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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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505

Week Four of my yearly playlist challenge!

Summary: When you fall asleep on the overnight drive between one case and the next, Spencer gets awfully distracted by your sleep talking.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI Partial Spencer POV, dom!Spencer, brat!Reader, pain play (scratching, choking, spanking, etc), degradation (use of whore, slut), masturbation (m and f), orgasm denial, breeding kink, creampie, cockwarming.

A/N; Thank you to the Arctic Monkeys for fuelling my delusions and for gif makers everywhere for their services to horniness. This was the first playlist fic chosen from a recommended song, so if you enjoyed it, don't forget to send me more song recommendations for the playlist!~

Masterlist || Playlist

Spencer was never the most confident driver in the BAU, but between the two of you, he was the only one who possessed a licence.

Which is how he found himself driving through the night with you asleep in his passenger seat, trying not to be distracted by the small whimpers and sighs dropping from your mouth.

You'd been sent across state lines to investigate a recent homicide that may have been linked with your current case, and now that you'd deemed it relevant to your case, you were driving back to the rest of the team with all the documents you needed in tow.

He'd been happy to drive when you left, with the sky black and the air cold, knowing that the country roads that would lead you just over the border would be practically empty. He'd even been content to let you sleep the majority of the journey, having noticed how little sleep you'd managed to get so far on this case.

He'd been happy until your lips parted and you'd whispered his name in a moan.

He'd thought you were awake at that moment and assumed you were about to ask where you were or what time it was. But you hadn't opened your eyes, and your breaths were still even and steady.

You did it again five minutes later, and the gentle sound hit the hairs on the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine that settled comfortably in his now tight pants.

‘Shit,’ he thought, sparing a glance at you whilst keeping his hands comfortable at 10 and 2, his posture rigid as he willed other parts of his body to relax.

Your legs had splayed open, your hand having fallen unconsciously between them for some kind of relief. He didn't let his thoughts linger where his eyes had fallen.

He tried to convince himself that you were just dreaming about a case. Maybe he'd been shot in your dream, and you'd felt sad. Maybe your moans were ones of sorrow.

“Spencer, fuck…”

Maybe he was going to hell for the thoughts flooding his brain because he wanted nothing more than to slide a hand into your pants and start giving you the relief you so blatantly begged for.

He settled for turning into the next motel he saw advertised on the road. Hotch had told them, of course, that they could rest up for the night if needed, but he'd been too eager to get on the road while it was clear. But with his mind fogged with less than ideal thoughts, and your obviously aching body moaning beside him, a motel honestly couldn't hurt.

You woke up slowly as he parked the car, the lack of motion wearily drawing you from your dream. He looked across at you and let out a sigh of relief to see you conscious.

He'd been willing to carry you to whatever room you'd get, but he didn't know whether his hands would linger over your body. Wouldn't know if he'd be able to retract his hands at all if you reacted like that in your sleep.

Now you were awake and looking at him, talking to him even, but all he could think about was whether you'd react better to his touch when awake. How could he get you to moan his name again, and how loud would you dare do it?

“Spence? Hello, are you listening?”

“What?”

“Okay, I'm glad you pulled off the road if you're so tired you're not even hearing me speak,” you laughed a little, and the sound shot straight to his cock.

Your voice was thick with sleep, and the phantom of his name hung on your lips, having been the last words to drop from your tongue. He usually had better control of himself.

“Yeah, let's go get some sleep. You sounded pretty tired, too.”

“Sounded?” You asked, and he watched your face warp in gentle confusion. He bit his tongue, trying to retract the statement, choosing the cold, biting winter air over the sight of you with a pout on your lips.

His brain was addled with thoughts of those two plump cushions pouting around his cock as he held your hair back and- and yes, the cold air was definitely necessary.

“You stretch your legs, I'll go organise the room,” you said, climbing out of your side of the car. He nodded along, not trusting his voice not to break like a prepubescent boy and turning his back to you, not trusting his eyes to linger awkwardly on your ass.

It seemed like seconds, and then you were back leading him to the rooms you'd booked.

When you unlocked only one door, with only one key, however, Spencer found all the progress of the last few minutes squashed immediately.

“We're sharing?” He hung around the door, not sure whether to step inside or just resign himself to sleeping in the car. He made a mental note to grab some tissues before heading back out to the car if this conversation ended the way he thought it would.

“Yeah, they only had one room cleaned and ready right now. It's fine, right? We've shared rooms on cases before.”

You’d shared rooms on cases before, but never after he'd driven for nearly a half hour listening to you moan his name. He'd usually been too exhausted after full days of work and had regrettably fallen asleep first each time you'd been roommates.

“Yeah, it's cool.” He cleared his throat, trying to make the octave jump his voice had just made it seem like a symptom of some kind of sickness he was coming down with.

“Great, let me just go shower quickly, and then we can get into bed.”

Warnings signals rang throughout his head, but he still sat patiently listening to the water running in the shitty motel bathroom. Grabbing his go bag, he readied himself for sleep, trying to ignore the fact that you were hot and wet and naked just a wall away and that he could hear everything.

Every sigh you released, every trickle of water running across your skin. Every mumble of his name.

Again, he thought he'd imagined it, but now he was sure you were torturing him.

Your gasps of air were less innocent than they were four minutes ago, chest having faster and faster, and he thought it was clear that your hand covered your mouth to make you less audible. He didn't know what you were doing, but it didn't matter much to his cock, which had stiffened painfully once again. Unconsciously, his hand reached for it, needing to give himself some release. He'd already pulled off his slacks and put on his baggier sleep pants, which did nothing to hide his affliction.

Instead, it was somehow more obvious, painfully so. And his hand was pawing at it through the thin material, chasing that high that you yourself were likely close to in the bathroom.

It was only when the shower shut off once more that he realised how fogged his brain had been. His cock throbbed in his hand, and it certainly wasn't going down anytime soon, and you'd be out of the bathroom in minutes if not seconds.

With no other choice, he dived under the bed sheets and pulled them up across his chest, too, and began to pretend to sleep.

When the light spilt from the bathroom, he screwed his eyes shut tighter, even as his brain willed him to sneak a look at you.

But he held firm, telling himself that he just needed to wait for you to fall asleep and then he'd relieve himself.

At least those were his plans until he felt the dip in the bed, the movement of his sheets, and the warmth spreading across the bed from you to him.

You'd climbed into bed right next to him. Your ass was mere centimetres away from his crotch, and he shuddered in pleasure. Shuddered.

He tried to keep his breathing still, even, and he really thought after a few minutes that you too had fallen asleep. It was all but impossible as your body cuddled in closer to his and he found your ass pressed comfortably against his straining cock.

“Y/N, you need to move,” he warned, breath shooting out of him as he resisted digging his hands into your breasts and holding you tight so you couldn't move.

“I don't want to,” you replied sleepily, either not noticing the danger you were in or not caring.

His hands rested on your hips, trying to press you just slightly away so his own hips could scoot back, but you clung to his heat.

“It's cold in here, Spencer, and you're like a furnace right now.” With those pouty words, you turned your body around and wrapped your hips up and around his body. He scooted back as you did, though, just an inch too far, and instead of landing softly against his chest, the two of you landed in a tangled mess on the floor.

“Spencer,” you moaned again, this time in shock, as you perhaps finally felt his aching length poking the inside of your thigh.

He'd dampened your fall on the way down, clasping you to him as he flailed in the air for a few seconds, bringing his downfall on faster with your ass cupped in his palms.

“Fuck, Spencer, you're so hard.” His dick twitched at the sound of your tired voice pressed against his ear.

You pulled away slowly, head peeking down between you, trying to catch a glimpse of his still hardening cock between the two of you.

“Don't look, it'll get harder,” he grunted, grasping your hips harder and trying to catch your attention again. But that just had you grinding down into his hips again, and your mouth widened in that perfect ‘o’ as you felt the desperation and need drip from him.

“Spencer,” you said, hips reacting slowly at first as they kept up the small movements of pressing down on him and lifting your hips slightly to do so again.

You were grinding your cunt into his hard cock, pinning him to the ground and using his body to get yourself off.

It was the most deliriously arousing thing he'd ever born witness to.

“Y/N, stop it before you regret it.” His tone was a warning, but his words came out at barely a whisper. You didn't even bother with a reply.

“Y/N, please I mean it-”

“Spencer, fuck-” you moaned for the last time before he pushed you to the ground and pressed his lips against yours.

He'd hit his limit, and now he was going to reach his reward.

He ran his hands up to the waistband of your sleep shorts and quickly tugged them down, lips not leaving yours as he forced his tongue into your mouth. Your moans were throaty now, and they were loud, your brain so delirious with just you'd completely bypassed any shy feelings.

After making quick work of your pants, he grabbed your hand in his and moved it over his throbbing cock, showing you what it was you needed from him.

“Stroke it.”

You did. Sliding a hand into his pants, you gripped him firmly in your hand and gently ran your fingers up and down his tip, more teasing than anything solid.

Spencer didn't complain, though, knowing he wouldn't last that long if you took your job as seriously as he was about to take his.

“Spread your legs. Now.”

You weren't sure what it was about his tone, but you complied easily. His fingers reached out, and he almost sent up a prayer as his fingers came into contact with your wet, heat. You were so aroused.

“Did you dream about me? Earlier in the car?” He questioned, two fingers slipping easily inside your pussy as his thumb traced your clit.

“Y-Yes.”

“Did you think about me in the shower?”

“Spencer, I can expl-”

“Answer me. Please.”

“Yes.”

“You were touching yourself thinking about me, knowing I could hear just how much of a slut you were through these walls. You wanted this, Y/N.”

He increased his pace as your eyes clouded over, your already sleepy countenance looking decidedly more ready for release and rest.

But he wasn't in a giving mood.

“What an impolite little whore,” he whispered in your ear, withdrawing his hands completely and picking himself up from the floor.

Your eyes shot open in confusion and pain as he sat himself on the edge of the bed. You watched his movements, saw him pull his still erect cock from his pants and begin stroking himself, and quickly organised your limps into a kneeling position by his feet.

He watched you closely as you let your head fall onto his thigh, your eyes following each pump of his hand up and down, and up and down.

“Spencer, please fuck me,” you pleaded with him, trying to resist the temptation to wrap your legs around his and hump his leg like a real bitch in heat. Though he'd probably greatly enjoy the view.

“Why should I?”

“Because if you don't, I'm going to sit here and finger myself until I pass out from exhaustion. And then I'm going to request a room with you on every other case this year and do it all over again.”

“You're manipulative, you know that?”

“I just know what I want, Spencer.”

“Then come and take it.”

Though he told you to come to him, it was his hand on your neck that guided you to your place in his lap.

It was his hand on his cock that lined himself up with your cunt. It was his hips that snapped up into yours as he finally took you.

But it was your lips that screamed his name as he fucked you roughly.

Each thrust was most intense than the last, deeper, harder, faster.

You clawed at his hair, you bit his bottom lip when your mouths Mey again. You clawed your nails across his shoulders and back.

He pressed you back into the mattress, and you wrapped your legs around him one more time, urging him to stay right there for the rest of the night.

His hands found your breasts, and he grabbed them again, roughly.

It was finally too much, and, as he pinched down on your nipple hard to see that beautiful mix of pleasure and pain one more time, you came around his cock, heat spreading out of you in waves as your thighs twitched under the weight of sheathing him.

“I'm going to cum, Y/N, I'm going to cum,” he dragged his teeth across your neck, whispering the words like a prayer.

You couldn't reply, mouth so heavy with lust your tongue couldn't move if his wasn't forcing it.

“I'm going to cum inside you,” he whispered again, his voice a growl of pleasure as your eyes shot open again.

All you could do was moan his name as he painted your cunt white, pressing his entire weight down on you without a care in the world.

You remained locked in that embrace for a long moment, your body tired and brain similarly diminished. Trusting him to take care of things, you let your eyes droop closed and let sleep consume you.

Your last thought was on his weight still pressed into yours, and the fact that he was still yet to pull out of you and spill his well-placed seed.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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puddinrin · 2 months ago

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LADY BOSS! > Team Thanos x F!Reader

summary: being thanos and nam gyu's bestie since high school

pairings: abit of semi x f!reader (wlw because we all semi dick riders in the club + will write more about her in the next posts), platonic! thanos, nam gyu, min su & gyeong su x f!reader

warnings: talks of drugs, rehab, yk how it goes

a/n: semi semi semi semi semi semi semi i need to make out with her so bad. (name) is a fashion designer (i'm projecting hehehaha)

yk how even the most notorious gangster has a person they respect the most - yea that's what you are to thanos and nam gyu.

people wonder what did you do to get them to respect you like that

easy that's because you knew them ever since high school

it all started with a group project where your teacher purposely paired you up with both of them, in hopes you'll guide them since they were quote a "lost cause"

you wanted to pull your hair out.

but since you were a cool, demure and nonchalant like that, you decided to do what you could to get them to cooperate for the project.

"tsk, this is a waste of time." nam gyu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. you three were sat around your table when it was time to break into the groups you were paired into. thanos, who was still just choi su bong back then, leaned back against his chair staring into space.

you pursed your lips, before speaking. "well, let's get it done as soon as possible then. any ideas on what to do for this assignment?" the task of this assignment was to create some sort of advertisement for a product of your choice.

"no" "nope." they both replied in sync, uninterested to commit to this project at all.

"i'm a woman of patience. i'm a woman of patience" you said in your head like a mantra, trying hard not to leap across the desk and jump both of them and your teacher for pairing you up with them.

an idea then came up on your head. as cringy as it might sound but it might get thanos and nam gyu to participate in working with you to complete this project. "what about we create a rap music video for this?"

thanos and nam gyu sat up straight at the sound of that. "what do you have in mind, girl."

you got their attention now.

surprise or not. you three got full scores for this assignment

thanos came up with the lyrics, nam gyu produced the music beat while you directed the music video

"congrats, you two. how does it feel to get full scores for the first time in your life? i knew putting (name) in your group was a good idea." your teacher grinned rather smugly.

"no, sir. su bong and nam gyu were amazing themselves. they came up and produced the entire music video themselves. i just supervised from the sidelines." you said with a proud smile, patting their arm as you stood in the middle of them.

both of them looked at you, mouth slightly agape. for the first time in forever, they didn't need anything in their system to feel warmth in their heart.

you wouldn't have ever thought you would have fun spending time with the two troublemakers of your batch but you did

they did too.

when almost the entire school and everyone in their lives made them feel like a failure, you brought them a chance to shine.

"it doesn't matter if others look down on you. as long as you don't look down on yourself, you always have a chance to prove them wrong and slap them in the face." you told them, rather casually as you slurped on the bowl of udon.

you were treating them dinner that you promised if you guys got a good score for the assignment. damn, were you trying to make them all soft for you because it's working.

they're now part of the (name) protection squad.

thanos jokingly once called you their lady boss and they've been calling you that ever since

they would walk you back home after school, making sure you were safe especially when school ended late

would carry your bag for you too because their lady boss shouldn't have to do that!!

guys confessing to you? they have to go through them first

#brother you are scaring the hoes away

to more serious stuff such as them being addicts, they tried to hide the fact that they were until you found out after seeing the bruise on nam gyu's arm.

you tried your hardest, helping them to overcome their addiction

yes it wasn't easy, but they were trying too

overtime, they managed to stop after you convinced them to go for rehabilitation

after that their respect and love for you sky rocketed.

time skip to where you guys are in your twenties

they hate all your situationships/exes

they don't have to know what they did

#their lady boss can never do wrong

but if they have wronged you in any way they're on thanos' and nam gyu's hit list.

they've formed a band called 'black stones' (hehe) with their new friends they met in uni: semi, gyeong su and min su.

you unlocked the door to your two idiots' apartment, a plastic of take out food you bought for them and their bandmates you were going to meet for the first time.

"who are you?! don't just come in without knocking" the man who you later learned was gyeong su, pointed a finger at you.

while you just stood there like🧍🏻‍♀️holding the key in one hand and the bag of food in the other. like hello? i kinda live here in my free time too?

nam gyu knocked his head with his knuckle, scowling "don't disrespect our lady boss like that, you fuck!"

thanos skipped towards you, like a kid running towards his mom after spending his day at daycare. "aigoo, my highness, you should've gave me a call that you're here. i would've personally brought you up."

"i did. you didn't pick up."

he froze, before smiling sheepishly, taking the bag from your hand, settling it down on the counter. "well, now that you are here. we can introduce you to the others."

he then swung his arm across your shoulders, leading you to stand in front of the tv where the others were sitting around the coffee table.

your eyes drifted to the lady with short hair and piercings. the way she carried herself and that charming smile on her lips. damn, she's so your type.

