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nymphomatique · 10 months ago

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simulacra

atsv!miguel x fem!reader x comic!miguel

im no geneticist so please forgive me for any incorrect science terms 😁 i have no words for this one i wrote this with my pussy. enjoy!

cw: bunch of word vomit before we get to the sex, miguelcest? two miguel’s like eachother very much, comic!miguel x fem!reader x atsv!miguel, boys kissing, reader fujoshing out, cunnilingus, ass eating (f receiving), blowjobs, ball sucking, handjob, fingering, squirting, voyeurism/cucking?? idk one watches for a bit, double penetration, anal fingering, unrealistic anal 🫡, nipple sucking (f), cum eating, honestly just vibes all around!

wc: 7.9k. im sorry.

—> so this was originally supposed to go up like several weeks ago with a note that i would be gone for school + summer classes (that i just finished!!!) but turns out i drafted it instead of queuing it like a fucking idiot 😁!!!!!! nonetheless, i’m so sorry for the wait. enjoy.

“This is ambitious, even for you Miguel.”

“The worse that could happen is there’s no other dimension, then we take our dinner after this experiment.”

“You’re paying.”

“Only if I’m wrong.”

Geneticist by day, interdimensional scienctist by night, Miguel O’Hara proceeds as one of Alchemax’s brightest employees. A ground breaking research paper with a thesis on the future of genetics and their ability to be bioengineered and spliced with those of non-mammals earned him the title of lead geneticist, nothing short of prodigal in comparison to his peers.

You and Miguel met two years ago during your internship for Alchemax, studying yourself to become a geneticist after reading Miguel’s thesis paper in your freshman year of college. Miguel is a famed alum of Nueva York University, the science department’s crowning achievement in all its years of standing. When you had heard that the genetic science department had opened internship applications for Alchemax, you had been ecstatic. Not only would you have a chance to intern at the company of your dreams, but also get the chance to meet one of your academic idols. Needless to say, when you had read the words “Congratulations! You have been accepted and offered an internship position to study within Alchemax’s genetic science and engineering department.”, to say you were excited would be an understatement.

In the two years you’ve spent interning at Alchemax, you and Miguel have developed a close relationship to say the least. It had been a divine stroke of luck perhaps when you learned that you would be working along side Miguel as a lab technician, you had felt like you died and gone to heaven. Seeing framed photos of the scientific genius in his earlier years had no comparison to seeing him in person. To be crass, he was fucking sexy. Tall, extremely tall, broad and muscular in stature, and tan all over. Brooding eyes and a seemingly permanent frown of dissatisfaction present on his round lips, it was safe to say you had developed a slight workplace crush.

Nevertheless, it seemed to be an unrequited infatuation. Miguel never seeming to want to talk to you about things beyond the study of deconstructing cells on an atomic level or changing the structure of somethings molecular composition, he seemed beyond disinterested in you. Still, you enjoyed the stolen glances and the misinterpretations of a touch or a word or a glance. It’s like a secret you have kept to yourself.

It wasn’t all distaste on Miguel’s part however, after some time with him he began to share some tidbits out his personal life, rather reluctantly however. You caught him one day in the lab after hours, you had decided to stay late to work on a test subject, a spider with more than one type of species’ cells, an epigenetic experiment of yours. You were about to leave the lab when you saw Miguel hunched over his desk in his office fidgeting with a gadget you’ve never seen before. A rather crude looking watch, various types of wiring and exposed circuits coming together to form it.

It was then he had explained to you his after hours personal project; inter-dimensional travel. To think he was ambitious was the least of your thoughts, you concluded in your head that he was downright stupid to think something like that is feasible on a level of understanding basic science and physics. But after witnessing the messy blueprints and nights of coffee and energy drinks, night after night, seeing how truly dedicated he was at just wanting to believe the idea of inter-dimensional travel, you had no choice but to indulge in him, your bubbling crush gave you no choice to object.

So nights of him alone hunched over his desk, became late nights of both of you hunched over his desk together, fidgeting with formulas and logistics of opening a window to an entirely different universe.

Sometimes you brought coffee, and sometimes he brought late night dinner (that he made in his kitchen) for the both of you. Regardless, the both of you had developed a work relationship, platonic of course, in the two years you’ve been present at Alchemax. You had even shared with him a draft of your own personal work for your final thesis before you graduate; the possibility bio engineering spider DNA with human DNA after your successful test of cross species creation of two types of spiders. To your surprise, Miguel had taken great interest in your work, even helping you with your thesis. It made it hard to not develop feelings for him under circumstances like this.

Tonight has been no different than any other. The two of you sat together in his personal office, gearing up to test a new iteration of the dimension opening watch, more sophisticated than one of the prototypes you walked in on Miguel tweaking at all those months ago.

“Did you set up the tripod?”

“Check.”

“And the-“

“Yes, Miguel,” you drawl out, “the recorder is set as well. Can we get the started now? I’m tired and hungry. I’m counting on that burger.”

Miguel’s face goes stale and you hold in a laugh. You really love how easy it is to piss him off. “Get in position so we can start.” The fluttering thought of you and Miguel setting up and getting in position for a different type of movie crosses your mind and you blush a bit. Focus! You move behind the camera set up, and press record, signaling for Miguel to start the video log.

“Miguel O’Hara. Time is 22 hundred and 27. This is watch prototype 14-B. With this experiment, I hope to be the first person on earth to discover inter-dimensional travel.”

You give a very subtle clear of your throat behind the camera and Miguel sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m also accompanied by my lab technician.” You peek your head around the camera and wave with a smile. Unmoved, Miguel prepares to start with the experiment. A nervous glance to the camera and he twists the mechanism of the watch to the on setting. There’s a moment of silence, the room tense with anticipation, the silent clanking of gears filling the room, until its stops. There’s a short pause in hoping, anticipating something would happen but nothing. Miguel breaks the silence.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight,” you quip, walking away from the camera, ignoring to turn it off.

Miguel rolls his eyes at your comment shucking off his lab coat for the day. “Hurry up so we can catch the cafeteria before it closes.”

You’re hot on his heels, leaving the lab sauntering behind him.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight.”

Miguel was perplexed. Where are those voices coming from?

Sat in his apartment, a glass of scotch on the rocks in his hand, with soft jazz lulling in the background. After a long day of hero work, the unwinding was needed, so such a rude interruption calls for investigation.

“Lyla?” He calls out softly, and with flitting of light she appears. Soft features and blonde hair all an illusion of light.

“Yes?”

“Inspect where those voices are coming from.”

“On it,” and she’s gone once more.

A sip of scotch luls the bulging nerve beginning to head at Miguel’s temple. With a sigh, and another curt sip, he gets lost in the soft jazz, the saxophone carrying him away just for a moment. Until..

“Miguel?” Lyla rouses him from his reverie, and he’s reminded of where he is. “I’m not sure where the sound is coming from. But I am sensing waves of molecular abnormality and instability, suggesting that someone could be-“

“Dimensional travel,” Miguel cuts. “Shock. Who do you think’s behind this?”

“I’m not too sure, but I am worried. I’ll look into it further.” Lyla disappears once more within a moment.

“For shock’s sake,” a sigh and thick fingers come up to pinch his nose bridge. This is the last thing he needs. He stands from the couch and is suddenly taken aback at the intense shaking in his penthouse. “What the sh- Lyla!” he calls out, but as the shaking continues she’s nowhere to be seen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A bean of light shoots up from under the ground and blinds Miguel. He’s so fucked if he ends up in the hands of some villain. The floor splits from under him, swallowing him and spitting him out into a void-tunnel-like space, an amalgamation of orange, yellow, red, and pink lights. He feels like he’s everywhere and nowhere, all and nothing at once. He simply closes his eyes and braces himself for wherever this decides to drop him.

Glass breaking alerts Miguel all the way from the cafeteria.

“Did you hear that?” He stalls mid conversation. Quiet. Listening.

You’re confused. “No? How good is your hearing you think you hear things from down here?”

“Sensitive hearing,” he says, still unmoving. There’s another pause, until he starts packing up his food to go. “Stay here. I think someone is in the lab.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “You don’t know me as well as I thought. I’m investigating with you, let’s go.”

Miguel looks at you and any argument dies with the deadpan look you give him. Silently, he walks back to the lab and you’re just as silent, following behind him.

First, Miguel thinks he’s in a hospital. The white lights and broken vials he landed on making him think he fucked up some poor doctor’s office. Then, he looks around and he knows it’s not a doctor’s lab. The bunsen burners and scribbles upon a rolling chalk board riddled with math. Then, he sees the abandoned lab coat embroidered with the word ALCHEMAX. How did he end up here? That’s when he hears it. Hulking footsteps, followed by a lighter tread. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had no gear on. The footsteps were getting closer. He thinks fast, grabbing a piece of a broken beaker in his hand.

The lab door swings open and that’s when he sees the both of you. Him and the stranger in front of him look at each other. Perplexed. You’re like me. Different. It’s unspoken. There’s a pause before you emerge from behind the large man and Miguel looks at you up and down, glossing you with his eyes. Cute, he muses silently. You raise a brow at him blatantly checking you out before you speak.

“Care to explain what’s going on here, or should we call security and let them deal with you instead?” A hand rests on your hip as you pose the question. A feisty one, he can tell.

Miguel sits up and drops the glass. “I.. don’t know how I got here or how. One minute I was in my house and the next..” he shrugs and looks around.

You freeze, looking at the tall man before you both. “You don’t think.. do you?” And he freezes at the question a beat after you ask it.

“It worked.”

“So, uh,” Miguel clears his throat. “Care to clue a guy in?”

You think you’re losing your mind. You can’t believe it worked. A person, a man, from another dimension is here. In your lab. You and Miguel did this. You want to burst with excitement and vomit in fear at the same time.

Holy fuck, dimension travel is real. We did it. We fucking did it.

You introduce yourself and your lab partner to the strange and is face goes staunch.

“What did you say..?”

“This is my- my lab partner Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.”

“No shocking way.. I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

It’s your turn to go staunch next. “You’re- what?” It’s now you take a moment to look, really

look at the other Miguel. First thing you notice is he’s drastically shorter that your Miguel, sitting at five foot eleven compared to the staunch six feet and nine inches of your Miguel. Then, you look at his face. Same brown tresses but less wavy, coiffed in a messy side look instead of the slick back you’re used to seeing. Still, you can’t deny his attractiveness looking at him. Some things seem to carry on between dimensions, like the same thick eyebrows, slightly tanned skin, and soft looking lips in a pout. You trail your eyes down his strong nose to his thick shoulders, muscles visible even through a plain white tee shirt. The small of his waist and the thick of his thighs strained against his denim jeans have your mind trailing off for a moment, with very inappropriate thoughts to have about a coworker and a stranger.

Miguel, your Miguel, has barely said a word, brooding over you and his tether silently. “Yeah. And this is Alchemax, yeah? My father owns this company where I’m from, the piece a’shit. Lyla would lose her head at this.”

Miguel decides to speak finally and it scares you a bit. “Did you say Lyla? As in Lyrate Lifeform-“

“Lifeform Approximation, yeah.”

“Brother?”

“Gabriel, the pain in the ass he is.”

Miguel’s in disbelief. “No way this is- I did this.” He looks at you for a second and away, like he’s thinking, contemplating.

“Are you.. do you take it too? Rapture?” he chooses his words carefully, and you’re confused. Rapture?

“Yeah,” he nods.

You look between the two men, a bit flustered to be honest, and clear your throat, trying not to blush when they look at you. “Sorry to be that guy here gentlemen but uh- how do we get him back?”

“I think the pretty little scientist is right here, my brother. I think you know as well as I do why I can’t stay here for too long.”

He does. A dirty little secret he’s kept from not only you, but all of Nueva York, is that he’s the one and only Spider-Man. Not only does rapture need to be sated, but crime doesn’t allow for vacation time in this line of work. Left to its vices, Nueva York may very well burn itself from inside out.

“Get me the watch,” your Miguel asks you. You twiddle off to the office with broken glass and loose paper rattled all over the floor, picking up the watch in all its fried-wire glory. You grimace, before getting up to leave when you notice the camera from the video logs on the floor tucked away behind a fallen chair. You remember that you forgot to turn it off before you left for lunch. You bring it in jest, hoping maybe there’s something valuable on film. If not, you get to watch Miguel look incredibly handsome in his lab coat again, and you can’t complain about that.

It’s quiet between the pair when you return. You can’t help but look at them, thinking how ludicrous this whole situation is, truly. “I still can’t believe you guys are the same person,” you muse aloud, dropping the broken watch on the counter along with the camera. “I forgot to stop recording, might be something worthwhile on that thing.”

“Thanks. We’ll clean up and uh, head to my place. S’getting late,” your Miguel says, dropping the watch in his pocket.

In the two weeks the other Miguel has been here, you’ve learned two things: One, Miguel, the both of them, are Spider-Man. Other Miguel had let it slip, and your Miguel confirmed it to you. Following a brief moment of shell shock, your mind began to race. His stamina is probably incredible, and he’s so big and durable, I wonder what he looks like under that suit. Speaking of that suit, you’ve never not noticed the bulge but knowing it’s been Miguel under there the whole time you bite your lip. You’re so fucked. Second, you were beginning to develop a bit of a crush on the other Miguel. You delude yourself into thinking it’s an enamourment that’s returned, the flirty jokes and wandering exchanges shared between the two of you.

This was something that unbeknownst to you didn’t fly under your Miguel’s radar in the slightest. When all three of you are together, you notice the way his muscles in his face pull at the borderline vulgar double entendres his doppelgänger makes towards you. The twist of his lips, the hard swallow in his throat. Is he… jealous?

“Red or white?” you hear the other Miguel over the couch ask, and the question grounds you. You’re over at Miguel’s place, in attempts to figure out what missing code is needed to finally send Miguel’s other back to his original dimension. You had showed up on time, but Miguel had been running late with Spider-Man duties, so you and his tether found yourself plenty occupied within the wine cabinet, stocked with aged reds and whites.

“Red,” you reply back. “What bottle is that? If it’s expensive he’ll kill you.”

“Chateau Cheval Blanc. 1947. Aged to perfection,” Miguel says, walking towards you at the couch with two large rounded glasses in hand accompanied with a rather expensive looking wine bottle. When he rounds the couch you quirk an eye at him. “All the bottles he has are expensive. And technically, they’re my bottles too.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but smile. With a pop, the champagne bottle opens, and the smooth pour of amber liquid fills your glass.

At the first sip, it’s tart, a slight edge to the wine. But with each sip, the notes of fruit and full bodied taste of it begins to hit your taste bud. As you sip, conversation between you and Miguel follows. He tells you about his own perils as Spider-Man, his troubled home life, romantic life, and everything in between.

You laugh. You sip. Your glass empties, and he refills it. You’re warm. Your eyelids become heavier. You’re blinking slower. You’re chewing your lip. You’re nervous.

You’re nervous to be alone with Miguel like this. You’re scared of his charm, his dry humour. His chiseled jaw and rounded lips. You really wanna kiss him.

You realize he’s been talking to you this whole time, sat across the couch, droning on about his own LYLA. You feel the heat in your stare, and you wonder if he can too. You can’t help but look at his lips while he’s talking, his tongue peeking out in a flash of pink to wet his lips after a prolonged sentence.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me.

