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

The flickering glow of the campfire cast long, wavering shadows over the clearing, illuminating the small tent set up beneath the towering trees. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and burning wood. A gentle breeze rustled the branches above, making the leaves whisper secrets to the sky.

Bond sat on a fallen log, stretching his legs out toward the warmth of the fire, arms crossed as he observed the scene before him. (Y/N) was tending to the flames, expertly balancing sticks to keep them burning steady. Emma, their six-year-old daughter, with two playful pigtails bouncing with each movement, was humming to herself, perched on a camping chair next to Bond.

"Can I have a snack?" Emma asked, looking up at her dad with hopeful eyes.

Bond leaned forward slightly. "Didn't you just have trail mix?"

Emma shrugged. "That was forever ago."

(Y/N) smiled over her shoulder. "She's not wrong," she said softly. Then, turning to face Emma fully, she crouched down by the cooler and rummaged for a moment before pulling out a familiar bag.

Emma's eyes widened with anticipation as (Y/N) revealed the graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate.

"Snack request granted," (Y/N) said with a grin. "Tonight, you get to roast your own marshmallow—and make your very first s'more."

Emma gasped. "Really?"

"Really," (Y/N) nodded, offering her the marshmallow bag. "But only if you promise to take it slow and let Dad help you with the stick part. We want golden-brown, not flaming comets."

Bond moved behind her, crouching down so they were at the same height. He let her poke the marshmallow onto the roasting stick and gently wrapped his larger hands over hers, guiding the stick forward toward the flame. (Y/N) watched with a warm smile from across the fire as James helped her steady the marshmallow over the coals.

"Not too close," he murmured near her ear. "Just above the orange bits. You want it to toast, not catch fire."

Emma nodded, concentrating hard. The tip of her tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth as she focused.

"You're doing great Em," Bond said. "Just keep it—"

"So," (Y/N) cut in playfully from across the fire, "what's your verdict on camping so far?"

Bond looked up, caught by the sound of her voice and the smile she gave him.

"Less horrible than anticipated," he said, smirking. "You're right—there's something about the quiet. And the smoke in my eyes. That's a real highlight."

(Y/N) laughed, tossing a small twig into the fire.

"Uh... Dad?"

Bond blinked and looked down.

The marshmallow had ignited into a small fireball.

Emma gasped dramatically. "Daddy! It's burning!"

Bond tilted his head, unconcerned. "So it is."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. "Blow it out before it turns into charcoal."

Instead of doing it himself, Bond turned to Emma with a smirk. "Go on, give it a try."

Emma leaned forward, puffing up her cheeks, and blew as hard as she could—but the flame barely flickered. She tried again, more determined this time, but the fire was stubborn.

"It's too big!" she whined, looking up at her father in defeat.

Bond chuckled, took a steady breath, and with one sharp blow, the flame vanished instantly. The marshmallow, however, was completely blackened, the once-soft treat now resembling a lump of coal.