#verandis whyyy you guys were supposed to have sex why did u run away bro?? shes only slightly insane

[pocket-vvardvark]

WIP whenever

Sorry I was dead for most of this week lmao 😭! Finishing for Christmas break has me scrambling away to turn shit in. Anyways!! I've got some Verandis stuff to share >:) this was supposed to be smut, but Verandis kept cockblocking me 😩 also I just have no idea how to write him tbh lol.

This isn't smut, but there ARE things written that are sexual in nature/allude to sex! So, just a warning!! Be safe <3

Always on the move, Angelica refused to settle down. Imagining the shock of her sister’s expressions left her stifling a chuckle between a pale palm. The novelty of mercenary work left her bored, and she was sure the affairs back home were twice as boring. No, Angelica needed a breath of fresh air; somewhere she could work at leisure with a side of temptation. Temptation being the throes of pleasure. Men or women, it mattered not, as long as it was rough.

Passing through the crowd, she recalls her latest tryst with an older mer. Shivers prick her skin with gooseflesh, a similar reaction coaxed from her body when the riding crop cracked across her bare skin. Blood rushes to her nethers, eliciting a huff at her predicament. So long ago had that elf managed to cloud her vision with stars, it had her itching for more. Nearing the man who held the deed to her newly bought house, Angelica smiles pleasantly. 

“Morning, dear.” Charming others was second nature, even when it was unnecessary. 

“Good morning, ma'am. I've got the deed for you, right here.” A freshly made scrap of parchment is pressed into her hands. Quickly swiping her eyes over its contents, she plops the gold pouch onto the counter when satisfied. 

“Deal. No need to send anyone with me; I know the way.” Flashing another award-winning smile, she bids the Breton farewell with a sneaky kiss on the cheek. His surprised but pleased expression leaves her needy, so she blows a kiss before turning tail.

Walking through the crowd was far slower this time. Summer in Rivenspire was grueling. It was always dry, but now it’s even more so. The ground nearly rivaled that of a desert; soil cracked and lacking any ounce of moisture. Making a disgusted expression to herself, she continues on her way. The little hamlet she bought is just beyond the horizon, and little sparks of excitement well inside her. Excitement of another kind drifts through her mind. Buying property was spectacular in its own right, but that's not entirely what raised the corners of her lips. It had the perfect layout she so meticulously searched for, right beside House Ravenwatch. No one dared to set foot in the surrounding village, which was abandoned and run-down at this point. Some blood fiends stalked the area still, but what was a little danger? She looked through a lens with her string of positive thoughts. A lens of lust, she thinks, as her grin grows ever wider. House Ravenwatch was among the most dedicated researchers and investigators she’d ever known. Each member had a good heart; even if not formally introduced, her sister had told her that much. Their leader—Count Verandis Ravenwatch—was unaware of her existence. Ever the mischievous one, Angelica intended to keep it this way until she had to give up her identity. Keeping possible trysts lost in the dark of the bottomless pit that is her nature is something she’s always kept spotless. Only the best of herself was shown, and the rest needn't be spoken on. After all, no one bedded her for conversation; it was business. Delightful business, but only there to satiate her desires. Methodical in her ways, Angelica twisted things purposefully to match her narrative. Perhaps it was manipulative, but peace was a far better option than bloodshed in any matter. Angelica stands before the modest shack. It lacked in some areas, cracked, and a little more than rugged across its exterior, but it would be worth it. She would make sure of that.

Setting up shop would come after cleaning; she couldn't do with any more cobwebs after shimmying her way through them past the doorway. Divines, no wonder she got such a strange stare from the Breton who sold her this place. It was decrepit.

Working hastily, Angelica works a wet rag against a particularly stubborn stain on the floor. The pattern continued for nearly the entire day—scrubbing, washing, rinsing, and drying. Her arms ached with how much pressure she fought the grime with. Angelica stands, wiping sweat from her brow as she searches for any more grimy areas. Basking in sweet silence, she leans back against the bar. Surprisingly, the air was beginning to settle—a sign of night approaching. She moves, ending the deafening silence by her boots scraping against hardwood. Admiring her handiwork, Angelica tosses the rag into a nearby bucket she procured from storage. It plops heavily into stale water, kicking up a few droplets. Finally, she could start setting up a workstation and fill the bookshelves with tomes. With a smile, she summons a few undead from the earth. A cheap imitation of what they once were, the skeletons chatter after her commands. 

“Over here, bring that tome this way, darling.” Gentle chattering and hisses fill the small abode as her summonings get to work. Sitting with one thigh over the other, Angelica watches with tired amusement. Not unlike marionettes, the skeletons hobble to and fro with haste, carrying alchemy ingredients and tomes alike. One stops near her, appearing to regard her for a moment. 

