chu16a-blog

[chu16a-blog]

Scotty x Reader - Fluffed the Date, Nailed the Kiss.

Pairing: Montgomery Scott x Reader

Summary: Only fluff and giggles.

Fluffed the Date, Nailed the Kiss.

You honestly hadn’t expected it when Montgomery Scott, chief engineer of the Enterprise, had asked you out.

He’d practically short-circuited himself just trying to get the words out, fumbling through half-sentences and nervous laughter. You’d barely managed to say “yes” before he’d bolted with a red face, muttering something about plasma regulators and time dilation, which, you were fairly certain, had nothing to do with dating.

And now here you were sitting across from him at a quiet booth on Yorktown Station.

Scotty looked... well, nervous didn't even begin to cover it.

He kept fidgeting with the edge of his napkin, eyes flicking from your face to his glass and back again, as if just looking at you might cause him to short-circuit.

“So,” you started, smiling gently, “is this where you bring all the officers you secretly have a crush on?”

He nearly choked on his drink. “Wha—no! No, I mean—crush? Did I—? I didn’t—”

You laughed softly. “Relax. I’m teasing.”

Scotty exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. “Right. Teasin’. I’m not... great at this sort of thin'. Dating, I mean.”

“I figured,” you said, sipping your drink. “You’ve talked to warp cores more than people.”

“Och, don’t remin' me,” he groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Honestly, if this date were a matter/anti-matter reaction, I’d have blown us both to bit' already.”

You leaned forward a little. “Hey… you’re doing fine. Really.”

He peeked at you through his fingers. “Ye’re not just sayin’ that?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

That made him smile, a real, warm, slightly lopsided one.

“I’ve liked ye for a while, y’know,” he said, quieter now. “I just... never thought I’d actually get the nerve to say somethin'. Thought ye were way outta me league.”

“You’re sweet,” you said. “But you do realize you’re a genius engineer on the flagship of the fleet, right?”

“Well, aye, but that’s just work. Ye — ye’re…” He paused, flushing again. “Ye’re you. And I’m just... me.”

You tilted your head, still smiling. “Exactly. And I like you.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Really.”

There was a beat, a long, soft moment where he looked at you like he wasn’t entirely sure this was real.

Then he let out a laugh, breathy, surprised, and absolutely overjoyed. “This might be the first time I’m glad somethin' didn’t explode in my face.”

You liked how real he was. No pretense. Just Scotty, warm, funny, flustered… and completely unaware of how adorable he was.

When the evening finally wound down, he insisted on walking you back to your quarters on the station. You didn’t mind. The stroll was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt nice.

“Well,” Scotty said once you reached your door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I, uh… I had a great time tonigh'. And I mean that. I was worried I’d just ramble through the whole thin' and make a mess of it.”

“You rambled a little,” you teased.

He winced. “Knew it.”

“But,” you added with a smile, “you were sweet. And funny. And really charming.”

That caught him off guard. He looked at you like you’d just handed him an honorary captain’s badge. “I—well—thank ye. I mean, thank ye. Ye’re… I mean, I still don’t quite know how I got this lucky.”

You leaned back against the doorframe, looking at him, the way his hands fidgeted at his sides, the slight pink in his cheeks, the bashful way he met your gaze only to look down again.

He was halfway through another flustered sentence, something about maybe seeing each other again, if you’d like, no pressure, just-

You stepped forward and kissed him.

Just like that. Soft, sure, and completely out of the blue.

He froze for a beat, startled, then melted into it, his breath catching against your lips. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides before one slowly came to rest just above your waist, like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you.

When you pulled away, he looked like he’d just been hit with a warp shockwave.

“Wh–wh–was that—? I mean—wow.”

You smiled up at him. “That was me saying I’d definitely like to see you again.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“I… aye. Me too. Absolutely. One hundred percen'. I’ll even shut up nex' time. Well, maybe not, but I’ll try.”

