tagged by lots of lovely people this week (and every week)!! tysm for tagging me. I always, always, always love reading your wips even if I don't post my own very often.
I’m really enjoying slowly writing bits and pieces of this little one shot with Maeve and Viago fooling around for the first time!!
It's set during mid-game Veilguard and the context is that there’s already been lots of tension and flirting and trust-building culminating in a few stolen kisses. They’re desperate for more than a couple minutes alone and thoroughly enjoy themselves upon getting it.
(this is before the ~fooling around~ commences so the snippet below is rated G)
"You are… uniquely distracting," he accuses. There's no bite to it, only the subtle uptick at the corner of his mouth.
Infuriating, gorgeous man.
As if she hasn't thought about their previous meeting every second since it happened three days ago beneath the dimmed light of his office in quiet hours of night. The golden thread of tension between them pulling taunt. The hungry press of his mouth against hers and the reluctant parting of ways before there could be more. The grip on her waist as he'd pulled her back across the threshold, back behind the privacy of a closed door, for just one more taste. A lingering promise.
"Oh, is that what I am? A distraction?"
The question slips out before she can stop it. Godsdamned mouth always running ahead of her brain. There's a breathlessness to her voice that she hopes will make the words come across as teasing rather than what they really are. What is this? She wants to ask. What are we doing? Because if this is a game to him, she isn't sure she wants to play. He can't just kiss her like he means it and then—
Viago does not hesitate, closing the distance between their lips and kissing her with a kind of gentleness she had not expected. It's more than enough to stop every thought inside her head and then is over in the span of a heartbeat. Though he does not go far, leaving her staring down in a cross-eyed daze, entranced at the nearness of his mouth.
So very close.
So close that when he speaks again she can feel the whisper of movement against her own lips.
"There are better things you could put in my mouth than words, I think."
The shock of it snaps her eyes up to his as an incredulous laugh slips out, more huffs of air than noise.
"Excuse me?"
"I can think of at least four off the top of my head," he continues in that casually formal way of his. Unaffected aside from the glint in his eyes that always appears during their tête-à-têtes. A playfulness seemingly reserved just for her.
🏷️ tag list
If you'd like on or off the list go here.
tagged by four of my favorite authors @waxlyricalmoon @sorcerousadventurer @serensama & @nirikeehan 💖✨
I have this doc that I open up when I'm having a shit day and just want to write stupidly in love mango comfort fluff.
"but wolfe!" you cry "all you ever do is write stupidly in love mango comfort fluff!" and yes, of course, you're correct, but this is where I do it with no pressure of plot. fwp, if you will. fluff without plot. 😌
Viago goes on fewer contracts as Talon. Fewer still that require strenuous physical exertion. Nevertheless, he maintains the same training regimen. The same strict rotation of strength and endurance and flexibility that he's done daily for more than two decades. It has changed very little over the years; an addition here, a substitution there, all for various reasons.
Most recently he's taken to adding an extra ten minutes dedicated solely to stretching his neck and shoulders—the reason for which is currently curled against his side.
She likes to sleep with her nose pressed up under his jaw, face cradled comfortably against his neck. No matter what position they fall asleep in, this is how they end up. Were he a younger man the stiffness might not settle so readily into his bones. (He tries not to think about this or any of the other many things that would be different were he a younger man.)
Still, the soreness is worth it. And Viago? Viago is a man who knows how to determine worth. Fledglings, art, ingredients, jewels, property—all things he can assign a specific amount of gold to. Time, of course, has a worth as well. Ten minutes per day is a steal for what he receives in return. Each little puff of breath feathers across his skin, exhaled from her slightly-parted lips and worth more than anything else he's ever known.
Priceless is what the saccharine romance novels would call it. He finds that to be an unserious assessment. Nothing is ever truly priceless. Ten minutes of his time is the cost born upfront but there is an endless list of payments due and Viago hopes (so strange a concept, hope; he never used to do that) she'll allow him to balance this ledger for the rest of his life.