"gyeong su, my boy. you gotta apologise to our lady boss, (last name) (name). no her, no me, no nam gyu. no me, no nam gyu, no black stones." thanos said, wriggling his finger at the said man who nodded before giving you a full 90 degree bow.

"i apologise for the disrespect, lady boss (name)!" gyeong su yelled, showing he was sincerely sorry. you couldn't help but cackle at that, waving your hands at him for him to get up. "you don't have to call me that just because those two stupid idiots does and please get up!"

semi was intrigued with you after that.

you must be one hell of a woman if you managed to get thanos and nam gyu to respect you like that.

and you were just her type too.

you and her are dubbed mama e papa of the team

they don't know you both made it official after a few months of getting to know each other though

you and semi found it fun to see how long will it take till they find out.

min su found out first but didn't say anything to the others because you roped him in into betting how long till the others realises.

when they found out

they acted as if you punched their grandmother in the throat and cooked their pet fish jeffrey for dinner.

"semi how dare you seduce our princess?!"

"(name), how could you?! i thought we were 4lifers we locked in. we're suppose to tell each other everything!"

"you guys can only hold hands when we're here! no lovey dovey stuff!"

semi proceeded to give you a big smooch on the lips in front of them, her hand then never leaving your hips.

you try to attend all of their performances but if you can't due to some plans you have to attend to, they always give you a shoutout at the end of them.

you're like their second manager. it's like your side hustle aside from being fashion designer.

they will wear your brand with pride and joy

it also makes your business boom 2x max

Posts that they will post:

> thanostone4u

liked by namgyu124 and 19k others

thanostone4u best gal 💪🏻

> namgyu124

liked by gyeongsuuue, semilw and 20k others

namgyu124 sister from another pussy

> blackstonesofficial

liked by thanostone4u, minsublackstone and 45k others

blackstoneofficial happy birthday to our precious lady boss! 😘🎉💕

#squid game #squid game x reader #thanos x reader #player 230 #player 194 #player 195 #nam gyu x reader #squid game season 2 #semi x reader #se-mi x reader #player 380 x reader #min su #gyeong su #player 380

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witherby · 1 month ago

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DUDEEEEE, after reading your little Wayne (who is now a grown up) goes looking for a part time job and after quitting the last job I imagem them getting into a cafe job were both villain and heros goes and there's no fighting in there

Dude what's it like having such an amazing incredible spectacular brain

That's the coolest idea I've ever heard

The Littlest Wayne: Truce Juice

Nobody believes it at first, that your signage is genuine. They think it's a gimmick or a ploy to avoid your shop being targeted by villains if they decide to terrorize the city and start doing massive amounts of property damage again.

"Is it true?" Customers will ask, as they come by to get a smoothie or request a bagel. "You're willing to serve villains?"

And every single time, you smile, hand over their order, and say "yes!" Because you are.

Your family chooses to fight crime under the cover of darkness. They fix Gotham's problems by punching them and throwing them in Blackgate or Arkham. During the day, your father does his best to fund the places that need it the most — infrastructure, homeless shelters, food banks, education — but it's not enough.

You can help the normal citizens as much as you want, but they're still going to be terrorized by the villains that escape the prison and the asylum. They're still going to feel Othered from most of society, which is what drove them to villainy in the first place. Hurting them, pushing back at them, it fixes the short-term problems but never quite nips it in the bud.

Your hope is to treat the criminals like...well, like they're not criminals. Which is why you opened Truce Juice — a little drink cafe in the heart of the city that welcomes everybody, good, bad, and in-between. It's your good-faith experiment you had to beg your father not to intervene in, using either identity, for weeks before he finally agreed.

So, deed in hand, trained employees on staff, and insurance premiums through the fucking roof, you've got a business.

It takes a month of service and consistent advertising, but you finally start to see your experiment take shape. A gentleman wearing a half-black, half-white tuxedo walks into your cafe and approaches the counter with visible trepidation, hands stuffed in his pockets and sneering at everybody who makes eye contact with him.

Antiope, the girl currently working the register, clams up a bit, so you send her to the drink station instead and smile at Two-Face's henchman.

"Good morning," you greet him, "welcome to Truce Juice. How can I help you?"

The man looks at you like you've grown a second head. You smile back and gesture to the menu over your head.

"If you need a minute to look at the options, that's fine. I also have handheld menus for better visibility." You pick one up and offer it to him.

"You're actually fuckin' serious," he says, taking his hand out of his pocket. Customers loitering in the cafe flinch back as he does so, but you don't move. He takes the menu from you and glances over it. "...gimme a banana smoothie and a dozen plain bagels. Cream cheese and jelly on the side."

"Sure!" You punch his order into your screen and ring up the total. "Will that be cash or card?"

"What if I didn't wanna pay?" The man smirks. The hand still in his pocket makes a clicking sound. Several customers rush out. You don't move, but the shadow at your feet forms a disk shape and slips underneath the henchman, waiting to suck him into your pocket dimension if he starts getting belligerent.

"Then you don't get the smoothie and bagels," you reply calmly. "I'm running a business, sir. Goods and services are exchanged for money, here."

He clearly wasn't expecting you to say that. He stares at you. You stare back. He blinks incredulously. You blink expectantly back.

"So," you say again, "cash or card?"

"....cash," he mutters, digging into a separate pocket and pulling out his wallet. He hands over a fistful of bills. You ring him up and give him his change.

"Okay! Give us about five minutes. Did you want the bagels toasted?"

The henchman shakes his head. You smile and get to work, the dark disk melting back into your regular shadow. Soon, you're sliding the smoothie and box of bagels across the pick-up counter.

"Here you are. Have a good day!"

The man continues to stare at you like you're some freakish anomaly. You just give him a small nod, then turn to help the next customer brave enough to step inside with him here.

When you check the tip jar later, you see a fistful of hundreds crammed into it.

You feel your heart warm and know you're about to make huge waves in Gotham.

#el speaks #littlest wayne au #batfam x reader

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pangur-and-grim · 6 months ago

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I'm looking into getting a purebred cat for the first time because I've developed allergies, and it's such a different world from my niche corner of dog breeding, I'm so lost How common is it for cat breeders to focus on temperament over conformation? I've shown a dog and been to many shows, and am working on a breed in development. I'm uncomfortable with a fixation on "correct" appearance versus a heavy focus on what an animal's quality of life is and what they're like to live with If I'm paying more for a kitten than I charge for a puppy I want to know the breeder has done a lot of handling and enrichment, grooming conditioning (for relevant breeds), and pair their cats for temperament strengths and weaknesses, not just conformation. What should I look for on a breeder site/what should I ask without sounding rude? I also have seen a couple breeders advertise a health guarantee including FIP for one year, and I'm wondering how that's possible. Can you really guarantee against it? I'm so sorry you and your gremlin are going through this, it sounds like a rollercoaster!

it's difficult to answer your first question! cat breeding seems more…..casual in terminology than dog breeding, if that makes sense?

with temperament, there’s a stereotype for each breed (Bengals = active, Siamese = yowly, Ragdolls = angelic beings, etc). breeders often have a page on their site explaining their idea of what the breed is (the ideal appearance, personality, and so on), and then a section with their breeding cats, with blurbs for each one. and they usually also have social media, where you can see how these cats slot into their lives.

if you’re from the states, be VERY WARY of breeders who cage their cats! that’s more of a cultural norm there, and personally, I prefer breeders who treat their animals like family members and live alongside them.

here are two examples of breeders who go above and beyond: Praticalcats and Trillium Devon Rex. their sites give away how obsessive they are about their animals - all the articles on Praticalcats, and all the genetic testing on Trillium - and I would feel comfortable recommending them to anyone who asked.

as for over-emphasis on a “correct” appearance – for each breed, there will be a certain look that’s a red flag. Devon Rexes that are too brachy, Maine Coons that are too large, Siamese that are too spindly, etc. if you do enough research on your breed of choice, you’ll start recognizing it. the cat will look more ‘special’, and more ‘like it’s breed’, but it’s an exaggeration at the cost of other qualities.

for specific questions like what handling they do, whether they’re conditioned to tolerate grooming, and how the cats get paired with buyers, most of the time you have to contact a breeder to ask that. there should be a mini job interview before any money changes hand, where the breeder grills you, and you get to return the favour. if a breeder skips this, I’d consider that a major red flag. and don’t worry about sounding rude, a good breeder will be delighted that you care so much about all of this!

and now, the guarantee against FIP – what are they guaranteeing, exactly? it might be a guarantee that they’ll replace the kitten if they develop FIP (the contract with my breeder had a similar clause). but if they’re guaranteeing that any kitten from them won’t develop FIP, then that’s nonsense. basically all young cats get exposed to the feline coronavirus that causes FIP, and whether they develop it or not is just a lottery gamble. I'd be suspicious of any breeder who claims that their kittens are exempt from this.

anyway, I think I've answered everything. hopefully that was helpful, and not just me rambling!

#if you have any specific breeders in mind you can always dm them to me and I'll take a look :)

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kedreeva · 6 months ago

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Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

#the quails #WT celadon line #my pets #dash stretcher

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lynne-monstr · 5 months ago

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i'm having renewed hatred for subscriptions and advertising. I bought a silly game app a few years ago so I could play it without ads. it was a small one-time fee and I had no problems buying it. today, they put the obnoxious ads back (with sounds!!! what the actual fuck) and are charging a monthly fee to remove them. anyway I un-installed the app immediately.

I'm so tired of having ads shoved in my face and having to pay in perpetuity for some peace and quiet. I don't mind buying things I like, but can we go back to when we only had to buy the thing once.

#love that you can buy something abd they can just change the terms on you with zero consequences #yes this is a minor stupid thing to be annoyed about #but it's also a general trend and it's not a good one #random text post silliness

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dearhargrove · 3 months ago

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summary A sleepy morning with cuddly Sam.

word count 820

There's few things you're always ready to spend money on. One of them is a funfair. The overall vibe, the attractions, the food and just the nostalgia of being a kid is exactly the reason you loved them so much. So, when you were out a few days ago and saw posters all over town advertising an upcoming funfair you already marked your calendar.

Today is a free day; no case, no research to be done – nothing. And also the day of the funfair. You're a bit embarrassed over just how excited you are, barely able to fall asleep yesterday and now awake at seven in the morning. You desperately try to go back to sleep so as not to disturb Sam, who's deep asleep next to you with his hair spread out around his head like a halo and his left arm snug around you.

But your attempt to keep calm seems to have failed when he groans and squints at you, “Baby?” he slurs half-awake. You wince apologetically and turn onto your side, “Sorry, didn't mean to wake you,” you whisper back.

He mumbles something incorrigible and then yawns heartily, free hand pushing hair out of his face before falling back into his stomach. “'s okay, hun,” he mumbles to stop you from feeling guilty and turns his head, smiling tiredly.

“We should sleep some more, it's barely eight in the morning, Sam..” he just waves his hand in dismissal and heaves himself onto his side, supported on his elbow. You can see the slight redness in his eyes from just waking up but his soft smile distracts you anyway.

“Why are you awake this early, pretty girl?” he lowly muses, letting his other hand rest on your cheek, thumb running under your eye. The pet name paired with the soft actions and the sight of him makes you melt and scoot forward to tangle your legs between his, throwing an arm over his waist.

“I'm excited,” you admit, sheepish as you push the hand on his back under his shirt to warm it up and at the same time give him a back rub. A soft frown of confusion settles on his face – which you immediately soothe away with a thumb smoothing out the wrinkle between his neat brows – and he makes a soft ‘oh’ sound.

“Excited for what? We don't have any plans today?” You can see the flicker of dread on his face as he passes through the possibility of a forgotten date or anniversary, making you snort softly. “We do. I made plans for us.” He raises his brows but doesn't intervene, letting you finish explaining. “There's a funfair in town.. I really want to go there with you and Dean.”

You bite your lip as you await his reaction, not expecting at all when he just snorts and pulls you even closer, pressing a kiss to your head. “That's why you've been in such a good mood?” he chuckles, bemused.

You pout a bit at his humorous reaction, making him lean down to kiss you shortly, “Don't pout. I wasn't mocking you, sweetheart. Of course we'll go with you.”

Grinning, you pull him into another kiss, this time deeper but still rushed from the excitement coursing through you. He chases after your lips when you pull away too early for his liking, simply pushing you down into the mattress with one big hand when you attempt to squirm away.

“We've got plenty of time before we can go.” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping there once before moving down lower to your throat and leaving similar small bites on your soft skin. He's making sure not to mark you up too much, instead pulling the collar of your shirt down to decorate your collarbones and shoulders with actual love bites and hickeys.

Sighing in mock annoyance you slip your hand out of his shirt and into his hair, tugging at the long strands which just makes him grunt in contentment.

You close your eyes again and play with his soft hair while he leaves marks all over you, soothing each new one with a bout of kisses. His arm is tight enough around your waist that you know he intends for you to lay still and take whatever he'll give – which you don't mind in the least.

After a few minutes he stops and lays his head on your chest, tip of his nose a bit cold from the room being chilly as he tucks it against your throat to keep breathing in your perfume and natural scent.

“Back to sleep?” you guess quietly, already pulling the duvet higher around his shoulders and sinking your hand back into those brown locks to scratch at his scalp the way he loves. He grunts in acknowledgement, arm momentarily tightening around you.

“Good idea.”

#supernatural #jared padalecki #jared padalecki x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #moose #supernatural cw #supernatural x reader

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coquelicoq · 4 months ago

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this has made me realize that when i read french i'm always also expecting to hear french (probably because i always read french out loud) because i kept seeing a word or sequence of words in the subs and getting excited to hear it said out loud because i like those specific sounds together, and then being disappointed and confused when those sounds did not materialize. because they were not speaking french. lol nerd.

adskfh i forgot i turned the viki captions on my roku to french yesterday when the english ones weren't working (the french ones didn't end up working either) and now i can't figure out how to turn them back to english. this is fine because i can actually read french at speed now, it's just funny because for a second i was like wait is he speaking french? if he's speaking french why does it not sound like french oh wait that's chinese okay i remember how subtitles work now 👍 but it definitely took me a second lol

#also an interesting experience hearing one of the like twenty chinese phrases i can recognize and then seeing #a french translation like omg i do already know what that means omg here it is in french too!!!!! not sure why that specifically #is blowing my mind but it is #i used to watch movies in english with french subs and i haven't done that in a long time but i would probably be disappointed #and confused by that now too. because i like french sounds and when i'm expecting specific french sounds and they don't happen #i'm like 😒 this is false advertising #which is a bummer in this specific case because i like chinese sounds too!!!#you know what? i just like speech sounds generally. is probably the takeaway #but when you are expecting some sounds and get other sounds it's disconcerting #i guess i can read english without expecting english sounds but maybe that's because i don't subvocalize when i read?#i'm not really sure if i do or not #i like reading english subs for the chinese phrases that i know bc i get a sense of anticipation for those chinese words to be said #and then they say them!! very satisfying #subtitles

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supernatural-bias · 1 year ago

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𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: mentions of cannibalism and porn

↳ song: hit the road jack—ray charles

↳ notes: i can't believe i'm posting this (derogatory)

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• You had decided to move into the hotel after a particularly flashy poster caught your eye

• You were just walking to your run down apartment from a shift at your work, messing with the frayed ends of your sleeves, when a burst of neon red and yellow entered your field vision

• It was a poorly drawn advertisement colored head to toe in bright hues and glitter, advertising a hotel that would offer you a shot of getting out of hell

• With a shrug and a tug of the poster, you slipped it off the brick wall and into your pocket

• It’s not like you had anything else going on, and a free room was a free room. Besides; if the redemption thing turned out to be real, that would just be an added bonus

• Upon arriving at the doorstep of the hotel a few days later with a duffel bag in hand and the other rapping against the front door, you were nearly knocked over by a thin demon with red cheeks excitedly asking if you were there to check in

• “Oh my gosh hi! How are you! Because you look amazing and oh my gosh I’m so happy you’ve decided to check in!” She all but shouted in your ear. Cringing slightly, you leaned away from her embrace to slip inside

• “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of guests?” You asked slowly as she closed the door behind you, some nearby dust stirring up at the action. The inside looked to empty to be a hotel

• “Nope!”

