Minthara stepped back again.
Her expression closed off, the familiar composure sliding back into place as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
“Remain here,” she ordered coolly. “Recover your strength.”
She turned, already preparing to rejoin the fight.
But just before she moved away completely, she paused long enough to glance back at you over her shoulder.
“And try not to make me carry you next time,” she added dryly.
Then she strode back into the chaos of the battle without another word, leaving you standing behind the broken stone, heart still racing for reasons that had very little to do with the fight.
Lae'zel:
The battle had already lasted long enough that the sharp, clean rhythm of combat had begun to dissolve into something messier and far more exhausting. The ground beneath your boots had been churned to uneven mud, slick in places with spilled blood and rainwater, and the air vibrated constantly with the clash of metal and the crack of spells tearing through the sky. Voices rose and fell around you—orders barked in frustration, cries of victory, the harsh grunt of someone being knocked from their feet.
And somewhere among it all, Lae’zel’s voice had been calling your name for the better part of the last minute. You ignored it.
You were locked in a tight exchange with an enemy twice your size, blades striking hard enough that the impact rattled through your shoulders. You shifted your stance, twisted your wrist, knocked their weapon aside, and drove forward again before they could recover.
You were winning. Which meant you absolutely refused to retreat.
Your opponent lunged again and you met the strike with a sharp parry, stepping forward to keep them on the defensive. Behind you, boots pounded across the ground.
“I said fall back,” Lae’zel barked, much closer now.
You scoffed, breath sharp with exertion. “I’ve got it!”
Your attention snapped briefly to the side as another attacker tried to flank you, forcing you to pivot and split your focus between the two of them. It was exactly the sort of situation Lae’zel hated. Your footing slipped half an inch on the mud as you adjusted your stance.
That was apparently enough.
The next thing you knew, something slammed hard into your side. You barely had time to register the impact before strong arms hooked around your waist and yanked you completely off balance.
“What—!” you started, startled.
Lae’zel didn’t bother explaining. She simply hauled you backward.
“Enough,” she growled in your ear, dragging you bodily away from the fight.
Your boots scraped uselessly across the ground as you tried to dig in and resist. It was like dragging a cat to a bath. “Lae’zel—! Put me down!”
“No!”
Her grip tightened around you, powerful and unyielding as iron bands, and when you twisted to break free she responded by lifting you just enough that your feet lost proper traction entirely. The indignity of it nearly made you choke.
“You cannot simply carry me off the battlefield!” you snapped.
“Watch me,” she replied flatly.
She pulled you behind a large chunk of shattered stone that had once been part of a wall, shoving you down into the relative shelter it offered before immediately stepping in front of you like a living barricade.
“Stay.” The command was sharp and absolute. You stared at her for half a second. Then immediately tried to stand back up.
“I’m not finished,” you said, already moving to step around her.
Lae’zel blocked you with one arm.
You tried the other side.
She blocked that too.
“Move!” you said, trying your hardest not to sound like a petulant child and more like the brave heroic leader you were.
“No.”
“I had them!”
“You had two opponents and poor footing,” she snapped back. “Your defeat was inevitable.”
“Oh please—”
You attempted to dart around her again. Lae’zel grabbed the back of your armour and hauled you straight back where you started.
“Remain here.”
“I’m fine!”
She grabbed your chin and forced your face up toward the light. Only then did you notice the thin line of blood running down from your hairline where something had clipped you earlier. Lae’zel’s expression darkened immediately.
“You are injured.”
“It’s barely anything,” you said, batting her hand away and trying once again to push past her.
This time she caught you around the waist. Completely around the waist. Before you could react, Lae’zel lifted you off your feet entirely and planted you firmly back down behind the broken stone like you were an unruly piece of equipment she needed to reposition.
Your face burned.
“Gods—Lae’zel!”
“You are reckless,” she snapped.
“And you are insufferable!”
You tried to step around her again. She stepped directly into your path. You tried to shove past her shoulder. She didn’t budge. You glared up at her. She glared right back.
“You cannot simply bench me like this,” you said.
“I can,” she replied calmly. “And I will.”