Your hand slowly comes up towards Miguel’s face and the words slowly die out of his mouth until he’s silent, staring at you like you’ve been staring it him.

“S’good wine,” you say, rubbing soft circles into his cheek.

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod and bite your lip. “How comes, baby?” You blush. He’s teasing you now. This is exactly what you wanted.

“Makes me feel warm.”

You’re meek in your speech, and Miguel finds it adorable, building up the all too palpable feeling of attraction. “Just warm?” he prods, his turn to run circles onto your skin. You’re glad you worse a dress, you think, as his hand trails slowly up your thigh until his fingers are just centimetres away from where you really want them. Then he begins to caress your upper thigh with his thick hand. You’re beyond the point of wanting a kiss now.

You shake your head slowly. “Not just warm. Needy,” you sigh out. Your hand leaves his face and falls on top of his hand on your thigh, and you pull it up ever so slightly until he’s touching you where you really want it, his fingers simply resting against the fabric of your panties. “Feel needy here.”

“Oh, baby..” he drawls, and he pulls you in with a kiss with his free hand. You feel yourself melt into him, a little dizzy. Whether it’s the wine or Miguel, you’re unsure, but you savour this feeling, scared for it to end. Your lips exchange taste, his mouth tasting of the wine, mint and cigarettes. You can’t help but grind yourself into his fingers, and he finally gets the hint and rubs against the crotch of your panties, coaxing the wetness out of you. Your lips don’t leave eachother, the moment you’ve been waiting for being fuelled but the weeks worth of desire for this Miguel, and years worth of repressed feelings for the other. Your hands comb through his thick brown hair, holding onto him as if he’ll disappear if you let go. Your lips leave his to whisper your words of desire into his ear. You can’t wait anymore.

“F-fuck me, please.”

He groans, his lips making his way to your neck to suck, and when your field of vision clears up you freeze. Miguel is home. Standing in the doorway to his apartment, watching you suck face with his tether. You feel like a kid whose hand got caught in the cookie jar, the strong look of displeasure, anger, at catching you in the middle of defiling his couch. Other Miguel eases up off of your neck with a satisfied face that falls flat when he sees the expression on yours, eyes fixed over his shoulder. He sits up and turns around and freezes once he sees what you see.

It’s unbelievably tense in the room. Your mind feeling like it’s going a mile a minute, while also feeling like you’re unable to produce a coherent thought, a combination of Miguel’s touches and that damned red wine.

Your mouth opens and closes over and over, until you blurt out some half-coherent apology for making out with his indimensional counterpart in his home.

“I’ll um- leave.”

You get up and grab your purse, walking past your Miguel on your way to the door, but you’re met with a strong hand on your shoulder. His strong hand on your shoulder. “Sit.”

It’s all he says. And you do.

You slowly stalk back to the couch, sat in the middle trying to keep a respectable distance from the other Miguel, considering the embarrassing position you were caught in. Miguel makes his way over to the couch, looking at the wine bottle and wine glasses on his glass centre table.

“1947. Good year,” he smirks, and you’re feel your stomach twist. What is he playing at?

Finally, Miguel sits beside you, and you feel your face heat up at your predicament. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“I’m not upset about what you two did in here,” Miguel states plainly. He runs his eyes down your neck at the drying spit in between the juncture of it and your shoulder. You look down in embarrassment, but his hand lifts your chin up to look at him once more. “I’m just upset he wasn’t going to wait for me,” he says, brushing his fingers across your cheek and down your chin. You barely have a moment to process what the fuck is happening before his lips crash into yours. Your wine-muddled brain is swirling with so many thoughts but the only one you listen to is the one telling you to kiss him back, so you do. You kiss him back softly, letting him lead you into it. His tongue slips between your lips when you let out a soft moan, and the kiss breaks. Miguel chuckles at your face. He looks beyond you and eyes his twin. “You gonna join or what?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” other Miguel muses, and grabs your chin to kiss you next. The difference between the two kisses has your mind spinning. One soft but dominating, the other hot and heavy. You want to feel them both forever. You feel another pair of lips on your body, your neck specifically, softly kissing up and down the plane of skin there until the soft kisses turn into lingering nips, and the nips turn into bites and sucks that have you writhing against the couch.

Other Miguel breaks the kiss to move his way down to the juncture of your neck, littering it with bites and kisses as well. The stimulation on both sides feels so good, you can’t help but moan and tilt your head back. With lips preoccupied, a set of hands moves to life your shirt, exposing your bra and the swell of your breasts. Palms move through cups of your bra up, freeing your breasts. They’re only free for so long until a palm envelopes one, and a pair of lips from your neck migrates to your unattended nipple. Your eyes have been closed this entire time, the sensation and sheer circumstance throwing you for a loop. You open your eyes and look down, to see your Miguel sucking and pawing at your breasts, while the other continues to lick and bite at you. You feel sharp teeth graze your nipple and you hiss, your hand moving to the back of Miguel’s head and running your fingers through his brown hair, gripping slightly. He peeks up at your face with a smirk, biting one nipple and pinching the other. Your back arches and you inhale shakily and he chuckles. “Naughty fucking girl. Strip.”

It takes you a moment before your brain processes the words you just heard, but after a moment you realize what he said. Strip. You get up, back facing the two, and you undress slowly, and you become privy the sound of them stripping along with you. you sit back down between the two, hands in your palms and nervous. You’ve had sex before but never this intense, or with two guys at once.

“Can you get on your hands and knees for me, mama? I want your ass this way.” Your Miguel asks.

Ever so pliant, you obey. Ass up, face down in the other Miguel’s lap. You take the time to look at his dick from where you are and your eyes bulge. He’s not the longest but fuck is he thick. He’s well groomed, his curly pubic hair kept primped and cut at his base. In your reverie, you feel something wet lick up at your slit and it sends a chill down your spine. He’s eating your pussy. Miguel is eating your pussy.

“Taste so good down here too,” he muses from behind you, inhaling you before diving his tongue deep within you. Your lower body feels like it’s been set ablaze, your nerves on edge and Miguel’s prodding and licking and sucking and rubbing. His fingers circle your clit slowly as he eats you out and you feel like you’re in heaven.

“I see you’re feeling good, huh baby. Make me feel good too, yeah?” Other Miguel says, caressing your hair away from his face. You nod, and grab his thick cock in your hand, beginning to slowly jerk him off. “Yeah, just like that baby,” he sighs, watching you intensely. You jerk him off for another moment before you lift your head up and lick haphazardly at the tip of his penis, twitching and leaking already. You look up at him as you give his tip kitten licks, and then put the tip in your mouth. “Fucking vixen, you are,” he groans, his hand coming to sit at the back of your head. You bob your head up and down slowly, trying your best not to scrape your teeth against his shaft while your Miguel eats you out so feverishly. You’re sucking and licking as best as you can, reaching a hand around to cup and massage Miguel’s balls, and his hips twitch up and push him deeper in the back of your throat. You moan, at both him and the Miguel behind you, and Miguel notices. He holds your head more firmly before he starts to thrust up into your mouth, fucking your face. Your mouth produces obscene noises, leaking spit around the base of his cock and down your lips. You moan as he fucks your face and suddenly you jolt. A thick finger breaches in you and starts thrusting against your walls, and you can’t help but moan, feeling already full from both ends. One finger becomes two, and Miguel finger fucks you to the pace of other Miguel’s hips. “Taking us so fucking well, baby. Good girl. So good. Take it for us.” You don’t know which one says it, but you keen at the praise. You want more. Your throat feels tight, like you’re gonna suffocate on this thick cock, but you hold out, feeling so good and hot inside. “Almost there baby. Swallow it all.” You muster the energy to flit your eyes up and see Miguel’s eyes closed as he fucks your face voraciously. You feel hot, both at the fingers inside you and the face Miguel is making. With each thrust, your nose hits his pubes and it makes him moan increasingly louder until he thrusts one final time and groans. “Take it for me, baby. Don’t swallow yet, fuck. Fuck!” he moans. He pulls his dick out of your mouth until it’s just the tip your lips wrap around. You breathe deeply through your nose, finally. You let Miguel’s potent cum spurt in your mouth until he finishes and pulls out.

“Show me,” he breathes.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the white ropes of cum in your mouth and how groans, pulling you up to his lips to kiss him messily. You’re dumbfounded before you can even realize that your Miguel pulls you away and towards him next, pulling you into a kiss too. His tongue swirls in your mouth before he pulls away from you. “I told you I wanted to share,” he says, before kissing you again. Your head is spinning. You’re not even sure this entire thing isn’t some mega fucked up erotic dream you’re having. You can’t find it in you to care if it is or not for another moment when you feel Miguel grab your hand and wrap it around his cock. Your fingernails barely touch around the girth of him so you look down and holy shit.

Miguel chuckles at your reaction to his size. He must get this often. His cock is definitely proportional to the rest of him, long and thick all over with a trail of curly dark hair at his base. It’s not as groomed as other Miguel’s but you don’t mind. The leaking, uncut cock in front of has you pulsating inside, and you bend down to lick the precum from his dick. “Such a good girl for me. I don’t even have to tell you what to do,” Miguel says, stroking your hair. You hear movement behind you before lips lick from your clit to asshole, and it takes you by surprise. Your lips pop off of Miguel’s cock and you turn around to see the other Miguel, already semi-errect with a smug smile on his lips. “I-I’ve never.. not there,” you stutter. “Just relax baby. M’here to make you feel good,” a says, rubbing his hand across your right ass-cheek. You nod and go back to sucking off Miguel, feeling the wet tickle of Miguel’s tongue against your asshole. You can’t help but tense as him placing kisses back there. He brings his other hand up to your other ass-cheek and spreads you apart. So vulgar, but you can’t help but find a part of you that likes it.

Miguel spit on your asshole, causing a squeak to leave your stuffed lips, before his plunged his tongue in the hole. Your head starts to fly back before Miguel’s hand stops you and pushes you down, two thirds of his dick down your throat.

“Ah ah, baby. Be a good girl and show me how you suck me off,” he says, rubbing the apple of your bulging cheek with his hand. Be a good girl and show him. With Miguel’s thrusting tongue in your ass, you keep forward and try and fit more of Miguel’s dick in your mouth, sucking him and jerking off what can’t fit in your mouth. “Just like that, baby. Yeah. Make your master happy.”

Your stomach contracts at the word master and something flips in you. You suck his cock until you feel like your jaw is about to dislocate, letting yourself get lost in the praise and the pleasure, feeling an orgasm build up from getting your ass ate. You begin your tremble at the constant stimulation, sucking even harder. Your feel Miguel’s dick twitch in your mouth, an almost there slipping from his lips as you suck and lick and jerk him off. Your hips start to shake when you pull off his dick, placing the tip against your tongue and jerking him, wanting to milk him of his seed.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.” Miguel pants.

You brace yourself and open your mouth even wider, jerking him as he cums in your mouth. Miguel’s tart cum falls against your tongue, falling down the side of your face as you hold your mouth open for him. He groans above you and curses. “Swallow it.” And you do. Miguel groans before he leans down to meet you in a dirty kiss, and you can’t hold it in anymore before you’re groaning into his mouth and shivering into him from your orgasm. Other Miguel doesn’t stop licking you, licking up the liquid leaking from your pussy with a salacious sounding moan. “Sweet fucking pussy,” he moans between licks, and you’re trembling at the overstimulation, sending you into a second orgasm. This time, you feel your body tense up, and before you know it, you’re squirting into Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, and move your hips from Miguel’s face, feeling your own liquid leak down your leg.

“Yeah, baby. So fuckin’ sweet,” the words make your clit tremble, the sheer base in Miguel’s voice twisting and turning, prodding and pulling at your nerves. “Don’t run, lemme finish, yeah?”

Your hips buck up and away wildly but to no avail, Miguel proving to be an immovable force to your constant movement. With every suck and lick, you feel your energy depleted as the pleasure crosses the threshold of pain, the overstimulation making your body go both numb and still. You’re engulfed in a haze, your body going limp against the couch save for your pelvis held up by two very large hands.

Distantly, you hear skin slapping and you flit your eyes up for a moment to see your Miguel jerking off at the sight of you, surrendered fully to them both. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head when you feel the wetness of Miguel’s thick tongue lick up from your clit to your ass, prodding the tight rim of muscle lightly with his tongue. Before you can register what’s about to happen, you feel a gush of wetness leave you and you groan, utterly exhausted simply from foreplay. Your ears pick up on the increased speed your Miguel took in jerking himself off, a groan leaving his lips shortly after your own does. You picture him covered in his own cum, white sketched across his tone and tanned abs, and the mental picture is enough to get you excited again, despite the way your muscles protest.

“Such a good girl, taking my mouth like that.”

You suppose you should answer, but your tongue is limp in your mouth, unable to force a sequencing of words out. Instead, you let out a pathetic sounding moan.

“I want a taste too. Holding out on me, baby?”

You half expect the stimulation to start again, tensing up, anticipating a touch to your sensitive clit. After a beat, you finally notice you’re untouched still, and a part of you is graceful for this recovery time, but the shuffling behind you has you finding the strength to lift your head up and—

Oh my fucking god.

Your brain short circuits for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing above you.

Your eyes flutter open and close a few times, somewhat of a quick blink to make sure you’re not riding off some ecstasy high that has you imagining things, that has you imagining both Miguel’s kissing.

It’s slow, and messy at the same time. Your fluids are being lapped up and exchanged by the two men, who lap up and exchange their own saliva as well. You’re struggling to make sense of the eroticism of it, and sheer absurdity of two Miguel O’Haras making out, both mouths wet of your pussy’s nectar. The cognitive dissonance starts to kick your ass a bit, rationalizing the logistics of self incest and it being plain out sexy.

They break apart, both slightly flushed. Your Miguel eyes you with low, brown eyes while your gaze is transfixed at his wet lips, a singular web of saliva connecting both of the men’s lips as they pull apart. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’ve immediately made your decision about the bullshit logistics of this dimensional anomaly. It’s making you so fucking wet.

You’re sure Miguel notices your face, as a breathy laugh leaves his plump lips, wet with both you and him and another him.

“Knew you’d taste good.” He winks and smiles a smile that has your legs regaining feeling once more.

You slowly sit up, straddling yourself in Miguel’s lap. “Want you in,” your hands wrap around his strong shoulders and you lay your cheek against his chest, grinding your sensitive wet lips up and against his dick slowly. You have other Miguel in your line of sight, and you see him watching you both, cock straining against his stomach. It has you feeling warm, thinking of how he unwound you from the inside like that earlier with only his mouth. You can only imagine how it would feel with him inside you. “I- I want you in me too. Please..”

Your voice comes out as meek, but the raunchy display of your hips grinding, face flushed, is anything but.

“Gotta go slowly, mama. You ready?” Miguel asks you, his large hands resting at your hips now, slowly increasing the friction of your wet pussy lips against his thick cock. You moan a bit, and nod in his chest. The thick tip of Miguel’s dick stretches its way inside your pussy, burning slightly despite how wet you are. You wince in pleasure, savouring the burn of the stretch. Other Miguel sits up and makes his way behind you, kissing your back and neck as you sink down onto your Miguel’s cock.

“Fucking tight,” Miguel groans, just as aroused and affected as you are in all the hazy pleasure. Once you’re fully sat, you can’t help but sit up and look down at your lower stomach, a slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “Holy shit,” you moan. You’re pushed back against Miguel’s chest and you squeak at the sudden movement.