• Your first sign that you were getting more than you had bargained for should have been the sound of scuttling feet as a small demon made her way across your feet to impale a bug on her claws. She was lightly scolded for ‘accidently frightening our new addition’ before running off with the insect

• "Sorry about that! Nifty is really passionate about her job." The demon next to you laughed nervously. You just shifted your weight and nodded awkwardly in response

• Looking a few feet over to the living area, there was a lanky fellow covered in fuzz and lounging on a sad looking couch. He was flicking through channels on a T.V. You caught them occasionally landing on one and laughing before moving on, never staying entertained for too long

• The demon caught your eye, and waved two of his four hands at you in a lazy greeting

• “Oh, that’s Angel Dust! Our other resident." The woman, you now knew as Charlie, fussed. “He’s been with us for a few months, and has shown incredible progress! Something I’m sure you will find yourself doing!” She bounced on the balls of her feet happily while steering you around by the shoulders

• “Uh huh.” You couldn’t help but nod slowly, only now noticing that the channels Angel had been focusing on were blasting various types of porn shows

• A hasty tour was promptly carried out through the rest of the building. You were shown different rooms, all in various states of decay, while simultaneously meeting the other hotel inhabitants

• A fierce lady with a spear— Vaggie, as she had been introduced as —didn’t seem too up for conversation, only giving Charlie a peck on the cheek and you a suspicious glare before climbing a pair of stairs to take care of something else

• Back downstairs, the local bartender didn’t even bother to look at you, instead mumbling something under his breath while playing cards with a snake like demon

• “Don’t take it to heart. Husk is a big sweetheart, really.” Charlie waved at you with a closed eye smile, missing the way that Husk flipped her off grumpily. “And that’s Sir Pentious over there! Besides Angel Dust, and now you I guess, he’s our only guest.”

• The snake simply offered a loud and hissing hello before demanding with theatrical outrage that Husk was cheating. At least you think it was theatrical outrage. He seemed high strung either way

• But by far, the most memorable staff member you met on the tour was a tall demon with a red suit and fluffy ears; the likes of which you and Charlie had barged in on as he ate a plate of what looked like flesh. Whether animal, or something else, you couldn’t tell

• “Finally, this is our facility manager, Alastor! He helps out with all kinds of things here, and will be a key element in your redeeming process.” Your cheery guide announced. She seemed to ignore the slight tension in the air as the other member in the room smiled tightly, but the feeling disappeared as the tall demon stood up in greeting

• “Why Charlie!” Alastor’s voice crackled with heavy static, reminding you of audio from a gramophone. Or perhaps one of those old fashioned radio’s. “If I knew we were having company, I would have made myself more presentable!” He chuckled without ever looking anywhere but you

• You had to tilt your head up to look at him completely. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his suit, and every one of his hairs sat perfectly on his head. Even his monocle appeared to be freshly polished

• “Presentable.” You said slowly and without emotion, aware of Alastor’s highetened gaze on you. “Right.”

• Charlie was quick to get you to your new room after that

• It was weird, trying to fall into a rhythm with a group of people that had already become so aquatinted with one another, but you managed

• The trust exercises were cheesy and took too long, chores were a daily task for everyone, and Alastor snuck around in the shadows too much for your liking, but at least you had a place to live

• Besides. Who was to say you couldn’t make a few friends along the way?

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mixolya · 2 months ago

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ᓚᘏᗢ — beneath the stars, we became one: epilogue ! (wc: 6,5k)

can be read without reading my other chapters ! (though, i'd really appreciate if you read the whole story hihi)

#001 : first official date.

when you both were 17, the world seemed to shimmer with a new kind of magic. the lights of the festival reflected in rin's teal eyes, making them look even more captivating than usual. your arm was linked with his as the two of you strolled through the crowded festival streets. you wondered if he noticed the way you kept stealing glances at him.

the air was alive with energy. everywhere you turned, the colors of the festival fascinating: bright lanterns, vivid banners, and the rich hues of traditional yukatas. rin's yukata, a deep navy one, suited him so perfectly. his calm presence grounded you amid the lively chaos, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself.

"you're quiet," rin said, glancing down at you. "are you okay?"

his steady and low voice pulled you from your thoughts. you looked up at him, the corners of your lips curving into a soft smile. "yeah, just thought about something. it's really lively here."

he hummed in agreement, his eyes scanning the vivid scene. even in the midst of all the noise and colors, rin's presence had a way of making you feel calm.

"i like it," you said after a moment. "but i think i like this even more."

"what's 'this'?" he asked, pulling you closer as the cool evening breeze swept through the festival, rustling the banners and lanterns overhead.

"being here. with you," you admitted softly, your voice almost drowned out by the distant laughter and music.

rin looked at you, his steps faltering slightly as your words hung in the air. for a moment, he didn't know how to respond. his eyes searched yours, a faint hint of surprise flashing across his face. then, almost as if to mask his own uncertainty, his lips twitched into a tiny smirk.

"oh?" he finally said, his tone teasing but warm. "you usually flirted with me so easily, and now you're getting shy just from being here with your boyfriend?"

his words caught you off guard, and your cheeks grew impossibly warmer. you looked away, trying to fight the embarrassed grin tugging at your lips. "don't make it sound like that," you muttered, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

"like what?" he asked, his voice holding the slightest trace of amusement. he wasn't letting this go, clearly enjoying the rare sight of you being flustered.

"like i'm some shameless flirt," you shot back.

he chuckled softly, the sound low and unguarded. "well," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "i remember that one message. what was it again? .. oh yeah, 'there's a really good black friday deal! in my bed! 100% clothes off!'"

your jaw dropped as you whipped your head toward him. "rin!" you exclaimed, your voice a mix of disbelief and embarrassment. "how do you even remember that?"

he shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. "hard to forget when someone sends that out of nowhere."

you groaned, feeling your cheeks burn. "i was joking! and you know it!"

"yeah? man, i really looked forward to that deal," he said with a sly grin, the teasing in his voice making your face heat even more.

"rin!" you swatted at his arm, unable to hide the mix of embarrasment and laughter bubbling up. "you're impossible."

he chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded, as if he couldn't resist riling you up. "what? i'm just saying, false advertising is a little cruel, you know."

you rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, something caught your attention. a stall just ahead had an array of plushies on display, and one in particular - a kuromi one - stood out. its adorably pouty face made you gasp.

"look at that!" you tugged on his sleeve, pointing excitedly. "it's so cute!"

rin followed your gaze to the plushie, his brow raising slightly as he surveyed the ring toss game in front of it. without a word, he stepped forward, fishing coins out of his pocket and handing them to the stall owner.

"wait," you said, your eyes widening. "are you going to-?"

"i’ll get it," he interrupted, his voice calm but firm. there was a quiet determination in his tone, and the way his fingers curled around the rings made your chest tighten.

you stood back, watching as he sized up the game. his posture was relaxed, but his focus was sharp. you noticed the small, almost unnoticeable details - how his shoulders squared, how his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. when he lined up his shot, the tip of his tongue peeked out, just barely brushing his bottom lip.

you didn’t know why, but that little gesture had your heart skipping beats.

the first ring flew through the air in a clean arc and landed squarely around the bottle neck with a resounding clink. your jaw dropped. “no way,” you said, blinking in disbelief. “first try?”

rin handed the stall owner another coin and repeated the throw, landing another ring with ease. the owner laughed, handing him the plushie. rin turned, holding it out to you, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of satisfaction.

“here,” he said simply.

you reached for it, hugging the plushie tightly to your chest. “that was amazing,” you said, the awe clear in your voice. then, before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “and so hot.”

his ears turned red instantly. “what?” he asked, his voice stiff with surprise.

“i said you’re really good at games,” you backtracked, grinning to yourself as he avoided your gaze.

the two of you continued walking, and as the excitement from the game faded, a peaceful glow settled over the festival. lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their light illuminating the cobbled path ahead. you came to a stop in front of a small pond, its surface reflecting the golden glow of the lanterns and the twinkling stars above.

“oh,” you breathed, staring at the scene. “it’s so beautiful.”

“yeah,” rin murmured beside you.

his voice was so soft that it drew your attention. you turned your head, expecting to find him admiring the lanterns or the pond, but his gaze wasn’t on the scene at all - it was on you.

the intensity of his stare made your breath hitch. “what?” you asked quietly, your cheeks warming under his steady gaze.

“nothing,” he muttered, his ears tinged pink as he quickly looked away.

summary: rin is good at everything.

#002 : teaching you maths.

when you both were 17, studying for finals felt like the ultimate test of patience - especially when math was involved. the soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated the small piles of textbooks and notes scattered across the surface. finals were just around the corner, and rin had insisted on coming over to help you prepare - specifically with math, your least favorite subject. you sat cross-legged on your chair, head resting on your hand as rin flipped through your textbook, calm and focused as always.

“you’re really not going to do your homework?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked up from the book.

you groaned dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “it’s not that i can’t do it - it’s just... so boring.”

rin chuckled softly, closing the book with a quiet thud. "right," he said dryly, his eyes locking with yours. "didn't you want to stay valedictorian, or are you giving me the title now?"

you shot him an exaggerated glare, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "i'm not giving up the title," you muttered, pulling your legs up into your chair and resting your chin on your knees. "i just think i deserve a break, that's all."

rin sighed, setting the book down and leaning back in his chair. "if you do your homework, i promise i'll give you a reward," he said, the promise in his voice sounding far too tempting for you to ignore.

you raised an eyebrow, curious. "reward? what kind of reward?"

rin looked at you with a playful glint in his eyes, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. "you'll find out if you do your homework," he said cryptically, as if he had something up his sleeve but wasn’t about to spoil the surprise.

you tilted your head, intrigued yet still skeptical. "you're really not gonna tell me what it is?"

"nope," rin replied, his tone light. "you have to earn it. that's how rewards work."

you groaned again, but there was a part of you that was now genuinely curious. "ugh, fine," you muttered, picking up your pencil and glancing down at the math problems in front of you.

rin chuckled under his breath, settling back into his chair, watching you as you turned to the first problem. "just focus," he said, his voice calm and patient. "you're smart, aren't you?"

you shot him a quick, slightly annoyed look, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying the playful banter. as you started working through the problem, you could feel rin’s eyes on you, but you tried to ignore it, focusing on the numbers in front of you.

"okay, so the first step is-" rin began, but you interrupted him before he could finish.

"yeah, yeah, i know," you muttered, scribbling the first step on your paper, your eyes not entirely focused on the problem.

rin raised an eyebrow, clearly seeing that your attention wasn’t fully there. "you’re not listening."

you shot him a guilty look, realizing he’d caught you zoning out. "sorry," you sighed, rubbing your forehead. "it’s hard to concentrate when you're sitting there all calm and serious."

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "it’s not gonna get easier if you don’t focus. trust me, you’ll regret it when you see how much you’re behind."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but feel a little motivation stirring. maybe it was the fact that rin was there, or maybe it was the unspoken promise of a reward waiting for you if you could push through. either way, you refocused and went back to the problem.

"alright," you said with a sigh, "let's get this over with."

rin watched you quietly as you worked, offering gentle guidance when you needed it, but for the most part letting you figure it out on your own. every time you finished a problem, you looked up expectantly, waiting for him to deliver the promised reward, but rin just gave you a small smile, not saying anything.

you were getting frustrated. "rin, where’s my reward?"

he glanced at you, his smirk widening just slightly. "you haven’t finished all your work yet," he said. "keep going, and i’ll make sure it’s worth your while."

you groaned but picked up your pencil again, determined to finish what you’d started. you had to admit, even though math still wasn’t fun, having rin there made it a little easier to bear.

summary: rin is a tease.

#003 : you're impossible.

when you both were 18, things seemed to settle into place more naturally. the night had been perfect - a quiet dinner, a stroll through the city streets, and now, standing in front of your apartment building, the night air was cool and refreshing.

there had always been a comfortable silence between the two of you, and tonight was no exception. you didn’t need to say anything; it was enough just to be together, walking side by side, feeling the warmth of his presence.

as you reached the front of the building, you paused, turning to face him. you couldn't help but smile at the sight of him - the way the light from the streetlamps caught in his hair, the slight tilt of his head as he looked at you. without really thinking, you leaned up on your tiptoes, brushing your lips against his cheek in a soft kiss.

rin immediately tensed, his usual composed expression flickering for just a moment as a faint blush spread across his cheeks. you pulled back, a teasing smile on your face.

"you know," you said, your voice light, "whenever i kiss your cheek, you get so red."

he shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was flustered. his eyes dropped to the ground for a moment before he looked back up at you, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, almost shy smile. "i don’t," he muttered, though the evidence was right there in the way his cheeks were flushed.

you laughed softly, your heart warming at how cute he looked when he got embarrassed. "you totally do," you teased, nudging him gently.

rin let out a small sigh, but there was no mistaking the affection in his voice when he spoke next. "you're impossible," he said, though there was a smile hidden in the words.

you stepped closer, your fingers brushing against his as you looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips. the quiet between you both was comfortable, but now, it felt like something more.

"i love you," rin said suddenly, his voice low but full of sincerity.

you blinked, your heart skipping a beat. it wasn’t that you hadn’t known, hadn’t felt it - but hearing him say it out loud was something different. it made everything seem more real, more significant. you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips as you stared at him, the words hanging in the air between you.

you stepped forward, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. the moment felt electric, like time slowed down, and everything else in the world faded away.

when you pulled back, you looked at each other, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. "i love you too," you whispered.

summary: rin gets shy easily.

#004 : who is that?

when you both were 18, things between you and rin had been progressing, and though you were close, it wasn’t always obvious to others just how deep your connection went. it was one of those small moments that made everything clear - like the time you had to sit alone in class because ayane was sick that day.

before you went to school, you gave ayane a few meds and made her breakfast. this meant you had to take your seat in the front of the classroom by yourself. you didn’t mind. it was just another class, another day. but what you didn’t expect was for some random guy from your class to walk over and ask if he could sit next to you.

“hey, you’re y/n, right?” he asked, flashing you a grin. “mind if i sit here? looks like ayane absent today.”

you were a little caught off guard, but you shrugged. “sure, go ahead.”

he slid into the seat next to you without hesitation, and before you knew it, he was striking up a conversation. you weren’t really interested in talking to him, but you didn’t want to be rude, so you responded politely. it wasn’t long before you felt uncomfortable, though. the guy leaned in a little too close, trying to make jokes and keep the conversation going, but it just wasn’t your thing.

meanwhile, rin sat in his usual spot at the back of the classroom, his eyes focused on the notes in front of him. you couldn’t help but notice that every now and then, his gaze would flicker toward you. it was subtle, but you could tell he was aware of the situation. still, he didn’t say anything.

as the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, you quickly packed your things and left the room, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the situation. rin was already walking ahead of you, his hands in his pockets, his usual aloof expression firmly in place. you jogged to catch up with him, giving him a light tap on the shoulder.

“hey,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “you’re awfully quiet today. what’s up?”

rin didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, his voice was flat and a little off. “nothing.”

you raised an eyebrow. “really? you seem off.”

he shrugged, still walking ahead. “just didn’t like that guy sitting next to you,” he muttered. you blinked in surprise. “jealous?” you teased, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

“i’m not jealous,” rin replied quickly, but you could see the slight tension in his shoulders. “i just don’t like it when people get too close to you.” you couldn’t help but laugh, teasing him a little more. “aww, you are jealous! admit it!”

rin shot you a glare, though you could tell it was more out of embarrassment than anger. “i'm not jealous, y/n,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “i just don’t like when other people try to get your attention. it's obvious we're together.”

you smiled, walking closer to him and bumping your shoulder into his. “well, don’t worry,” you said, “you’re the only one i’m interested in.” he glanced at you, his face softening just a little. “yeah?” he asked.

you nodded, wrapping your arm around his. “yeah, i’m sure. you’re the only one for me.”

rin’s usual cool exterior returned, but you saw the small smile tug at the corners of his lips. “good,” he muttered, the tension between you both easing.

with that, you both continued your walk home, the unspoken understanding between you clearer than ever.

summary: rin is a jealous, jealous man.

#005 : it hurts.

when you both were 18, rin had a way of noticing the small things, even when you didn’t expect him to. you didn’t know it yet, but he had quietly marked the days on his calendar when you’d usually feel your worst.

it was one of those days. you stayed curled up on your bed, clutching a heating pad to your stomach as waves of discomfort rolled through you. the cramps were relentless, and even the thought of getting up felt like an impossible task.

you sighed, burying your face in the pillow. you didn’t want to complain, but it was one of those days where everything just felt a little too much.

a soft knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. you frowned, confused - ayane and milya weren't home, and you weren’t expecting anyone. reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders as you shuffled to the door.

when you opened it, you were greeted by the sight of rin, standing there with a familiar paper bag in one hand and a water bottle in the other. his expression was calm, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes as he looked you over.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, surprised but happy to see him.

he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, gently nudging you back toward your room. “you didn’t answer my texts,” he said simply, setting the bag down on your desk. “figured something was up.”

you blinked, realizing you’d completely forgotten to check your phone. “oh. sorry,” you mumbled, shuffling back to your bed and sinking onto it with a groan. “just wasn’t feeling great.”