Your heart was still racing from the fight, but standing this close to her made it worse in a completely different way. There had always been something sharp and charged between the two of you—something that turned every argument into a contest neither of you were willing to lose.
“You’re overreacting,” you muttered.
“You are underestimating the danger.”
“I was winning.”
“You were seconds from being struck from behind.”
You opened your mouth to argue again. Lae’zel leaned closer, her voice dropping into something quieter but far more intense.
“I will not watch you die because you are too stubborn to retreat.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. For a moment neither of you moved. Then you tried to step around her again anyway.
Lae’zel made an exasperated sound deep in her throat and grabbed you once more, shoving you firmly back behind the broken wall.
“By Vlaakith,” she muttered, glaring down at you, “you are impossible.”
“And yet you keep dragging me to safety,” you shot back.
Her eyes flashed. “Because someone must.”
The two of you stared at each other for a long, tense moment while the battle raged on beyond your cover. Finally Lae’zel stepped back slightly, though she still remained firmly between you and the fight.
“You will remain here until I say otherwise,” she said.
You folded your arms. “Or what?”
Her gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary.
Then she said, very evenly, “Or I will carry you further away.”
The threat was delivered with absolute seriousness.
And the worst part was, judging by the strength she’d already demonstrated, you had no doubt she meant it. Lae’zel turned back toward the battlefield then, already raising her weapon to rejoin the fight. But she remained positioned directly in front of you.
A very deliberate barrier.
As if she fully expected you to try again the moment her back was turned.
Which, of course, you absolutely would.
Shadowheart:
The fight had gone wrong in the way battles sometimes did—suddenly, chaotically, with no clear moment when things tipped from manageable to dangerous. One second you had been holding the line with the others, trading blows and insults with a cluster of cultists, the clash of steel ringing sharply in the damp air of the ruined courtyard. The next, reinforcements had poured through the broken archway behind them, and the careful formation you had all relied on began to fracture under the pressure.
Dust filled the air, kicked up by boots and collapsing stone, and the smell of smoke and hot metal clung to the back of your throat. Somewhere nearby, Karlach roared in fury. Gale shouted an incantation. Wyll called out a warning you only half heard.
You heard it—but you ignored it.
Because the enemy in front of you had raised a crossbow, and you had seen the angle, the opening, the chance to end the fight quickly if you just pushed a little farther forward.
So you did.
You surged ahead, blade flashing, determined to finish it.
And that was precisely when Shadowheart noticed you were no longer where you were supposed to be.
“Gods damn it,” she muttered under her breath.
From the edge of the melee, she saw the shift instantly—the way you had stepped too far into the fray, the way the remaining enemies had begun to close around you, drawn by your momentum. She saw the second crossbowman on the balcony above raising his weapon, lining up a shot you hadn’t even realized was coming.
Her stomach dropped.
“Move!” she shouted.
But you were too focused, too stubborn, too intent on pressing forward to listen. The bolt fired. Shadowheart didn’t think. She ran.
The world narrowed to a single point of motion as she pushed through the chaos, shoving past a staggering cultist and vaulting over a fallen pillar with a speed that surprised even her. Her boots struck the stone hard as she closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, the sound of the incoming projectile slicing through the air just behind her.
You turned at the last second, confusion flickering across your face.
“Shadow—”
She hit you.
Not a gentle push, not a careful tug—but a full-bodied collision that drove the breath from your lungs as her shoulder slammed into your chest and sent both of you stumbling backward out of the line of fire.
The bolt whistled past where you had been standing a fraction of a second earlier and shattered harmlessly against the wall behind you.
You barely had time to process what had happened before Shadowheart grabbed you.
Hard.
Her hand locked around your upper arm with bruising strength, fingers digging in as she hauled you bodily behind the cover of a crumbling stone column.
“What in the hells do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
You blinked at her, still dazed from the sudden impact, your ears ringing faintly but turning red nonetheless.
“I had it handled—”
“You absolutely did not,” she cut in sharply. You tried to step back toward the fight. Her grip tightened immediately.
“Stay,” she ordered.
“I can still—”
“No.”