“Gonna fuck your tight little ass, baby. Okay?”

It’s rough the way he spits it out into your ear from behind you. You can hear the arousal and anticipation in Miguel’s voice. He spreads your cheeks, spitting on your taut hole. “Gonna have to relax f’me, baby. Gonna be a real tight squeeze.”

You wince and hold onto your Miguel as the other one enters you from behind. While his size isn’t as big as your Miguel, he’s still insanely thick and long in his own right. It takes a lot out of you to withstand the entrance. Soft kisses to your temple and shoulder, sweet nothings and whisperings of “You’re doing so well”, “Good little girl” tickle your ears. From who, you’re not sure. But the verbal praise makes the pain worth it with the way a concentrated heat builds in the depths of your stomach from their charged words.

“I’m all in baby, tell me when you’re ready.” You blink once, twice, and exhale a curt puff of breath. You can’t wait anymore.

“M-move, but slow.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the rocking of hips start, and you feel everything. The pain, the pleasure, the push, the pull, the sheer unnerving hot heat and sensation the two men bounce you between.

After the initial moment of processing the moment you’re having with these two men, these two Miguel’s, you feel your body become both wracked and accepting of the pleasure. The cant of hips get rougher, the spill of moans and breath get louder, and you start to feel yourself get lost in the raunchiness of it all. Your hands roam up a plane of firm musculature and it has you reeling. Miguel is so manly you can’t help but let it turn you on.

“Feeling good, hm?” Miguel’s full lips are pulled into a smirk as he fucks up into your pussy and you simply grip onto his biceps as he drives into you harder. One particular thrust has you sitting up and leaving back into the other Miguel, head tucked away into the juncture of his neck as he fucks your ass from behind. “I think- fuck- we broke her, man. Can barely speak.” You can hear the smirk in Miguel’s voice as he says that, but you can’t be bothered to protest, because you feel like if you let them fuck you any longer you’ll enter comatose.

Hands from behind you roam up from your hips to your breasts, squeezing at the expanse of your chest tenderly. Simultaneously, thick hands plant themselves on your hips, squeezing as they bring you down in time to the upwards thrusts of hips. “Oh my god- I’m gonna c-cum,” you breathe out, feeling your body wind itself up, preparing for another explosive release. The hands at your breasts start to squeeze your nipples, pinching and pulling the sensitive and erect buds, and you squeal.

“So fucking sensitive, baby.” You know that’s the other Miguel, his lips are directly next to your ear. You turn your face towards his and plant your lips against his, desperate for a kiss. Your lips tingle as he kisses you back and you moan in his mouth, your hands running through his thick brown hair and gripping gentle for support. You’re sure that if you were to let go you’d fall face first into your Miguel’s chest, which wouldn’t be all bad now that you’re thinking about it.

Your kiss with Miguel breaks when you feel something warm and wet wrap around your nipple- Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, feeling yourself tighten around him inside of your pussy as you watch him suckle at your breast. Lips trail up against your neck and they suck and Oh my god- he bites your nipple and you moan so loud it almost startles you. That signature smirk doesn’t cease to appear on Miguel’s face even with your nipple between his lips, and you’d smack him if he wasn’t fucking you oh so well.

The lips sucking hickeys into your neck stop and the cold air drying the spit there makes you shiver. Miguel chuckles behind you and you feel the reverberation of the sound in his chest up against your back and it makes you feel warm inside. You can’t hold on for much longer if the two keep teasing you like this. “P-please let me cum, I can’t anymore,” you heave out, both exhausted and inexplicably excited.

“What do you say, Miguel. Should we let her finish?” A voice behind you. Your eyes squeeze close at a particularly intense thrust to your ass.

“Mmm, I don’t think she wants it enough.” A gravelly voice from your front says. He unlatches from your nipples. Thick fingers tease at your clit and you keen forward.

“P- please oh my gosh please let me come I want it so bad-“ You feel like you’re on your knees, begging to two unmerciful gods to turn your punishment into something considerably comparable to a torturing pleasure.

“Hold on for juuust a little, baby. We’ll make you feel real good, real soon.”

The thick fingers teasing your clit, which you’ve deduced belong to the Miguel behind you, move on from their teasing to rubbing strong circles into your clit and you feel your legs begin to tremble. The feeling of your body getting ready to unwind feels closer and closer and you feel your ass and your pussy get fucked harder and harder until-

When it happens you feel disjointed from your body, watching from third person. You can see yourself, squirming and twitching and shaking and squirting again all over Miguel’s couch and lap and they’re still fucking you because they haven’t cum yet. Your body begins to go slack and you fall against your Miguel’s chest, lips grazing his nipple as he continues to fuck up into you fervently.

“Looks like we fucked you numb, baby,” he laughs and you hear it- feel it in his chest, and you moan lazily. “Oh baby, I know. I’m almost ready to cum. Just a little more.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna burst back here,” Other Miguel grunts above you. His hips pound roughly for two- three- four more thrusts before his stills into you and you can feel his cum spurt into you and you shiver. Right behind him your Miguel follows fucking his cum into your pussy with a deep and heavy groan.

“S-So deep…” you breathe out, relishing in the stillness between all three of you. Heavy breathing weighs in the air for few moments before you feel Miguel slowly begin to pull out of your ass, his cum leaking out of you lewdly. You inhale a sharp breath as he moves to sit down on the couch, and that’s when your Miguel lifts you off of his semi-softened cock and onto your back on his lush sofa.

Your chest rises up and down and your eyes flutter closed as you struggle to catch your breath and wrap your head around what happened, but you barely get a moment’s rest before your knees are pushed up to the side of your head and you’re basically balancing yourself on your shoulders. Your eyes shoot open and you see two heads above you.

“Gotta taste our work, don’t we?”

One mouth against your creampied pussy, one mouth against your cum filled ass. You’re not too concerned about who mouth is where- but them sucking at your holes, licking up their cum and yours too is sending your body into overdrive with the overstimulation.

You focus on the image up above you and your eyes bulge in your head at what you see, with each lick up your mounds, the tongues between the two Miguel’s touch. With each lick their tongues touch longer, and longer, until they kiss once more, exchanging each other’s cum with your in their mouths and you’re sure you’ve begun to witness an orgasm induced hallucination. They finish kissing, lips and mouths wet and messy, and your legs come back down from your head to the soft couch cushions.

Your mind is absolutely reeling, processing the last few hours up until moments ago, feeling warm in the face already.

You’re so fucked going back to work.

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara drabble #comic miguel #comic miguel o’hara #comic miguel o’hara smut #miguel atsv smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel smut #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x y/n #feature films💌

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loveanddeephistory · 2 months ago

Text

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends: Trowels and Scales Chapter 2

On Ao3

About: Petunias for anger and resentment, Datura for deceitful charms, Tansy for hostility, Thistle for misanthropy, Wormwood for bitterness.

Flowers for a wedding, flowers for a funeral. Flowers for hatred, flowers for love.

You manage to find stability in the chaotic aftermath of the botched Lemurian excavation, but the mystery continues.

Contains spoilers for: Just about all of Raf's lore lmao

Word Count: 19k

A/N: I did not expect this to be as well received as it was! This will be an ongoing fic, though chapters will likely be spread out. I never envisioned myself being one of those fic writers to have dramatic life updates between chapters, but here I am with a chapter that took over a month because my dad had a heart attack -_-' He's okay!!! I am literally growing grey hairs though lmao

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Summer slipped away like the sands of an hourglass. Each day brought something new, be it in information, relationships, or work. The temperatures continued to rise, until the peak of summer came and went. With summer came more pierside carnivals and games at sunset, swimming at the pool or in the ocean. And while you were both busy people, you finally managed to find time for an official first date with the infamous artist.

Jobs came and went. Finding stability after the events of the Lemurian excavation was... difficult even on your best days. Rafayel's confirmation that Ever was behind it all only made you more determined. You needed to get to the bottom of this, to find them, to help them. If they were still even alive, that is. The concern consumed many of your days. When you weren't working, you were researching. Digging. Trying to find anything and everything you could on Ever and its past. You didn't find much. Hardly surprising, given its shady involvement with a lot of things. You qualms were more focused on ethics and the environment, but you knew there was more under the surface.

You got lucky to secure another contract with the same museum you had been working with the past couple months, this time a grant to focus on research of the maritime artifacts in its collection. A surprisingly large collection had been donated a few decades prior by an eccentric man, boldly proposing they were Lemurian artifacts. Weapons, remnants of clothing, from thousands of years ago. As your eyes scanned over the documents in front of you, it was hardly a surprise to find the museum director at the time discounted most of the man's assumptions. But with the rediscovery of Lemuria, the museum wanted to take a second look.

You put down the file, looking over the series of artifacts laid before you. From your years of experience, at first glance they certainly did look Lemurian to you. They also resembled the artifacts recovered from the very first part of the excavation, which showed Lemuria existed in the first place. But just because they looked like Lemurian artifacts that didn't mean they were. You needed to verify. You put on your goggles and set the documents to the side. With all the preparations necessary, you began to take samples of the different items to send to a lab. Check the composition and compare them to the other confirmed artifacts. Radiocarbon dating was an option to check the dates on these, but you'd need carbon matter to do so. Something that had once been alive. But even then to have a suitable sample size that could harm the integrity of the artifact, so you'd need to discuss options with the current museum director.

You assembled the baggies of what you needed for lab testing, turning back to the list of items the old man had donated. Weapons, some scraps of clothes all listed out one by one... Your eyes fell upon the last item on the list. A shiver ripped up your spine, almost making you physically jump. Bone.

It wasn't specified what kind. You turned back to the table, looking over all the artifacts again. You hadn't noticed a piece of bone on the table, so you gave everything an even closer look. Your eyes trailed over every artifact, getting as close as you safely could. While your eyes were focused, your mind wandered. Over tea, on a rainy day, Rafayel told you about Raymond. The obnoxious man who begged Rafayel to sell that painting to him.

Blood in the water.

You were hardly at liberty to name Rafayel's artwork, but you had already given it a name in your own mind. All those images had been woven together. The painting. The skeleton of a Lemurian. The skeletal hand in your nightmare. Rafayel said people didn't know if Raymond's 'art piece' was truly that, or if it was a real skeleton. Knowing what you know now? You had a feeling you knew which one it was. Your eyes finally fell on it. A small bone. A metacarpal. You carefully picked it up, even more grateful you had your proper gloves on. Even touching it felt wrong, but as you carefully turned it over in your hands, you found some marks on it. It wasn't like an animal had nibbled on it. The cuts were clean. Like a well aimed strike of a weapon.

You carefully returned the bone to its place, hurriedly writing some notes. You'd need to report to the museum director, but as you checked the time you were surprised it was close to closing. You needed to clean up and lock up. The room the museum had given you to analyze the findings had a locked door, so you could safely leave all the artifacts in the room, albeit you would feel better returning them to their proper homes anyway. You carefully began to put the artifacts back in whatever archival storage had been used for it. It was slow work, making sure you used two hands, moved slowly... it was always jarring how different the museum world and the excavation world were. But both had their reasons to exist the way they did. As you finished putting away the last piece, you peeled off your gloves right as a familiar song began to fill the air. Enya's Caribbean Blue. The ring tone you set for Rafayel filled the air with melodic singing, as well as a light buzz from your phone vibrating. You scurried to the counter where your personal objects rested, answering the phone.

"Hey cutie, did you forget? I'm outside!" Rafayel's voice filtered through the phone, a welcome warmth to end the day.

"No! No, I didn't forget. I was just packing up the artifacts they had me looking at."

"I thought that contract ended?"

"They renewed it with another grant, they have me looking at some potentially Lemurian artifacts."

"You don't say! Why not just sneak me back there and I can gave you a yes or no, huh?" You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

"Rafayel, no, I can't do that." You shot him down. You grabbed your bag and headed out, locking the door behind you. "Buuut, I could ask the museum director if it would be okay. I don't think she'd mind having the master artist Rafayel look over some stuff."

"Yeah, yeah." You held your phone to your ear as you made your way through the halls. You dropped off a copy of your end of the day notes for the director to read in the morning, as well as organizing the baggies of samples in the right place. They would be transported to a lab as well. The work day was over, so it was time for your official first date with Rafayel. Your schedules made it nearly impossible to find a good time, so up until now it had been some calls and texts back and forth. "But what were your thoughts? On the artifacts?"

"Oh they certainly look Lemurian to me. I did some swabs for chemical analysis so we can get a better idea of what they were made of, and we might have a chance to do carbon 14 dating."

"... cutie, less science."

"We can do some testing to see roughly how old they are." You chuckled as you clarified. "Carbon is organic matter."

"I knew that one."

"But it breaks down over time. By testing the amount of carbon, knowing how many years it takes to break down, we can do the math to figure out roughly when the living thing died, and thus roughly what time the living thing came from. Be it animal, plant-"

"Person?"

"And person." You pushed the front door open, finding the familiar mop of purple hair not far away. You went ahead and hung up. He immediately lifted his head, briefly looking irritated, until you called out to him. "Raf! Over here!" He turned his head to face you. His expression lightened, and walked quickly to join you. Summer's evenings were steadily becoming cooler, so he was in a crisp white shirt with a cream, red, and blue cardigan hanging off his shoulder. The setting sun made him look even more ethereal than usual. You picked up the pace, hurriedly joining him as he wrapped his arm around you for a brief hug. He hadn't been as nearly as touchy as he was on ebb day, though you figured it was for the best to take things slow. "How was your day? Thomas still on your back?"

"Always." He chuckled, beginning to guide you down the sidewalk. "When isn't he? He's trying to talk me into hosting another gallery exhibition day in a few weeks, I've got another collection he thinks that would do well. Timing isn't right, though." You cocked your head, falling in step with him.

"How so?"

"Ah- I have a familial obligation. My aunt's getting married. She'd understand if I couldn't make it, she knows how crazy things have been." Rafayel said it casually, as if a wedding in the family was no big deal. You grabbed the sleeve of his cardigan, lightly tugging on it.

"No way! Congratulations to her. You totally should go! It isn't every day a relative gets married. Are you two close?"

"I guess you could say that." He hummed, looking forward. "Yeah, we're kinda close. She's the one who got me into singing, but I decided painting's more my style."

"Still, I think you should go. It'll be nice. I'm sure Thomas would understand, a familial obligation absolutely comes first. A gallery exhibition can be rescheduled, a wedding is a bit harder to move around." His arm slowly slid off your shoulders, instead held outstretched between the two of you. You lift your hand and intertwine your fingers, your calluses rubbing on his. The calluses of a hand holding a paintbrush, and the calluses of a hand wielding a trowel. But calluses nonetheless. As you both walk through Linkon, you could hear the distant laughter of children playing in the green spaces. Young couples flirting and playing games. It was the perfect time for some summer games.

"I'm still not sure, but I'll see if I can go." Rafayel was trying to play it cool, but you had learned enough about him to see through a part of that mask. You nudged his rib with your elbow, offering him a smile when he looked down at you.

"Do it. I don't think you'll regret it."

Once you two approached the ongoing festivities, the first thing to catch your eye was a tank full of fish. You made a beeline for it, dragging Rafayel along with you even as he loudly complained. Unlike the day you first encountered Rafayel on your old college campus, the fish in the tank were all red flammula. You grin, tugging him closer by his hand. "Rafayel! I think I ran into this same stand walking home after I saw you in the college cafe. There was a little blue fish here- but now I'm only seeing red..." The owner of the stall looked over, appearing confused.

