??? ????? ??? ????? ?? ???? ? A Collection of One-shots

The quiet hum of the hotel room wrapped around them like a fragile cocoon. Bond held (Y/N) close, feeling the subtle tremor in her body. She wasn't weak—far from it—but even the strongest people could be shaken.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender-scented shampoo. "Did you get any sleep?"

She sighed against his chest. "A little."

Bond didn't believe her. The tension in her body told him otherwise.

He tilted her chin up gently, scanning her face. The bruise on her cheek was darkening, a stark contrast against her soft skin. A flicker of something dangerous burned in his chest again, but he forced himself to push it down.

"It still hurts," she admitted.

Bond stood without a word, walking to the minibar. He grabbed a small towel, poured cold water over it, and wrung it out before returning to her side.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. "I'm not a child, James."

He smirked slightly. "Then sit still."

She did.

He pressed the cool cloth to her cheek, watching as she closed her eyes, a small sigh of relief escaping her lips. He could feel her relax—just slightly.

He didn't speak for a long moment, just focused on taking care of her.

(Y/N) broke the silence first. "You found him, didn't you?"

Bond stilled, just for a second. He should've known she'd see right through him.

She opened her eyes, searching his face. "You did, didn't you?"

"I did."

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "And?"

Bond removed the cloth from her cheek, his blue eyes unreadable. "And he won't be a problem anymore."

A long silence stretched between them. (Y/N) exhaled, nodding slowly. "You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." His voice was quiet, but firm.

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but she stopped herself. Instead, she reached up, tracing her fingers over his jawline. "What am I going to do with you, James Bond?"

His lips twitched. "Whatever you want."

She let out a small, breathy laugh, but there was something raw in her gaze, something that told him she understood. That she wasn't just grateful—she was scared. Not of him, never of him. But of what could've happened.

Bond pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. "It's over," he murmured again, as much for himself as for her.

(Y/N) rested her head against his shoulder. "I know."

And for now, that was enough.

The Next Morning 

Bond woke to the feeling of warmth against his chest. (Y/N) was still curled up against him, her breathing steady, her fingers loosely gripping the fabric of his shirt.

He stayed still for a moment, just watching her.

It wasn't often that he allowed himself moments like this—soft, quiet, unguarded. But with her, it was different.

Her brow furrowed slightly in sleep, and Bond reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She stirred, blinking up at him. "You're staring," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Bond smirked. "Can you blame me?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't pull away. Instead, she snuggled closer, pressing her face against his chest.

He chuckled. "Comfortable?"

"Mhm."

Bond ran a hand down her back, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against her spine. He should get up, check in with MI6, maybe even leave for his next mission. But for once, he didn't want to.

For once, the world could wait.

(Y/N) tilted her head up, watching him. "Stay."

He met her gaze, and something in his chest tightened.

He should say no. He should remind her who he was, what he was. That he was dangerous, that his life wasn't built for softness or stability.

But looking into her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say any of it.

So instead, he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.

"Alright," he murmured. "I'll stay."

For her, he'd always stay.