You attempted to pull free, irritation flaring as adrenaline still surged through your veins.
“Shadowheart, let go—”
Instead, she grabbed you with her other hand as well, turning you firmly so your back pressed against the stone. Her movements were quick, decisive, leaving no room for argument as she planted herself squarely between you and the open battlefield.
You froze.
Her face was close—closer than it had any right to be in the middle of a fight. Her breath came fast, her dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and something deeper, sharper, something that made your pulse stutter unexpectedly.
“You,” she said, her voice low and tight, “are not dying today because you decided to play the hero.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You stepped out of formation,” she continued, her grip still firm on your shoulders. “You ignored orders. You nearly got yourself killed.”
The words were harsh, but there was a tremor beneath them—fear, raw and unguarded.
You opened your mouth to argue again. Then you saw it. The way her hand was still trembling slightly where it held you. The way her eyes flicked quickly over your body, scanning for injuries. The way she hadn’t let go.
Your irritation softened into something warmer, quieter.
“I’m fine,” you said gently. Her jaw tightened.
“Yes,” she replied, still breathless. “Because I moved you.”
You tried to step around her again, stubbornness reasserting itself.
“We need to get back out there—”
She didn’t let you. Instead, she caught you around the waist in a sudden, decisive motion and physically hauled you farther behind the column, deeper into cover. You made a startled noise as your feet left the ground for a moment.
“Shadowheart!”
“Stay,” she repeated, more firmly this time.
Her arm remained locked around you, holding you steady against her side with surprising strength. The contact was solid, grounding, impossible to ignore. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the tension coiled through her body as she shielded you instinctively.
For a brief, suspended moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you—your back pressed against the stone, her arm around you, the sounds of battle muffled by distance and adrenaline.
You looked up at her. Her gaze met yours. And something unspoken passed between you—an acknowledgment neither of you had ever quite dared to name. Then, abruptly, she released you.
“Stay here,” she said again, more quietly now.
You hesitated.
“…You were worried,” you observed. Her expression hardened instantly.
“I was being practical.”
You smiled faintly.
“Mhm.”
She shot you a glare, clearly unimpressed with your tone.
“Next time,” she added sharply, already turning back toward the fight, “try not to make me drag you out of danger like an unruly child.”
You watched her go, the echo of her touch still lingering where her hands had gripped you, warmth spreading slowly through your chest despite the chaos still raging around you.
And for the rest of the battle, you stayed exactly where she had put you.
Jaheira:
The fight had turned against you with the kind of quiet inevitability that only became obvious once it was already too late to correct it.
At first, it had been controlled—measured exchanges, careful positioning, the kind of battle Jaheira excelled at orchestrating. She had been calling orders with practiced ease, her voice cutting cleanly through the chaos as she directed everyone into place, shaping the fight rather than simply reacting to it.
You had followed. Mostly. But then something shifted. An opening—small, fleeting, dangerous—appeared in the enemy’s line, and you saw it before anyone else did. One well-placed strike, one decisive push forward, and the whole thing could collapse in your favor.
It was reckless and it was unnecessary. But you went for it anyway and you broke formation. You broke the rules.
“Stay back!” Jaheira’s voice rang out behind you, sharp with command.
With a stupid little smirk, you ignored it. Steel met steel as you surged forward, the clash of blades ringing in your ears, adrenaline sharpening your focus to a razor’s edge. You ducked under one swing, drove your weapon forward, forced your opponent back a step—another—just a little further and—
You didn’t see the second attacker.
Didn’t see the one circling wide to your flank, didn’t notice the shift in the battlefield that left you exposed, isolated just enough for things to go wrong.
Luckily, Jaheira did. From across the fray, she saw it all at once—the gap you’d created, the way the enemy had adjusted, the blade coming in from your blind side and her stomach dropped.
“Damn it,” she breathed and then she moved.
There was no hesitation, no second thought—just motion, swift and purposeful as she cut across the battlefield with the efficiency of someone who had survived far too many fights to make the same mistake twice. She shoved past an enemy, parried a strike without slowing, her focus narrowing to a single point: You.