"Oh? Perhaps you are misremembering. I have never had blue fish here."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Really?" You lifted your free hand to your mouth. "I distinctly remember it being blue..."

"I see you have the memory of a fish." Rafayel exchanged something with the owner of the stall, getting a little paddle. He offered it to you, his lips slowly curling up in that boyish grin. "Maybe you just were thinking about that book of legends too much." You carefully unwove your fingers from his, taking the paddle. You peered over the edge of the tank, spotting multiple fish curiously darting around near the surface. You looked back at the small paddle. You were used to maneuvering equipment underwater, but that didn't necessitate catching fish. "You've got five shots. Let me know if you want the help of a professional, my little archaeologist."

You scoffed a laugh. Challenge? Accepted.

"Little archaeologist? That's a mouthful." You teased, accepting the paddle from him. He didn't respond. He just cocked his head, watching with his characteristic smirk.

Attempt one. You waited, still as a statue, until the fish seemed to calm down. One was swimming near the top, so with a single, quick flip of your wrist you tried to capture it. Only for it to dart out of the way at the last millisecond. That's fine! Not every move will be a winner. Attempt two. You switched tactics. You held perfectly still, the paddle already in the water. The fish took a minute to settle themselves, but eventually did. One fish curiously approached the paddle, and the second it hovered over it you tried to scoop it up. It panicked and flopped off. You looked at the stall owner, who shook his head. Didn't count, it didn't stay on the paddle.

Rafayel clicked his tongue, leaning in over your shoulder. "Why don't you let me have a turn? I might have better luck."

"Gimme one more try, and the stage is yours." You repositioned the paddle, still using the second method. Except this time, not a single fish would approach the paddle. You stood still as a statue. Seconds painstakingly crawled past, until you finally gave up. You groaned. "Okaaaay, stage is yours." You offer him the paddle. He took it between his fingers, deftly twirling it until the base hovered over the water. He tapped it, causing ripples to spread across the water. One little red fish darted around, and with a simple scoop, Rafayel caught it in one try. He extended it to you, the fish wriggling but not seeming to panic. You lit up, grinning as he showed off his prize. You clapped your hands as the stall owner gathered the supplies to package the fish up to take home.

"Soooo, whadya think of my skills, cutie?" He leaned in, obviously fishing for praise. You put a finger to your lips, mock humming in thought.

"Hmm... Overall? Decent technique and skill, nice flick of the wrist. Well done!" Rafayel beamed as he handed the fish to the man, who gently put the little fish in a bag with some of the water. "But... what are we gonna do with this little guy?" The stall owner handed the bag to Rafayel, who took it gently. He held it up to eye level, making you peer up into it. The fish seemed right at home, calm between the two of you. "I travel too much, though I guess I could ask a neighbor to take care of him."

"I could take him home. Fish and fish care are right up my alley." You shifted your gaze to his face, giving him an expression that screamed really? "I am!" He defended himself, the tips of his ears a touch pink in the early evening glow.

"You travel a lot, too. It might be easier for me to get someone to take care of him in my apartment building. I'm friendly with my neighbors."

"Nope, he's gonna come home with me." He held the bag higher so you could no longer peer into it with such ease. "We can coparent."

"Woah, I'm too young to be a parent!" You teasingly protested, gently nudging one of his ribs again. He stuck out that bottom lip, rubbing his assaulted rib with one hand while the other still held the bag. "And besides, isn't that a little forward? Adopting a child on our first date? What're we even gonna name him?"

"It's fiiiine, he's a fish. He'll feel right at home with me. And you'll have a reason to come to Whitesand Bay more often." He lowered the bag again, allowing you both to get a good look at him. The little red fish flicked one way and then another, curiously watching the two of you as you puzzled over a name.

"Flame?"

"Ew, too basic. Gloriosa? For the flame lily? Still has flame in it."

"Too extravagant. Something simple but not basic."

"We could do something from Lemurian folklore."

"Nah, that's too try hard. How about..." Rafayel hummed in thought, before snapping his fingers. "Reddie."

"Reddie?" You looked between Rafayel and the fish. You wanted to complain. But the longer you looked at the fish, the more you liked it. You cocked your head. "Okay. Reddie. Hi, Reddie." You bent over to look into the bag, without getting too close. "You don't think I'm crazy for seeing a little blue fish in that tank, do you, Reddie?"

"He doesn't." Rafayel confirmed. He extended his hand, that playful, boyish grin on his face. "Let's pick up some pet supplies for Reddie here, we can go back to my place to set something up for him. Get a proper tank going, the right nutrients he needs... Maybe grab some takeout for dinner together?"

"So long as it isn't sushi. Don't need our son here wondering if he's next." You grin at the bag again, before your eyes cut up to Rafayel. "But... the wedding. Won't someone need to look after him if you do decide to go?" Rafayel slipped his free hand into yours all over again, beginning to gently guide you down the familiar area, slowly making his way towards the parking lot where he had left his car. That same, beautiful car you two had hidden in after being followed on campus. You still couldn't believe the tax bracket difference.

"I think I know a thing or two more about flammula than you." He teased, opening the passenger side door for you to get in. You weren't as hesitant to just hop in as you were the first time. At least, dressed for the museum rather than using old field boots, you weren't as concerned about dirtying up the interior. "I'll set up a way for him to get the food he needs even when I'm out of town for long periods of time. Reddie will be fine. If you're really all that worried, you know my door is open, you can just swing by."

"You really need to stop doing that. I know your fire evol makes you pretty powerful, but still." You buckled in as he went to the driver's side, carefully handing you Reddie so you could hold him for the ride to his new home. "What if someone breaks in to hurt you? Clearly you and I have both had our fair share of not so admirable secret admirers."

"Eh, it’s fine, no one's given me trouble yet." The engine purred to life again as he pulled out. He looked effortlessly ethereal and beautiful doing anything. Including driving. You reached under your shirt, pulling out the necklace he had given you. For the sake of the artifacts you kept it under your shirt so there was no way it could bump into anything by accident. As it rested against the top of your shirt, it caught Rafayel's eye, making him glance over. His lips turned up, and he caught that familiar glimmer. "You're wearing it."

You looked down, admiring the pearl pendant and the fishtail clasp attaching it to the chain. You ran your thumb over the tail, that old habit prevailing even with the new necklace. "I always wear it. The old one reminded me why I do this, why I should keep going. This one?" You lifted the pendant up with your thumb, bringing it to your lips to kiss. "It reminds me of a new reason. Of our agreement." Rafayel's eyes returned to the road, but even his side profile showed off that dazzling, sincere smile. "Speaking of... so... this aunt of yours. She's a Lemurian too, isn't she?" The sincere smile dropped. Like a stone in the ocean. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, stiffening for a moment. But the light caught on the pearl again. His muscles relaxed the moment it did.

"Yeah." He confirmed. "She is. My Aunt Talia." You smiled reassuringly, nodding your head.

"All the more reason you should go, you know. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but keeping these kinds of ties is important. Especially with everything going on."

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled. "No need to preach."

"Then I won't. But I think you should go. Not like you have to stay if you don't want to. Go get her some pretty flowers, stay for the ceremony, then head out." It was left as a simple suggestion. A comfortable silence fell over the car as Rafayel mulled it over. He seemed conflicted, going back and forth over the whole ordeal. But his heavy, grumbled sigh told you everything you needed to know.

"Fiiiiiine. I'll have to tell my aunt if I say or do something wrong to blame you."

"I can be your scapegoat, I'm not worried about it." Off in the distance, you saw a familiar little pet store. Likely your first destination before heading home to set up Reddie's new home. "But don't forget flowers. They hold more meaning than some people realize."

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends

Petunias, for anger and resentment

Rafayel had packed his bags as soon as the two of you were done setting up Reddie's new home. He knew a florist, so he'd be discussing flower options with him to surprise his aunt. You sat on the edge of his bed as he debated between suits, while you pointed out something more simple would fit an outdoor wedding. Something light and loose since it was still summer, something easy to dance in. He packed two extra suits anyway, alongside the outfit you had suggested. It was a casual night in with takeout, but a perfect first date nonetheless.

Albeit, much too short. The very next day was back to work, back to life as usual. Rafayel didn't disclose where the wedding was going to be, nor was it really any of your business, but you figured it must be out of town since he didn't text you as much in the coming days. So it was back to life as usual, the occasional phone call and text to check in on each other and share information where necessary. The museum director had given her explicit consent for you to use the bone for radiocarbon testing. But as you gingerly held the metacarpal in your hand, gently turning it over, your lips pressed into a thin line.

As Dr. C liked to say, archaeology was a non-renewable resource. And a destructive science, as well. While advancements had been made it would still take a few milligrams of bone matter in order to date it. Whatever part of it you used would be destroyed. You let the bone rest in the palm of your hand, looking it over. It hadn't been treated with any chemicals, and this museum had always been good about keeping all resources in safe, archival storage. It was a good contender for testing. But it just didn't sit right with you. You gingerly put the bone down, letting it rest. You pulled off your safety gear, grabbing your phone and stepping out.

Lemuria has been found. Now, it is your responsibility to help protect it.

You didn't know the first thing about burial rites, or beliefs around death, or how to properly treat remains in Lemurian culture. So the right thing to do would be to ask a member of the community. You stepped outside, the warm sun beating down on you as you pressed on Rafayel's contact picture. A new picture of him and Reddie. You held your phone to your ear, leaning against the wall outside the museum in a private area. It was the middle of the workday, not many people were out and about. Good. The phone rang a few times, and for a moment you prepared yourself to leave a voicemail. But finally, his voice entered the call, groggy from sleep.

"Huh...? Hey cutie."

You couldn't help but smile. "Hey, Rafayel. Did I wake you?"

"Nuh uh, no..." A yawn interrupted him. You just laughed. For someone who calls you cutie, he was adorable himself.

"If you say so. I had a few questions based on some things I'm finding at the museum." He hummed to acknowledge what you said, so you continued. "There's a piece of bone. Metacarpal, finger bone. I got the all clear from the museum director to do carbon 14 dating on it. But... that would destroy the part of the sample I send in. It would only be around 20 to 50 milligrams, probably on the lower end of the scale, but then that part of the bone will be destroyed." You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, then rapid rustling, as if he was sitting up quickly. "I don't know..." You looked around. "I don't know about Lemurian burial practices or how the dead are supposed to be treated. I don't know for a fact that its Lemurian, but I have a hunch. What... what should I do? What do you want me to do?"

A silence hung in the air. You kept your phone close to your ear, glancing around to ensure no one was hanging around or eavesdropping on your conversation. Finally, a heavy sigh came from the other end of the phone.

"Don't do the testing." His voice was firm. He was clearly awake now. "Don't mess with it. Put the bone back where it came from. And leave it alone."

"I can do that." Your voice softened. "I won't do anything to it. I'll tell the director there was new carbon matter on too much of it and it wasn't as good a candidate for testing as I thought."

"Make whatever excuse you need to. Just leave it alone."

"I will, I promise." You gently assured him.

"Swear on the sea." His sharper tone caught you off guard. "Human promises mean little to me. They aren't known for keeping their promises. Swear on the sea you'll leave it alone."

"I swear on the sea and on our agreement to leave the metacarpal alone." You confirmed. Your free hand thumbed the chain to the necklace again, the charm hidden under your shirt. You had agreed to help him, promised it to him. And you would hold yourself to that. If Lemurian culture would not allow the radiocarbon dating of a piece of bone, then you wouldn't do it. It'd save the museum the money anyway, it wasn't a cheap test. Win win, in your eyes. "That's why I wanted to ask you, first." There was a long, heavy sigh on his end of the phone. Followed by a brief silence.

"Thanks, cutie." His tone was one of genuine appreciation, but mild hesitance. You cracked a smile, glancing at the picture on your screen. The goofy face he made at Reddie immortalized. "Maybe I owe you a Lemurian culture lesson when I get back. That way we're on the same page."

"That sounds great. You still owe me some more amendments to the Lemurian Legends book anyway."

"Forget that book. I'll just tell you the real versions of the stories. At some point."

"I'd love that. We'll make it a date." A notification popped up on your phone. Something about breaking news. You didn't look at it, mindlessly dismissing it. But as you did so you glanced at the time. "I'll go ahead and let you go. Thanks for the help, Rafayel. I'll leave the bone alone and report to the director with my excuse. Sorry to wake you."

"Don't mention it, cutie." His tone took on that familiar teasing lilt. You could already see the smirk on his face. "You did the right thing, y'know."

"Calling you? Yeah. I know." You confirmed, your smile widening. "I've got your back. I gotta go back to work now. Hope you enjoy the wedding, and feel free to use me as your scapegoat."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. See ya, cutie."

Your playful farewells finalized the call, so you hung up. Once you did so the same breaking news notification popped up. You briefly skimmed over it, before the name caught your eye.

Raymond.

You pulled the notification back and opened the link.

Breaking News; Former Scientist Found Dead in Home

You sat up a little straighter, scrolling down to skim through the article. It was short. Only the facts were listed, and at the bottom it said the Hunter's Association was suspecting foul play. The man was only 39 years old, found dead in his bathtub with a delirious smile on his face. He had been suffering from hallucinations, both visual and auditory. He had met with his primary care physician multiple times, the renowned Dr. Zayne. But even he couldn't pinpoint the cause of his newfound hallucinations. Any and all information on potential suspects were to be reported to the Hunter's Association. You leaned back against the wall.

That bastard from the art gallery was dead. You figured you should be somewhat grateful. Rafayel was right, his hubris got him in the end, one way or another. You shivered, remembering the way he spoke to Rafayel, the way he made demands and touched him so casually. And the mental image of a Lemurian skeleton flashed before you. Wait. You stood up fully. The skeleton Raymond had. Rafayel mentioned it. You did a quick search on your phone, though no one had any pictures of it. Made sense, Raymond likely wouldn't allow photography, and his family likely wouldn't either. Rafayel said people didn't know if it was real or just a piece of art. But he said that before you knew he, too, was Lemurian.

There was a very real chance the skeleton itself was once a Lemurian. The shudder ripped through you, from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Every cell of blood ran cold. You started to scroll through suggested reports, though most said the same thing. The facts were the facts, and the Hunter's Association would be handling it. That, admittedly, surprised you. Why would the Hunter's Association be involved? Wouldn't it be the police? Unless Wanderers or Metaflux were involved, that is. But as you scrolled, you found a comment expressing your same exact concerns. The official Hunter's Association social media account responded to the comment.

"We are currently investigating the death of Raymond due to the metaflux fluctuations consistently occurring in his home. It is unclear whether a Wanderer or person may have been involved. However, Raymond's home will be closed to both family and the public until the metaflux fluctuations have been brought under control. Please report any suspicious sightings of either human or Wanderer to either law enforcement or the Hunter's Association."

Metaflux. You'd been lucky to have never been exposed to large quantities of the stuff. Work kept you on the move, so you weren't in Linkon for some of the biggest fluctuations or attacks. But you had felt it before. That uncomfortable feeling in the air, the way it would shift. The way your skin would crawl. Much like the way you felt when staring at the blood in the water. Your eyes slowly turned down, back to your phone. You continued to search furiously, and a loose timeline began to form in your mind. It appeared Raymond's odd behavior began shortly after he got the piece of artwork from Rafayel installed in his home.