You laughed softly, stepping into your quarters, turning back one last time before the door slid shut.

“Goodnight, Scotty.”

He was still standing there when the door closed, blinking slowly at the spot where you’d been.

Then, under his breath, with a stunned, delighted grin:

“…She kissed me. She kissed me.”

Engineering was already running smoothly, which meant Scotty had no excuse to be this distracted.

He’d checked the plasma flow readings twice. Maybe three times. He wasn’t sure. Everything was green, but his mind was definitely not on diagnostics.

The smile on his face wasn’t going anywhere. Not after that kiss. The one you gave him outside your quarters. The one that had short-circuited his brain and left him staring at your door like a lovesick cadet.

“Okay, what did I miss?” came a familiar voice behind him.

Scotty jumped and spun around to find Jim Kirk leaning casually against the nearest railing, arms crossed and a smirk already forming.

“I haven’t seen you this happy since we upgraded the warp nacelles without blowing anything up.”

“Captain,” Scotty said quickly. “Didn’t hear ye come in.”

“That’s because you were staring at a blank screen with a stupid grin on your face,” Kirk replied. “So? What gives? You finally built yourself a girlfriend out of spare parts?”

Scotty gave him a flat look. “That’s offensive. And technically impossibl'. The neural interface alone—wait, no. I mean—no!”

Kirk raised an eyebrow. “Then spill it. You’ve got the ‘just got kissed’ look.”

Scotty flushed instantly. “What even is that look?”

“That one,” Jim said, pointing at him. “The exact one you’re wearing.”

Scotty sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fine. I may have had a date. And I may have been kissed.”

Kirk grinned, all smug captain. “About damn time. It’s been obvious for months.”

Scotty blinked. “It has?”

“Scotty, she looks at you like you’re the warp core holding the ship together. Which, to be fair, you are. But still.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Because, well, Jim wasn’t wrong.

---

You didn’t see him today and you had trouble falling asleep. So you decided to take a walk and maybe find him.

The ship was dimmer at this hour. Quieter. Consoles glowed softly in the low light. Most of the crew had gone off-duty hours ago, but you knew one person who’d still be here, probably "running one last diagnostic" for the fourth time.

Sure enough, there he was, Scotty, standing by the warp core, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, deep in concentration with a faint smudge of grease on his jaw.

You stopped a few steps away, watching him for a moment. There was something peaceful about seeing him like this. Focused. In his element. Comfortable.

“You ever sleep?” you asked gently.

He looked up, blinking, then grinned when he saw you. “Occasionally. But I always check on her before I turn in.”

You smiled and moved closer, tilting your head toward the warp core. “So she gets your goodnight visits before I do?”

Scotty flushed immediately. “That’s—oh, now ye’re just teasing me.”

“A little.”

He chuckled and wiped his hands on a rag before setting it aside. “Didn’t expect to see ye tonight.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come say goodnight in person.”

Something shifted in his expression, a softness, a quiet kind of happiness.

“Well, I’m glad ye did,” he said.

You walked up beside him and leaned against the railing, looking out at the gentle pulse of the core. “It’s kinda pretty. Peaceful.”

“Aye,” he said, standing close. “It is. Especially when you’re here.”

You turned your head and smiled at him. “You’re still terrible at flirting.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“It’s okay,” you said, stepping closer. “You’re cute when you try.”

There was a pause. A beat of something quiet and true lingering in the air between you. You felt your heart flip a little when he finally stepped closer to you.

And this time, he kissed you.

It was gentle at first. Hesitant. Like he wanted to make sure you were okay with it, but once your hand found his arm and your lips moved with his, he deepened it, confidence growing like a flame catching.

He tasted like synth-whiskey and warm sugar, his hand finding the side of your neck as he tilted his head slightly, perfectly soft and completely focused on you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you a little breathless, his forehead rested against yours.

“Well,” you murmured, voice low and full of affection. “You really are full of surprises.”

