Asexual!Q x Female!Reader: Logical Fallacy [Ch. 21]
Summary: Q’s got one hundred and two problems. His girlfriend is, technically speaking, every single one.
Challenge: “102 Things A Guy Should Know About Girls” challenge by Miss Chocobo on Lunaescence Archives.
Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (foul language; sexual references; asexual!Q; sexual!reader; a running gag about sexual harassment; double standard: sexual harassment, female on male; sexual harassment played for comedy; James Bond & Reader friendship; civilian!reader; artist!reader; complicated family relationships; reader has a really big family; miscommunications; MI6 would not behave this way in reality; set post-Skyfall; joking references made to Bond/Q)
Pairings: Q/Female!Reader; James Bond/Eve Moneypenny
Tag List: @imaginesfire; @rory-cakes
Master List
Rule #21: Size does matter–but only to hos, not to girls that want relationships.
If Q thought seeing Bond in various locations across London was stressful, it was nothing compared to seeing Bond in his own home. Even then, sitting at the table, Q could not help but feel immensely uncomfortable. Relatively large though the flat may have been, it still didn’t seem roomy enough to contain Bond, Q, and the latter's excitable girlfriend.
“There you go! Tea is up.”
You flashed Bond a smile as you set one mug down in front of him, then Q. Bond smiled back, Q nodded, but you didn’t leave. Instead, you pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and settled in beside them.
“Mr. Bond, I know you’re here for super-secret work purposes and all–”
“Yes,” Q interjected. “He is.”
“–but could I ask you a question really quick?”
“[Name], now is really not the time. Mr. Bond needs to catch a flight to Beijing in the next five hours, and he really cannot afford to waste time with idle chitchat.”
“Oh, give the lady a break, Q.” Bond smirked at the look Q shot him over the top of his glasses. Really, it was bad enough that he had to invite Bond over to do this trade, and now Bond was purposely going to make Q look the bad guy. “I’m sure the professional matters can wait for a few minutes. Unless my ticket is going to blow up if I don’t leave quickly enough?”
Q answered with stony silence that you reacted to not at all.
Bond’s grin widened as he turned back to you. “Go ahead, [Name].”
For a moment, Q thought you might just do as he had asked and leave. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. These actions were unfortunately not in preparation for exiting the room. They were instead preparation to ask the following question:
“Mr. Bond, how big is your penis?”
Tea spurted from Q’s mouth. Both you and Bond turned to give him quizzical looks as he continued to cough.
“[Name]!” he protested around his coughing fit. “Why would you–You just can’t–Why do you even–” Q could not finish his sentences.
You shrugged your shoulders in an almost offensively casual manner. “What? It’s not like I’m taking out a tape measure and asking him to whip it out on the table.”
Q’s cheeks grew as hot as the teapot sitting on the stove. Next to him, Bond’s shoulders silently shook, as if he were trying desperately not to laugh openly at Q’s predicament. When Q could not find it in himself to speak, Bond ran a finger around the lip of his mug and asked:
“Why the sudden interest?”
“Well.” You frowned at the table. “Q says everyone wants to sleep with you. I guess I was just curious if that had anything to do with it, because as far as I know, no one has offered to sleep with Q other than me. Maybe it's a size issue?”
Now Bond was definitely suppressing a smile. “How big is Q’s?”
“That’s none of your business!” Q burst out at last. Bond chuckled. You cocked your head to one side and blinked. “Can we please just get back to what we came here to do?”
“You didn’t come here to do anything. You live here.”
“You know what I mean!” Of course, it was unprofessional to snap, not to mention that Q probably wouldn’t hear the end of this particular embarrassment for a long time to come–from Bond or you. He sighed and tried to contain himself before speaking again. “[Name], please relocate to the living room. This does require the exchange of some confidential information.”
“But I didn’t get my answer,” you said, sticking your lower lip out.
Q glowered at you. Sometimes it seemed as if you got some sort of kick out of mortifying him.
From the corner of his eye, Q saw Bond wink. “I’m afraid that’s confidential information as well, [Name].”
Q turned his head slightly to stare at Bond. What was going on? Was he really trying to salvage the situation? Or was he about to speak some new terror into it?
Your eyes widened. “Really?”