The blood in the water. The one that had you captured. The one you began to hallucinate from.

The phone nearly slipped from your hands, but you quickly caught it. The sudden chill coursing through you, much stronger than the one before, had you rushing back inside. The inside of the museum was much cooler than the hot late summer sun, but you just needed to move. No. The timeline is too perfect. He wouldn't. That's insane. It had just been a nightmare, and the painting reminded you of it. There's no way. You went ahead and went back to the original news story you read, forwarding it to Rafayel in a text. You didn't caption it. No emojis. No teasing jokes. Just the news report.

You were left on read.

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, reentering the museum. The front desk workers side eyed each other as you walked past, drifting to the back room where you had been working. It wasn't uncharacteristic for you to step outside to call and ask someone for a second opinion, or call a lab ahead of time, or whatever else. This was different. You re-entered the room, shutting the door behind you as your eyes became dead set on the bone. You put your phone alongside your personal belongings, then washed your hands thoroughly according to protocol. With the right tools, you tenderly returned the bone to its archival storage.

"You won't befall the same fate." You murmured to the bone, tucking it in its archival storage away. The skeleton on display in Raymond's home was a clear image in your mind, even if you had never seen it. The skeletal hand of your vivid nightmare plagued your mind, even all this time later. You turned, glancing at your phone and other personal belongings in the corner of the room. Rafayel didn't leave you on read. Ever. Up until now. You wet your lips. Your corkboard all of a sudden had a new component.

Raymond was more than an obnoxious art aficionado. He had to be.

Datura, for deceitful charms

Finding information on an ongoing case run by the Hunter's Association was difficult to say the least. It took days for the pandamonium to die down, and they certainly wouldn't be releasing any information during the panic. There were murmurs online of the sea monster murders off in Verona, that took place a few years back. The serial killer had vanished without a trace, but it was odd that Raymond died in a way much too similar to the final victim.

You sighed. Your first day off from the museum in a while, yet you find yourself working and researching all the same. You looked up at your cork board before you. The missing archaeologists. Ever. E.D.A.S., court case 896318. Lemuria. Rafayel. You tilted your head, looking at the post it note of his name you left up there. All of this began when you two met. You took a slow, deep inhale before turning back to your computer. He should be back soon, he promised to text you when he got home. Try to find time for another proper date. You scrolled through more information, feeling like your eyes were going to glaze over when you found an old archival website.

Ever's past employees. You blinked. You specifically were looking into Raymond. There's no reason for him to be here, unless... You clicked the link. Thankful you were using a VPN and a couple layers of protection for all of this. The website loaded, and on an old webpage, there the man was. Standing front and center around a team of fellow Ever researchers. Multiple segments were heavily redacted, with notes from the archive site's admins noting that this information was initially redacted and nothing they could do would reveal it. But it was enough. You ripped off a sticky note, abbreviating some notes.

Raymond. Ever employee. Old projects.

On another sticky note you added the sea monster murders. Raymond's death appeared all too similar to the last of the murder victims- dying with a smile. But the other person was at an opera show. The opera singer, Mo, had vanished without a trace the very same night. You frowned. Mo. Wasn't that a Lemurian term? Meaning homeland, if you recalled correctly. You grabbed the Lemurian Legends book from its place on your bookshelves. In the margins, in his artistic handwriting, Rafayel had denoted that exact thing. You sigh, putting the book back down as your phone lit up. Once, twice, three times.

You scooted your chair back over to look at the messages, finding Dr. C's contact photo popping up. You opened her texts, finding a link to an announced maritime excavation in Verona itself. You quickly look down at her other messages.

Dr C: This looks cool!!! I can be a reference

You: Sorry doc, I've got a contract with the museum right now. Besides, I've had bad luck with excavations these past few months :(((

Dr. C: All the more reason to break that streak. Good pay, housing provided, stipend for food, and it's just a phase one. Talk to your museum, maybe they'd be willing for you to start researching remotely?

You paused, thinking this over. It might be worth it. The few things you did have to send off to the lab would take a few weeks to get back to you, and you had a copy of all your notes so you could do research on the side. You switched text messages, texting the museum director to ask what she thought. You were lucky enough to get an immediate emphatic yes. The original donator of the supposedly Lemurian collection was from Verona. There'd be plenty of ways to do some additional research while there, plus it meant you could spread out your contracted hours covered by the grant. Perfect. You immediately switched back to Dr. C.

You: Museum director is cool with it, I'll apply today!

Dr. C: Good! Best of luck, I'll send in a reference letter.

You switch from your phone to your computer, pulling up your updated resume. You scanned through the application and everything looked good, it didn't need a cover letter this go around. So you submitted your materials, thankful to see a note on the application that they would ideally get back to applicants in less than a week. With that done, you turned your gaze back up to the corkboard before you. Sans the typical red string seen in movies and shows, it certainly looked the part of a detective's messy board. Pictures, names, context clues. They were slowly forming a web.

One that you found yourself trapped in.

Raymond. Ever. E.D.A.S. The excavation. Lemuria. The archaeologists. Raymond’s death. The skeleton in his home. The bone in the museum. Rafayel.

Each piece of the puzzle brought more questions than answers, and soon it felt less like you were someone watching the web, but an insect trapped within it. Seeing the signs, but no spider in sight. Not yet.

Your phone vibrated again, that silly picture of Rafayel with his cheeks puffed up while looking at Reddie popping up on your phone.

Rafayel Qi: Home now! U wanna come over?

The text was accompanied with that same yellow chick, his little wings wide open with a heart between them. You smiled, picking up your phone again.

You: Ofc! Be there soon!

You: I need to see our son

You: Oh and u 2

Rafayel Qi: how dare u!!!!

Rafayel Qi: u need 2 see me first

The text was then accompanied with said yellow chick stomping his feet. You couldn’t help but grin at his antics. With how playful he was being you figured the wedding went well. But then again, sometimes he was hard to read, even more so through text. He had a knack for being able to hide his true feelings from you. A survival tactic, but one you hoped you could show he didn’t need. Not with you. You shut down your computer and grab your things, typing a response back with one hand as you got what you needed.

You: Leaving now!!! See u soon!!

In response came the yellow chick with a heart again. Your boyfriend's favorite emoji set always made you smile. You grab your bag and throw it over your shoulder, leaving your apartment for the bus stop. Off to see your man.

The bus ride was quiet. Only the odd quiet conversation went on around you. Fine by you, you were buzzing with anticipation to see Rafayel again. He did appear to be in a good mood. As the bus came to a shuddering stop in Whitesand Bay, you hop off and beeline to the familiar white house in the distance. The polished marble nearly blinded you. But the familiarity of it at this point meant that could be overlooked. As usual, Rafayel left the gate unlocked. You made your way to the door, which was also unlocked. For sake of manners you knocked as the door opened. As the door swung open you found Rafayel's back to you, facing his large easel in his workspace.

He turned around the second the door creaked, and a warm smile bloomed across his face.

"There you are, cutie. I was waiting for you forever." His exaggeration only made you laugh as you shut the door behind you. You made your way in, taking your shoes off at the door. You joined Rafayel, who immediately reached to ruffle your hair. "And you said you were gonna see Reddie first. Glad I managed to intercept you." He smirked in that quintessential Rafayel way. You could only laugh, thankful to have him back.

"It's good to have you back. How was the wedding?" You turn to walk to the fish tank where Reddie was swimming around. He looked well fed. You could hear Raf's unhurried footsteps behind you. He leaned in over your shoulder, watching the red fish.

"It was fine. Caught up with some old friends, got to see my aunt. Gave them my blessings and called it a night. Thanks for the outfit recommendation, I ended up going with what you suggested. There was more dancing than I thought." He finally planted his chin on your shoulder. You watched his reflection through the glass of Reddie's tank. He seemed more relaxed now that the wedding was over. No more weddings or impending art gallery deadlines meant some more time to hang out. "How's the museum?"

"Fine." You looked back at Reddie. "Got cleared to look at a different excavation. Here's hoping I'll have better luck with this one, compared to the last two..." You shot him a look. He cleared his throat.

"Yeahhh... sorry about that first one, Ever's a bitch." He rubbed the back of his neck. Though he didn't seem particularly apologetic for his own role. "And the second one, too."

"Eh, oh well. I'm just happy to have lost their interest for now." You turned back to Reddie. He seemed perfectly content. His tank was decorated with seashells and plants, a well curated home. While it wouldn't compare to his natural habitat he was right at home anyway. As you admired the home you two created for the fish your mind drifted back to that phone call with Rafayel before the wedding. About the bone. A fake skull sat in the tank as well, and Reddie darted in and out of the eye sockets.

You took a deep breath.

"Could you tell me about Lemurian burial customs?" The question prompted Rafayel to raise his eyebrows. He looked at you through your reflection, his eyebrows then settling into a furrow.

"Why? That's hardly a welcome home baby I missed you kind of conversation."

"I'm sorry, it's not, but it is a conversation based on our agreement." You lifted the necklace he gave you with your thumb. The mark of your covenant. "I need to know what I should do, if anything." Rafayel took a slow, deep breath of his own. His eyes slowly shut. He took a moment to himself. His chin remained planted on your shoulder, and you didn't try to make him move. He moved on his own a few seconds later. He straightened his back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Humans aren't typically allowed to know these kinds of things." He began slowly, his voice taking on that deeper octave he used when dead serious. "Are you sure?"

"I need to know what I should do with the bone. Do I wrap it in a specific cloth? Do I not even look at it? I... admittedly don't even know if it's really Lemurian, but I have a hunch." He raised a hand and shook his head.

"No, no. Don't doubt yourself now. I agree." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We... without divulging too many details, death isn't inherently a bad thing for Lemurians. When the time is right, we return to the sea in its purest form. We become seafoam and be one with the water forever. There's a whole ritual, the Sea Moon ceremony. There shouldn't be any bones left. Nothing." The loss in his voice was a stark contrast to his words. While death was supposed to be neutral, if not positive, his tone filled with anger and remorse.

He lost someone.

You opened your mouth, wanting to reach out, to comfort him. But his shoulders were tense. He wasn't looking at you anymore. You took a single step towards him. You lift your hand, like you did during Ebb day, and hover it over his cheek. Not too close. Close enough he could feel the warmth of your skin. His nose twitched. Close enough he could smell your skin. Without even looking, he slowly, hesitantly, closed the gap himself. He pressed his cheek into your hand but still didn't look.

"I'm sorry." You murmur. He cracked his eyes open, those blue-pink eyes landing on the necklace that fell between your collar bones. The pearl that caught in the light, the wire fishtail wrapped around it and connecting it to the chain. He lifted a finger, touching the charm before looking up at you.

"For what? This isn't your fault."

"I'm sorry this has happened to you and your people. I'm sorry archaeology and anthropology as disciplines have been so cruel to you. I'm sorry I can't do more." You murmur. His eyes narrow. He drops the charm, snaking his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you to his chest, and all you can do is put your hands on his biceps to steady yourself. This wasn't a hug trying to comfort you. No, this was for him. How could you deny him that? You wrap your arms around him right back. You lean in, just holding him. "You all deserve better than all of this. I'm sorry, Rafayel."

The room fell quiet. Only the low hum of the motor for Reddie's tank, the distant roar of the ocean, and your breaths filled the space. But the moment was necessary. Overdue. So long overdue. His strong arms, he definitely had the physique of a swimmer, curled around you. Not holding too tight. His touch tentative. As if he, too, was trying to figure this out. You don't make him move. You just keep leaning in. Finally, after a few long moments, he pulls back. He puts a bit of distance between the two of you. His eyes bored into yours. As if he was searching for something. For understanding, for recognition, for memory.

His lips finally curl into a smile. The veil had lowered once again. He slowly, carefully lifted a hand... before mussing up your hair. You gasp and whine, lifting a hand to swat his away as he breaks out into laughter.

"Okay, okay, that's enough of that." He grinned, watching as you tried to fix your hair. "Stay for dinner? My treat." You finally look back at him once your hair had more or less been smoothed into submission. His teasing grin disarmed you from any real frustration that may have been there. You just sigh, but your lips betray you by widening into a smile.

Of course you would. And he knew you would, too.

Tansy, for hostility

Thus far, this excavation had been the most successful one you had been on in months. No missing archaeologists, no EVER offers, nothing of the sort. Nothing but good work. Thankfully, the dig site wasn't far off, so you and your team could dive yourselves to do the work. The ocean welcomed you back, and it felt like you had finally regained its good graces. Good weather and tame tides kept everything on track. Which meant you could enjoy your days off without guilt.

The scent of seawater mixed with various local goods, and the waft of espresso from a local coffee shop added a sting of acidity to the air. Somewhere in the distance someone must have just finished a cigarette. Your footsteps reverberated on the cobblestone path, an accompaniment to the street performers lining the paths. Laughter, conversation, shouting, singing. The air swirled with it all. A beautiful symphony of sights, sounds, and scents. You approach the doors of the library, letting yourself in with a self indulgent laugh.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,”

You spoke the verse aloud to yourself, smiling at your own reference before another voice chimed in.

“Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife."

The voice was deeper. Lower. You turn on your heel and find an older man standing near the bookshelves, his back to you. His voice held an edge, the depth of age and experience sharpened with the experience of an actor. He recited the prologue with ease and smoothness, as though he was merely holding conversation. "Romeo and Juliet. Prologue."

"I- yes." You stammer for a moment, taken aback. You take a step forward, tucking your journal under one arm while offering your hand to him. "I'm one of the archaeologists in town, I-"

"Yes, yes." He finally turned. Everything about the man carried both strength and anguish. Deep lines were etched into his forehead, though under his sensible clothes it was clear he had the physique of a fighter. He waved a hand dismissively. "I know you nuisances are in town."

Ah.

You get used to less than warm welcomes in this field. You drop your hand, instead rubbing the back of your neck. "I also am here on behalf of a museum in Linkon. A man donated a significant number of supposedly Lemurian relics some years back, and I'm helping them research it. He was originally from Verona. I was hoping to do some research on the history of the area, and check family histories and birth records." The man finally fully turned to you. Despite his age, his eyes were sharp. Full of wit and intelligence. Though there was a deeper fire in them. A black fire. A fire all consuming, all encompassing. Not like Rafayel's, a fire of passion. Not like Rafayel's, a fire of creation.

His fire was that of destruction.

Blood in the water.

A flash of light recaptures your attention. A glint on his metal nametag- Amund. "I was just looking for the section on local history, and wondering how I'd get in touch with the people who run the local archives. Every time I go, it's closed." You explain yourself while sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. Being unwelcome in town is one thing, being unwelcome in the very library was something else entirely. "I'm just trying to help the museum get to the bottom of it. Radiocarbon dating isn't an option, we don't want to damage anything. And we want to know as much as possible about the donor. He didn't offer his full name, he was just known as K."

Amund tensed. He clicked his tongue, picking up a book to point down an aisle. "Local family histories... I'll let the archives know. We all know K. Why he donated anything in Linkon..." His brow furrowed and he grumbled his words. "Local history down that aisle, on your right. Be careful. The books are old."