“i know,” rin said quietly, sitting softly on your bed.

you frowned at him, confused. “what do you mean, you know?”

he glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “i keep track,” he admitted, his voice low. “on my calendar. just in case you ever need anything.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words. before you could respond, he reached for the bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped box of cookies.

“figured these might help,” he said, holding them out to you. “it's a long time since we visited that coffee shop.”

you stared at the cookies, warmth blooming in your chest despite the pain. “rin, you didn’t have to-"

“i wanted to,” he cut you off, his tone firm but gentle. “you always take care of everyone else. let me take care of you for once.”

a small smile crept onto your lips as you took the cookies from him, your fingers brushing against his. “I LOVE YOUUU SO MUCH, RINNIE,” you screamed, jumping at him and you both fell onto the bed.

rin didn't need large gestures or elaborate words to show he cared. he showed it in the small, thoughtful things he did - like remembering your favorite cookies and being there when you needed him most.

and that was more than enough.

summary: rin itoshi's love language was acts of service.

#006 : it doesn't change.

when you both were 19, rin’s talent and hard work finally paid off. he made it into japan’s official nationals football team - a dream he’d been chasing since you’d known him. you were beyond proud, but his success came with long days of practice, meetings, and media obligations.

you hadn’t seen him for a week. eight long days without the quiet comfort of his presence, without the subtle warmth he brought into your life. it felt strange not to have him around, and you couldn’t help but miss him more than you thought you would.

when he finally showed up at your door late one evening, you barely had time to react before his arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you into him like he was afraid you might disappear.

“oh! rin-" you started, surprised by the sudden embrace.

“hey baby,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice soft but firm.

you froze for a moment, then slowly relaxed into his hold, your arms coming up to wrap around him. he was warm, and the way he clung to you made your heart ache in the best way.

“i missed you so much,” he said quietly, his voice muffled against your hair.

your fingers tightened around the back of his shirt, grounding him. “i missed you too,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his usual composed demeanor nowhere to be found. his eyes were softer, vulnerable in a way you didn’t see often. “i don’t want to let go of you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart skipped a beat at his words. rin wasn’t one to express his emotions so openly, but when he did, it always left you breathless.

“then don’t,” you replied softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “i’m not going anywhere.”

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if he was savoring the moment. “it’s been so busy,” he murmured. “but all i could think about was you.”

you felt your chest tighten, overwhelmed by the weight of his words. “yeah?” you said gently, taking his hand in yours. “you’re here now.”

he looked at you, his expression a mix of gratitude and longing, before pulling you back into his arms. this time, the embrace was softer, less urgent but no less meaningful. for a while, you just stood there in the quiet, holding each other as the world outside faded away.

“i’m so proud of you, rin,” you whispered against his chest. “you’ve worked so hard for this.”

his arms tightened around you, and you felt the faintest smile against your hair. “it doesn’t mean anything if i can’t share it with you,” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction.

you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s warmth, neither of you wanting to let go.

the peace didn’t last long, though, as you heard a muffled voice from the couch.

“ew, can you two not?” milya groaned, exaggerating her disgust as she tossed a pillow in your direction. rin chuckled softly but didn’t pull away from you, clearly content where he was.

“look who’s talking,” you shot back. “you’re the one practically glued to chigiri over there.” milya crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her face scrunching in mock offense. “we’re subtle, thank you very much.”

“subtle?” chigiri snorted, raising his head from the back of the couch. “you’ve got the blanket wrapped around you like a burrito, and you’re not even trying to hide it.”

you laughed but then turned to rin, whose hands were still holding onto you. “seriously, though,” you began, voice tinged with playful frustration, “hyoma, you fucking lied to me. you told me rin wouldn’t be home until next week!"

summary: rin itoshi is a lover boy.

#007 : huh?

when you both were 22, life had changed in ways you hadn’t expected. rin had just wrapped up an important season with the national football team, and things between you two were going incredibly well. you had both grown so much, and your relationship felt like it was settling into something permanent.

you found yourselves on the bed, curled up together with a movie playing in the background. the usual comfort of rin’s presence was even more evident tonight, as his body was pressed against yours. you could feel his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he relaxed, his hand gently resting on your thigh.

the movie faded into the background, your attention slowly shifting to rin. there was a shift in the air, and you could sense he had something on his mind.

“hey,” rin said, breaking the comfortable silence. his voice was quiet, a little hesitant, which was unusual for him.

“yeah?” you turned toward him, raising an eyebrow.

he shifted slightly, eyes meeting yours. “have you ever thought about... moving in together?”

you blinked, not expecting the question at all. you stared at him for a second, the words sinking in. it wasn’t the first time you’d talked about your future, but this felt different. this wasn’t just a passing thought; rin was serious.

“you mean, like… us living together?” you asked, making sure you were hearing him correctly.

rin nodded, his expression a little more vulnerable than you were used to. “yeah. i mean, we’ve been together for a while now, and i just thought maybe it’s time.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a little caught off guard. living together - really living together - was a huge step. but at the same time, you couldn’t deny the fact that it felt right.

you smiled, your heart softening at how much he was thinking about the future with you. “you know, i've thought about it too.”

rin’s face softened at your words, relief flooding his features. “really?”

“yeah,” you nodded, taking his hand in yours. “i mean, i love being with you. and we’ve been making this work for so long now.” you hesitated, your thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. “it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

rin’s eyes lit up at your response, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “so, is that a yes?”

you chuckled, leaning in to kiss his cheek, the familiar warmth of his skin making everything feel more real. “yeah, rinnie. it’s a yes.”

he grinned, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t let you go. “good,” he whispered, “because i can’t imagine living with anyone else.”

you settled back into his arms, feeling that sense of certainty wash over you. this was it. this was the next step. you and rin, together.

summary: rin itoshi always had a way to make you breathless.

#008 : one step further.

when you both were 23, you and rin had grown even closer, your bond stronger than ever. the years together had been filled with memories - trips, laughter, challenges, and so much more. the two of you had just wrapped up a vacation, a short getaway to the beach, where you both decided to relax and unwind after a busy few months.

the sun was setting, casting golden hues across the sky as the waves crashed against the shore. it was the kind of evening where everything seemed perfect, and the moment felt suspended in time. you and rin were walking along the beach, hand in hand, the soft sand beneath your feet as you both made your way toward a quiet spot near the water.

rin had been unusually quiet during your walk, but you didn’t think much of it. he was often lost in thought, especially during peaceful moments like this. but there was something in the way he was holding your hand, something in the way he kept glancing at you, that made you realize this was different.

“hey,” rin finally said, his voice low and filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“hm?” you looked up at him.

he stopped walking and turned toward you, his eyes locking with yours. for a moment, neither of you spoke. it was as if the world around you had faded away, leaving only the two of you standing there.

“you know,” he started, his voice slightly shaking as he spoke, “i've been thinking a lot lately. about everything we’ve been through, and everything that’s still ahead of us.” he took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “i can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

you felt your heart race, sensing the weight of his words. you smiled softly, not quite sure what he was leading up to.

“rin?” you asked, your voice a gentle whisper.

he swallowed, his hand tightening around yours, and then, out of nowhere, he reached into his pocket.

you blinked in surprise as he pulled out a small, velvet box, the kind you’d seen in movies but never imagined would be part of your reality. your breath caught in your throat as he opened it, revealing a delicate ring nestled inside.

“will you marry me?” rin asked, his voice steady but filled with so much love and sincerity.

you froze, staring at the ring in shock. this was happening. it wasn’t a dream.

“are you serious?” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

he nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “i've never been more serious about anything in my life. i love you so much, and i want to spend the rest of my life with you. because i want you to be mine. selfishly, thoughtlessly mine. just like the first time i said it."

the world around you seemed to pause as you took in his words. you couldn’t believe it. the man you loved, the one who had been by your side through everything, was asking you to marry him.

without thinking, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “yes,” you breathed, your voice thick with emotion. “yes, rin, of course, yes!”

rin laughed, relief flooding his face as he pulled away slightly to slip the ring onto your finger. the moment felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

“thank you,” he murmured, kissing your forehead as he cupped your face in his hands. “i've been wanting to ask you for so long.”

you smiled, your heart soaring as you looked at the ring and then back at him. “i can’t believe this is happening,” you whispered, your voice filled with wonder.

rin smiled back, his eyes twinkling with happiness. “it’s happening, and i promise I’m going to make you the happiest person in the world.”

the waves crashed nearby, the sun dipping below the horizon, but none of it mattered. you had everything you needed right in front of you. the man you loved, and the life you were about to build together.

summary: rin itoshi is the one.

#009 : what's this?

when you both were 25, life seemed to be unfolding in the most perfect way. you and rin had been married for a little over two years, and things between you two were better than ever. the house you shared was full of laughter, love, and the kind of happiness that only comes from building a life with someone you truly care about.

it was a lazy satursay morning, and you and rin were enjoying a rare day off. the sun streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow over the kitchen as you prepared breakfast together. rin was flipping pancakes while you set the table, humming along to some random tune in your head.

there was an air of contentment between you two, something peaceful and steady. but what you didn’t expect was the wave of excitement and nervousness that washed over you as you stood by the counter, trying to act normal. your hands trembled slightly, and you could feel your heart race as you looked down at the pregnancy test in your hand.

you’d taken it earlier, just to be sure, and now you had the answer in front of you. a baby.

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath. this was it. you were about to share the news with rin.

as you watched him, laughter in his eyes as he joked about the pancakes being burnt, you felt a strange combination of excitement and nervousness. this was a big moment, one that would change everything for both of you.

finally, you took a deep breath and walked over to rin, who had just placed the last pancake on the plate. you set the test down on the counter in front of him.

rin paused, his eyes widening slightly as he looked from the test to your face. “what’s this?” he asked, his voice suddenly filled with curiosity.

you bit your lip, trying to hold back the nervous smile tugging at your lips. “rin…” you started, your voice quiet but steady. “we’re going to have a baby.”

for a moment, rin just stared at you, his expression unreadable. and then, slowly, his eyes softened, and a wide grin spread across his face.

“wait, seriously?” he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and joy. you nodded, your own smile growing as you reached for his hand. “yeah, seriously.”

rin blinked a few times, as if processing the words, and then he let out a laugh - joyful, pure, and completely overwhelming. he stepped toward you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“oh my god, this is- this is amazing,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “we’re going to be parents.”

you laughed too, the weight of the news finally sinking in. it felt so surreal, but it was perfect. rin, the love of your life, was going to be the father of your child.

“we are,” you agreed, your voice full of happiness.

rin pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “i'm going to be a father."

you chuckled, cupping his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him. “you will.”

rin kissed you back, the moment lingering between you two. and as you pulled away, you couldn’t help but think about the life you were about to start together - one filled with even more love, laughter, and little moments that would make your family feel whole.

summary: rin itoshi will be a good father.

#010 : the other woman.

when you both were 28, life had taken on a comfortable rhythm. work, family, and all the little moments in between had woven together into something truly beautiful. you and rin had built a life that felt like home, and it was even sweeter now with your little one, who was growing faster than either of you had expected.

on this particular day, you had an important interview, and rin was on dad duty, spending the afternoon alone with your daughter. he was completely smitten with her, and today was no different.

your daughter was now almost three years old, full of energy and curiosity, and she had a way of turning every moment into something magical. rin was in the living room, sitting on the floor with her as she tried to stack blocks, her tiny hands fumbling with them, but her determination unwavering.

“careful, sweetie,” rin said, his voice calm and gentle as he helped her place a block on top of another.

she giggled, looking up at him with her big eyes full of excitement. “daddy, look!” she said, pointing at the small tower of blocks she had built.

“wow, you’re so smart,” rin said, his voice full of pride. he leaned in, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “that’s amazing.”

your daughter beamed, her face lighting up with joy at the praise. “daddy, again!” she said, reaching for more blocks. rin smiled at her, his heart swelling with love for the tiny person who had captured it completely.

“alright, let’s make the biggest tower ever,” rin said, picking up a block and carefully adding it to her pile. as they worked together, he couldn’t help but laugh when she knocked it over again, sending the blocks scattering across the floor.

“oops!” she exclaimed, giggling. rin chuckled and shook his head, watching her with adoration.

“you sure know how to make a mess, don’t you?” he teased, reaching down to gather the blocks back into a pile. she tried to help but ended up making it even more chaotic, her little hands eager but uncoordinated.

rin’s phone buzzed from the counter, and he paused for a moment, checking the time. just a few more minutes until you’d be home.

“you’re a handful, but i wouldn’t trade you for anything,” rin murmured, smiling down at his daughter. she looked up at him, her eyes full of trust and affection.

suddenly, she reached out for him, her tiny arms open wide, wanting to be held. rin immediately scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

“my little angel,” he whispered softly, kissing her forehead.

your daughter snuggled into him, her eyes starting to close as she grew tired from all the play. rin held her close, feeling her small breaths against his chest. it was moments like this that reminded him how lucky he was to be her dad.

he couldn’t wait to see you again and share all the little things she’d done while you were gone, but for now, he cherished this quiet, peaceful moment with his daughter.

as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, rin smiled, knowing that no matter what the future held, this - being her dad - was everything.

summary: rin itoshi is a girl dad.

what did you learn after all this? rin itoshi is your man.

chapter 023 > here > bonus

back to beneath the stars, we became one !

this is dedicated to lily <3 @saeslove ilysm thank you for motivating me for finishing every chapter <3

this is the end guys !! :( but im also happy <3 thank you so much for everything, for every like, reblog, and comment. you all made this journey a beautiful one. it was such a nice experience (also my first) posting written romance AAAAAAAAA it means so much!! thank you all for reading this and i hope you'll continue reading my stuff >_< i love you all so so much.

taglist: @byakgans @levihanmyotp @x3nafix @etojlee @chuuyalvover @reocidal @syarc0re @azinniyaa @vashyuu @rwbie @idexmids @giaalorine @modxbea @nensi @anqelkoz @sapph1r3x @yuukigyatgyat @morgyyyyyyy @azharyy @chaerinmin @thenightsflower @narcjsistx @totheseok @meekydeeks @aerisevx @imas1mpp @t3chn0chan @lincqx @jadelynnrr @beellu @elpo1111 @swagkittybear @axquella @loverryxx

#mixolya!#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #rin #itoshi rin smau #rin itoshi smau #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #rin itoshi imagines #itoshi rin imagines #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk smau #blue lock smau

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themilfsland · 8 months ago

Text

needy patience

Pairing(s): Mommy!Wanda x fem!reader.

Summary: Mommy Wanda teaches you how to have patience because you have been acting like a restless child lately.

Content: smut with some plot, smutty, top Wanda, bottom reader, teasing, praising, orgasm denial, edging, fingering, mommy kink;

The whole week you've been giving her a brat attitude, not accepting the no's you received, stressing over nonsense, and unfollowing some rules that she especially made for her baby girl. The other night, you even showed her a silly complaint when she said it was time for sleep but the only thing you wanted was mommy touching you. She knows all your needs and she is always available to supply them. Beyond that, she knows what is best for you, even when you disagree, like that exactly night that you didn't listen to her. But, still, she was patient and explained to you it was late and you needed to rest first. You went to bed sulking, she noticed that.

The week passed and here you are, sitting on the couch with Wanda while some random entertainment channel is streaming on TV. Your back dives in her embrace, her arms around you while her fingertips caress your hand. You try to adjust yourself on the couch for the third time until she asks, "What's wrong, detka?", you sign but your voice sounds colder than you expected, "Nothing is wrong.". Wanda is definitely not pleased with your answer, even less the way you've been responding to her lately. "I'm not asking you again.", her fingers that once were tender against your skin, now they’re gripping your wrist a little too tight.

You've been a bad girl and she is getting mad now, but you just don't know how to explain why you are in this moody. You take a deep breath before saying, "Ugh it's these long advertisements every single time, we can't watch five minutes of the show without them popping up.", you try to accommodate yourself again but this time Wanda holds your waist.

She hears your protesting but says nothing about it, instead, she keeps her attention on the TV. You didn’t like that, not at all, she can’t be ignoring you now, why would she do that. You are pulled out from your thoughts when you feel one of her hands reaching inside your t-shirt, scratching your belly skin until her hand grabs your breasts and presses them, by the surprise from her act you couldn't hold a shy whimper. Still with no words from her, she starts playing with your sensitive nipples, pressing between her fingers and pulling a little. You clench your legs feeling your arousal, and you could swear that she gave a smirk noticing how needy you're already becoming.