He chuckled, cheeks warm with color, but his smile tender. “Only for ye.”

You grinned, brushing your nose lightly against his. “Lucky me, then.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, quicker this time, but just as sincere, like he couldn’t help himself.

When your lips parted, you stayed close, your hands resting gently on his chest.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t plan on goin' anywhere.”

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader - Enemy to Lover (Part 6/6)

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Reader

This is the final chapter 6/6. I hope you liked the fanfic :)

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 6: CLOSER THAN EVER

Benji wasn’t sure who was more nervous, him, or you.

Actually, no. It was definitely him.

After that night in the cabin, after you'd let him calibrate the most sensitive piece of tech inside your body with trembling fingers and too many unprofessional thoughts, you agreed to go with him. No handcuffs. No threats. Just a quiet, resigned “Okay.”

And now you were standing beside him in an IMF safehouse, facing the rest of the team like a strange, deadly, beautiful wildcard.

Ethan Hunt stood across the room, arms crossed, jaw sharp. Watching. Calculating.

Luther was behind him, typing on a tablet with one hand and holding a sandwich in the other. Casual. Curious. A little amused.

Benji cleared his throat. “This is Y/n, I think she would need our help” He looked at you and you looked at him.

You stepped forward, posture relaxed but alert. You told them everything.

Silence. Then Ethan tilted his head. “And now?”

You looked at Benji. “Now I’m giving second chances.”

Ethan held your gaze for a long second. Then nodded. “Alright. If Benji vouches for you, that’s good enough for me.”

Luther raised an eyebrow and fixed at Benji with a knowing look. Then looked at you “Welcome to the team, I will get the material ready to erase any traces of you.”

You sighted with relief.

Weeks later.

You were good. Like… too good.

Anytime something exploded, you were already moving. Anytime someone needed to be taken down, you were already behind them. With that spine, fast, elegant, mechanical precision, you and Ethan had become the field duo. Benji handled tech and overwatch, but sometimes he just stared.

Okay. A lot of the time.

You never seemed to notice how he fumbled his words whenever you sat too close during mission briefings, shoulders brushing, knees almost touching. Or how he lost his train of thought completely if you leaned over his laptop, pointing something out with that calm, confident voice of yours while he just sat there, blinking like a deer in headlights.

You didn’t catch how he lit up, whenever you said his name. “Thanks, Benji,” you’d murmur, tossing him a tool or a quick smile, and he’d nod like a normal human… only to spend the next hour replaying it in his head like it was the chorus to his new favorite song.

He sat a little straighter when you walked into a room. Smoothed down his shirt. Pretended not to notice you noticing nothing.

But the real kicker? The maintenance.

Because of course Benji ended up being the one in charge of your cyberspine maintenance. And sure, professionally, it made sense. He knew the tech. Trusted hands. Precision work. But emotionally?

It was a disaster.

Every time you sat in front of him, back bare, calm as anything, and said, “Tell me if you need me to adjust,” he nearly short-circuited on the spot. He’d nod, trying to act cool, while internally begging the tools not to slip from his sweaty hands.

You once sighed, just sighed, and he dropped a micro-calibrator straight into your lap. You handed it back without comment, but he nearly self-destructed from embarrassment. He spent the rest of that session staring a little too hard at the wiring just so he wouldn’t look at you.

But you smiled when it was over. Told him, “You’re good at this.” And he melted.

He was supposed to be the tech guy. The calm one. The logic-and-circuits support.

Instead, he was a soft, stammering mess with a toolbox and a hopeless crush.

Benji Dunn: certified genius. Certified disaster.

And oh yeah, completely, adorably doomed.

---

Most missions were a success. Some were bad but this one was worse.

The mission had gone sideways fast.

A clean infiltration turned into a full-blown firefight, and now the two of you were running, dodging bullets, ducking under debris, your comms full of static, and Ethan yelling something neither of you could quite hear.