Bond nodded gravely. “I might have to kill you if I told you. M would definitely find out about it, and then where would we be?”
“Dead,” you said breathlessly. “Or arrested.”
“That’s right. Now, why don’t you run along to the living room before Q here’s head explodes?”
“Okay!” You got to your feet, beaming, and headed toward the hallway. “You two have fun!”
Q waited until he heard the television turn on, then heaved a relieved sigh as Bond took a deep swig of tea.
Asexual!Q x Female!Reader: Logical Fallacy [Ch. 18]
Summary: Q’s got one hundred and two problems. His girlfriend is, technically speaking, every single one.
Challenge: “102 Things A Guy Should Know About Girls” challenge by Miss Chocobo on Lunaescence Archives.
Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (foul language; sexual references; asexual!Q; sexual!reader; a running gag about sexual harassment; double standard: sexual harassment, female on male; sexual harassment played for comedy; James Bond & Reader friendship; civilian!reader; artist!reader; complicated family relationships; reader has a really big family; miscommunications; MI6 would not behave this way in reality; set post-Skyfall; joking references made to Bond/Q)
Pairings: Q/Female!Reader; James Bond/Eve Moneypenny
Tag List: @imaginesfire; @rory-cakes
Master List
Rule #18: Don’t say you understand when you don’t. That’s bad.
It didn’t take long to get Bond pulled in. Two days. That was all Q was given to handle the situation on his own. When his time was up, Bond went off. Without his (completely unregulated) bodyguard work, you were left to be dumped at MI6.
This was stressful for all parties involved. No one really wanted an unqualified citizen wandering around the place, but where else could you go? Leaving you to wander the city alone or even just stay at your flat would leave you open to attack, kidnapping, torture.
No one seemed to believe Q when he said he hadn’t told you anything.
He knew that it couldn’t be easy for you either. Not that he'd been able to see much of you. You’d been allowed to send only a brief message to Victoria to let her know you were okay. Other than that? No outside contact. And since there wasn’t anyone to be spared to look after you, you got shoved alone into one of the medical rooms in the cellar.
When Q went to visit you on that third night, he found you sitting eerily calm on the military-style cot there. Eerily, he thought, because your hands were covered in charcoal stains and you didn’t seem to be moving at all.
You looked up as he closed the door behind him, though. He ran a hand self-consciously through his hair. It felt greasy; he was badly in need of a shower. At least you had that luxury available. It would be another sleepless night for Q. No one got to sleep, not at a time like this.
The shadows underneath your eyes told him you hadn’t been sleeping anyway.
“Hey,” you told Q through trembling lips.
To his knowledge, you hadn’t cried, not once through this entire ordeal. But he’d known you long enough that he could tell when it was close. He tried to smile reassuringly as he sat down next to you, but in his current state of disrepair and guilt, he couldn’t manage even that.
“Hello,” he replied.
“How are things topside?”
“They’re…coming along.”
Silence fell, and in it Q could hear the mosquito-like buzzing of the overhead lights. His exhausted mind buzzed along with it, though at the same time he was hyperaware of the fact that you were sitting right next to him, and that the last time he’d seen you had been nearly forty-eight hours ago.
“What have you been drawing?”
He reached unthinkingly for your sketchpad, but you snatched it away and shoved it behind your back.
Q’s eyebrows furrowed. "What’s the matter?”
Your eyes slid away from his and fixed on your bare feet hanging several inches above the tiled floor. “It’s not pretty.”
“Ah.”
Quiet again. He felt his blood rushing through his veins, carrying half-formed thoughts that didn’t help anything. He should say something. This was his fault. But–
“Alton,” you whispered. “I want to go home.”
A rough swallow cleared his throat enough for more words. “I know,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “We’ll get to go soon. Mr. Bond is an expert in these sorts of situations.”
When you turned back to look at Q, he felt a rush of fear. Your darkened eyes didn’t seem to be looking at him, and your voice cracked at just the wrong place. “I’m scared, Alton.”
Without warning, you pressed yourself against him and began to sob into Q’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to do. You never cried like this. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
But he couldn’t let you go home. He couldn’t let you out. The best he could do was take the short rest period given to him to hug you right back and whisper, “I understand. I know.”