You shiver when you feel her other hand reaching into your shorts, "What are you doing, Wanda?", you turn your head to the side and lay back on her shoulder, trying to look directly at her face. "I'm gonna teach you how to have patience, detka", she gives you a mock smile but you are not satisfied with her answer, "Teach me? What do you mean by that?". She grabs your jaw and makes you return your head forward, to keep you looking at the TV, "The rules are simple, darling, I'm gonna touch you throughout every advertising period and stop when your silly program gets back. Ohh, and you're not allowed to cum until I say you can".

You already feel dizzy by just hearing these rules, you can't imagine how many times she would edge you, it will be a complete torture. Her voice took you from your thoughts, "Understood?", her fingers press harder your jaw, "Y-yes, Wanda", you sign but she immediately retorts "That's not the name I wanna hear", you whine back feeling the ache between your legs growing, "Sorry, mommy, please".

She released your face and helped you take off your shorts and panties, with the excuse that it would be more comfortable for you. Sitting in front of her again, laying your back on her chest and head on her shoulder, you feel your body burning with the excitement of Wanda finally touching you after this hell week, but you doubt these thoughts when her hands spread your legs. "You're gonna be a good girl for me now, aren't you detka?", she pats her fingertips on your inner thigh, you can only nod and give her a muffled moan, "I need your words, darling", her fingers reaching your troubles folds, "mommy please, I'm gonna be your good girl, I can take it, please", you whimper with the sensation of how wet you already are, maybe you were wrong, the true torture and hell of this week is about to start now.

Wanda keeps acting like nothing happened minutes ago, her unbothered bothers you, her hand rests on your pussy without any movement, but you can feel her fingertips touching lightly your sensitive areas. You're about to complain about the lack of contact when the commercial starts. No words are said except your whining when you feel her fingers rubbing your clit before start giving circle movements. You try to close your legs, but she grabs your thigh before you can do it, "Stay still, detka, legs wide open for me, let mommy plays with you a little bit".

Wanda wasn't joking about the rules after all, one finger easily slip into your cunt, your walls tighten around her, initiating a slow in and out thrustings, "You're being so good for me, darling, but I know you can take more", you moan louder than the volume of the TV when you feel her stretching you out with the second finger. Her ministrations begin to get faster and harder and you try to place your hand on top of her other hand that is gripping your inner thigh to keep you open. You feel your arousal dripping out while her fingers curled inside your needy pussy. She knows that your orgasm is approaching by the way your walls clench around her fingers and your moans are getting desperate, but she didn't have to worry about that because the advertising time ended.

She immediately stops her movements and all you can do is beg her, "mommy please, don't stop, I need you", she thrusts deeper into you and takes out her fingers.The emptiness that is left in your pussy makes you whimper and squeeze her hand that you are holding. You beg again but she shushes your complaints, "shhh detka, the show is back, have some patience until the next play time", her teasing voice makes you move your hip to get any less frustrating contact but as soon as she notices your pathetic acts she slaps your clit. "Don't make me give you a harder lesson, sweetheart. I'm already taking it easy on you", you moan in response, your ached clit is still pulsating because of her slap but the pressure of the palm of her hand resting on top of your pussy makes the soreness a little better, or not.

Another commercial time and the torture begins. Her fingers pushing hard and deep into your helpless cunt. The mess you are doing doesn't even bother you anymore. The wet spot of your arousal would probably be forming on the couch fabric beneath you.

At your third orgasm edging she had to stop before the show came back, "Mommy there's still time, why did you stop? please I need to cum". She pulls her fingers out again, not letting you get any friction with her hand, "I guess you forgot the second rule, darling, no cumming until I say you can", she speaks low, near your ear, making your walls contract the void space her fingers had left you.

It is the fourth time that she is edging you, or even more, you honestly lost the counting, the overstimulation is too much for you to think. Right now the only thing you are able to do is beg, besides, your legs are too weak to fight against her. She notices all that and decides to take pity on you. "You are dripping in my hand and still so tight for me. I can't get enough from you", she praises you and you beg her to let you cum this time. The fingers of her hand that once was restraining your thigh start rubbing your clit. You automatically lean your head on her shoulder, pressing your back on her chest, eyes closed and your mind starts turning off. "Cum for me, detka. Finish the mess you started", you almost came instantly when she allowed you. It took a few more rough thrusting until your orgasm came, you moan louder and feel your pussy getting full of your cum with her fingers still buried inside you.

She can hear your heavy and tired breathing and feels the light twitches your body is giving. An unexpected whimper was taken from you when she pulled her fingers out, leaving your soaked and throbbing core. "You took me so well, detka", she gives you a forehead kiss, "but I hope you learned how important is to have some patience too".

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda x you #wlw #lgbtq #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda mcu #mcu fanfiction #mommy wanda #top wanda #reader bottom #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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comic-sans-chan · 11 months ago

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Fic I'll never write where Dukat decides the biennial Cardassian Festival of Whatever the Fuck (it is never actually specified) should be hosted on Deep Space Nine as a way of bridging the gap between the Cardassian and Bajoran peoples. Sisko and Kira are both Ehhhh about it, but Dukat is obnoxiously persistent until finally the Bajoran government and Federation higher ups are like “K”, on the condition that no Cardassian military (or Order) personnel be allowed. All security for the event will be handled by Odo and Starfleet. Dukat is suspiciously cool with this, which puts everyone on alert, but soon Cardassian vendors and decorators start showing up and they turn out to be pretty chill people, so they let it happen.

While the preparations for the festival are underway, another operation has started. A motherfucker from Garak's past is doing typical motherfucker things on the station. One of these things is scouting Garak's quarters, learning the layout, tracking Garak's routine. It becomes clear very quickly that the rapidly increasing number of Cardassians on DS9 is putting Garak on edge, though, because he seems to be fiddling more with his security protocols, so the motherfucker realizes they need to make their move and they need to make it fast.

They succeed. Sort of. With the circumstances as they are, they had to get a little... creative, but it should do the trick.

By early next morning, every PADD, screen, and computer system on the station is streaming seventy-two different poems on a constant loop. Love poems. Ardent, anguished, often utterly indecent love poems, all with the central theme of being about one Doctor Julian Bashir.

Quark is one of the first to notice the problem, being the type of asshole who opens early despite this only increasing his bottom line by a fraction of a fraction. At first, he's furious that his systems have been tampered with, but after reading a few lines of what his normal menu and advertisements have been replaced with, he's laughing, and by the end of the third poem, he's on the floor.

"Odo!" he shouts, banging on the bastard's door twenty minutes later. "Odo, open up! We've got a problem!"

Odo slinks under the door and slips up between it and Quark's pounding fist with a glare. "Quark! I'm not on duty for another hour. What could possibly be so urgent?"

Quark's sharp little rat teeth are splitting his face clean in half as he holds up the PADD. "Take a look."

Odo scrolls through a couple poems, then squints and scrolls through several more. "Erotic love poetry? I didn't peg you for the type."

"To like erotica? Hoo, I thought you paid better attention than that, Constable."

Odo returns the PADD with a dry expression. "To read."

"Oh, you're hilarious." He taps Odo's chest with the PADD. "The whole station is filled with this stuff. My bar, the Replimat, the Celestial Cafe, the promenade. Someone's either desperate to make a statement, or we've been sabatoged."

Dramatic sci-fi music swells and we get a close-up of Odo’s eerily hairless face and nasal cavity.

The next few hours are dedicated to trying and failing to seize back the servers and briefing the bridge staff on the situation.

"Are we sure these are all about Doctor Bashir?" Sisko's voice booms across Ops. He's on his second cup of coffee and a pile of useless PADDs lay beside him.

Julian has remained stoic throughout the discussion and he remains so now, avoiding eye contact with anyone who's smiling a little too wide. Like Jadzia. "Oh, definitely," she says. "He's mentioned by name in three of them, and several others make a point of highlighting the subject's 'golden sand dune skin', 'aristocratic' features, and 'voice that never stops singing.' Sounds like Julian to me."

A few snickers break out, but Sisko is taking the matter seriously. Thank fuck, Julian thinks. It actually looks like it's giving him a headache, which would make two of them if Julian was capable of having headaches. The captain's rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "And the source..."

"There's a clear data trail back to Garak's quarters. Whoever did this, they wanted us to know where it came from," Kira reports. A muscle jumps in Julian's cheek.

"I tracked Garak down for his statement on the issue," Odo says, gruff, "and he told me he had nothing to do with the virus. In fact, he denied ever having laid eyes on the poems in his life. He's claiming he's been framed." He rolls his eyes.

"Okay," Jadzia says, "we all agree he's lying, right?"

"But which part..."

"Oh, they're Garak's. I've read enough Lloja of Prim to be familiar with traditional Kardasi meter and syntax, and that isn't even going into all the parallels drawn between our doctor and Prime. Sand, heat, rainforests. Bit of Romulan imagery in there, too, if I'm not mistaken. A lot of flowers and vines. Wasn't Garak a gardener?"

"I see no reason why anyone would want to embarass themselves like this," O'Brien cuts in before Jadzia can make it worse. "Even if he is trying to distract us or something, this seems counterproductive in the long term. Everyone’s watching him now, not just us. The rumor mill is running rampant. Not exactly a spy’s MO."

"He did blow up his shop once."

"Because someone was trying to kill him," Julian pipes up for the first time, looking concerned. "Do you think this might be another cry for help?"

"Oh, it's a cry for something," Jadzia quips, and Julian shuts the fuck up.

"Dax," Sisko snaps, like the good benevolent Wormhole Alien Jesus he is, and Dax shuts the fuck up, too. Sisko gives them all the stink eye. "Constable, you're nearly as familiar with Garak as the doctor is," he says, and holds a hand up before any jokes can be made. "What do you think?"

"I don't think he's behind this, sir. None of the pieces add up, and he seemed genuinely agitated when I spoke to him, in his way. At present, I believe he is as much a victim here as the rest of us."

Sisko sighs. "All right. Do we have any idea who is behind this?"

The room is silent for a time, before Odo reluctantly answers for everyone, "Not yet, sir."

"Find out," Sisko demands, "and Chief, get these damn poems off of my reports. Dismissed."

Julian is out of the room before anyone else has stood up.

The rest of the day is spent ducking in and out of his office, only treating those who ask for him by name and keeping all conversations strictly professional. Any mentions of poetry, the festival, Cardassians, or Garak are firmly sidelined, and on a couple occasions, rewarded with a none-too-gentle hypo. He skips lunch altogether and extends his shift by two hours to avoid the dinner rush.

By the time he's leaving the Infirmary, it's late. Unfortunately for him, not late enough that the halls aren't still speckled with observers to his personal soap opera. With the Festival of Frank’s Hot Dogs less than a week away, DS9 is becoming increasingly crowded with tourists, mostly Cardassian, but a surprising amount Bajoran, too–apparently this festival was a rare bright point during the Occupation, when their oppressors were not only lenient with them for once, but generous with food and drink and freedoms. It doesn't hurt that the only Cardassians on board are civilian rather than military, so the atmosphere is rather more colorful, courteous and conversational rather than cold, dark and aggressive. It would make Julian smile if he wasn't so busy being gawked at.

"I don't see it," one Cardassian man grumbles and Julian's accursed augmented ears pick up. "He's even smoother than a Bajoran."

"Oh, yeah," his companion replies, "just think of how easily he'd slide around."

"Tanett!"

"Oh, hush, Grandpa. You're just xenophobic. He's cute."

"Well, you be careful who hears you say that. That Garak fellow is in the Order, you know. Ears everywhere. You don't want to know what things a man like that is capable of."

"Wasn't he exiled? Hardly intimidating now. Apparently all he's capable of anymore is whimpering over an alien like a pakrela."

Julian covers his ears and walks faster.

But that just brings him within range of a cluster of Bajorans. "Oh, there's the doctor now," one is saying, up on the balcony.

"The one the Cardassian tailor wrote about?"

"That poor fool. He thought they were friends, but here this whole time it was perverse. I can only imagine how much that hurts."

"Happened to my friend once. He thought a glinn was being kind because he was having a crisis of conscience and wanted to help him escape. No, he just wanted to–"

He could go to his quarters, but a flash of memory - Garak's bright eyes at the end of his bed, his figure encased in shadow - sends him in the opposite direction. Before long, he finds himself on an oft-unused Observation deck, since it offers no view of the wormhole or either Bajor or Cardassia's suns. It's blessedly empty, as usual, and Julian settles on a bench and stares into the dark nothingness of space for a long time.

At some point, he finds that his hand has retrieved the PADD from his medical bag, and the screen is lit up automatically with the first poem.

He reads well into the night.

—

The next morning finds Garak with a tall glass of rokassa juice and two eggs, staring intensely into a mysteriously operational PADD at the far end of Quark's bar. Quark pops out of his backroom like a jack-in-the-box.

"Ha! Well, if it isn't the man of the hour himself, gracing my fine establishment so soon after nearly destroying it. Do you know I've had to have menus printed, like we're in the dark ages? Do you have any idea how extensive my menu is? I ought to sue you for damages." He catches a glimpse of the PADD's screen and its decidedly unpoetic contents. "Hey, you fixed it? How?"

"It was just a simple virus. Viruses can be purged," Garak says without looking up. He barely seems aware of Quark's existence.

When no other words are forthcoming, Quark huffs. "Well, can you purge it from the rest of the station, then?"

"I gave the program to the Chief last night."

"And he didn't immediately come here to fix my bar? I'll have to file a complaint.”

Garak offers no reply. Just continues to stare into his PADD.

There are other customers he could be seeing to, but Quark can't pass up this golden opportunity. He's known Garak a long time and known of him even longer, and now that he has the guy's guts all neatly lined up on several dozen isolinear rods, he's never felt closer to the man. He makes a point of knowing things about his customers, but before yesterday, the most he knew about Garak was that he was an assassin, a tailor, a mean, weepy drunk, and friends with Bashir, Odo, and a smattering of other shopkeepers. That was it. But now...

He leans over the counter, closer to Garak's unblinking face. "You know," he says, with a smile rising slow on his cheeks, "if it's humans you like, I have a couple holosuite programs that might be just what you need."

Garak's gaze ascends as if on a motor, smooth and mechanical.

Good. He’s considering the bait. Now he just has to get him to bite. "All completely customizable. Skin, eyes, hair. You like long legs, they've got long legs. Scrawny, they're scrawny. Whatever you want. Although if you're really hung up on the one face, that can also be arranged. For the right price." When Garak just looks at him, Quark switches tactics. "Or maybe it's the uniform that does it for you? I've got 'em, but I'd suggest something out of my lingerie databases. I've still got some little Cardassian numbers filed away that I think even a man with your discerning tastes could appreciate. Just imagine, Doctor Bashir in a–"

He doesn't see the hand coming until it's already crushing his windpipe. Quark claws at it for several long, desperate moments while Garak continues to look.

Leeta scuttling over and yanking him away is what ultimately puts a stop to it, and it's while Quark is gasping in dramatic bursts of air that Leeta says in a rush, "Garak, please! Whatever he said, he didn't mean it!"

"Oh, I meant it," Quark coughs out with a high, strangled laugh, "he just didn't like it."

"Whatever conclusions you've drawn in the last twenty-six hours, allow me to dispel them," Garak says primly, as if he hadn't almost committed murder in broad daylight. "I am not a xenophile and I do not have feelings for Doctor Bashir. There are no less than two-hundred Cardassians currently aboard the station, and I assure you, none of them like me. Those poems were obviously planted."

Oh, but Quark is a little pissed now, unwise as that is. "Please, Garak," he says, "who has time to write that many poems about Julian just to mess with you? Two or three, maybe, but over seventy? If you're going to lie, at least don't insult our intelligence."

Garak's eyes flash and Quark ducks behind Leeta, repentant. Leeta sighs. "Garak, what's so bad about loving Julian?" she asks softly. "I thought the poems were really touching. It’s sweet how much you care for him."

But he's already staring into his PADD again. "I'm sorry, Miss Leeta, but I am a bit busy. Perhaps we can discuss my hypothetical feelings for your paramour another time."

"Julian and I have never been serious," she tries to assure him, but he's engrossed again, or at least pretending to be. Her and Quark share a look and leave him to it. Lesson learned.

"Let the bastard be pent up and miserable, then," Quark grumbles from the other end of the bar as he pours Table 3's drinks. A prickle on his neck has him looking up and there Garak's eyes are again, piercing, and Quark rushes off to deliver the drinks.

The three young Cardassians there are much more friendly. One has their nose stuck in one of the useless poetry PADDs while the other two smile at Quark while he sets out their orders.