You took a hit. Not a bad one, but you felt blood staining your cloth. You put a hand on the wound, and pushed harder anyway. Benji was shouting your name through the chaos, trying to reach you as you forced yourself up a narrow access corridor, chasing the objective like it still mattered.

But by the time you got there, the room was empty. No intel. No payoff. Just pain and blood dripping from your side.

And Benji.

He burst in seconds later, breathless and wild-eyed, skidding to your side before you'd even caught your breath.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he rasped, dropping to his knees. “You’re bleeding!”

“I had to—”

“No, you didn’t!” he snapped, voice shaking. “You didn’t have to push yourself that far. Not for this. Not when you could’ve—” He broke off, hands hovering helplessly like he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare.

You opened your mouth to respond, but suddenly everything slowed down.

You were sitting on the floor, breathing hard. He was crouched in front of you, eyes wide and scared and angry and so close. Just inches away. Closer than you’d ever been without metal and tools between you.

You could hear his breath. Feel the warmth of it, uneven and fast.

He stared at you like he was trying to memorize every inch of your face. His eyes dropped, briefly, helplessly, to your lips, then back up. And again. And again.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t sure if it was from the wound or just… him.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

The moment stretched, pulled tight between you like a wire about to snap. One breath closer and you would’ve kissed him. You wanted to. Or maybe he would’ve kissed you.

Benji’s fingers twitched against the floor. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “You scared me.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered. “I mean—I do. But also I… I don’t. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

You leaned in. Just a little. He did too.

And then—

“Hey!” Ethan’s voice called down the corridor, loud and urgent. “I’ve got an exit. Move now or we’re trapped.”

You both jolted back like you’d been slapped by lightning.

Benji scrambled to his feet, offering you a hand with wide, guilty eyes. You took it, still breathless, still shaken, still very aware of just how close you’d come to kissing him. And how badly you’d wanted to.

Neither of you said a word as you moved toward Ethan’s voice.

But you both knew. Something had changed.

And it wasn’t just the mission.

It was quiet in the safehouse.

The kind of quiet that only came after everything nearly fell apart, after wounds had been bandaged, adrenaline drained, and the mission faded into memory. Everyone else was asleep.

You stood in the small kitchen, sipping tea, wrapped in a loose sweater someone had tossed over a chair. The only light came from the stove’s hood lamp, casting soft shadows around the room.

Benji wandered in without noticing you at first, rubbing the back of his neck, barefoot, hair tousled from sleep, or stress. When he did spot you, he froze.

You tilted your head, smiling gently. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Not really. You?”

You gave a soft shrug. “The quiet makes it hard.”

He nodded, stepping further in, then leaning against the counter across from you. There was a long, comfortable silence between you, filled only by the faint ticking of a nearby wall clock.

Then, quietly, almost like it slipped out without permission, he said, “I keep thinking about earlier.”

You looked up at him.

“How close we were,” he added, then quickly tried to backpedal, “—I mean, during the mission, not just, you know, close-close, like, physically, even though that happened too, obviously, but—”

You laughed softly, and it stopped him.

He rubbed his forehead. “Sorry. I’m terrible at this.”

“Benji,” you said, stepping closer.

“I just…” he trailed off, his voice quieter now, steadier. “I thought I’d be the one protecting you from the beginning. That was my whole plan. Look after the girl with the deadly cybernetic spine. And then you… completely shattered that idea. You’re stronger than anyone I know.”

You didn’t speak. Just watched him, heart quietly thudding.

“But then today—when you got hurt—” he swallowed. “I don’t ever want to feel that again. That moment where I thought I might lose you. That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

He looked at you, eyes soft, no mask this time. No nerves. Just honesty.

“That it’s not the spine, or the strength, or the skills,” he said. “It’s you. I love you. Everything about you.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, the world held still, no alarms, no chases, no team, no danger.

Just the two of you in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by the soft scent of mint tea and exhaustion and something new.