You were still pressing forward, stubborn as ever, too intent on finishing what you’d started to realize how badly the situation had turned.
“Move!” she barked.
You half-turned at the sound of her voice, just enough to frown.
“I’ve got it—”
You definitely didn’t.
The attacker lunged.
Jaheira reached you a heartbeat later.
She hit you hard. Not a gentle pull, not a careful redirection—she slammed into you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, her shoulder driving into your side as she tackled you out of the path of the incoming strike.
The blade sliced through the space you’d occupied a fraction of a second earlier. You staggered, disoriented, barely managing to keep your footing before her hand closed around your arm.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she snapped.
Her grip was iron. You blinked at her, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins, irritation flaring instinctively.
“No! I had it handled—”
“You had nothing handled,” she cut in, already dragging you backward.
You dug your heels in immediately, resisting. “We need to push now—”
“No, we need you alive,” she shot back, not even slowing.
You tried to wrench your arm free. “Jaheira, let go—”
She didn’t. Instead, she shifted her grip, one hand sliding up to your shoulder while the other braced at your side, and before you could properly react she physically turned you, forcing you back step by step out of the thick of the fight.
“Stay behind me.”
“I am not—”
“You are doing exactly as I say,” she snapped.
There was no room for argument in her tone, no softness, no compromise—just command, honed by years of leadership and sharpened further by something far more personal. You tried again anyway. Because of course you did.
You twisted, attempting to slip past her and rejoin the fight, stubbornness overriding sense. Jaheira’s patience snapped.
“Oh, for the love of—”
Her hand caught you firmly at the back of your collar, yanking you back with enough force to stop you mid-step. Before you could protest, her other arm wrapped around your waist, locking you in place against her side.
You froze.
“You,” she said, her voice low and dangerous near your ear, “are not going back out there.”
“I can still fight—”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re bleeding.”
You faltered.
She didn’t give you time to argue further. With a sharp, efficient movement, she shifted her grip entirely—one arm hooking securely around your back while the other braced under your arm—and then she simply lifted.
Your feet left the ground.
“Jaheira—!”
“Enough,” she said firmly.
There was no hesitation in her movements as she carried you—actually carried you—out of the worst of the fighting, her hold steady and unyielding despite your initial attempts to squirm free.
You made a half-hearted effort to protest, but the strength in her grip—and the unmistakable determination behind it—made it clear resistance was pointless.
“Put me down,” you muttered.
“When you stop being reckless.”
“I’m not—”
“You broke formation,” she interrupted. “You ignored orders. You nearly got yourself killed chasing a moment of glory.”
Her words were sharp, biting—but beneath them was something else, something that made your chest tighten despite yourself.
Worry. Real, unguarded worry.
She set you down behind a low stone wall at the edge of the battlefield, but her hands didn’t leave you immediately. They lingered on your shoulders, steadying you, her gaze scanning quickly over your face, your posture, the way you were holding yourself.
Checking. Making sure. Fussing.
You looked up at her and she met your eyes.
For a moment, the world seemed to narrow—just the two of you, the distant clash of battle fading into the background.
“You could have been killed,” she said more quietly now.
You tried to shrug it off. “Well, I wasn’t.”
Her jaw tightened.
“That is not the point.”
You hesitated. Then, softer, “You came after me.”
“Of course I did,” she said immediately, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The answer hit harder than you expected. Something warm and unsettling stirred in your chest and you smiled faintly.
“Aw, you were worried.”
Her expression hardened at once, the moment snapping shut. “I was being practical,” she replied curtly.
“Mhm.”
She shot you a look that should have ended the conversation.
It didn’t.
Before you could say anything else, she stepped back, her hands finally dropping away as she turned to rejoin the fight.
“Stay here,” she ordered and then softer, added, "Please. For my sake?"
You watched her go, the ghost of her grip still lingering on your skin, your pulse just a little too fast for reasons that had nothing to do with the battle. And this time, you listened.