"Three Raktajinos, extra bitter," Quark says, and is thanked. Polite. One even praises the drink's exoticness. Klingon coffee, exotic. Heh. "Your food will be out in a few."

Before he can finish turning, though, a hand is touching his arm. "What is the title of this anthology you include at every table?" the young man asks.

"Oh, that's not..." He sighs. "It's new. I can't remember."

"Find out for us, please," he says. "Works like these can be hard to come by on Prime and we make it our business to collect them. Whoever this author is, they're very unique."

"If these aren't banned on Prime already, they will be soon," his friend comments with a giggle.

"No doubt."

"'In my desolation, I am as weeds: Cut my roots and Let the waters take me, To drown and bloom anew, in You,'" the one with her nose in the PADD reads aloud, and shivers. "They'd burn the whole Central Archive down just for this one. It's so explicit."

"Let me see that," the boy demands, as the other one is already surging over to read over the girl's shoulder. Watching them fight over the PADD has Quark thinking back to the isolinear rods in his safe, and he hums thoughtfully, glancing over his shoulder.

Garak isn't looking.

—

Glinn Halon Duvur. Former underling of Gul Dukat. Out of uniform, vacationing on Deep Space Nine with his wife and nine children. Spends his days gambling while his kids play unsupervised in the holosuites and his wife visits old friends.

Beloved uncle sent to trial by the Obsidian Order in 2356 and executed that same day for crimes of attempted sabotage against Cardassia.

Garak watches the man wander down the promenade sans his proud lineage, jingling a fat little bag of gold-pressed latinum and yet-unconverted leks. He wanders out of range, so Garak switches to the next camera and there that unfortunate face is again. He drums his fingers on the desk. It won't be long now.

An alert rings in his ear and he almost initiates the shockfield on impulse, but the flash of smooth, brown skin on a monitor stays his hand. The knocking comes, and that haunting voice calls out, "Garak! Are you there?"

Garak rests his head next to the surveillance screens.

Predictably, the doctor tries to input his override, but the door remains shut. There's a long pause.

"Garak..." Julian sounds irate. Garak hums. "Did you deprogram my override code? Nevermind how illegal that is, that's dangerous! What if you're injured? Or fall ill?"

He says this just after attempting to abuse his station privileges for personal reasons. Infuriating hypocrite.

"Oh, my barging in at random, odd hours is no less than you deserve, Garak," Julian says as if in response to Garak's thoughts. "You set that precedent in our relationship yourself."

Terrible man.

"Fine. I'll give you some more time, since you want it so badly, but I'll be back and when I am, that override had better work. If it doesn’t, I promise there will be hell to pay, my friend."

Beautiful man.

"Goodbye, Mr. Garak."

Goodbye, Doctor.

Glinn Duvur dies two hours later of alcohol poisoning while his wife is in bed with Gul Rilimn's wife.

—

“I just can’t believe it,” Kira is bitching. Jadzia smiles and sips her drink, looking out over the Replimat balcony at all the happy brunchgoers. “A Cardassian writing poetry about something that isn’t conquest or the wonders of dictatorial rule or, at best, the pride of the traditional family nobly bowing and scraping. I’ve never seen it.”

“It would certainly seem to run counter to Cardassian values.”

“And about Julian!” she shrieks in her inside voice, slapping her hands down on the table. “Garak the spy, writing love poetry about Julian. Going on and on about his–his...”

“Ass?” Jadzia offers.

“Eyes. His eyes! Ohhh, I knew he wanted to have sex with him, everyone knew that, but to write about his eyes like... like that? It’s practically Bajoran.”

“That’s true.”

Kira stops long enough in her tirade to eye her, and presses her lips into a thin line. “How are you so calm about this?”

Jadzia takes another sip. “I’m just fascinated,” she says. “I’ll admit, I’ve been looking at this more through Tobin’s eyes than my own. Have I ever told you that he met Lloja of Prim during his exile?”

“He did not.”

“He did, and Lloja flirted with him outrageously. It was embarrassing, looking back. Of course, nothing ever came of it, because Tobin was always hopelessly blind to those sorts of things even without the language barrier, but his children liked to joke that many of Lloja’s poems were about him.”

Kira’s jaw is hanging. “Were they?”

Jadzia grins and shrugs. Kira laughs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Jadzia allows, “but I do wonder... Being able to call nervous, asexual Tobin the lover of Lloja of Prim would have been quite the notch in my belt. Think of the stories I could have told! And now here Julian is with the opportunity. I know it’s not the same, I mean, it’s Garak. But, you have to admit, to write about him like that...”

“He must really love him,” Kira finishes for her, stumped. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“I didn’t see it, either,” Jadzia confesses. “I was still wrestling with the idea that they were actually friends. I thought their association was strictly professional and all the books and flirting were just a front.” She cradles her head in her hands suddenly and sighs. “Ugh, but those poems. The poems are so good! Kira...”

“I know,” she moans. “They’re heart-wrenching. Which one are you on now?”

“Thirty-nine. I came back home, but I came back gone.”

“Ouch.”

“I know.”

A shout from below interrupts them and they both shoot out of their seats. Below, a Cardassian man has just had a beam fall on top of him. Jadzia and Kira bound down the stairs to him, Jadzia already slapping a hand on her comm badge.

“Dax to Infirmary, a man has just been crushed, possibly impaled. Send a medical team to Replimat and be ready for emergency beam out.”

“Acknowledged, we’re on our way,” Girani says, but already Kira is looking up at Jadzia helplessly, the man’s wrist laying limp between her hands.

“He’s gone.”

“Shit!” Jadzia hunches over, hands on her knees. “That’s the third one today. Are Cardassians always this accident prone? No wonder you won the war.”

“No,” Kira says. “They’re not. You don’t think...”

“I don’t know,” Jadzia says grimly, and looks around at the crowd that’s formed. All Cardassian, all terrified. “But we need to find out.”

—

A Cardassian is sitting at the bar. This isn’t an unusual sight now, with the Festival of 90s Funk and Beyond coming up, but seeing one so young and looking so hunted is odd. Quark approaches him casually.

“What’ll you have?”

The Cardassian’s eyes dart. “Uh...” He leans over suddenly, cups both hands over his mouth, and whispers, “E. G. Special.”

Christ, these kids are going to kill him. “Coming right up,” he says in a normal person voice, and reaches under the bar for a glass. A little drink-mixing magic later, a beautiful fizzy blue drink is sitting between them, with an isolinear rod tucked neatly in the straw.

The Cardassian takes the drink between both hands excitedly, and Quark snaps his fingers in front of him. “Oh! Right,” the kid stutters, and all but launches the latinum at Quark’s face. “Thank you!” And off he goes, out of the bar with the glass still tight in his grasp.

“Idiot,” Quark mutters to himself, crouching carefully down to pick the latinum up off the floor without dirtying his expensive pants. “You’re supposed to take the straw, not the entire glass. That’s it, I’m switching to plastic. These little rebel brats don’t deserve my ni—Oh, hello, Constable! I didn’t see you there. What can I get you?”

Odo looks as unimpressed as ever. “That’s a funny question since last I checked, I don’t drink.”

“Ah, right, because you’re a liquid. How could I forget. You know, one of these days, I ought to serve you up with a little umbrella, see how people like it. I’d bet you taste bitter.” Odo harrumphs, and Quark makes himself busy with wiping down the counter. “Well, out with it then. What nefarious scheme am I up to now? I love to hear your little stories.”

Four isolinear rods drop onto the counter, right where Quark was just cleaning. “Hey now,” he says, throwing a performative glare at the changeling. “Careful. If you shatter glass in my bar, you’re cleaning it up.”

“I just had the most interesting conversation with the Tokal family,” Odo says, steamrolling right over him. “It seems their four darling children had somehow come into some questionable reading material. They tried searching for it in the Central Archives and yet, despite it being clearly Cardassian in origin, they could not find it. And I don’t need to tell you that when a piece of Cardassian reading material isn’t in the Central Archives...”

Quark, from his plastered position on the floor, stares up into Odo’s face directly horizontal to his and smiles. “What?”

“It’s illegal,” Odo sneers, stretching his body even further over the bar and nearly sending Quark starfishing.

“Okay! Odo! I get it! But what does that have to do with me?”

“Quark!”

“Okay, okay! Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I’ll stop! I’ll stop, okay?”

“I know you’re going to stop, because I am going to confiscate every copy of Garak’s poetry that you have absconded with and destroy them.”

Quark gasps. “Book burning? In this day and age?”

“Garak did not give his permission for you to sell his work! He didn’t even want anyone to see it in the first place! Those poems were stolen. Now, I expect a list of every person you sold a copy to and a full and complete refund to be issued by tomorrow morning. Do I make myself clear?”

Quark glowers. “You’ve made yourself something, all right.”

“Quark...”

“Okay! All right. Consider it done.”

Turora Lumok. Obsidian Order operative and old colleague. Usually in deep cover in the Organian sectre, but has abandoned post to explore the space station. Barren, unattached. Cold. A model agent, if you ignore her unfortunate habit of going rogue and eliminating civilians on a whim.

Recruited into the Order by Enabran Tain’s former right hand, Euluk Bucun, who was assassinated by Elim Garak in 2341 under orders from Enabran Tain for suspicions of treason. Turora Lumok disciplined shortly afterward by Elim Garak for complaining that she had wanted to be the one to kill that bitch.

Garak watches as the woman pretends to touch up her makeup while scouting for cameras. “Oh, Lumok, you always were woefully obvious. Have you been expecting me? I wonder why.”

Satisfied with the positions of the cameras, she puts away her mirror and strolls out of sight.

Garak shakes his head. “Fool. You forget how long I’ve lived on this wretched station. I don’t need to see you every second to know where you are.”

But then, the smell of antiseptic. Starfleet issue soap. Herbal shampoo, unique, robust. Gels. Oils. Sweat.

He’s near.

Forcing calmness with a deep, measured breath, he takes off his eyepiece and slips it into his sleeve. He pays for the food he barely ate. He stands. He turns.

And is promptly thrust into the dark, deep woods of Julian Bashir’s eyes. “There you are, Garak! I’ve been looking all over for you,” the doctor says as if it’s just a regular day on Deep Space Nine. His hot, mammalian body caging him tightly in place against the table betrays the ruse. “Who was it you were talking to?”

Garak tries to step around him. Julian steps with him. “Oh, only ever myself. Forgive me, but you’ve caught me just on my way out. I have a strict appointment at 2.”

There’s Julian’s hand now. On his shoulder. Garak is calm. This is normal. “Well, why don’t I walk you there then.”

“My dear Doctor, I couldn’t rob you of your meal. Clearly you’ve just walked in.”

“Actually, I’ve found I’m craving something a bit different now.”

Garak makes to step around Julian again, and still Julian’s steps match his. It’s like they’re dancing. He doesn’t let this deter him. He’s not sure he’s capable of letting anything deter him now, with his heart trying to pound out of his throat. He keeps stepping doggedly forward, and Julian keeps mirroring, still with that damned hand burning through his tunic. “Well, you only have so much time before you must return to the infirmary, I know. Do not allow me to delay you in securing a table at a different locale.”

“Oh, but you’ve already delayed me so long. What’s a few more minutes?” A peek of teeth, a hint of warning. “Though I will admit... I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.”

“Then don’t.” Finally, Garak manages to elbow past this madness and shoot out of the restaurant. The station is so crowded these days, it’s short work to get lost in it. In a sea of ridges and black hair, Garak slips his eyepiece back on and lets the wave take him.

“Garak!”

Oh, for the Union’s sake—

He does not run. He does not stumble. He walks normally and not desperately, keeping his eye on both the path to the turbolift and Lumok. She’s down the corridor now, pretending to check her makeup again like an imbecile. Just a few paces more. Almost there...

“Garak, you’re the best dressed one here! You are not difficult to spot, you ridiculous dandy! Oh, no offense, Ma’am. Lovely scarf. Excuse me.”

There.

In the reflection of the mirror, Garak makes eye contact with the rogue and taps in the correct sequence on the device sewed into the seam of his pants just as the turbolift doors close behind him.

Like that, Turora Lumok is beamed into space and dies instantly, without a soul to mourn her, and Elim Garak walks back to his quarters with a hand over his mouth and a warmth on his shoulder, without a soul to mourn him, either.

—-

The Festival of Fierce and Fantastic Frogs is two days away and already it is being protested.

Outside Quark’s Bar is a growing army of dissident children with voice amplifiers and holoprojectors shouting to the stars that if they don’t get their porn back, they’ll tear it all down. Signs are projected in the air with essays cycling through them that look to be several pages each, a small holographic fire barely reaching ankle-height is lighting up the length of the promenade, and – perhaps most disturbingly – a comically inaccurate approximation of Odo is rotating at the center of the group, fitted in the typical regalia of the Cardassian military and holding a Klingon bat’leth. It is certainly... something.

“They’re Cardassians,” Quark is saying as he pours out some root beers. “They’ve probably never seen a protest in their lives, they don’t know what they’re doing. The Union puts an end to things like this pretty fast on the surface.”

“Heh,” Jadzia says, “what happens on DS9, stays on DS9.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Kira asks.

“It’s something Julian likes to say. Basically, they figure they can get away with speaking their minds here.”

Kira drums her fingers on the bar, staring into the flailing protestors thoughtfully.

Right then, Odo arrives back on the scene. It looks like he’s trying to get through, respectfully, but the protestors are not making it easy. Jadzia and Kira come to his rescue just as about fifteen Cardassians start forming a blockade around him.

“I walked around as you do, investigating the endless stars,” one young woman is yelling at him while he stands there with big helpless baby eyes, “and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked, the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind!”

“I don’t know what that means,” Odo says consolingly.

“Clearly!”

“Okay, okay, let him through!” Kira wiggles her way between the crowd and Odo, snatching him by the arm like a fish with a hook. “He’s not your enemy here, he was just upholding your laws!”

“The Cardassian government has no jurisdiction on a Bajoran station!”

“He made his choices!”

“Beautiful Julian would be ashamed of you! Repent! Repent!”

Kira and Jadzia manage to reel him most of the way through the protesters and he shapeshifts the rest of the journey. The protestors try to follow, but Quark bustles over to stop them. “No, no demonstrations inside! Remember who your allies are,” he says, and they all cow back. “Thank you.”

Odo ripples his form a couple times to make sure everything’s back in the right place and harrumphs. “Allies, Quark?”

“Yes, allies. It’s terrible what you’ve done to them. You can’t police art, Odo–-this is culture we're talking about here, the very bedrock of society.”

“And I’m sure this virtuous attitude of yours has nothing to do with the incredible profit you made and lost at the expense of our mutual friend.”

“Oh, I did him a favor.” Quark uncaps another bottle of Kanar and gestures back to the entrance, with its swarm of frothing Cardassian children. “Look, he’s got fans!”

“How has Garak been handling all this?” Kira asks Odo, sharing a look with Jadzia. “I haven’t heard a peep out of him since he gave us that antivirus program.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Didn’t you have breakfast with him yesterday?”

“Hmmm, that would have been routine. Except he didn’t show. When I made it back to my office, I found a message from him apologizing, telling me he’s so busy with orders he’s lost all track of time.”

“How has he been getting commissions?” Jadzia asks. “His shop’s been closed all week.”

Odo rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure the reality is he’s simply avoiding the issue. Dr. Bashir has informed me he’s been treating him like ‘the black plague’ as well.”

“Julian’s one to talk. He practically pole-vaulted over a vedek the other day to get away from me.”

“Speak of the devil,” Quark says, looking towards the door, and everyone turns just as the commotion starts–or, more accurately, the commotion abruptly stops.

The protestors have all gone quiet, in apparent awe as they part around Julian like the red sea around Moses. He’s smiling stupidly as he stands in the center of them, nodding at something a Cardassian man is exclaiming. It’s an incredibly awkward scene, and Quark starts choking at some of the things his ears are picking up. “They’ve deified him,” he tells them, and Jadzia bursts into giggles at the idea, but Quark isn’t joking. “Really. He might as well be one of the prophets to them. You read the poems. You know.”

Ugh. Kira wrinkles her nose in disgust. The worst kind of blasphemy–horny blasphemy. “What is he even doing here?” she asks.

“Getting his head inflated,” Jadzia says dryly, because now that Quark has mentioned it, it’s pretty clear from the shit-eating grin on Julian’s face that that’s exactly what’s happening.

“Poor Garak.” Quark says it absentmindedly, but the comment gets several eyes turned on him. He’s shaking his head as he watches the scene unfold. “First, he falls for a human… humiliating… but then that love becomes public knowledge and several young beautiful Cardassians decide that he’s onto something, and now that human is going to get more action in a week than he’s seen his entire life. I’ve witnessed the rise and fall of more than a few star-crossed romances, but this might just be the saddest.”