You crossed the remaining space between you slowly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ve known,” you said softly, looking up at him. “Since that night in the lodge. When you fixed my spine like your hands were afraid to hurt me.” A pause. “I’ve loved you since then.”

And before either of you could say anything else, you took a quiet breath and leaned in — slow, certain, like you’d been holding the moment in your chest for far too long.

Your lips met his in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or desperate, but deep and tender — the kind of kiss that said finally.

Benji stilled for half a second, as if stunned by the reality of it — and then he melted into you. His hand found the side of your face like it belonged there, thumb brushing your cheek, the other slipping around your waist, holding you like you were something precious he didn’t know how to stop needing.

There was no fire. No chaos.

Just warmth.

Like the first real breath after being underwater too long.

Like coming home to something you didn’t know you missed — but now couldn’t live without.

When you finally parted, barely an inch between you, his forehead rested against yours. Eyes closed. Smiling.

When you pulled back, both of you smiling for real now, he whispered, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

You kissed him again.

“Not a chance.”

BONUS SCENE:

You lay on your stomach across the bed, sheets tangled around your hips, the cool air brushing your bare back. Your shirt had long since been discarded — somewhere on the floor — leaving the smooth line of your spine exposed to the room and to him.

Benji sat beside you, quiet, fingers ghosting just above the metallic seams embedded along your back — the soft hum of your cyberspine barely audible. He wasn't fixing anything. Just feeling. Appreciating.

You let out a quiet sigh. “You really don’t have to touch it, you know.”

“I want to,” he said simply.

You glanced at him, suspicious. “You like it?”

Benji nodded, a little dreamy. “It’s beautiful.”

That stopped you cold.

Beautiful?

“You’re kidding.”

He grinned. “Not even a little. The precision, the design, how it moves with you — I mean, it’s incredibly engineered. But the way it integrates with you? That’s what makes it amazing.”

You turned your head fully, watching him, stunned into silence.

He kept going, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s not just tech. It’s part of you. And everything about you is… brilliant. Strong. And yeah — beautiful.”

Your mouth parted slightly, but the words weren’t coming. You’d expected teasing. Maybe a little flirting. Not that.

Definitely not that.

You buried your face in the pillow, groaning softly. “You can’t just say things like that, Benjamin Dunn.”

He laughed, completely delighted. “I absolutely can. And I will. I’m your boyfriend, I get to gush.”

You lifted your face just enough to glare at him, your cheeks warm. “That’s not gushing. That’s weaponized sweet-talking.”

“Effective, though,” he murmured, leaning closer, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

Your heart flipped. Stupid cyberspine didn't help with that.

“You’re impossible,” you whispered.

“And you’re stuck with me,” he whispered back.

You didn’t answer.

You just pulled him down and kissed him — slow, smiling, the kind of kiss that said you were okay being stuck with him too.

Maybe even forever.

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader - Enemy to Lover (Part 5/6)

Pairing: Benji Dunn x reader

This is chapter 5/6. The last chapter is already written, no stress. I will upload tomorrow.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 5: ANSWER AND OPERATIONS

You took Benji to one of your safehouses, a quiet lodge nestled deep in the snow-draped woods, far from the gulag. Silence settled like a heavy blanket, broken only by the whisper of wind brushing snow off the eaves.

Benji sat on the edge of an old leather couch, fiddling with his fingers. He looked like a man trying not to look like he was held hostage, but still unsure if he technically was.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “So,” you said, voice flat, “what’s with the chasing?”

Benji cleared his throat. “You’re the number one priority on the CIA’s to-do list, if you hadn’t guessed.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly.

His eyes darted around the room. You tracked it immediately.

“You won’t find it,” you added before he could get too hopeful.

Benji froze. “Right. Sorry.” Man up Benji! I have a mission to complete.

