Imagines/Preferences

Summary: Takes place during the events of Business as Usual. Quark finds himself entangled in the arms trade. You, a Starfleet security officer stationed on Deep Space Nine and his partner, discover what he’s done. disclaimer: I posted this already on ao3 <3

Something’s different. You can feel it in the way Quark looks at you lately, as if there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he keeps swallowing back down. Normally, he never shuts up. He talks about profits and customers and Holosuites, about business schemes and how Ferenginar never truly appreciates its “real entrepreneurs.” But lately he’s quieter. Too quiet.

You watch him from the corner of your eye as he wipes down a glass that’s already spotless. “Quark?” He startles slightly. “Yes? What?” “You’ve been awfully quiet.” “Quiet? Me? I’m efficient.” “Efficient,” you repeat, folding your arms. “So nothing illegal?” “Illegal? Please! I’m a respected businessman!” “Uh-huh.” “I swear it on all my latinum!” You raise a brow. “You mean the latinum you’ve got hidden in that undeclared account on Ferenginar?” He blinks. “Maybe some of my latinum.”

Despite yourself, you smile. He’s impossible and that’s exactly what you fell for. But tonight, something about his grin feels rehearsed. Like a mask he’s worn too long. And somewhere deep inside, a cold knot begins to form: something isn’t right.

The sky still burned,

as if the world itself had forgotten how to breathe.

Ash drifted through the air, melting on the skin, settling over scorched earth like a burial shroud. Everything smelled of iron, smoke, and sorrow.

Adar stood motionless among the wreckage, his hands dark with blood. His own, perhaps, or another’s. The air was thick, and yet he could hear it: the faint heartbeat of the earth, the distant cries of his children in the dark. A few had survived. Too few.

He lowered his gaze.

“So the old ends,” he whispered, “and the new is born in pain.”

A flicker of movement made him turn. Between the blackened tree stumps, a figure emerged slight, wounded, but standing. A human. A survivor of the Southlands.

She had recognized him. He saw it in her eyes.

And yet, she did not flee.

“Stay where you are,” he said softly, though the words sounded more like a plea than a command.

She stopped. The wind lifted a strand of hair across her cheek.

“I have nowhere else to go,” she said quietly.

Her voice cut through him like a blade of light. He saw the tremor in her hands like a candle still fighting the dark.

“You should hate me,” he murmured.

He took a step closer. The cinders cracked beneath his boots.

The air between them shimmered warm from the fire, but pulsing with something else.

She met his eyes, and in that gaze he knew she saw him, not only the enemy, but the shadow of the man he once might have been.

“I saw you,” she said, voice trembling. “You saved them. The orcs. You called them your children.”

Adar was silent for a long time. Then his expression softened.

“They are all I have left,” he said. “They call them corrupted, monsters. But who corrupted them? I? Or the light that cast them out?”

She hesitated, then stepped forward. Her hand rose, brushing the ash from his brow.

He froze. Not in anger, but from a kind of pain he thought long dead.

Something in him shuddered. He wanted to turn away, to drive her back but her gaze held him.

And so they stood, surrounded by ruin, by fire and silence. Two enemies, who for one breath of time were something else almost something tender.

He placed his hand over hers, gently, reverently.

“In another age,” he said, “you might have seen me differently.”

“In another age,” she answered, “you might not have had to fight.”

A wind rose, carrying ash like snow between them.

He let her hand fall away, and with it, the fragile dream that something good could still remain.

When she turned to leave, she did not look back.

Adar watched until her figure vanished into the grey.

Then he lifted his face toward the smoke-veiled sky,

and whispered, so softly that only the dying earth could hear:

loved to give you nicknames

like baby, princess/prince, sweetheart,..

always cheers you when you’re sad

either by simply cracking jokes, being goofy and making you laugh or by taking you out to your favorite restaurant/place/movie

loves to rest his head on your chest and have you play with his hair

really into cuddling

like when he’s chilling on the couch or the bed he would just grab you by your waist and pull you down with him to cuddle

a true gentleman

holds doors open for you and gives you his jacket when he sees you’re cold

pda king

loves to hold your hand

just casually brushes your hand and interwines his fingers with yours

also loves to sneak his arm around your waist when you two are standing side by side

forehead kisses

would be very protective during games

Hi! Thanks for the request it’s added to my to do list! 

Requested by anonymous

A/N: Sorry it took so long! It was kinda hard to come up with something, hope you like it tho xoxo

would be very flushed to see you in his hoodie

definitely let’s you borrow it again

would love to see you flaunt it around the beach to let everybody know you’re his

nobody would mess with you or even look at you the wrong way

secret glances

I don’t think he is a jealous type, like after he finally trusts you enough to open up and start a relationship with you he wouldn’t question your loyalty

ride or die

but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t come after any person that tries to harass you 

that includes Niragi, probably wouldn’t let him come near you

very protective but kinda lowkey about it

would let you go to games alone if you want to because he trusts your abilities

but he would have no problem if you came along with him if you can’t handle yourself

waits in the lobby for you to return from a game

doesn’t mind pda but I don’t think he would initiate it

let’s you take his hand whenever you want

aww thank you! messages like these always make my day <3 

“You know… I could get used to this.” “Shut up, Lonny.”

I normally don't have problems with writing for villains but this guy is a literal nazi. And he's really evil. That one scene in ep 10 made me sick.

So no I would rather not write for him.

Taking his hand in yours you say: “You know you can tell me anything.” Joe looks at you for a moment then he gives you a small smile. “I know” he says and squeezes your hand.