“Julian wouldn’t have an orgy the same week the whole station found out Garak’s in love with him,” Jadzia says, insulted on his behalf.

Quark hefts a tray up onto his shoulder. “He just did,” he says as he leaves to go do his job, and Jadzia whips her head around to see Julian escorting two attractive Cardassians away from the protest. Her jaw drops.

“Bastard,” Kira spits, surprising everyone, herself most of all. Those poems must’ve affected her more than she realized.

Odo clears his throat unnecessarily. “I’m no expert on the behavior of solids, but it seems to me that neither party is handling this situation well.”

“I’ll tell you how the pakrela should be handling this,” an older Cardassian sitting at the far end of the bar cuts in, with a twitch to him that makes it clear he’s more than a few deep. “He should be settling his assets, because he doesn’t have long now. Whatever his human is doing is the least of his worries. Ha. Hehe. Being a traitor wasn’t enough for him. No, now he’s gone and corrupted the next generation with his degeneracy. Exile was too soft a punishment. Uh-huh.”

Kira opens her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Odo touches her shoulder. “You speak as if you know him,” he notes mildly, because of course, the exact reason for Garak’s exile isn’t public record. It’s barely even private record. The Order doesn’t work that way–or didn’t, as it stands. It is interesting that this man is acting like he has classified information despite being a civilian.

But then, sometimes day drinkers just like to spout speculation as fact.

The man looks into his glass and laughs at his reflection. “Who doesn’t know Garak these days? But that’s temporary. He’ll be forgotten soon enough, just like the Order.” He finishes his drink and gets up. He insincerely mutters some friendly Cardassian farewell and starts to walk past them, but Kira can’t let it go.

“Excuse me, but what’s your name, sir? You’ve been so informative.”

He looks at her for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says, and elbows past the protesters.

—

“Solt Mebol, left behind a widow and child six years ago when he was tragically killed in a transporter accident. In reality, he accepted an undercover mission which required him to fake his death and have his bond dissolved. A significant sacrifice. Certainly not one many Cardassians could have made.”

The Cardassian stares at Garak sitting on his couch. Turning, he tries to exit his temporary quarters, but the door won’t open.

Garak tuts. “Oh, you know better than that, Mebol.” He taps his disruptor with his forefinger, resting harmlessly against his knee. “The festival isn’t for another couple days, yet here you are. Catching up with old friends before the festivities, I assume? Only I haven’t found you in anyone’s company but your own. You must be lonely. Please, let me alleviate your loneliness for a while.”

The Cardassian sighs at the closed door. “Solt, is it?”

“I can tell you the names of your wife and child as well, if you’d like, and the city they live in. Do you know your wife never rebonded? Unusual behavior for a Romulan. Quite dangerous, as I understand it.”

Solt steps carefully into the small living space and sits in the chair opposite Garak, with the coffee table between them. “As one of the last living members of the Order, I don’t suppose you would consider letting me go?”

Garak smiles pleasantly. “I would be delighted.”

“Would you? I had a deal with Central Command and they’ve been good to me so far. You, however, have been known to…” He eyes the disruptor casually turned in his direction.

“Yes, I imagine I must be something of a mystery these days to my people. I have been… squirrely, is what I suppose a human would say, and I must as well now that I’ve been painted with their brush. Oh, it is an incredible sin, I know. That I should enjoy the company of an attractive alien while in exile.”

Solt snorts. “You expect me to believe those poems were the natural result of a fling?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything you do not wish to. I only say that it’s convenient that I should be seen as even more traitorous just as a swarm of Cardassians should enter the station.”

“What’s convenient is that you’re still alive. You have friends in high places willing to go to bat for you, in spite of everything you’ve done. It’s a disgrace. You are a selfish disloyal anarchist and no one is holding you accountable, because you just happened to be good at your job once and everyone likes the idea of having you as a potential weapon should the need for one arise. Until then, they’re content to keep you in a cabinet collecting dust and sentiment. You can wave that disruptor all you want, but we both know you make a poor operative now. You’re in love.”

Garak is still smiling, but Solt can see the signs of a grimace. Dusty, indeed. Too passionate. Too human. “I’m hardly so foolish. You know better than I the dangers of such things in our line of work. You’re little better than a puppet now that you’ve had a whiff of the truth, Mebol.”

“You’re right.” Solt attempts to raise one eye ridge, despite it being unfit for such maneuvers, and leans forward towards that disruptor. “Pull my strings, then, and let’s test that grip Bashir has on yours.”

—

Kira crashes into Garak’s quarters and kickflips past all his booby traps like Indiana Jones’ hotter cousin.

“What the fuck, Richard?” is basically what she says, only it’s in character, so it’s more like, “What the fuck, Garak!”

Garak spins around in his maniacal villain chair with a look of surprise. “How did you get in here, Major?” Miles bustles his way in after her with his impractically enormous toolkit, and Garak lets out an, “Ah,” then, sedately, “I suppose Dr. Bashir filed a complaint about my tampering with the door codes. Of course, there’s a perfectly logical explanation. You see, it–”

“This isn’t about door codes, Garak,” Kira yells. “What I want to know is why our best suspect for the sudden influx of murders on the station was just found drowned in his own toilet!”

“Oh my,” Garak says. “What an unfortunate end.”

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. We know what you’re capable of, but we’re good people and we didn’t want to accuse a victim until we had exhausted the rest of our line-up. Only, interestingly enough, they’re all dead, so now…” she marches over with the fury of the Prophets on her heels and stands imposingly over him, her teeth clenched, “here we are.”

“That is interesting.” He runs a hand down a roll of fabric in his lap, smoothing it. “I suppose you must have some of that ironclad evidence that the Federation so treasures.”

Kira glares at him.

Garak feigns looking around. “Oh, but I can’t help but notice the good Constable isn’t here with you. What could that mean? Surely not that you broke into my quarters without due cause or a hint of warning–at your own word, not even to fix my glitching door. For all you knew, I could have been in here writing one of my vaunted Bashir epics.”

Kira’s hands are in fists now. “The evidence we have would be more than enough to have your face plastered on every viewscreen in Cardassia and you know it.”

“The Federation and Bajoran legal processes do seem a tad inefficient in moments like these, don’t they?”

“Okay,” Miles cuts in, because he has Turbo PTSD and is not in the mood for a flare up. “I think I'll just wait in the hallway, then. Holler if you need me. Good luck, Major.”

Kira and Garak spend a few moments watching him waddle out of the room and then go back to staring each other down.

“Look, you ass,” Kira starts, “we couldn’t link every victim to the Cardassian government or some third-party organization, but we were able to link enough of them to recognize that these aren’t just random nobodies having ‘accidents.’ Someone was able to break into your computer and embarrass you and you don’t like that so you’re pitching a fit. I can’t have Odo arrest you – yet – but I can tell you to cut it out. This vigilantism isn’t helping–”

That gets a reaction. “Vigilantism!”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Self-defense.”

“They attacked you?”

“Possibly.”

“Goddamn you, Garak! Just… don’t do this anymore, okay?”

Garak looks at her with innocent astonishment, like he’s still bewildered by her totally plausible accusations. “Well. You have my word, I suppose,” he says, bemused.

—

Gul Skrain Dukat. Blessed with a wife, seven children, two sets of living parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, minus one father. Habitually cheats with lower ranked military officials, slaves, and barely legal adults, unbenownst to his family. Father was interrogated by Elim Garak and executed by the Union over live broadcast in the year 2350 for the crime of being a piece of shit.

Elim Garak was shortly thereafter levied with an amateurish execution attempt by Gul Dukat. It failed.

The second attempt will succeed, but at a great cost.

The Festival of Filthy Fucking Foot Fetishists has officially begun, but Garak is struggling to feel any enthusiasm. He is surrounded by his people. The station has been dimmed by 15% to better suit Cardassian eyes and misting stations have been set up in limited locations. Extinct and invented flowers crafted by Cardassian and Bajoran artisans decorate the banisters and doorways. A wash of blue, green, and sparkling gold lights up every direction. There is the smell of freshly prepared Cardassian sweets on the air, a gentle warmth suffuses the atmosphere, and children are laughing on the promenade. It’s the first time the station has felt not just tolerable, but nearly pleasant, in years.

But then, Garak has never felt particularly welcome among his people. As a child, he was an orphan generously cared for by service workers and sponsored by a government official, and as an adult, he was a member of the Order, which granted him more fear and loathing than it did admiration and respect. Companionship, in its truest form, was a rare thing to come by and not something he was encouraged to come by at all.

Perhaps that is why Dr. Bashir blindsided him.

In any case, Garak is delicately balanced on the line between proper misery and numbness. He gave up imbibing around the same time that he gave up the implant—or rather, the implant gave up on him—but he’s on his third cup now, wandering through the festivities with no particular direction in mind. The exact spot of this last operation isn’t important, only the timing.

He finishes his drink while a group play a spirited game of cold moba in front of him. It shouldn't be long now.

All the nearby screens suddenly flicker from the event schedule to Dukat’s sharp grin and Garak hums. There we are. He knew the bitch wouldn’t be able to resist showing his face.

“Welcome everyone to the biennial Festival of–” a baby wails, “generously hosted here on Deep Space Nine by Bajor and the Federation, and of course organized by our own prodigous Detapa Council. Ah, that wormhole… quite the view, isn’t it?”

Garak looks around for another food stall that serves alcohol.

There aren’t any stalls in his immediate vicinity, but there is a young Cardassian couple marching towards him while making dogged eye contact.

Oh no.

Garak starts to make a break for it. Not too fast, it won’t do to cause a stir, but there are a number of very good reasons for him to stay far away from any Cardassians who might recognize him right now. Especially if the source of that recognition is those damn poems he was too stupid and sentimental to destroy.

Before he can make it more than a few steps, however, he looks up to see another few Cardassians working their way towards him, also making eye contact.

No, no, no.

He makes to move towards the stairs then, only for his eyes to land squarely on him.

Him, wearing the silky green outfit he lovingly crafted for him a few months ago. Him, shining in the festival lights, casting him in an even more arresting shade of gold than usual. Him, looking determined and coming straight towards him.

Oh, fuck no.

“Garak,” Julian calls out, likely reading the panic on his face and stance and soul.

“Today, I am not a Gul, though,” Dukat is saying. “I am but a humble representative of the Cardassian Union in its totality, and as such, I would like to thank Colonel Kira Nerys and Captain Benjamin Sisko for their hand in this week’s festivities. They have been nothing if not accommodating these last few weeks while our coordinators ran rampant through their halls.”

He should have accounted for the possibility of this. Thinking of Julian had become excruciating as of late, but that was no excuse. Whatever interaction Julian had been hoping to have with him couldn’t be allowed, not now, and not only for the sake of Garak’s traitorous, disgusting feelings. Even if it would give the sweet man closure, it would not be worth his life.

“Now, it may be a bit unorthodox, but I thought it would be only fitting if the first Reenactment was carried out by our benevolent hosts, and the Lakarian City Acting Troupe were all too happy to take them under their wing.”

More eyes are turning towards the screen now, the laughing and playing and sloshing of cups quieting down. Julian is nearly with him, his approach halted only by the gathering crowd, and Garak can only pretend to be interested in Dukat’s speech while he racks his brain desperately for a solution. Any solution. Anything.

“I trust that the history of Cardassia is in capable hands.”

The screen flickers again and changes to a shot of one of Quark’s holodecks, where a lone Bajoran man stands in a beam of red light.

A hand grabs Garak roughly by the arm, and he nearly cries with relief when he sees that it’s Lumok.

Well, Lumok with the face and attire of a Bajoran, but that ever-present spark of unchecked malice in her eye is quite unmistakable to someone who worked with her for over a decade.

“Surprised, you ugly old regnar?” she asks under the actor’s impassioned opening monologue.

He sucks in a breath as the sharp edge of something presses into his back. “Impossible. They found your body caught on one of the station’s spires.”

“A simple bait and switch,” she purrs, pressing the weapon closer, slicing through his tunic. A pity. This was one of his nicer ones. “You’ve gotten sloppy.”

He manufactures a smile. “A knife, then? A favorite of yours, I recall, but terribly messy for such a public venue. Not to mention if your aim is even an inch off, I’ll be in and out of the infirmary within the day, as if nothing at all had happened.”

“Don’t lecture me,” she growls. “You can’t do that anymore. You’re not anyone to anyone. Your master is dead, and what did you do the second you were off leash for the first time in your life? You went and choked yourself on the first Starfleet sotl you could find. You’re pathetic.”

It took incredible effort to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull. “Oh, just stab me already.”

“I’m not going to stab you. I’ve done a bit of outsourcing, in fact.” She slid the knife from his lower back to his side and looped her arm through his, pinning him in place with a wide smile. “All I had to do was suggest to my new friend that you were infiltrating the Federation. That you were poisoning them against Bajor from the inside, uniting Cardassia and Starfleet in a secret alliance under the guise of wooing the CMO. No, no, you won’t be killed by one of your peers. Your death will be at the hands of a perfect stranger. A pointless death for a pointless man.” She leans in and whispers into his aural ridge, “It always was so easy to make people hate you.”

The next few seconds are a flurry of chaos. One second he’s watching as Human, Bajoran and Cardassian actors alike are all holding hands and reciting ancient poetry and the next he’s on the floor with a searing weight bearing down on him from calf to shoulder. There are screams and footfalls coming from all directions and Odo’s voice is immediately discernible shouting over the commotion. His back is on fire, he can’t breathe, and there’s a slash in his side, but he doesn’t miss the thump of Lumok’s body a few feet away, dead before she hits the ground.

“Garak? Garak?” the weight on him is speaking frantically, pawing at his head and shoulders. The weight shifts and the hands flip him onto his back. Those same hands pat him down, blazing a path down his chest and his stomach and his sides, stopping at the superficial gash near his rib, and Garak knows who this is before he even opens his eyes.

“Garak,” Julian sighs with relief. Garak was meant to be dead by phaser blast right now, but instead Julian Bashir is smiling down at him like he’s important, kneeling beside him, his hands on him, branding him with their incredible heat. It shouldn’t be possible. No one could be that fast.

“Doctor,” he manages on a wheeze. One of his ribs might be broken, actually.

“Dukat,” Sisko growls from the monitor in billowing robes and a long flowing wig, surrounded by flowers.

—

“Explain,” Sisko commands.

Having decided that showing weakness right now can only help his case, Garak is sitting hunched to the side, holding his reeling head in one hand. It’s through a hiss that he replies, “A woman named Turora Lumok was responsible for sabotaging the station with those poems forged with my data signature. The Bajoran woman who was just assassinated–she was no Bajoran, but rather one of the last remaining members of the Obsidian Order. She was hired by Dukat to kill me during the festival under the guise of a hate crime. No doubt because of her indomitable reputation, I’m sure. A number of Cardassian casualties these past several days were at her hands.”

Sisko walks to the viewport to stare out into the stars for a moment, processing this. “All his talk of friendship between Bajor and Cardassia…” he trails off, the ghost of a sneer on his lips as he turns back around. “His goal was just the opposite. He wanted to destroy any hope of cooperation.”

“And get me out of the way in the process,” Garak grumbles.

Sisko hums and wanders over to Garak’s side, looking down at him thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me who assassinated Ms. Lumok?”

Garak stares at the floor through his fingers, his eyes glazed.

“Or who your informant is on Dukat’s involvement?”

“Captain,” Garak mutters, not looking up, “I have sat here concussed after an attempt on my life and shared with you everything that I know, and here you have not even told me who the tailor of your magnificent robe is.” He tugs half-heartedly at a strip of embroidery on the fabric. “I must admit, I am feeling a touch betrayed you didn’t come to me.”

Sisko flicks his eyes up to Julian, who has been standing in the corner with his hands behind his back. “Very well, Mr. Garak. I release you into Dr. Bashir’s care for now, but I expect to continue this conversation soon.” He massages his forehead. “Once I figure out what to do about this damned festival.”

Julian comes over to help Garak out of his chair, but Garak snaps upright and to the door before he can touch him. Sisko takes the opportunity to lean into Julian’s face and whisper, “Get more information out of him.” The doctor nods.

Julian isn’t angry when he steps out of Sisko’s office and sees that Garak is walking in the exact opposite direction of the infirmary, but he is disappointed.

“Mr. Garak,” he says urgently once he’s caught up to the idiot.

Mr. Garak interrupts him in the same tone, “Now, now, my dear doctor, we both know I have a dermal regenerator in my quarters, so we need not extend–”

“And I think we both know this is about much more than a few bumps and bruises. I’m afraid the time for beating around the bush passed quite a while ago.”

