And some of them, I don’t even think I’ve read them before…
But I can’t answer them anymore because it’s been so long…
(I am really sorry!)
And some of them, I don’t even think I’ve read them before…
But I can’t answer them anymore because it’s been so long…
(I am really sorry!)
Softly close your eyes, then open them suddently
So that an audible signal can be heard.
anonymous asked: write a sweet ooq one shot? i love just like….worn out james post mission and saucy, bickering Q, but they both end up snuggling
Okay filling these in is a bit slow-going but I am filling them!! Time for a 00q prompt spree because wow so many asks for this pairing yes good.
I got a little carried away with this, I’m sorry.
The thing is, when they get down to it, they’re both too dedicated to their jobs. When Bond manages to get home post-mission, Q’s still at the office, juggling three agents on-field while remotely getting into a chemical powerplant and blowing it up. And when Q stumbles back to the flat, half-dead from a 42-hour work run and unable to see straight, Bond’s boarding a plane to Tunisia, or flirting with a mark in Berlin, or trying to get out of Manila. Half their relationship consists of missing each other, quite literally, but they make it work. It’s all counts of messed up and crazy, but they’re not Agent 007 and the Quartermaster for nothing.
Their stubbornness is legendary, and by god they make themselves work.
The ante gets upped a little, though, when Bond totters into the flat fresh off a flight from Cairo. He shuffles his way to the kitchen, dropping his bag along the way and almost quashing Sofia in the process. The cat hisses, pawing at his trouser leg, but Bond pays her no heed, intent on getting himself a glass or six of the Macallan he knows he left in the fridge.
It’s not there.
The liquor shelf in the pantry is completely empty. Instead, there’s just a single Post-It note stuck to the wall behind, and Bond can just imagine Q’s insufferable, brook-no-arguments tone. He drops the note to the floor, where Sofia pounces on it instantly, and heads off to the bedroom, determined not to give Q the satisfaction. Absolutely not.
You should be in Medical. Scotch is not an antibiotic.
This is just a silly, fun, happy-making fic and I really feel like all my fandoms could use a silly, happy-making fic!
Q is slowly getting used to his life being unpredictable now that he works for MI6, but being stuck in a repeating day with James Bond is rather more unpredictable that he expected. Especially since Bond is stupidly attractive and unexpectedly funny and okay, possibly- just possibly- he’s managed to develop a slight crush on the man. Where ‘slight’ is defined as ‘epic.’
18,574 words of 00Q fun. Because the fandom needed a looping day fic, clearly : )
Thanks to the lovely Hedwig-Dordt for cheer leading and editing help as always!!
Skyfall prompt, Q is mentally unstable, has been for a long time. M(female) takes care of him, lives @ her house, etc. Tanner is understanding, Bond is like wtf?. Kinda really want the pairing to be Q/M(weird I know) but is not a must. No crack please! Ur fics from everyone’s prompts r awesome btw! – kurama247
Hope you enjoy, sweetie. Jen.
Q’s eyes remained locked with M’s, lips slightly parted, breathing half-sporadically and trying not to whimper as panic thrummed in his nerves and M remained utterly impassive, watching a boy who suddenly looked half his age sob frantically and try to calm down as best he could.
“What’s going on?” Bond asked drily, while Q’s lips flitted and the trembling gradually began to recede, and he let his head spin until he finally stopped, finally calmed and stopped and stilled. “M? Q?!”
M didn’t look away from Q, expression still neutral, but somehow gentle. “Bond, please remain quiet,” she said calmly. “Our Quartermaster needs a moment. Is Tanner around?”
Bond blinked, glanced out to the door. “Just outside,” Bond returned slowly. “Why?”
“He will explain,” M told him, tone calmly informing him that he needed to absent himself. “Leave now, please, Bond.”
A heartbeat before the door closed, Bond heard a caught gasp, a lost sound that could only have come from Q and this did not make any bloody sense given that they were in Q’s office and it had always been Q’s domain, it was where Q was the flippant and arrogant and ridiculous half-teenager that Bond was getting used to, gradually.
Tanner all but hauled him out. “Bond, Q is a very unique individual. He has pre-existing problems that M is used to dealing with; they have known each other far longer than you could begin to appreciate. It is not your concern. Leave them both well enough alone.”
It was difficult to. Q was a good friend, M was… well, M was many things, but Bond had no names for any of them and it was probably best that he didn’t try to apply arbitrary titles to it. “Tanner, are they both alright?”
Tanner looked him up and down, sighed slightly. “No,” he replied honestly. “But they haven’t been for quite a while. There are more things in heaven and earth, as they say.”