He shifted, straightening his spine, trying to muster a bit of authority. “The cyberspine, it’s one of the CIA’s most classified weapons. That’s why we’ve been chasing you across five countries. We don’t know what you plan to do with it, but you need to give it back.”

You stepped forward, slowly. “Still harping on that?”

He swallowed.

“I’ve saved your life. Three times, I might add,” you said, folding your arms tighter. “Why don’t you try something new? Like trusting me. Promise I won’t run off and blow up London or anything.”

Benji opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then, finally: “I need to understand. Please. No one knows who you are. Why you took it. Or what your intentions are.”

You tilted your head, studying him. Then walked forward until you were standing right in front of him.

Benji holds your gaze. Focus Benji, Not on her eyes! On the mission, yep mission.

“This part of the job? Interrogating me?” you asked.

Benji looked mildly alarmed. “No! I mean—not like that.”

You raised a brow. “So what did they tell you about me?”

He hesitated, but answered. “They said you were volatile. Dangerous. That you snapped mid-mission. Killed your handlers and went rogue.”

You blinked, then laughed sharp and disbelieving.

“And you believed that?”

Benji hesitated again, guilt all over his face. “Not for long. After the third mission… we started asking questions.”

Silence stretched. He looked at you, then looked down at his hands. “Who are you, really?”

Tension pulled the room taut. You could see it in his posture, he had no leverage here. No backup, no map, no plan. And yet he’d chosen honesty.

You let the quiet sit for a few seconds. Then: “Cute,” you murmured, watching the way his shoulders tightened. “Look at you. Sweating. First time talking to a girl in hiding?”

He turned a shade redder. “No! I mean—yes. Maybe. Not like this.”

You laughed. Actually laughed. It startled both of you.

Then you sat beside him, not close, but close enough.

“You want to know the truth?”

Benji nodded slowly.

And for some reason, maybe because you owed him, maybe because something in his awkward loyalty softened you, you gave it.

“I used to bake.”

He blinked. “You… what?”

“Pastry chef. New York. I opened my own shop. It was small, but mine. I just needed some extra cash to cover the first few months. And, there was this government trial, it sounded like medical science stuff. Safe. Legal. Easy money.”

You paused.

“They lied. I was recruited without knowing it. Turned into a test subject. The cyberspine was just the start. Surgery. Recovery. And then training. Indoctrination. They made me into something else.”

Benji was silent, watching you, eyes wide.

“They called me perfect. Efficient. I was their weapon. They made me kill. Over and over. Until I stopped feeling like a person. Just… a tool.”

You leaned back against the couch.

“Then I escaped. Thought I could disappear, start over. But the CIA didn’t like losing their favorite experiment. And apparently, neither did the IMF.” Looking at him.

Benji didn’t speak for a long time. Finally, voice low: “We should’ve asked more questions from the start.”

You gave him a tired smile.

The quiet of the lodge had settled into something still and strange. Snow whispered outside the windows, and the smell of something savory drifted from the stovetop. You were finishing dinner, calm and silent, moving like this wasn’t the first time you’d laid low in a safehouse after being hunted.

Benji hadn’t said much in the last few hours. Not since your story. Not since that story.

But now, perched again on the edge of the couch, fingers twitching, he couldn’t help himself.

“Can I… ask you something?” he asked softly.

You didn’t turn from the stove. “You just did.”

Benji gave a small breath of laughter. “Yeah, but this one’s more personal.”

You turned slightly, giving him permission with a glance.

He hesitated, then: “Does it hurt? The cyberspine.”

You considered the question, then nodded once. “Sometimes. It depends. Cold weather’s bad. So are power surges. And… when I push it too hard, it pushes back.”

Benji bit his lip. “And how does it work, exactly?”

“Bio-robotic spine implant” you replied. “Titanium casing over a dynamic core. Adaptive signal mesh. It rewrites my reflexes—makes me faster, stronger, harder to break. But it's delicate. Needs maintenance. Precision work.”

