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

a/n: the title is self-explanatory but yes, this is the one where he pops the question- however it's done in the most nonchalant ways because real proposals are boring.

The sky was painted in streaks of burnt orange and deep violet, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into the horizon. The city glowed beneath the sunset, neon signs flickering to life as shadows stretched long against the damp pavement.

(Y/N) moved quickly, her coat pulled tight around her, one hand curled around the small hard drive tucked in her pocket. She wasn't alone. Footsteps echoed behind her—deliberate, controlled. The people she had stolen this from wouldn't let her walk away so easily.

She turned a corner, slipping into a narrow alleyway where the air smelled of rain-soaked concrete and old cigarette smoke. Her heart pounded, but her breathing stayed steady.

A dimly lit café marked the meeting place—neutral, nondescript. She pushed through the door, shaking off the rain, her eyes sweeping the room with quiet urgency. The man she was meeting was already here, seated in a booth at the far end, his back to the wall.

James Bond.

Her contact.

Relief flickered through her, though she didn't let it show. If she had made it to him, she was safe—for now.

She walked over to him with a quiet confidence, taking a seat across from him. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she met his gaze. "You know, it'll always be you and me in the end, won't it?"

Bond's eyes flickered with a subtle glint, his lips curling into a half-smirk. There was a familiarity in her voice, one that carried years of shared missions and unspoken understanding between them.

Over the years, their partnership had become more than just professional. Some of the analysts at MI6 had joked—half-seriously—that they acted more like a married couple than colleagues. They bickered, teased, and relied on each other without question, both on and off the field. But beyond the banter, there was a seamless rhythm to their teamwork, an effortless compatibility that came from knowing each other's moves before they were made. It wasn't just about shared missions—it was about being in tune with each other, understanding the quiet spaces between words, and reading the signals that no one else saw.

Bond's eyes lifted from his drink, his gaze sharp as ever, sweeping over her quickly before he leaned back in his seat. "You're late."

She slid into the booth across from him, keeping her voice even. "Traffic."

His smirk was subtle. "I'd be worried if you weren't being hunted."

She reached into her coat, pulling out the hard drive and placing it on the table between them. "It's all here."

Bond picked it up, turning it over in his fingers. "Then let's get out of here."

They left the café without another word, stepping into the cold night. He led her to a black car parked a block away, and once inside, the tension finally began to drain from her body. The moment she had met her contact, she had been safe.

Bond drove through the darkened streets, keeping an eye on the mirrors, but there was no immediate sign of pursuit. "We'll hold up at a safehouse until the hunting stops," he said. "Then we'll get this to MI6."

(Y/N) nodded, exhaling as she leaned back. "Fine by me."

The drive was quiet, and when they arrived at the safehouse—a modest flat tucked away from the city's center—she wasted no time peeling off her damp clothes and dressing into something warmer.