Bond glanced towards the door, aware that somewhere inside, two people he knew nothing of were going through something he could never understand, and he could never hope to truly intrude on that.
“They’re fine,” Tanner completed, tone a little gentler. “Just let it be. Let them be.”
I think your fills are beautiful and awesome. :D I would like to request one where Bond is King and he has a royal right to sleep with anyone he wants. He chooses Q for the evening, a servant, who is reluctantly deposited in the King’s bedroom. It takes a few evenings of seduction and petting before they get to doing it on the royal sheets. – badwolfbadwolf
Q was numb. Utterly numb. His body had reached a state of apathy that he simply didn’t know what to do with.
King James had chosen him as his given partner for the evening. It was a compliment, certainly, and many would be jealous – but Q, quite certainly, was not. He didn’t want to be a whore. He was a servant, and not even one with any true authority, but he did have some pride.
Bond entered to find his chosen one sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, looking at his feet, tangibly unhappy.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bond told him kindly.
Q’s head snapped up. His eyes were laced with distrust, enough to make Bond feel slightly pitying, something close to guilty. “You…” Q cut off in an instant, before he said something he would truly regret.
Bond could fill in the rest without needing to: he had chosen Q arbitrarily, without consent, without reciprocity. Q was expected to please him in any and all respects, and could do nothing in his own favour.
The situation was immoral, but Bond was not cruel by nature.
He reached for a carafe of wine, pouring them both a glass; Q accepted, the mistrust deepening, as Bond lay back on his bed with his feet propped up. “Sit down,” he offered, nodding at the end of the bed. “Is there anything you’d like?”
There were many things he would like.
“No,” he said simply, and took a sip of his wine bravely.
Bond smiled slightly. “What’s your name?” he asked, tone light, sipping at his own drink and watching Q with compelling intensity. “I understand you’re known as Q…”
“I don’t have a name,” Q interjected quickly. “I’m just Q. If that’s alright, sir.”
“James,” Bond corrected lightly. “James will do quite nicely. I would like to explain: I asked for your presence because you are very beautiful, and also intelligent. I’ve seen you. You’re resourceful, practical. Word spreads, Q. I would like company, first and foremost. Perhaps that will expand into something further, perhaps not, but I would never wish to force you. It’s been true of all those who have entered this room – I will do anything you don’t want.”
Q raised an eyebrow. “You mean that?” he asked, a little dryly.
“Speak to anybody who’s been in here,” Bond replied easily. “Eve, for example. We’ve been intimate in some regards, but she had no interest in sex. We are still friends, I hope she would agree, but there has been nothing further.”
It was tempting, very tempting, to believe him. Q made a mental note to find Eve in the morning. “Okay,” he acceded, with little choice but to believe. “I can work with that. Thank you, sir.”
“James,” Bond corrected, smile broader.
“James,” Q agreed, and couldn’t quite help the smile he returned.
After trying to contact 007 every way she knows how M decides to make a personal visit to his flat and see whats holding him up
Because I think the show wife swap is hilarious, could you maybe do something like that with James and Q? – anon
Lex and I had fun! Jen.
Everybody swapped houses; Q and Bond, Mycroft and Greg, Sherlock and John. Which meant – in practise – that Q went to 221B, Mycroft went to stay with Bond, and Sherlock went to Greg’s.
At first, John was dubious, then delighted. Q was quiet, neat, and far, far less trouble than his elder brother. He liked tea, made good tea, and other than a few hacking habits, he was an ideal roommate.
Mycroft proved to be a sublime housemate for Bond, mostly through the nature of simply not being there. His neatness appealed to various naval tendencies that Bond often simply denied and the pair found great solace in being able to sit into total silence very happily.
Greg and Sherlock refused to talk about what occurred in their week together.
Then, of course, they all swapped around: Sherlock went to Bond’s, Q went to Greg’s, and Mycroft went to stay with John.
Bond was close to committing homicide.
Sherlock was not only an arrogant, lazy, messy, childish man, he also had no concept of personal belongings. The swap lasted less than two days, Mycroft won three pounds and Sherlock had developed an even greater loathing for his brother in law.
Greg felt like he was babysitting. Q was not only just under half his age, but his daughter spent the day swooning over the boy. He was nice enough, but student habits died hard and really there were only so many dirty socks he would pick up, or used tea cups he could handle.
Mycroft was just extremely frightening to be around for protracted periods of time; John spent a lot of his time very worriedly making tea and hoping he wouldn’t be shot from some high window for no apparent reason.
John allowed himself the fear, and – for perhaps the first time in his life – was honestly and completely delighted to have Sherlock back. He was a nightmare, yes, but he was infinitely better than anybody else.