A twinge of pain pinches at his neck as she repositions herself against him. Bare leg sliding over his thigh, fingers splaying wide over his chest, the softest sigh of comfort poured into the hollow of his collarbone. He would press a kiss to the crown of her head and whisper reverent thanks for the honor if it wouldn't wake her.
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i'm incredibly behind on my inbox and mentions (when am i not? lmao) but this time i have a very good excuse which is that i am writing sickeningly sweet and indulgent viarook filth AND IT SHOULD BE DONE BY TONIGHT!!!!! merry fucking christmas!!!
no pressure tagging: (don't mind me technically posting this on a monday! y'all could turn it into a short blurb sunday someday if you wanted lmao) @davrinsleftpectoral @complikatedd @serensama @aetherflowers @starlightsupernovae @rook-de-rivas & you!
If you see this post and want to play, you can use me as the person who tagged you! I'd love to see your response.
chipping away at my modern au where the crows are a law firm and viago is a senior partner and maeve is a trainee solicitor working directly under him (pun so fucking intended 😏)
context for this blurb wip: maeve needs a place to stay until she can sign a new lease, plans to stay kinda far out of the city in a shitty hotel for a few months. viago is like "absolutely not. your productivity will suffer which reflects badly on me. you can stay in my guest rooms." and both of them proceed to be totally normal™️ about it
cw: viago having some licentious thoughts
lawyer!au wip
Paranoid men think often about all the ways in which they might meet their end. Nearing his fortieth year, Viago rarely finds himself caught unawares by thoughts of new methods. A benefit, he supposes, of constantly thinking about one’s own death. All the things that could kill him have long been accounted for, their contingencies calculated, the relevant precautions put in place.
There is nothing that he has failed to consider; no weapon, no poison, no person.
Except for the one that just waltzed out of his guest rooms.
If he has to be specific—and he does; of course he does— it isn’t her that is the unexpected threat. It’s that goddamned skirt she’s wearing. The crass, base animal instinct in him clocks the bare skin of her pretty legs first, dragging his gaze from her ankles up, up, up, fuck— it’s a tiny little thing. Made for the tennis court. So strikingly white even against her pale skin. The wide-pleated hem shifts, fluttering up a little further over her plush thigh as she bends her knee, reaches back to grab her toes, holds the pose for a quick stretch.
Viago watches—and he does; of course he does—even if he shouldn’t. How can he not? He lets himself ogle her like a fucking lecher while she’s distracted, tapping away at her phone screen, messy curls gathered up high in an elastic and bouncing as she bobs her head to the music in her headphones.
There are at least a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t look.
He’s been over them all countless times. Twice just today.
It isn’t even noon yet.
meanwhile maeve is over there texting ashara (@rook-de-rivas's iconic rook) like "?? the skirt didn't work. he barely acknowledged me walking through just now 🙄"
no-pressure tagging @khomabrutalist @starfyredrabbles @rook-de-rivas & anyone who wants to participate!
"It had snuck under his skin like a fever that night, disguised as frustration and fatigue."
playing around with viago pov, guilty lust-at-first-sight vibes
the full paragraph is under the cut. CW for very mild, non-graphic description of male masturbation
"It had snuck under his skin like a fever that night, disguised as frustration and fatigue. Rarely did he indulge in the slow build up of fantasy when pleasuring himself, preferring a quick release and minimal mess. That night was not meant to be any different. Viago had gotten into bed, foolishly taken himself in hand, and pretended to believe his own lies. 'You are just stressed, in need of tension relief. It will help you sleep.' If his mind wandered to thoughts of a pretty little mouth and soft, pink lips… well, it would only speed things along. And it did. Until it didn’t."
Thank you for the tag @aetherflowers 💖 This is my first time participating in a thursday bangers post! (and thank you for tagging/introducing me to this week's host @serstolas because I'm very excitedly eyeing up those 80+ datv fics and wondering how many I can fit into my weekend haha)
Not doing any of my own tagging this time around, but if you see this and want to participate then please do!
