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

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An hour into the flight, Bond was reviewing the mission details when he glanced at (Y/N), who was stretched out in her seat, absently tapping her fingers against the armrest.

He spoke without looking away from his tablet. "You know, it's alright if you don't know how to line-dance."

(Y/N)'s head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"

"I won't judge," he continued smoothly, flipping a page. "I can handle the dancing if needed. You don't have to bluff your way through it."

Her eyes narrowed. "You think I was lying?"

"I think," he said, turning a page with deliberate ease, "you're a lot of things, but a line-dancing expert isn't one of them."

A beat of silence. Then—

"You're an ass."

Bond smirked. "That's not a denial."

(Y/N) huffed, but instead of arguing, she reached for her phone, scrolled for a moment, and hit play.

The opening beat of Footloose blasted through the cabin.

Bond blinked. "...No."

"Oh, yes." She stood, holding out a hand. "Come on."

"We're thirty thousand feet in the air."

"Which means we have no distractions."

"(Y/N)."

"James."

A long stare. Then, with a sigh, he stood, rolling his sleeves up like he was preparing for battle.

(Y/N) grinned. "Alright, follow my lead."

She stepped, tapped her heel twice, then shifted into the rhythm. Bond mirrored her movements, controlled and precise—but she could see it now.

He had no idea what he was doing.

"You lied," she said between steps, her smirk triumphant.

"I underestimated," he corrected. "There's a difference."

She burst out laughing, then moved into the next steps—grapevine, heel taps, hip sways. Bond followed, his expression composed, but she could tell he was concentrating.

"Relax," she teased, clapping with the beat.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, but he didn't stop.

By the second chorus, he was at least somewhat keeping up, and she was having way too much fun watching him try. Somewhere between a turn and a clap, he caught her hand, pulling her closer.

"You're enjoying this," he murmured.

"Oh, absolutely."

"Alright," she said, hands on her hips. "From the top."

Bond exhaled through his nose, adjusting his stance. "I don't see how this is necessary."

"It's called being prepared, James." She smirked. "What if we need to blend in?"

"I highly doubt—"

She clapped in time with the beat, cutting him off. "Less talking, more stepping."

Bond gave her a long, unamused look but did as she said, stepping in rhythm with her. He was controlled, precise—too precise. His movements were stiff, too calculated for the looseness the dance required.

"No, no," (Y/N) said, shaking her head. "You're too tense."

"I'm a trained operative," he deadpanned. "I don't operate on loose."

She grinned. "You're gonna have to learn."

(Y/N) circled him, observing, then reached out, gripping his shoulders. He raised a brow, but she ignored him, gently pressing down to loosen the tension there.

"You're dancing, not aiming a sniper rifle," she teased.

Bond sighed but allowed it, rolling his shoulders.

"Better," she said, stepping back. "Now, again—grapevine."

He moved with her this time, mirroring her steps, and though it still wasn't great, it was better.

(Y/N) grinned. "There you go! You're getting it."

Bond shot her a dry look. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not! I'm encouraging you."

He sighed, but his lips twitched slightly.

They ran through it again, step by step, until the movements became smoother, less forced. By the third round, Bond had picked it up well enough that it was no longer embarrassing to watch.

She clapped her hands together. "Okay, okay, I take it back. You can learn."

He smirked. "Surprised?"

"A little."

Bond rolled his shoulders again, exhaling. "That's enough practice."

"Oh, come on, one more time—"

"I think I've suffered enough."

(Y/N) pouted, but Bond ignored her, walking toward his seat. She let him, but just as he sat down, she made her way over, leaning against the armrest beside him.

"You know what I just realized?" she mused.

He didn't look up. "I'm afraid to ask."

"You've officially learned how to line dance on a plane before ever doing it on the ground."

Bond huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "That's not something to be proud of."

"Sure it is." She grinned. "It means that if this mission goes sideways, at least you'll go down knowing you finally let loose."

He turned his head, giving her a look. "We're not 'going down.'"

"I know that," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's just a saying."

Bond smirked, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Mhm."

(Y/N) sighed dramatically, pushing off the armrest. "Fine. Be grumpy. But if we do end up on that dance floor, I expect you to be my partner."

Bond tilted his head. "I thought you didn't need my help?"

"Oh, I don't," she said, winking as she walked away. "I just wanna see if you actually remember the steps."

Bond leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

a/n: When (Y/N) is actually better at something than Bond... this might be the only thing I feel I would be better at than him so just let me have it thank you very much