Bond and Q shagged one another senseless the moment they were back in a room together.
Mycroft decided that everybody else were idiots, and deemed himself exceptionally fortunate to have Greg in his life.
Anonymous asked you:
Can I have some major 00Q penetration? Not just dildos and plugs, but something a bit more … eclectic please?
I’m getting my 00Q feet back a bit. Hope this is dirty enough for you. ;)
Warnings: Spanking, age play (just play), daddy kink.
“Come here, birthday boy.” Bond sits on the loveseat serenely, suit crisp and one leg crossed over the other at the knee. Q glances to the man’s hands, seeing them curled around the polished wooden handle of the hairbrush with an air of authority. His stomach clenches; Bond has strong hands and will be relentless. The thought has his heart hammering against his ribcage and his palms sweating slickly against his wool trousers.
Bond uncrosses his leg and settles his foot down, his feet bare and toes digging into the carpet. His fingers run along the stiff bristles of the brush and Q stares at the scene in front of him as if he’s viewing it from outside the window looking in. His feet feel leaden, his arms heavy as he makes his way with one slow step at a time until he is in front of Bond and looking downward at the man with a nervous bite to his lips. Bond reaches out and curls his fingers over Q’s wrist, the thumb rubbing along the tender skin and bony knob at the base. He tugs swiftly and Q loses his footing and tumbles down in a heap over Bond’s lap without much ceremony. He squirms his body along Bond’s thick thighs, letting out a small grunt as his already hard cock rubs against the sturdy muscles.
You’re so talented and well, i love how you do every prompt possible. I got one, if it’s not asking too much. 00Q!AU where Q isn’t working at MI6 because he’s suffering from rare illness. Bond is an agent and is severely wounded during a mission. They meet at the hospital. – anon
Enjoy, my dear!
Adding in disclaimers here, just in case: what is portrayed in these fics are precisely that – fiction – and thus individual lines should not be taken out of context! People also deal with their health problems in ways that cannot be pre-legislated nor seem socially correct. Thank you, guys and dolls. Jen.
Bond turned his to head to the side, grinned. “Hey,” he replied easily, and took another step. “Give me a moment, rehab’s a bitch.”
“Go ahead,” Q laughed, and waved him on; Bond concentrated briefly, the living embodiment of mind over matter as he let his body do what he knew it could do, what it had to be able to do, and took his final steps.
Q gave him a somewhat sardonic round of applause, and Bond laughed. “You’re looking well,” he told Q, with an approving nod. “Are you supposed to be here, or are you on another walkabout?”
Q’s grin was electric.
They had met entirely by accident, when a bedridden Bond had found a boy sneaking through his ward in the middle of the night, and both had known he shouldn’t be there, and thus Bond had let out a sharp cry of pain – Q hadn’t been amoral enough to leave him alone – and so said bedridden Bond had a fully grown young man subdued in less than twenty seconds before asking him in not-very-polite terms what he was doing on a closed ward in the middle of the night.
Q had relaxed, and introduced himself as Q.
Bond had let him go, and introduced himself as Bond.
They managed absolutely nothing further in the way of conversation before Q was calmly but firmly removed from the ward by a collection of rather intimidating-looking men. “Speak soon,” he said brightly, and allowed himself to be escorted away.
The next day, Bond found himself facing the young man from the previous evening. “Hello,” Bond said, with tangible amusement. “Are you supposed to be here?”
“Nope,” Q acceded. “But they know they can’t stop me, and it’s supposedly helpful for me to ‘be social’, so I’m attacking you. Enjoy. Good luck with that.”
Bond smirked, very slightly. “Do I want to know?”
“I’m crazy,” Q said simply, almost brightly. “So I’m inpatient for the foreseeable future. And you?”
“I was shot by terrorists,” Bond told him frankly.
Q blinked, cocked his head slightly. “Should I know that?”
“Probably not,” Bond acceded, “but there’s nobody here to tell, and I’m guessing you stole my chart a while ago anyway.”
To Bond’s odd, displaced delight, Q laughed brightly enough to outshine stars. “You’re good,” he laughed. “I like you a lot. So. James Bond, wasn’t it?”
“That’s the one,” Q nodded. “Don’t listen to other names people will undoubtedly apply, they all sound ridiculous, and I won’t answer to them. I’m going to get some tea, by the way, do you want anything?”
Bond, somewhat bemusedly, agreed to a coffee.
“Back in a moment,” Q said brightly, and vanished before Bond could get his head around what on earth had just happened.
James: It’s the truth
Q: It’s also true that… Age is no guarantee of efficiency