Rules: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).
This week's lyrics:
"I stumble in the dark, tripping on a heart It's gonna leave a mark, maybe we can stay and wait it out" --Can't Help Me Now by Rob Thomas
This immediately made me think about the astarion x oc reincarnation piece I started but never made much progress on. The beginning always felt meh to me, so I went back and rewrote it!
It is always the eyes that give her away. Winsome, mesmerizing pools of hazel. An intricate medley of fawn and umber flecked with saffron and amber, sage and emerald, curiousness and willful verity. No matter what form her body takes in each new life, those eyes—her eyes—remain the same. Astarion peers into them now, aching relief curling through his chest.
“I know you, don’t I?”
He smiles at the familiarity of her query. It’s always some version of those words, formed like a question on her tongue but so glaringly rhetorical.
The response he offers each time is a prayer, a confession, a promise. “You always do.”
tysm for the tags @davrinsleftpectoral & @waxlyricalmoon 💖
I've been slowly but surely working on a mandalorian fic when I need a break from da & bg3 stuff. so far, it's involved a lot of technically pointless research on things like *checks notes* plant life on Naboo (why do I make extra work for myself like this lmao)
Counting only made her sleepier. Too mindless. Too repetitive. So she tries to recall the names of plant life she’d been reading about during breakfast, instead; a list of flora growing on Naboo.
Bhansgrek, bubble spore, cam... Her body jerks, teetering between consciousness and unconsciousness. Had she fallen asleep? The ship hums around her but Mando’s heavy footsteps are absent. Probably still in the cockpit. Cambylictus tree, hornweed… She allows her eyes to close. Not to sleep, just to keep herself from straining to see in the dim light. No point in making the headache worse. Mierda… milda— no, millaflower, queen’s heart, ro… rominaria…
“I thought I told you to stay awake?”
“Sapflower,” is her half gasped, half mumbled response. One hand instinctively reaches for her head but Mando catches her wrist.
He pauses. “What?”
“Plant names. Staying awake.” Talking hurts, but somehow blinking hurts worse. “Fuck,” she groans, “my head is killing me.”
Thank you for the tag @khomabrutalist!! 💖
(consider yourself tagged if you want to participate!)
Here's a bit from a piece I started working on for Viago Week 2025 (Day 5 SFW Prompt: Meant to Be). tl;dr Rook finds a sickly stray cat and Teia helps her bully Viago into keeping it at the Diamond. The fledglings are super normal about it.
I plan on finishing this up and posting it at some point!
There’s a lean black cat perched on a section of railing at the top of the Cantori Diamond. The lanky proportions betray the fact that it has not quite yet reached adulthood despite having the calm disposition of maturity. Its short fur sleek and glossy, shining subtly in the diffused light.
A length of tail curled around its paws twitches methodically at the tip as two clear blue eyes track the movement of bodies through the space.
No one knows where it came from and no one wants to ask. Or rather, no one is brave enough to ask. For the first two weeks after its arrival, the youngest fledglings give the creature a wide berth. It makes them uneasy, they say. Like someone is watching them though its eyes.
Some young Cantori and de Riva Crows increase their pace when forced to walk past it; others linger a safe distance away and whisper amongst themselves. One of the de Rivas jokes that it looks like their Talon. “Maybe he has crafted a new potion,” some laugh; others chuckle nervously. No one mentions the resemblance again, just in case. Other outlandish suggestions are tossed around during what little free-time they have: it is a demon, a shapeshifting hedge mage, a spy signal.
The morning after one novice almost falls from the rafters attempting to avoid the piercing blue gaze, a collar appears around the cat’s neck.
It is thin — almost dainty — and a lovely shade of moss-green; finely made, expertly crafted with high-quality material. At least that’s what those who are brave enough to draw close report back. The others aren’t sure that the observations can be trusted, however. They are Crows, and thus should be capable of noting details with precision. It’s just… Well, they claim the collar is stitched with golden thread and bears the symbol of House de Riva. And that simply can’t be true.