Have posted the ladies version as I work on the mens version! This has sparked another idea for another piece :))) Hope everyone is doing well and love you so much. Hope you guys enjoy! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ── i hope everyone who reads this enjoys, no warnings on this one, but it is selunite!shadowheart as that was requested :) happy reading <3
to my dear tav,
last we crossed paths at the heroes’ feast, the press of company allowed me only the briefest of words with you. it set my thoughts back to the first time that fate saw fit to needle our paths together, that time when we met on that awful ship, then fell to the beach together. i didn’t even want to travel with you, i had a mission to complete- but circumstances called for me to choose going along with you, and now i think wandering away from each other has carved a new gorge in my heart.
what a fool i was to think i could tear myself from you after all that time we spent together, after you rid me of the false god that was using me for the worse, after you had single-handedly saved my life. even that wine-fueled kiss that we shared after our very first celebration felt like just momentary lust that she left for me to enjoy for my undying devotion.
at first i was confused. i really didn’t know what i wanted and what i felt in that moment, then after. so i decided to stay at just arm's length, for my comfort and for the sake of our mission.
i don’t regret choosing this life, i need you to know that. you made such a fuss about what happened to each of us after the whole ordeal. i couldn’t imagine anything better than this. this place, this life- it’s mine, freely chosen, and that matters to me more than i can explain.
but parting ways with you might have been the hardest thing in my life- past or present. i didn’t expect your absence in my life to be so… present. that isn’t quite right. what i mean is the space you’d occupy is obvious. i came to realise we are the loneliest in this world when we are not around the one whom we want to be seen by for who we truly are.
now, whenever i waltz out to the market i hope i see you- i search for you in every eye and every smile that crosses me on the dirt roads. i tell the flames, lapping at the air, to go find you and give you the same warmth they gave me. i imagine you as every shadow, lulling behind me, weapons ready as you safeguard me. i can live without you no longer; your love and mine should only bloom together. i keep reminiscing about you in camp, the way i wondered if you’d have me just the way i’d want to take you, and make a mold of us in the dirt.
so come to visit me, then stay, let's stitch our threads back together like fate needled it all those long moments ago.
....MY FUNNY VALENTINE (where various characters write you love letters) - you stand puzzled with the letter in your hand, staring at its red, wax seal. you turn it over- no name, no address- this must be a joke right? but you give into the temptation of being pulled into something that possibly could have the horrible ending of you being led into a dark alley and eaten in two bites. but what is this? the handwriting is so familiar, but can you call it neat? nervous? you are just skimming it without actually reading a word because they letters are so shaken, brimming with the nerves of one that is taking their last chance.
do you feel the same way as they do?
welcome to moss' 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 valentine's day event! i came up with this on a whim, looking for motivation and something new to write to kick me back into posting more regularly and also just have myself fall in love with writing again. the big 2025 was harder for me looking back and all i want now is to gain back that confidence and passion i had for writing, being on the internet, and interacting with you guys.
i hope you guys gonna enjoy, and thank you for the requests and kind words <3
eighteen plus, minors dni. content warning: — fluff, love letters, nicknames, maybe some swearing, probably ooc characters, pining, valentine's day stuff, saying "i love you",
i wanna write a couple of love letter-ish fics, yk cute little letter with the characters like confessing and go on and on about how much they love you and want you and cant wait to see you soooo
i need 15 names out of the ones on my masterlist of you guys' choosing to write for. why 15? cuz i wanna post the first one on jan 31, and keep posting from the 31 until february 14. that would be my valentine's day event for this year.
a masterlist and such would be posted in the coming days with the ever-so-long list of names matched up with their dates.
so 15 names, i will keep a counting thingy with each ask that comes in to follow along for myself and you guys!
DISCLAIMER THO!!!! minors n ageless bligs DNI!!!!!
I will only write for these fandoms and specific characters: RESIDENT EVIL (leon s kennedy, jill valentine, ada wong, helena harper, dimitrescue sisters, lady alcina, ashley graham, claire redfield), THE LAST OF US (abby, ellie, dina), CALL OF DUTY (ghost, soap, valeria garza, kate laswell, emma kagan), caitlyn kiramman, jinx, cassandra kiramman, lara croft, sadie adler, blonde blazer, shadowheart, viper (valorant)