“You’re right, Doctor,” Garak says, coming to an abrupt stop and rounding on him with wild eyes. “There is an urgent matter we must discuss.” Julian’s eyebrows raise, and Garak nods severely. “Oh, yes, let us not ‘beat around the bush.’ We should talk about how you threw yourself directly into the line of a lethal phaser blast on the one in a millionth chance that you might save my life. The cost of such an action being almost certainly your own life, and yet, here you stand, and here I stand. Will wonders never cease.” Julian opens his mouth, but Garak raises a finger. “Nevermind that I was in the middle of an altercation with a very dangerous, very volatile woman who would not have hesitated for a second to dispose of you. She had a nasty habit of that. Now I knew that you were naive, Doctor, Doctor! I knew that! What I did not know – what I never could have guessed after all these years – was that you are an idiot.”

Julian stares back into Garak’s hissing face, unimpressed. Garak feels a wave of deja-vu and does not like it. It has no place here. And yet, Julian takes in a breath and smiles, raising his shoulders. “All right, Garak. If it’s really so important to you, we can talk about your suicide attempt.”

“What?” Garak bites out.

“You were going to let yourself get shot, yes?”

“I was n–” Garak starts to lie, disgusted, but is stopped by Julian stepping entirely too close. He stumbles back a step, then another when Julian attempts to crowd him again, and the familiarity of the routine has him shutting his eyes, rueful. They’re dancing again. It’s humiliating, the things this man makes him do, how effortlessly he can gain the upperhand. Most of the time without even having to lift a finger.

“You figured out Dukat’s plan and arranged for Lumok to die if she succeeded, but you expected her to. You didn’t expect to be saved,” the doctor tells his blank, unresponsive face. His eyes are still closed, his hands tense at his sides, but he knows Julian’s stepped closer again by the heat of his livid breath. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Very well. I didn’t figure it out. I was informed.”

“So, the captain was right.” He sounds bored, but Garak seizes his chance. His eyes open in a sudden burst of animation.

“Yes, I had an informant. I believe the major was familiar with him, a fellow by the name of Damoc who was recently presumed dead? Though I knew him far better as Mebol. We first met on Romulus, you see. In the event of my death, he had strict instructions to reveal Dukat’s plot in my stead and protect my remaining assets. In return, he was to receive some valuable coordinates, which by now he will have long accessed. I suppose he’s already booked passage off of the station, if he hasn’t already gone.”

“Quick to abandon you,” Julian says, completely off-script. Garak’s carefully measured breathing stutters.

“Surely Captain Sisko would like to have a word with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Doctor…” Garak says, lost. “There isn’t time to was–”

Suddenly there are two hands slamming into his chest like they’re iron forks and he’s a slab of meat, rocketing him back into the nearest wall with a loud thud. Garak gasps at the strength of it, astounded, but all his attention is quickly monopolized by Julian’s snarling words.

“Stop trying to distract me, Garak! Stop racing away before I can even properly get into the room, stop begging off lunch, stop ignoring my comms, and stop acting like your bloody life is over just because it was found out that you have feelings for me!”

“I–I don’t–”

“Lke hell you don’t! Thirty-seven.”

Garak blinks several times. “What?”

“Thirty-seven. That’s how many direct references to our literary discussions are in your poems. All chronologically concordant with the dates of those discussions, and six of which from that classic Earth album I recommended to you a year ago that you swore up and down sounded like a pack of voles had been crammed into a bucket and shaken around. I knew you were having me on. You love Mitski, and you love me.”

Garak’s face shutters.

Finally, Julian takes a step back. His hands remain on his chest, pinning him in place, but he allows him some oxygen. Exactly twenty seconds pass like this, before the doctor becomes impatient and huffs, “You can’t possibly have nothing to say.”

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

“I would like you to admit it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve heard it from friends and coworkers and strangers and every tourist on this damn station, it feels like, but I haven’t heard it from you.”

Garak is silent for a long time. Finally, he quietly asks, “You would further humiliate me this way? Knowing what you do? My dear friend…” He, carefully, with only the gentlest of pressure, puts a hand over one of Julian’s. “Please. You’ve read everything I could possibly have to say. What more could there be?”

Julian’s hands are unforgiving, but his eyes soften at the simple lowering of the curtain. It’s not the direct confession he was looking for, the I love you completely, traitorously, ruinously that his poems professed and a deep, broken part of Julian desperately wants to hear, but it is, it is. For Garak, this is as explicit as it gets, and Julian can feel his heart trying to catch in his throat.

“Garak,” he starts to say.

Garak isn’t scowling anymore. His eyes are shining as he looks away and sucks in an aggrieved breath. “Oh, please, let us skip this excruciating precursor. I have no intention of remaining on this station.”

Julian goes unnervingly still. “Excuse me?”

“I will need time to pack up my shop and settle my lease, but then I promise, you will never suffer the consequences of my unfortunate… condition again.” When Julian only stares at him with mounting alarm in his lovely eyes, Garak grimaces. “You must know I had no intention of pursuing you.” At least, not after the implant had been shut off and he’d realized what horrors he’d stumbled into with the doctor while under its influence, and by then, it was already too late. He was too weak to stop speaking to him, but he was not a complete monster. “I wouldn’t have. My writing was never about nurturing the emotions, only managing them.” A bit of a lie, but only a bit. He does love to languish and he never could resist a good innuendo. Their friendship had been infinitely precious to him, though, and he couldn’t bear the slow death it would undergo now that everyone knew the truth.

The worsening rumors that would spread. The suffering of Julian’s reputation, career, and love life with the Cardassian spy’s drastic affections hanging over everyone’s heads. The danger it would place them both in, the damage it had already done. The way Julian would know every time Garak flirted now, it was never idle. It had never been and could never be.

It would be a torture hitherto unthinkable. Better to sever the limb before it could rot.

Still, Julian is silent. The pressure on his chest is more a suggestion than a command now.

“Doctor, I…” he swallows back anymore hideous truths. “I apologize. Your rage is understandable, but I swear to you, I have every intention of righting this wrong.”

“Oh,” Julian says then, softly, as if he isn’t speaking to Garak at all, “you don’t know.”

“Doctor?”

He makes a bizarre human gesture, skimming the heel of his hand off his forehead. “My God! Of course. I thought it was pride, or shame, or paranoia. Anything and everything but this, but of course you would be this ridiculous. Well. That’s an easy enough problem to solve.”

“Doctor–?!”

The hands on his chest are gone. Instead, they’re seizing him by the head and pulling him up to connect his mouth to Julian’s.

Oh.

If Julian’s touch was a brand before, this is lava running down his throat, into his stomach and down, down, down to eat through the twenty inch thick duranium floor. Slow, thorough, and final in its devastation. A transformation that cannot be persuaded. He grapples with it, hands scrambling stupidly over and across his doctor’s shoulders. Whether it’s to pull him closer or push him away, he doesn’t know. He’s too busy being brutally altered to give it much thought.

His hands settle for burying themselves in his hair at some point. When doesn’t matter. Time holds no power here. It happens, and then he knows how soft Julian Bashir’s hair feels, and there is no going back.

The loss of control becomes alarming enough that he finally manages to pry himself away, gulping in desperate, anxious breaths of frigid station air. It works. The fire and the madness that followed it calms down and he manages the strength to push Julian back, but the wet smack of their lips disconnecting will echo in his dreams for the foreseeable future, as will the dizzy grin on Julian’s face inches from his own. There’s a hand on his ass keeping him from tumbling through the hole in the floor and a couple unlucky passersby gawking at the gruesome scene and Garak is a different creature entirely, incandescent and strange, forged anew in the curious fires of mutual attachment.

He feels insane.

“Doctor, you cannot truly be this naive.”

Julian looks anything but naive right then. He can’t focus on that, though. He needs to focus on the fact he was nearly assassinated; the fact that the kindest man alive nearly died with him out of some misguided terran idea that all lives are of equal value and importance.

And yet, Julian is leaning in to kiss him again, so Garak puts a hand on his chest and says, “You know what I am.”

Julian’s expression turns complicated and it’s clear he understands. Garak’s roiling emotions can’t settle on being relieved or horrified. How to go on after this? After knowing intimately what he almost had, with the smoke of it still thick in his eyes and his throat and his heart?

A gentle hand on his jaw brings him back to the moment, where Julian’s eyes are serious. “I know,” he murmurs.

Garak sucks in a wet breath.

“The question is,” Julian continues, even quieter, “do you know what I am?”

His head is spinning. “Doctor?”

Julian just smiles sadly, and it's clear that there are some long conversations in their future. But for now… “About that dermal regenerator in your quarters,” Julian begins, and Garak is relieved to find out that whatever stupid, lovely thing he’s become can still appreciate an innuendo.

—

Not long after, in the middle of telling Sisko all about Mebol over Julian’s comm badge while its owner watches expectantly in a state of teasing half-dress, he’s horrified to find that whatever thing he’s become is also rather eager to please.

—

A couple days later, the two of them are picking from a generous cut of flaming taspar in the Replimat.

Or, Garak is picking, anyway. Julian is stuffing his face. Ordinarily, this would mildly scandalize him, but the fact it’s taspar, one of the most traditional delicacies of his homeworld, being shoveled enthusiastically into that pretty face makes it so he can feel only hope.

Rather than giving into that inadvisable feeling, he takes a dainty sip of his tea and tries to look nonsuspect. Cardassians from all sides and angles are staring.

“About Miss Leeta…” Garak begins.

Julian wipes his face with the side of his hand. Disgusting, but oddly compelling. “What about her?”

“When will you be breaking the news to her?”

“Oh.” Julian smiles, bemused. “She knows.”

A tightness in his chest dispels slightly. “Does she?” he says faintly.

“She’s the one who first brought it up. We performed the Rite of Separation days ago. She said it was great timing, what with the festival and all. We didn’t even have to leave the station.”

“So you were together then.”

“Well, in a sense. We weren’t in love, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Garak takes another sip, lowering his eyes. “I wasn’t worried. Only concerned for the young lady’s feelings.”

Julian’s face is incandescent. A Cardassian to his far left is openly gaping. “Of course, of course.” He leans suddenly over the table then, moving a hand forward to rest on his knee. “So, should I take this line of questioning as an indicator that you’re open to a relationship with me?”

Garak shifts a little in his seat, moving his knee further under the table and its shadows, but otherwise doesn’t pull away. “It would be unwise,” he says quietly, without actually saying no.

The hand squeezes. “It isn’t as if people won’t assume anyway.”

“Rumors can be dispelled. Redirected. Altered.” He reaches forward to take a small saucière and pours a bright red sauce over a couple groatcakes. “There would be no coming back from a confirmation.”

Julian’s hand falls away. “Would it be so bad?”

“I don’t know,” Garak says, splitting a cake up into three neat sections. “Would it, Doctor?”

A Bajoran couple walks past their table then, and while one purposely avoids eye contact and seems to be giving them a wide berth, the other throws a meaningful glare Julian’s way. This is the fourth judgemental or pitying look he’s received since they came in for brunch. Julian calmly returns the look, refusing to be the first to look away, until finally the man averts his eyes and Julian looks back to Garak with a stern smile. Garak inclines his head.

“Be careful, Doctor,” Garak goes on. “Rumors can ruin lives. End careers.” He scoops up a bite of his cake, dripping with red sauce, and lifts it to his mouth. “Kill,” he finishes, and eats.

At that, Julian leans back in his seat with his arms crossed tight. Garak gives him his time. It’s a relief to have finally made a dent in Julian’s lovesick, idealistic conviction–and Garak can admit, after the last few days, that it is lovesickness. Julian’s decided he loves him back and there will be no stopping him from pursuing this, but there may yet be some tempering. A small, equally stubborn, sentimental part of Garak despairs at the whole horrid affair, but the behemoth of his good sense squashes this part down with little difficulty.

It’s this moment that a smattering of young Cardassians, accompanied by one Jadzia Dax, arrive at their table. Immediately, Garak recognizes them as the ones that nearly intercepted his meeting with Lumok and his stomach drops. Julian, on the other hand, brightens back up.

“Well, hello there,” he says warmly.

Jadzia responds first, with each elbow leaned on a Cardassian’s shoulder and a knowing sparkle in her blue eyes, “Hello to you.” The Cardassians all echo with similar greetings, some shy, others giddy.

One young woman standing at the front, with her hair in three elaborately plaited braids and little makeup, is looking at Garak with particular interest. “You’re the one who wrote the poems about Julian.”

Garak looks at the girl coolly. “Do you mean Dr. Bashir?”

She goes blue. “Oh, um. Yes. I do.” She tucks an imaginary lock of hair into her perfectly coiffed hair and lowers her head respectfully. “My apologies, Doctor.”

“Hey now,” the doctor scolds with good humor, “none of that. We’re all friends here.”

The girl throws another searching glance Garak’s way. “Friends?”

That’s enough of that. “This is certainly quite the surprise,” Garak says genially, plastering on his most pleasant smile. “Is there something you needed? As Deep Space Nine’s resident Cardassian tailor and reputed troubadour, I’m always happy to be of service.” Julian sends him a sharp look, which he ignores.

Jadzia is looking as foxy as she ever does, with a grin nearly to her spotted ears. “Julian asked me to bring them here,” she says too happily, and Garak has to sit back in his seat to process that. Julian scratches his neck with a guilty smile, obliviously alluring. It cannot be overstated that there are, still, eyes on them from all directions and angles.

“Garak, sir,” the Cardassian woman-child begins again, earnest, “let me start over. My name is Inia Milam. I am the President of the Ivory State Liberation Library. We collect–”

“Madam,” Garak interrupts her quietly, stunned. “This is hardly the time and place.” He blinks, still shocked stupid by her brazenness, and leans towards her, peering into her distressingly young features with beseeching desperation. “And I am hardly the audience.”

Milam doesn’t appear to process his warning at all, though. She just continues to look inquisitive. She has that gleam in her eyes that is common in Cardassian women, calculating and intelligent, but there’s something else there. Something indefinable that he’s seen hundreds of times over an interrogation table, but without the fear to staunch it. Without the hopelessness. It makes his stomach flip. “On the contrary, you are exactly the sort of person we look for.” She bows her head. “Dr. Bashir promised that if we assisted him a few days prior, he would introduce us so that I could formally welcome your book of poems into our shelves. I apologize if this comes as a surprise. I wish only to thank you for your excellent contribution, E. G., and tell you that we hope to welcome many more pieces from you in the future. I’ll be in touch. Dr. Bashir.” She nods to him, returns his gentle smile, and walks confidently away. The rest of the group mirror her, voicing similar words of polite farewell and appreciation, and leave.

Garak forces himself not to track their departure and instead picks up his fork again, as if nothing world-shattering has occurred at all. The cake is tasteless in his mouth.

Julian is concealing nothing of his thoughts, however. He’s staring openly at Garak, as if he’s a bomb and he’s trying to figure out which color wire to cut.

Ultimately, it’s Jadzia that breaks the tension. “Well,” she says, “that is some harem you’ve got there, Julian.”

“Jadzia,” Julian barks. She laughs.

“I’m teasing, I’m teasing.” Uncharacteristically, her impish smile turns regretful. “Now that that’s out of the way, I do have to bring your friend in for questioning,” she says, and that explains that. “I’m sorry, boys. I stalled Ben as long as I could.”

Garak polishes off the last of his meal and takes one last gulp of his tea to wash it down. With that done, he stands with a placid, conciliatory smile.

Julian puts a hand on his shoulder before he can take a step. “I’ll come see you after my shift.” Those lovely, dark, deep eyes search his, pinning him like a moth above his fireplace. “Okay?”

Garak inhales. “Without end,” he murmurs, waits for Julian’s eyes to light in understanding, and then aloud says, “I am at your disposal, Doctor. Good day.” With that and a firm, friendly pat on Julian’s hand, he limps away.

Jadzia rather pointedly watches him limp to the exit for a few long seconds before throwing Julian a rakish grin. “Well, well,” she says largely. Julian pretends not to notice, and Jadzia pivots on her heel after Garak.

“Before we lock you up and throw away the key, could you sign my datarod,” Julian hears Jadzia asking, and he shakes his head, unsuccessfully trying to rub away his smile.

Without end Do I think of you and so Come to me at night. For on the path of dreams at least, There's no one to disapprove! Ono no Komachi

#my posts #garashir #I wanted to post this on April 1st but LONG SIGH it didn't work out #at least it's still april. pranking people on the 1st is so predictable anyway #fics I'll never write #credits to ono no komachi cynthia cruz and pablo neruda #really weird how tumblr just lets you publish blank posts like this one #this entirely blank post with nothing in it at all #very strange

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