"Of course." You confirmed with a polite nod, hurrying down the aisle he pointed to. Anything to escape the awkward and heavy air that had just formed. "Geez." You murmured it in as low a voice as you could, pulling out your journal as you walked to a table. There were only a few scattered around, so you just grabbed the first one you saw. You set yourself up with journal and pen, then began to navigate the library aisles to pull a book or two that looked promising. You weren't sure how much work you'd be able to get done with the mildly hostile librarian. It didn't take a mindreader to know he didn't particularly want you here. You opened your journal, beginning a new entry on your notes as your phone vibrated suddenly from your pocket. You mindlessly fish it out, looking over the names of the books before you, noting the author's name and the title, before turning your eyes to your phone.

A video from a popular gossip account on social media. Just a typical social media notification. Typically you wouldn't bat an eye at it, but the photo attached caught your eye. You'd know that familiar mop of purple hair anywhere. You tapped on the notification and the social media app loaded, before revealing the video in question. You recognized the scene. Raymond's house. A crowd of people dressed in mourning attire stare as a middle aged woman screams at Rafayel, the only person not dressed for a funeral. He seemed entirely unbothered, his steps measured and calm as he walked away.

You had your phone on mute, you're in a library after all, but the caption clarified what the women said. Raymond's mother, the woman shown, was accusing Rafayel of killing her son. Your eyes widen. You open the comments, finding a slew of commenters ridiculing the woman. A painter, one as well known as Rafayel, killing a scientist? Impossible. Besides, Rafayel was nowhere near the man the day of his death. While news had leaked about the metaflux and Rafayel's painting being connected, the Hunter's Association hadn't pressed further. As far as the legal system was concerned Rafayel was wholly and entirely innocent. You took a screenshot, save it to a hidden file on your phone, then shut your phone off.

Why would Rafayel go to his funeral in the first place? It was clear the two didn't get along. Was it a final 'fuck you' to Raymond? You sit back in your chair, pondering it. Sure, Rafayel was petty enough to pull a stunt like that. But... why? Why would he when he likely knew people were drawing connections between him and the painting? He was far from stupid. So if he went, it was for a reason.

You turn back to the books before you.

It takes you back to the day you met your now boyfriend. It all began in a library, after all. That fateful day. Honestly, you should thank your lucky stars. Sure, he admitted the first meeting was an accident and everything after was calculated. But there was still something that stirred your heart when you thought about that first interaction. An archaeologist and a Lemurian, what an odd couple. You put these thoughts to bed as you gave your full attention to the books before you. Amund agreed to speak to the archives on your behalf. Hopefully you could get to the bottom of whoever K was. It seemed promising, since Amund himself said "we" all knew K. He and other local elders must have known him personally. So long as you're speaking of the same person.

Book after book, you made your way through the aisle. This was merely a preliminary check, noting books that sounded and looked the most promising based on chapter titles and brief skims. You didn't have all the time in the world so you ought to make the most of it. The windows to the library allowed sunlight to come through, and soon the bright sun's rays went from a clear radiance to the glow of golden hour. Your journal was filled with notes, with the best books underlined and starred. You return the rest of the books exactly where you found them, for fear of the wrath of the librarian, before grabbing your stack and returning to the front. Amund sat there, reading some other book.

"I would like to check these out, please." He cut his eyes up. He slowly closed his book, taking the books on the counter. He grabbed the stamp and marked each of the books. Gods, when was the last time you watched someone do that? In this age of rapidly changing technology every library used some kind of scanner or digital interface. It was incredibly nostalgic.

"One week, or two weeks?"

"Two, please. I'm not sure I'll be able to complete them and archives research all in one week." Amund turned, lifting a pen to write this information in a register.

"I expect them in perfect condition."

"Of course." You confirm hurriedly, nodding your head. He turned his eyes to you, scanning you over slowly. Before settling on your eyes once more. He slid the books over the counter. That was confirmation enough. You gather the books and safely tuck them in your bag. "Thank you." You express your gratitude before making your way out of the library. If the streets were lively in the afternoon, they were bursting with energy on the verge of night. Street performers danced, sang, whistled, and played their instruments. The streets filled with their symphony. You turn in the direction of your lodging, already heading down the road. In spite of the mild hostility from the librarian you would call that visit a success. And you would have plenty of time to continue these visits. Plus, it was hours to log for your work at the museum.

As your footfalls joined the general ambiance of the area a woman's voice, as rich and melodic a voice you'd ever heard, came over you. It was coming from the a little cafe you had stopped by a few days ago. It had lovely outdoor seating. A woman sat with another figure, shrouded in shadow. The woman looked familiar, with her perfectly styled purple hair. She wore a rich black and white dress. Likely custom made. Your footsteps caught her attention. She turned to look at you, and an immediate knowing smile came over her.

"Rafy! You should have told me." Rafy? You glanced back over to the man shrouded in shadow. As you got closer he became clearer. And, indeed, it was Rafayel. He was standing still as a statue, a flower in his hand. As your eyes settled on the flower he gently closed his fingers around it and tucked his hand behind his back. The woman stood up, gently smacking at his arm. "Oh, don't be shy now, Rafayel. You know I wanted a proper introduction!" Rafayel winced, though the overexaggerated grimace revealed he was just being dramatic.

"Auntie! I didn't know, either!" He whined.

"Rafayel? What are you doing in Verona?" You cock your head, approaching the duo now that you know Rafayel is there. He turned to you, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I had to leave my aunt's wedding early on in the reception to handle business, so I wanted to come and visit her to extend my final well wishes and blessings." You put two and two together, so you turn to the woman and smile. She didn't look like she was much older than you. But you recalled your conversation with Rafayel in the car. She was a Lemurian, too.

She smiled in return, everything about her radiating composure and grace. She was beautiful. Her groom was one lucky man. "You can call me Aunt Talia, dear."

"Auntie." Rafayel turned, his voice revealing surprise. His reddening ears revealed embarrassment. "We just started dating-"

"Nonsense." Talia patted his arm. "Your beloved is family. No arguments." The affection in her voice made your own cheeks redden. A far cry from your reception at the library. "Rafayel was just telling me all about you. You know, I was so excited to hear he finally found someone. He speaks highly of you. What are you doing in Verona?"

"I have the same question." Rafayel jutted out his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked away from the scene. You grab your field notes and wiggle the book in the air.

"Got a job off the coast of Verona. The museum cleared me to come and do it, they were just excited for me to come here so I could do some extra research for them on the side." You explained. Rafayel peered at your field notes, before extending his hand. You hand over your field notes without concern. He opened the journal, beginning to skim through the latest editions. "You were so busy with Thomas I didn't want to bother you, I did text you to let you know I'd be out of town. So far it's the most successful excavation I've been on in months."

"Ahhh." Talia hummed sympathetically. Your eyes cut over to her, and her expression alone told you she already knew of the events of the past few months. "My condolences. I imagine it was frightening, hearing about your colleagues." You nod your head, looking back over to Rafayel. He was offering your journal back. Now that he wasn't being sheepish, you could see what he had tried to hide. A flower. Hawthorn, it looked like. Rafayel followed your gaze before shaking his head.

"Aunt Talia wanted me to have a piece of her bouquet." He explained with a nonchalant smile. "Hey, the sun's setting. Aunt Talia needs to go home anyway. Why don't I walk you back to wherever it is you're staying? You can tell me all about this dig."

"With no interference?" You shoot him a teasing smile. His aunt turns to give him a pointed look, but he laughs anyway.

"No interference. This dig's all yours. Promise." He displayed his palms, only holding the hawthorn with his thumb. He walked over. In lieu of his usual dress clothes, he wore a loose white shirt embroidered with grain on the collar. Loose black pants, and a pair of shoes fitting the warm climate. He hovered an arm over your back, prompting you along as you bid farewell and congratulations to his aunt.

Finally, the two of you begin to walk down the path towards your lodging. You take the moment of quiet to look up. The beauty of the architecture struck you. You tilted your head, admiring the shadows dancing on the buildings in the golden hours' light. Rafayel follows your gaze before cracking a lopsided smile.

"Into architecture too? Nerd."

“No, I just recognize the style. I've seen it in pictures and videos before. This kind of style is unique to this region and has a long history. It was featured in one of the Assassin's Creed games.” Your eyes remained fixed on the beautiful buildings. You fondly recall being handed a controller and jumping and climbing around these kinds of buildings in game.

“I didn’t take you for a gamer.” His brows lifted in a sign of momentary surprise.

“One of my best friends is a gamer. She got all As in history class specifically because of that game series.”

“Are all your friends nerds?” His surprise faded into light hearted teasing, nudging your rib. "Egg head." You reach out and gently smack his arm. He winced, but his barely restrained grin clued you in that it was all in jest. "No! How could you? That's my painting arm! If I can't work for the next two weeks I'll have to tell Thomas it's all your fault."

"Oh wow, you really are taking my scapegoat offer and running with it."

"Yeah, you're an archaeologist, you've got dues to pay for all the stuff your kind have put mine through." He huffed, again being overdramatic. Though there was a grain of truth. You walked a little closer to him, nudging his hip with your own as you walked side by side.

"Speaking of your kind..." You drop your voice. A melodic singer accompanies a street band, joining the crash of waves and call of birds. "Verona. Your aunt. All the street musicians. The librarian. He was kind of..." You drift off, trying to find the most polite way to say this. Rafayel's expression twisted into a grimace.

He rubbed his face with one hand. "Okay. Yeah. First off, yes, I know what you're asking. Not everyone, but yes." He looked at you through his fingers. "And Amund was what? Ornery, rude, pissy?"

"I wouldn't say any of that..." You drawl out your words, but Rafayel shakes his head.

"Nope. You might not, but I will. Because he is. All of the above. And more." Rafayel ran his fingers through his hair before sighing. "And yeah, I already confirmed my aunt." He dropped his voice this time. "But some of the others as well. Survivors."

"Amund mentioned that everyone knew K... That was the only identification of the man who left the Lemurian collection with the museum." You prodded him gently. His nostrils flared.

"K. I should've known it was K." He murmured.

"What do you mean?" You tilt your head. He turns his head towards you, and cracks a smile. He reached over and ruffled your hair. You swat at him, but he just laughs at your halfhearted hits.

"I bet you can guess. We knew him. Me, Aunt Talia, Amund... I didn't know he was the one who donated that stuff. Now I really wanna see that collection you're working on. Small world, huh?" He tilted his own head with that boyish grin. A hint of a teasing smirk taking over it. "Maybe some repatriation is in order?" You reach up to fix your hair after he thoroughly messed it up.

"That's a lot of paperwork, and you'd have to admit that he was Lemurian, and that you're one, too." You clarified. "Plan on outing yourself to the whole academic community?"

"Nah." He shrugged. "Sounded nice, though. Didn't it?"

"Trust me, if it was my call alone I'd gladly let you. But it's not my stuff. And K entrusted it to the museum for a reason. I hope so at least. Now that I know he's confirmed to have been from here and people here knew him, I'm hoping the archives will finally let me look through some records." Rafayel's eyebrows furrowed.

"Were... they not letting you before now?"

"The archive would be closed or just about to close if I stopped by, and there wasn't any way for me to call or contact them to ask for a time to come by. I didn't really get the warmest welcome." You drop your hands. Your lodging was just up ahead. You could see and hear your fellow professionals milling about, cleaning the house, preparing dinner, laughing and talking. "None of us did. But I could tell I wasn't really welcome in the archives or the library." Rafayel didn't respond with words this time, simply humming. You took a few more steps, not breaking the silence that fell.

"I'll be in town for a few more days." Rafayel was the one who broke the moment of quiet. He was walking you all the way to the door. "Can't promise I'll be able to see you, we'll probably have different schedules. But maybe we can grab something to drink after your work day." You look up at him. He was smiling again, but it felt unnatural. His mind was elsewhere. You cracked a small smile of your own. At the door, after verifying no one was looking out the window, you lean up and press a little kiss to his cheek.

"Please. I'd love that, Rafayel." You lean away again. His eyes widened, and the smile vanished. The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks bloomed red, and he quickly looked away.

"O-okay, cutie. I guess it's a date." He immediately cursed under his breath at his own stutter. You don't stick around to tease him this time. He was flustered enough as it was, and while it was fun to tease him, you weren't sure how open you were to being teased by your coworkers. Besides. How public did Rafayel want this relationship to be anyway? You open the door, and he must have shared your thoughts. He began to walk away, almost in a slight daze, one hand lifted to touch his cheek.

"It's a date, Rafy."

Thistle, for misanthropy

The following days of the excavation went well. As well as they could, anyway. While you're all professionals that doesn't mean technology won't sometimes mess up, leaving to spend more time taking manual measurements. But if that was the worst thing to happen during this dig then it would be a smashing success. Especially compared to the last two.

You peel off the layers of your scuba gear, finishing taking some videos and pictures of the excavation for the day. Your fellow crew members were chatting it up, someone mentioning going to the cafe for a pick me up before they closed. Another asked if they could tag along. You weren't really listening all that closely. You dried your hands once you freed them, grabbing your field notes to document some details before they slipped your mind. The scribble of your pen on the waterproof pages became the main sound in your mind. Until a hand appeared before your eyes, snapping once, then twice, to gain your attention. Your eyes dart up and one of your colleagues looks down at you with a smile.

"Hey! We were all gonna go to that cafe in town after we get all the gear put away at the house. We were asking if you wanna come." Jason grinned down at you. A well meaning albeit overbearing supervisor. You shake your head, lifting your journal. You got one specifically for this excavation. Waterproof pages that could be used immediately after work, before you even finished drying off. You'd copy your notes over to your personal journal during some free time.

"Not this time, guys, I need to update my field notes. Some of the pictures weren't matching up with the numbers we had originally so I'm gonna compare them." Jason leaned in over your shoulder, peering at some of your immediate off the top of your head notes. His thick brows were drawn tight.

"Ooh, good catch. You don't have to do that, though. I can stay behind to handle that. I'll catch up with you guys."

"Nah, I'll handle it, I was on photography duty today so I noticed more things." You wove him away. While what you said was true, it wasn't the whole truth. You had a date. You'd handle the official work first, then head off to meet with Rafayel. You weren't embarrassed or trying to hide your relationship. But discretion and tact were the name of the game, especially given the otherworldly details of your relationship and agreement. Best to just be subtle for now. Though it wasn't easy. Rafayel was an internationally famous artist, paparazzi were bound to catch wind eventually. But you both agreed you wanted control over how and when the news gets out. It was time to be subtle.

As everyone made their way back to the house you tucked your journal away for the moment. As one of the divers you only took in the equipment you immediately used while the others brought in the rest of it. You got to strip, shower, and change to begin your official work. You pulled out older pictures from days and the week previous. With everything laid out you got to work puzzling out the discrepancies, adding details and notes to your field notes as you went. The talk and laughter of your teammates faded to background noise as you got in the zone. It took a few minutes, but you successfully located the discrepancy. Underwater markers were always more difficult than on land markers, and one of the rods that had been placed seemed to have been moved. It was a negligible change, but after crunching some numbers you identified it to be the problem. Probably just some loose sediment and underwater currents, or a curious critter, that knocked it about.

You documented your realization just as your phone vibrated. You grabbed it off the corner of the table. You glanced outside, a blur of movement catching your eye. As you came back to the real world mentally you hear the distant laughter of your comrades. They must be heading out. You turn back to your phone.

Rafy <3: Still up for our early-dinner date cutie?

You grin the second you read the text.

You: Yup!!!!!! So excited!!!! See u in ten?