“Yes?” She inquires softly, watching the hollowed sockets for a pinprick of light in acknowledgement. 

With a mild-mannered bow, it bends its head downward in request. Fond laughter slips past her lips, and she has to stifle her guffaws once the skeleton inches its head only slightly upwards. The pinpricks of light narrow in its sockets, as if it's offended by her laughter. 

“Oh, I didn't mean anything by it, my sweet.” She strokes the smooth, cold cranium of what was once covered in hair. 

“I suppose we all crave love, hm? Even in the afterlife?” A hiss of what she assumes is agreement leaves the gaps between chattering teeth as the skeleton slumps against her hand. 

The squeaking of bone against bone had become a calming sound for her. During dark hours, sometimes her research could only be fulfilled with these lovely undead by her side. Long-lost relatives, or simply those who left Nirn with unfinished business, she only raised those who allowed it. She could feel it—the bond between necromancer and undead. If you were considerate of what the dead wanted and listened with a keen ear, one could understand them. Some were young, strong, old, happy, or sad. Every spirit had unique desires, and some were even kind enough to tell her stories about mundane happenings that transpired when they walked Nirn. It was nice to not always be alone. Together, she would carry these spirits with her as long as she did good—just as she promised them. 

A sharp knock brings her back to reality, accidentally knocking into an undead companion in front of her. Unfortunately, recently undead lack coordination, and it sends the poor fellow’s skull rolling further than she can catch. The door opens, and a boot stops the skull’s descent. 

“Ah, my apologies if I startled you.” A smooth voice utters, strained as they bend to pick the skull up. Her gaze follows them upwards until she recognizes his face. 

A strange color—rich and sunset-hued like any Altmer, but she could have sworn he was a vampire. She smiles sardonically once the illusion disperses, finding it hilarious this man believes she’s caught by a cheap parlor trick. 

Wordlessly prying the skull from his cold digits, she fits it back onto her companion with a smile. 

“Better?” She coos as if speaking to a child who just sustained a bruise. The skeleton bobs stiffly, exuding a faint touch of gratitude. 

“You may rest.” She turns, facing squeaking bones, “All of you, get some rest. You did well, my loves.” She praises with a soft smile before snapping.

Faster than either can blink, skull and bones are whisked away by magic. Nothing could provide evidence that there were once skeletons ambling around her house, laboring to put her things away. 

“A necromancer, I assume?” There’s something in his voice that suggests a distaste for her vocation. Although that was to be expected, necromancers are usually met with pitchforks and torches. She chuckles at the irony—between his condition and her profession—either of them could be met with that sort of doom. 

Turning on her heel, she angles him with a coquettish smile, fingers sweetly linked in front of her. 

“I don’t recall inviting you in.” 

There’s a beat of silence between them, and the man appears bewildered with a twitch of his lips.  Angelica reassumes her facade, busying herself once more with settling in. She grabs any strewn alchemy ingredients and files them back into their rightful jars. 

“Apologies, but…I sensed a peculiar amount of magicka and decided to investigate.” 

Thin brows raise in mock interest, “Ah, did you, now?”

Courteously closing the door, he steps forward with his hands neatly folded behind him. 

“I do hope you aren't planning anything nefarious. Rivenspire has had enough dealings with necromancers for a good, long while, I think.”

Fitting a tome in place, she doesn't turn to face him.

“Ironic, isn't it? That someone like you would be afraid of a necromancer.” Confusion overtakes his wary expression, mouth subtly pulled in a neutral line. 

“And what exactly is someone like me?” 

She shakes her head with a chuckle. “A vampire.” 

Every person he’d met had been so easily fooled by his illusion. As a necromancer, she already possessed some measure of ability with magicka, but it cannot be of a dubious quality if she can see through his disguise so easily. He was ancient even by Altmer standards and had a much better grasp of magic than any younger man or Mer. The woman standing before him—grinning proudly—clearly knew more than she was leading him to believe. 

“I would refute that claim, but I have this distinct feeling you aren't bluffing.” Tilting his head, he regards her with the utmost interest. 

“Mm, very smart of you!” She exclaims with mock praise, craning her head with a playful squint.

“Go on, then… shed that pitiful disguise.” Her eyes darken. “I want to see those crimson eyes of yours. I hear the women go mad with want for them.”

Off it goes, peeling from his body like a second skin. The illusion fades, leaving only pale flesh, tired eyes, and beautifully carmine orbs. Gods, were they beautiful. Any woman would have spread for a sight like that.

Whistling, she smirks, “Well, well, well…look at the eyes on you. Smoldering. I like it.”

“Smoldering? I’d expect any response but your own, I'm afraid.” 

With a roll of her eyes and a shrug of her shoulders, she resumes working.

“The name’s Angelica, by the way.” 

Walking forward, he pulls a tome from a bulging leather sack to slide into the bookcase in front of her. 

