ObsessiveFox
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His coven members have picked up the situation pretty quickly too. The only person who won’t realise easily is the dreamer, whichever one of them it is.
“Guys,” Jaemin says from one of the windows, turning around seriously. “I think we’re on a train.”
Okay. So it’s Jaemin’s dream.
or
They're stuck inside Jaemin's dream, hoping it won't turn into a nightmare.
Bookmarked by ObsessiveFox
21 May 2026
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Bond, entirely aware that he’s committed a cardinal sin of tailing and made eye contact with his target, is glancing with forced nonchalance around the flounce-filled upscale Picadilly tea room when he sees a familiar set of shoulders. Thin, sloped, swaddled in a bottle-greed cardigan. A nest of inky-black hair that looks more like the pelt of a wild animal than a coif favoured by one of Six’s highest-paid staff. Dreamy, cream-coloured skin.
Bond steps out of the line for the till, leaving his quarry behind, and puts his hand on Q’s shoulder. Leaning down on the opposite side, he whispers: “Play along,” in Q’s ear. Then he ducks in to press a kiss to his neck. He smells of verbena and printer toner, sweet and sour.
Or: Five times Bond kissed Q
Bookmarked by ObsessiveFox
17 May 2026
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“Sounds like astrology for maths majors.”
“Maths doctorates,” says Q, which is an interesting revelation, if only to imagine him in a classroom with a stick of chalk and a blackboard, tracing some A Beautiful Mind-style formulae for a crowd of perplexed undergrads. Perhaps these days it’s all on screens, though. “Obviously, the idea of prophecy via hidden numerical interpretation is bunk. But there are some extremely interesting ancient applications in the works of Greek philosophers, and even some early Bible scholars.”
In the darkness Bond closes his eyes, and considers the preferable option: silence, or Q’s esoteric dissertation.
“Tell me more,” he says.
Bookmarked by ObsessiveFox
13 May 2026
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“I don’t do serious,” Bond tells him, leaning up on one elbow in bed. Q is pleasantly drowsy, trying to figure out how to politely kick a trained assassin out of his flat so he can get some real sleep. This wakes him up; he cuts his eyes over to Bond. He’s not joking. Q wants to sigh but that’ll just ruffle Bond’s feathers and he’ll be here even longer.
“I’m aware,” Q settles on. “This must be against regulation anyway, isn’t it?”
His quick, emotionless acquiescence seems to take Bond by surprise. Q imagines he’s built this all up in his head, Q pining for him and him nobly telling Q that the most they can ever be is an occasional fuck, etcetera, etcetera.
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Bond doesn't do love. Q is absolutely fine with that.Bookmarked by ObsessiveFox
13 May 2026
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Changbin is dead. The other half of Minho’s soul died centuries ago.
So why is he standing right in front of him?
Bookmarked by ObsessiveFox
28 Apr 2026