Rafy <3: c u then cutie ;)

The short exchange was everything you needed. You tuck your phone back away, gathering everything you had laid out to put it back where it belonged. The physical copies of photos put back in the supervisor's room, your field notes safely lodged in your shared room. You change out of the t shirt and shorts into something a bit nicer for a casual date night. You grab your set of keys to the house, locking everything up since you were heading out. You grab your bag with some personal belongings to best carry the keys, your phone, your journal, and your knife.

With everything squared away you lock the door and head out. It was a beautiful day, as usual. You hadn't experienced a bad day yet in Verona. It was almost fairytale like. The architecture, the view, the scent. Everything about it was just beautiful. A part of you had to wonder how much of that was due to its inhabitants. Not everyone. But a few. A few of the people you saw out on the street were Lemurians. Was it the antique shop owner? The street performers? The man leaning against the wall, smoking while giving you passing glances? The woman dancing with a small child, or the baker shaking his head at a squabble outside his shop? Multiple of them? All of them? None of them?

You snap out of it. Truly, it's none of your business. You focus back upon the path before you, your footfalls echoing on the cobblestone. You look up to hunt down the sign of the restaurant Rafayel had asked you to meet him at. Soon enough you find it, right outside an alleyway. It was small. Easy to miss. But as you turn into the alley the scent of local cuisine washed over you. You followed your nose more than the path, the various spices and scents guiding you to a restaurant tucked behind the other buildings. Hidden away from tourists and guests, known only to locals and friends.

Rafayel was already waiting, pouring over a menu with sunglasses perched atop his head. He wore a loose white shirt that hung upon around a black tank top, black pants to match. As your footsteps came closer he finally looked up, grinning as he saw you. "There you are, cutie." He welcomed you, standing up. He pulled out your chair with an overdramatic flourish, before beckoning you to sit down. "My darling."

"Good to see you too, Raf." You laughed your greeting, but his flattery still made your ears turn red. You approach and sit down, letting him tuck your chair in. "Someone's in a gentlemanly mood."

"Nothing but the best for my cutie." He sat back down, passing his menu to you. "My treat. Catch of the day is usually the best, everything's fresh."

"It smells amazing, Raf, thanks for telling me about this place. It's obviously not for the tourists." You glanced over the options. The chatter around you in two distinct languages. It was tucked away, a 'if you know you know' kind of place. And Rafayel brought you here. Your heart jumped. You decide to go with his recommendation. You put the menu down, and give Rafayel your full attention. He leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. "So, how's your visit going? Spending some time with your Aunt Talia?"

"Here and there." He shrugged. "She's perfectly smitten with her husband, they're spending more time together than anything. I'm catching up with some other friends while I'm here."

"Oh, are you from here originally?"

"Not really. But I did live here a few years." He shot you a smile. "My aunt was my vocal coach, but I decided painting was more my thing. Moved to Linkon, and... well. You ought to know the rest. Only a few years later I met you." He winked.

"Not a conventional meet cute, you know." You don't specify, not knowing who exactly was around you. But Rafayel knew exactly what you meant. He laughed.

"No, no, not at all. But distinctly us, don'tcha think?" Rafayel's eyes trailed down your outfit. Settling on the necklace draped across your neck, laying between your collarbones. Just seeing the pearl seemed to make his gaze soften. The elusive Lemurian and an archaeologist, meeting at the library, by pure chance and fate. Distinctly you, indeed. You looked away, but your lips curled into a grin all the same. He doesn't need to hear you confirm it. He had a knowing smile, like he could read you like an open book.

A waiter approached, immediately greeting Rafayel in a different language. Rafayel took your menu and handed it to him, carrying conversation until he ordered for the both of you. His body language shifted, switching to whatever was appropriate for the regional dialect. His hand gestures became more exaggerated, his eyes even more expressive. The waiter laughed at whatever he said, clapping him on the shoulder before vanishing back into the main restaurant. Watching him speak another language was wildly attractive in its own way. The way his words flowed so smoothly, like velvet. The way his accent shifted effortlessly. How his body shifted to match his words. You watch him with admiration until his eye caught yours. His lips curled up into a smirk, his eyes shining with mirth.

"Hear something you like, cutie?"

"Yeah. You." You wink. "Your voice... you sound beautiful. You absolutely could've made a killing as a singer." He shrugged, but you could see how he was preening at the praise and flirtation.

"Yeah, could've. But painting is my passion."

"How many languages do you speak, anyway?" You tilt your head, perching it in your palm. He leaned back in his chair to think.

"I can speak just about any romance language. Lemurian, obviously. The language we're speaking in currently. Mandarin and Cantonese." He listed off. "I know some latin." You scoffed a laugh.

"Okay, now you're just showing off."

"You asked!" He nudged your ankle with his foot, grinning at you.

"Yeah, yeah, I asked." You laugh. You were impressed, obviously. "Lemurian. I've heard you talk about it, but I've never heard you really say a word in it." His smile dropped. There was a glimmer in his eye.

"Oh? Do you want to hear something?"

"Sure. Indulge me." You lean forward, curious if he would. He put a hand to his forehead, leaning his head down as if he was thinking hard about what he wanted to say.

"Bulshee'ahgan.1"

Your eyebrows furrowed. It was beautiful. It made your cheeks turn pink and your heart skip a beat. But you weren't sure what was said. "What does that mean? Blushe- blushee-ah,"

Rafayel didn't even bother to hide his grimace as you attempted to recreate the sound. "Don't hurt yourself, cutie." He patted the top of your hand. "I'll tell you later. See if you can find it in that Lemurian language book."

"It's not that advanced, and even then I don't know how what you said would be spelled." You mildly protest, but he just pats your hand again.

"If you can't figure it out or find it, then I'll tell you. I thought your nerdy little brain would love a puzzle."

You huff softly. "I'm an archaeologist. Not a linguistic anthropologist. Different subsection of anthropology." A waft of cigarette smoke settled over you, and a man walked past to get a table on the opposite side of the patio. "But I'm not opposed to a challenge."

"There you go." Rafayel grinned. It was perfect timing, with that your food came out. The identical plates of fish and vegetables made your mouth water, and as soon as the waiter left you both began to eat. The food was so good, so well seasoned and spiced, the fish flakey and not overbearing. You hummed, caught up in your own little world. You almost didn't catch the way Rafayel was watching you. The way his lips were curling into a real smile. You paused.

"Is there something on my face?"

He hummed, lifting his napkin and wiping a bit of the sauce off the side of your mouth. The sudden touch and proximity caught you off guard. You watched him, big eyed. His eyes were focused on your lips, dabbing away the sauce. As he remained close to you, his eyes drifted to the side. Looking somewhere past you. He then looked back to you. "You're cute all pink, you know that?" You lift a hand to your cheek, feeling the warmth radiating off of it. He chuckled, giving you your personal space back as he put his napkin down. "Consider it payback for the cheek kiss."

"What? Mad it didn't land somewhere else?" You manage to quip back, grabbing your fork again as you tried to calm down. He tilted his head.

"What if I am, hm?"

"Well, tough. We're both eating fish. So no kisses." You point to your plates with your fork, earning another laugh.

"Okay, okay, that's fair. No fish breath." He grinned.

Dinner continued without a hitch. Between bites you'd discuss work or Rafayel's visit. His Aunt Talia had married a dressmaker. Her black and white dress was designed and sewn specifically for her. He tried to be aloof, but the way his eyes would momentarily brighten or he'd smirk when recalling his aunt's joy and pride gave him away. He was trying to be tough. But he was happy for her.

As you finish your meal Rafayel excuses himself to go inside and pay. You take the moment to sit back and enjoy the ambiance of the little restaurant. The chatter in different languages, the birds crying overhead. It was just far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the main path, but it didn't lack its charm. You fold your napkin, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of cigarettes again. You look up and find the same man that had come to the restaurant stealing Rafayel's seat. You sit up straighter. "That seat's taken, I'm waiting for my partner." You speak clearly and firmly, grabbing your bag. The young man leans forward.

"Relax, just wanna talk." His voice alone sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "I know you're one of those archaeologists. I just wanna talk about whatever you've found."

"I, under contract, cannot discuss that." You reiterate.

"Not the one in Verona." He clarified.

You slip your hand into the front pocket of your bag. "Which one, then? Unless it's one I've published research on I likely cannot talk about it, and if I have I'd recommend you read the research rather than ask me now, however many months or years later." He rolled his eyes, leaning in across the table.

"Relax-"

You lean back, grabbing the knife and pulling it out. It wasn't fully open, but you'd had enough experience to do so quickly if necessary. Would this guy be stupid enough to try to pull a stunt here in front of so many people? "No." You were ready to stand up. "You're being weird." The man grumbled something before his hand darted out, reaching for your wrist. You jump up and out of your chair, flicking the knife open. The sudden movement accompanied by the loud scrape of the chair against the ground drew attention to you. You weren't usually this jumpy. But all the events of the past few months had certainly made you more wary. You heard measured footsteps behind you, and a flicker of pink in your periphery clued you in.

"Stop." Rafayel wasn't requesting it. No, he was commanding it. The man before you looked up, clicking his tongue.

"Stay out of this, I just had a few questions." Rafayel kept walking forward, soon standing right by your side. You could feel eyes all around you. An audience of restaurant patrons- and potentially others.

"No. If you're harassing my cutie you're gonna have to deal with us both. Got questions? Go on. Ask. If you can ask the professional alone you can ask with me here, too." He spoke slowly, easily. The man clicked his tongue.

"Just wanna know what happened to that little expedition to Lemuria. You were supposed to go too, weren't you?" Your blood ran cold. No one outside of the management team, Rafayel, and Dr. C knew that. Rafayel scoffed.

"Last I checked everyone who went on it vanished without a trace." He wrapped an arm around your waist, easily pulling you into his side even though you stood ready with your blade. "And yet, my cutie is right here. Sounds like you're getting people mixed up. I get it, some of them start to run together after a while." You momentarily shoot him a pointed look. "But not my cutie." He quickly clarified. The man huffed.

"Bullshit."

"I don't know what your problem is." Rafayel held you a little closer. "But if you're following my cutie we're gonna have a problem. Leave." You kept a tight hold on your blade, staring the man down. You could handle yourself, but damn you'd always appreciate backup. You slowly tear your eyes from the standoff, eyeing the rest of the patrons. Many of them watched with interest. Some with disgust. Though, for once... it wasn't pointed at you.

It was pointed at the man that smelled like cigarettes.

He held his hands up, beginning to walk away. "Sure, sure. I won't touch your cutie." He drawled it mockingly. "Just had a few questions, no need to get all macho."

You take the moment to take in the man's features. Scrawny. Skinny frame, very wiry. Thin hair. The tips of his fingers yellowed from smoking cigarettes. He didn't look familiar. But you'd burn him into your memory now. As the man backed away you took the moment to make a point, throwing your knife.

It flew through the air and embedded itself in a wooden noticeboard right by his head. The man flinched. You and Rafayel wore matching looks. A simple message conveyed from both of you.

Try me.

He finally buzzed off, turning and jogging off down the alley to enter the area. Rafayel keeps you close, both of you waiting until his footsteps fully receded before relaxing. You sigh, shimmying out of his grip to go and get your knife.

"Good aim." Rafayel's compliment hung in the air. You yanked the blade out of the wood, checking it for any damage.

"Thanks. And thanks for stepping in."

"Wasn't about to let you handle that creep alone. You're just a magnet for that type, aren't you?"

"Ew, don't make this my fault." You grimace, flipping it shut again before putting it in your front pocket. Easily accessible. You turned back, rejoining him before picking up your bag. Rafayel was looking at the other patrons. He didn't look sheepish or apologetic. Just serious. Everyone else was quiet, trying to figure out how to respond. They didn't get the chance. Rafayel turned on his heel, wrapping his arm around your waist again and pulling you out. You eagerly join him, falling in step with him.

"Fucking humans." Rafayel dropped his voice to a disgusted grumble.

"So he's not-?"

"Nope. I'd know if he was one of mine." He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. "Noticed that he was watching you after he came in. I thought I smelled cigarettes when you first spoke to Talia and me." He shook his head. "Should've known." You run your fingers through your hair, blowing an exasperated raspberry.

"Think..." You hesitate, looking around as you walked to verify no one else was around. "Think he might be with you know who?" Ever. You really couldn't understand why they were so interested in you. The Lemurian excavation, sure. But you didn't go. You didn't see the dumped weapons. As far as Ever knew, you were just an archaeologist that had qualms with the ethics behind their company. Plenty of groups did, you weren't unique in that regard.

"Maybe." Rafayel grunted. His eyebrows were drawn tight. Gone was the mirth and humor from dinner. Now he was determined. Focused. And absolutely pissed off. His one word answer didn't bring you any comfort. You lift your hand, resting it on the one on your waist. You brush your thumb against his knuckles.

"Hey." You softened your voice. That caught his attention. You pulled him out of his thoughts. When he looked at you, it felt like you were looking at a whole different person. The light in his eyes was gone. Only pure determination there. But as you squeezed his hand his gaze softened for a moment. And as his eyebrows lifted the light returned to them. "He interrupted our date. Let's not let him get the best of us, though. May I ask you about... your people?" You hesitated again, almost drifting off, but steeled your resolve and asked anyway. His lips turned up again.

But it wasn't the same as the smiles from before.

"Go on."

"So... Amund." You start with that. "Grumpy old librarian. But Lemurians are known for looking young for a long time. Just how old is he?" You end up on what you hope is a lighthearted question. Raf's snort confirms it was.

"The answer isn't that simple, cutie." He nudged your hip with his as he walked, but you keep pace with him with ease. "Can your scientific mind even handle the magic of Lemurian blood and reincarnation?"

"Sure. I'll bite." You shrug. Even if he's pulling your leg, it's just nice to spend time with him. He hummed.

"Okay, just stick with me, then." Rafayel peered around, making sure you were both alone. The sun was just about to finish setting, and most shops were closed for the evening. Tourists had gone to whatever other restaurants were open or were heading to their lodging, so the streets were yours and yours alone. "We're kind of at a disadvantage since we're literally fish out of water here. We can handle it and survive, but we'd all be better off back in the ocean. Amund is pretty old. We do exist in a reincarnation cycle. Believe it or not I have some passing memories of mine, and Amund has most of his memories. With that in mind, Amund has witnessed thousands of years. But his body itself isn't that old."

You listen intently, taking all of this information in. You did have a scientific mind, yes. And a part of you wanted to question it. But another part of you strangely resonated with what he said. A feeling washed over you. The warmth, the right-ness that washed over you the first time you read a fairytale that featured Lemuria. It felt like something was here for you.

"Define thousands of years old. Are we talking two thousand, or are we talking the collapse of the bronze age?"

"Collapse of the bronze age." Rafayel confirmed with a laugh. "Amund's never been fond of humans, but he's been around for a while and knows a thing or two." Your eyes widened. You stop dead in your tracks, making him stop as well.

"Amund witnessed the collapse of the bronze age? Seriously?" You grab both his arms, eyes boring into his. "Tell me. Are. You. Serious?" Your sudden change in tone made his eyes widen, and he held up his hands to placate you.

"Don't hurt me."

"No, I'm serious." You hold him still. "Are. You. Serious? Amund was alive for and witnessed the bronze age collapse?" The intense eye contact held him still. He nodded his head. You let go of him, laughing. "No. No way! Seriously?!" You turn to him again with a giddy grin. He was flabbergasted. But he nodded. "Rafayel, that's one of the biggest mysteries of humanity! Holy shit!"