“Count Verandis Ravenwatch.” His hand pauses when it brushes against her knuckle. It was as if a fire raged beneath her veins—she was so delectably warm. A heat he hasn’t felt in some time slowly creeps into his own flesh. 

A tome is balanced against her forefinger as she slows her ministrations to scrutinize him instead. He watches as her silver eyes rove along his face, stopping briefly upon his neck, jaw, and nose. Slowly, they guide upwards to meet his own look of quiet contemplation. 

Sliding the tome in, she lifts the same hand to his cheek. 

She watches as his lashes flutter against her touch—nearly flinching against her smooth pads, which touch him with reverence.

The words she whispers are so quiet, yet he can hear the taint of something passionate behind them.

“Are you afraid of me, Count?”

Blinking, Verandis raises his own hand to cover hers. Caught in the tide that is her soul, the count finds himself drowning in the very depths of her longing stare. 

Feeling the same longing in his chest begin to swirl from the deepest parts of him leaves Verandis perplexed. How could this woman rouse the hunger he so meticulously held down? Not even her blood was safe, he muses, as his eyes flicker to her jugular. The sweet, heady scent of liquid sustenance sings to him the finest melody. Divines, he’s losing himself so readily to a woman he only just met. 

“...Forgive me.” Jerking away, Verandis stands abruptly, masking his growing desire with a shake of his robe. 

Offering what she thinks is a comforting smile, Angelica drapes herself across the bar. 

“Oh, don’t apologize, handsome. It’s not you, you know.” 

Swaying the knee upon her crossed thighs, she procures a quaint vial full of mysterious liquid. Giving it a derisive shake, she winks. 

“It’s this.” Upon further inspection, the color is reminiscent of blood, but the mystery liquid exudes such a powerful pull he’s never felt from any living being’s ichor before. It sloshes around almost like oil—viscous and heavy—unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Sighing heavily, Verandis stares pointedly. “I’ll ask again, then. What are your plans for Rivenspire?" No longer in a questioning mood, Verandis’ voice is tempered with the slightest bit of irritation. 

Maintaining eye contact, Angelica pushes herself off of the leather-skinned seat beneath her shapely rear. She walks forward, heeled boots clicking faintly across wood. A wild card, her actions are far from predictable, as Angelica offers a tender touch across the count’s tense bicep. Caressing his robed arm, she offers insight into her motives.

“Don’t worry, Count, I’m not that type. I’m perfectly harmless, I swear.” Again, her words are so sweet—carefully crafted to lull him into a false sense of security. Delighted by his cautious reaction, she continues to swipe her thumb further along the expanse of his shoulder. 

“I’m an alchemist and translator for the mages guild. Vampirism is a…rather interesting condition, so I decided to settle down here.” Skimming past the real reason—orchestrating a little rendezvous with herself and the count—she answers as truthfully as she can. 

Their eyes meet again with an intoxicating amount of heat that nearly knocks the breath from her lungs. Excitement and temptation were the true reasons for buying this sorry excuse of a house on the outskirts of Crestshade. Tempted by the agonizing thrum of her beating heart beneath her skin, Verandis almost envisions his fangs sinking into the delicate slope of her neck. Unbidden thoughts of what type of moan she would elicit have him stepping backwards, prying her hand off his shoulder. 

“Oh, Count.” She coos, brows upturned in faux concern. “I’m offering respite, darling.”

“Respite? In the form of…what, exactly?” Inquiring was probably foolish, but Verandis needed to know what this gregarious little thing was up to. 

Swallowing carefully after suddenly downing the contents of the vial, she answers.

“I have the key to curing the nasty side effect you call restraint of your charming little curse.”

Crossing his arms, Verandis eyes her warily, “Even if that were the case, our souls are bound for Coldharbour. Curing any number of our ilk would agitate Molag Bal. Surely, as a necromancer, you understand how terribly risky meddling with the prince of brutality would be.

“Yes, yes, that’s but a snag in the seam.” She teases before offering honest consolation. “Look, Verandis…I truly am offering a light within the darkness. Overwhelming forces are around us nearly every waking moment—a few souls no longer tethered to Coldharbour will be the least of that overgrown imp’s worries.”

Her caricature of Molag Bal draws a chuckle out of him. “I’m sure the logistics of such delicate research are far greater than what you’re willing to tell me.” Angelica leans forward with an eager expression, forcing him to continue with what he will most likely regret.

“I do hope this is out of the goodness of your heart, Angelica. But, I suppose another alchemist and translator on the Ravenwatch’s side would be rather beneficial.”

Deciding now is probably an opportune time to leave before she can tempt him any closer, Verandis bids her farewell. Showing her teeth, she offers a flirty, little wave and a kiss. 

“Bye, handsome.”

It would be too soon the next time their paths crossed.