"Don't get your hopes up, he's never liked humans, he might not even know. And if he did he probably wouldn't tell you." He put his hands on your shoulders but you keep going.

"Rafayel do you know what this means?! Some of your elders know what the first songs sounded like! They may know about the invention of language in regions near the coast. Holy shit. The invention of writing. Of storytelling." You run your fingers through your hair. Rafayel gave you a gentle shake.

"Woahhh, sloooow down." He spoke slowly. "Not everyone has memories of the time. Not everyone has full memories of their past lives. And a lot of Lemurians didn't interact with humans all that often, especially not in the earlier stages of humanity. Calm down. Don't get your hopes up." You do take his advice, taking a deep breath. But the excitement still burned bright within you. Your cheeks hurt from grinning. While Rafayel looked like that shifty eyed monkey meme at the moment, your excitement did rub off on him. He cracked. And he smiled at you. He lifted a hand, ruffling your hair again. "But you're cute when you get all excited. Nerd."

You don't bother to smack his hand away. You just let him touch you however he pleased. "It's not every day I meet someone who could just... know the answers to some of my biggest questions." He finally tugged you along again. It was a welcome break from the tensity the interaction at the restaurant brought.

"I get that much." He agreed. You looked up. He was walking you back to the house again. What a gentleman. You leaned into him while you walked, just enjoying the steadiness of his presence. "You know, I didn't really have the best view of your profession before I met you. And Dr. C, admittedly. It's... kinda neat to know we have someone on our side." He nudged you, and you nudged him right back.

"Of course. I've got your back, fishy, and from what you've done for me ever since we've met I know you've got mine." You smiled up at him. He looked over. The moon reflected in your eyes, the distant sound of waves... He smiled. Warmly. Truly.

A proper, genuine smile.

You lift the pearl around your neck, pressing a kiss to it right in front of him. "I guess this is a mark of our agreement, huh? Our covenant, I guess you could say." Your thumb trailed over the fishtail again. The comfort your old necklace brought amplified tenfold by the meaning and intention behind the new one. His eyes flashed for a moment. In the low light of the night they appeared more blue than pink.

"Yeah... a covenant." He agreed. He reached out, his finger tracing the pearl as well. "I guess that's fitting for us."

Up ahead you could make out the outline of the house. The lights were on, and you could hear laughter and talking. Rafayel stopped walking. He turned to you, and you to him. He slowly brought the pearl to his lips, pressing a kiss to it just as you had done. He needed to bow his head to do so. When he lifted only his eyes to you once he was done your heart skipped a beat again.

"We have to stop doing this." You murmur. "Stopping just outside. One day, I want to invite you in."

"But not tonight." He finished the thought for you, his voice low and soft. His eyes trained on yours, still bent down. You lick your lips. You're close. You're both so close. His fingers twitch, sliding up the chain of your necklace, trailing up your neck before settling on your cheek.

"Not tonight." You agree breathlessly. Each rise and fall of your chest, each heartbeat. He was feeling it. Experiencing it as if his own. "Do you want them to see you?"

"No." He murmurs. "Not yet."

You lick your lips again. You understood. You felt the same. So close. You're both so close.

A particularly loud laugh from inside make you both jump. You turn to each other. Waiting. Before quietly, breathlessly laughing. Not tonight. He stands up straight. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We've got a covenant after all." He points to your necklace with a cheeky smile. "I'll be heading back to Linkon soon. Thomas is gonna have my head if I don't start on some paintings soon. Let me know if something happens, okay? I'll get over here quick if a creep comes after you, and send some friends or relatives if I can't get here fast enough."

"I can handle myself." You gesture to your blade. "But I'd appreciate that. Thank you." You clasp your hands in front of you. Even though he was standing upright now, he didn't seem to want to be the first to walk away. You didn't, either. But your phone began to ring in your bag. You quickly fish it out. It's Jason. You didn't tell anyone where you were, a bit of a no no especially given what just happened to you. They were probably worried, wondering where you vanished off to. You didn't tell them you'd be out. You turn back to Rafayel. "Good night, Rafayel."

"Night, cutie." He nodded, bidding his farewell in turn. You answer the call, going up the stairs, telling Jason as much. You look over your shoulder, finding Rafayel doing the same. Each time you paused, he did, too. Until finally you kicked off your shoes and opened the front door. You turn back one last time. You caught Rafayel staring not at you, but at the house you were living in. A faraway look in his eyes. Some deep seated frustration, or anger. But you don't have time to comment. When Rafayel feels you staring, he looks at you. His eyes soften. He smirks, and waves one last time. Before turning and walking away.

Wormwood, for bitterness

A month passed. You and your crew had gathered all the information you could on the site, and your sponsors were pleased. The excavation was a success, and barring the odd encounter while on a date it was a flawless dig. Even with technology malfunctioning, teammates arguing, and mild hostility specifically from the librarian and archives, you couldn't help but feel satisfied. You tug the bag of equipment up and onto the deck of the boat. The company that had contracted all of you was paying for your trip back to Linkon. Most of the equipment came from various universities and scientific institutions in the area, so you and a few of the others were managing the return.

Jason was one of the others joining the boat trip. He grabs his bandana, wiping his face as the sun beats down on all of you. But after a brief survey, he nods his head. Everything was ready. A thumbs up to the crew on the ground sends the rest of the people who lived closer to Verona off. You take the moment to pull out your personal journal again, reviewing your notes from the archives. Whatever Amund and or Rafayel said to them worked. They let you in and had some information on K available. It wasn't much. It was just information on when he first moved to Verona, when he left for Linkon City, any family... It was more than what the museum had. You'd need to reach out to any surviving family for permission to use this information in the museum's database. And it was very possible they would say no. But it was worth asking.

"Hey." You nearly drop your journal as Jason suddenly appeared before you. He lifts his hands, smiling sheepishly as he realized he startled you. "Sorry- thought you heard me walk over. I was asking if you were ready to go."

You tuck your journal back in your bag, flashing him a thumbs up. "Yup, I'm ready!" Jason turns and waves to the person driving the boat. With that, final preparations to set off began. You make your way to a seat, sitting down inside near a window. Jason and a few others follow you, joining you in other seats. Finally, other passengers boarded, and the boat was off. You take the time to look over the notes you compiled for the museum. It wasn't much, but it gave you a better picture of who K was. You had texted a picture to the museum director, letting her know you would digitize your notes and share them with her. She hadn't gotten back to you in a few days but she was probably just busy. The bonus of the pay from the excavation and the additional museum hours when you went to the archives would be helpful. Every little bit helped.

The journey back to Linkon was quiet. Other passengers and your crewmates laughed and chatted around you, and you'd join in where you felt so inclined. Memories of the dig, of scuba diving for leisure in other areas, exploring the beautiful Verona... and, of course, your more private memories of a date night with Rafayel. In spite of an intrusion, the date overall went well. You got to enjoy a good dinner and a lovely walk. Not to mention, you learned another new nugget of information about Rafayel and his people.

The internet connection wasn't great on the boat. You spent time talking with people or glancing over notes in your journal. The hours slipped by, and soon Linkon was in sight. The closer you got to the city, the stronger your signal got. The boat docked, and you got to work. You all waited for the other passengers to get off first before helping get the gear on the trucks awaiting you. They would be taken back to the institutions you had gotten them from. It took a good hour, on top of the long boat ride. Your phone was occasionally buzzing in your bag but you just figured it was your phone finally catching up with any messages you got during the trip.

You waved off one of the trucks with Jason as your phone began to constantly buzz. A phone call. you fish your phone out, seeing it was the museum director, and gladly answer. You grin, putting it to your ear.

"Hey! I just finished up here at the dock-!"

"Please tell me you're with someone who can verify your presence at the dig." Her voice was firm. You freeze. You slowly look up at Jason. He raises an eyebrow, and you pull your phone away to put it on speaker.

"I just put you on speaker with one of the supervisors from the dig, Jason Yasuhiro."

"Jason, nice to meet you. Can you verify this person was with you in Verona for the entirety of the excavation, with no possible way to be in Linkon at all during that time?' Jason shared a bewildered look with you.

"Uh... yeah? There's no way anyone could get to Linkon and back in the few times we weren't together. What is this about?"

"Good." She sounded immediately relieved. "There was a break in at the museum. We're still trying to check everything. No footprints, no fingerprints, no alert from the security system, all of our video footage wiped... this was a professional."

You gasp. "Ohmygods- I'm so sorry! Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone is fine, it was a week ago at night. No one hurt. The only thing missing right now is that metacarpal you were working with in the potentially Lemurian collection." She sounded downright exhausted, but also relieved. "I didn't suspect you, but the police might reach out to ask you some questions since so far the only thing missing was from a project you had been working on. You were the last person to see the bone." Jason again looked to you in shock. You put a hand to your head.

"Do the police-"

"No. And I told them they shouldn't suspect you, you were out of town when this happens. Besides, you have access to things much more valuable. And you have a damn backbone. I know you better than that." She reiterated firmly. "I'm just giving you a heads up. Jason, you may need to speak to the police as well to confirm the alibi. Sorry to scare you just after getting back home."

"No, no... thanks for letting me know." You run your fingers through your hair. A break in. A break in that so far, targeted a bone that had been a part of the donation by K.

You clench your teeth. No. It couldn't be. Rafayel wouldn't. Would he?

You take a sharp breath. "I'm gonna head home, now." You fib, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder. "I'll see you Monday back at the museum."

"Okay, perfect. Since that's the only thing missing you should be good to resume research. You just won't be able to enter the room you had been using, the evol police still have it taped off." The poor director sounded exhausted. You could only imagine the hell she was going through. Talking to the investors, the police, assuring donators the museum was still a safe place to donate to... What a nightmare. "I'll see you Monday."

With this farewell you hang up. You drop your arm, staring off towards Whitesand Bay. It wasn't far. This dock was just a few miles up the beach from Rafayel's private strip of it. You look up. The sun had already begun to set. Ideally, you should go home. Shower, unpack, do a load of laundry. Flop face first into bed to take a nap.

You tuck your phone into your bag again.

"Hey..." Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you need a ride? My truck is parked nearby, got permission to leave it here while we were in Verona."

"Sure. Think you can drop me off near Mo Art Studio?"

You were lucky Jason wasn't pressing for details. You didn't feel like outing your relationship at the moment. But you had questions that needed to be answered. Rafayel. Was he the one who did this? Did he take the bone? You didn't want to falsely accuse your own boyfriend. But something was fishy here. You rub your face, staring up at the familiar gallery as Jason drove off back towards Linkon. You push the gate open, taking steady steps towards the door. You pushed it open as you always did.

"Rafayel?" You call out his name, taking a brief look around. He wasn't painting. And the door to his bedroom was wide open, so he wouldn't be in there. You walk past Reddie's tank, briefly stopping to at least say hi to him and sneak him a little fish food. But you finally find the back door leading to his private strip of the beach. It was wide open. You sigh, placing your bags on the floor near the door. You walk out, following the footprints in the sand. The necklace bounces with each decisive step you take.

You weren't going to accuse him of anything. Just ask if he knew. After all, if he didn't, he ought to be just as concerned as you were. You follow the footsteps, taking you pretty far up the beach. The sun was rapidly setting, replaced by the moon and stars. You don't need to pull out your phone for light. His footsteps guided your feet, leading you straight to him.

When you finally found him, the moon had reached its higher point in the sky. How had that much time passed? You lift your hand to your head. You look down.

His footsteps were gone. How did you get here?

You look up. Silhouetted in the water, Rafayel stands waist deep. He outstretches his hand. A small, off white object glowed in the moonlight.

Bone. A metacarpal.

Your eyes widen. But you don't say a word. You watch, standing just beyond the waves. Rafayel slowly lowers his hand into the water. The bone fizzes. Before turning into seafoam, slowly drifting out of his hand. He reaches out, as if trying to catch some of it, but it evades him. His arm drops. Splashing in the water.

You wait. You look at the seafoam. You slowly bow your head, your fingers coming to the pearl again. You weren't sure what you were doing. But you knew, somehow, you needed to be quiet for a moment. You hear another splash and look up. Rafayel is closer to land now, but his back was still to you. You give him a few seconds. Before clearing your throat, hoping not to scare him.

He whips his head around with inhuman speed, eyes wide in a furious expression.

Much like the merman of your nightmare.

Blood in the water.

Rafayel's gaze immediately relaxes upon seeing you. He smiles, wading to shore. "Hey, cutie." His voice was soft and melodic. You put a hand to your head again.

"That was the metacarpal." You don't ask. It wasn't a question. It was an observation. His smile doesn't waver. He comes out of the water entirely, wet clothes be damned, and opens his arms. He isn't denying it. But you can't deny him, either, can you? You walk over and lean against his chest, letting him hug you. This wasn't a hug for you. It was a hug for him. "I'm sorry." You murmur. The sea moon ceremony. You suddenly recall your conversation with him about burial rituals, and throw your head back to look at the moon. You turn back to him. Instead of frustration of confusion, you felt sudden understanding. You throw your arms around him. "You laid them to rest."

He stiffens for a moment. Before slowly, steadily, hugging you tighter. "Hope I didn't get you in trouble." He murmured against the top of your head, pressing his nose against your hair. You don't stop him. You just squeeze him.

"I'll be okay. Next time, just... tell me. Let me help you." You lift a hand, tracing his cheek. He flinched.

You drop your hand.

But before it could fully drop to your side, he catches it. He presses your hand fully against his cheek. This time he nuzzled into it. "This is my responsibility. Not yours."

You remove one hand from his back, lifting your necklace again. He lowered his eyes to it, watching it closely. "No. I'm a part of this now, too." You protest. "You asked me to help you. So let me help." You drop the charm, but his eyes remained glued to it. His eyes only slowly lift, taking you in from bottom to top. His eyes locked on yours. There was no light in them. The moon and the stars couldn't reach them. "Don't shut me out of this. Let me help you."

Rafayel laughed. Not mocking, no. But low. Dry.

"Sure, cutie." He stood up straight, but you just threw your arms back around him. Hugging him tight. That caught him off guard for a moment. He stood still. You could feel how tense he was. But as he wrapped his arms around you again, he squeezed you tight. "Okay. Okay, I will." You didn't see his eyes as he said this. And a part of you didn't believe him anyway. But you just took a deep breath.

He needed time.

He slipped a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"I got you some welcome home flowers." He murmured. "Flame lilies. They're nice. They're in a vase back at my place. Why don't we head back there?" He slipped his arms around, one around your waist as the other removed your arm around his neck. "And I'll make us dinner. I didn't eat lunch today, so I hope you're hungry." You look up. Light had made its way back into his eyes. And you could see the love in his gaze. It was real. It was true.

You manage to smile. "Flame lilies. Do you know what those represent in the flower language?"

"Yeah, I did some digging after you mentioned it." He winked at his own cheesy archaeology pun. "Flame lilies. Passion, pride, rebirth, honor... and love." He guided you forward his hand on the small of your back. Your footsteps intertwined on the sand, kissed by the waves almost reverently. "I want you to have them. They make me think of you."

1: Touring in Love reference. Not written out in game subtitles, recreated the sound in letters as best I could!

#lads #loveanddeepspace #lnds #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #rafayel qi #Trowels and Scales #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #lads x you #Trowels Series

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