He stared at the floor for a second. Then up at you. “So… what happens now? Do you keep running? Hiding? Until what? The end?”

You didn’t answer.

Benji took a breath. “You know… the IMF isn’t the CIA. I mean, yeah, we’re technically sanctioned, but we don’t work for countries. We don’t answer to politics. We’re a team. People like me—and like you—who can’t live normal lives, but still want to matter. Who need a second chance.”

He fumbled, a little nervous now. “I got mine. And maybe… maybe you could get yours too. If you want it.”

A long silence followed. You stirred the food one last time, then turned off the stove.

Then, without looking at him: “Are you good with machines?”

Benji blinked. “What?”

“Are you good with tech?” you repeated. “Wiring. Calibration. Micro-level work.”

Benji sat up straighter. “That’s… kind of my whole deal.”

You finally turned to face him fully. “Then I need a favor.”

You walked past him to the dimly lit sitting area, set the towel down, then began undoing the fastenings of your shirt—calm, unfazed.

Benji’s eyes went very wide. “W-wait, what are you—?”

“Relax,” you said, tone dry. “Not like that.”

You pulled the shirt free and turned your back to him, brushing your hair aside.

And there it was.

The cyberspine.

It ran the length of your back, sleek black titanium threaded with faint violet-blue light. Elegant. Precise. No scars, no seams. It looked like something grown from your skin, rather than installed. A soft whir sounded every few seconds, like it was breathing with you.

Benji’s breath caught. It’s beautiful, he thought—but didn’t say.

“The surge node’s lagging,” you said. “Somewhere around the L3 interface. I can’t reach it without tools. Or help.”

Benji stood, flustered. “Y-yeah! Okay. Um—can I…?”

You tossed him a small pouch. “There are micro-tools inside. Calibrator’s pre-linked. I’ll tell you what to do.”

He approached slowly, hands trembling just a little. “You sure about this?”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be standing.”

He swallowed hard. “Right. Fair.”

Benji swallowed hard.

Okay. Okay. This is just tech. Just a repair job. Normal. Nothing weird. Except she smells amazing and her skin is right there and her voice had gone all soft when she asked for his help and oh god his hands are shaking.

He opened the toolkit with a clumsy snap, hoping she wouldn’t notice. This isn’t flustering, this is—field nerves. Yeah. Totally professional.

A tiny spark blinked in the interface and he leaned closer, breath held. His fingers brushed the edge of the casing, and he felt her tense, just slightly.

Focus, Benji.

His fingers hovered above the base of the spine, not quite touching. “Okay. First step?”

You guided him, steady, patient. He followed your instructions with care, hands working with precision, eyes focused, breath shallow. Every once in a while, his knuckles would brush your skin, and he’d freeze like he’d touched a live wire.

You didn’t say anything, but he swore you smirked once.

After several minutes of fine-tuning, a soft hum pulsed down your back, smoother now. The light along the spine brightened, then steadied.

You exhaled.

“That’s it?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a breath.

You turned your head slightly. “That’s it.”

He stayed where he was, kneeling, his fingers still resting near the final connection point on your spine. The glow had stabilized now, smooth, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. It was beautiful. Precise. Like you.

Benji didn’t move.

Just breathe, man. You fixed it. It’s done. You can let go now. Let go. Any second now.

But his fingers didn’t listen. Neither did his chest, which felt like it was carrying a live wire.

He wasn’t even sure what was short-circuiting more, you, or the damn interface.

He glanced up, only to find your eyes already on him.

She’s looking at me. Oh god, don’t smile. Don’t say something stupid. Don’t—

You raised an eyebrow.

He flushed instantly, backing away a few inches like he’d been burned.

“Right! Yep. All good. It’s fixed. Working fine. Uh… I’ll just—tools—gonna pack those up now.” He reached for the kit, nearly dropping it as he stood.

Smooth, Benji. Real smooth.

You watched him with the ghost of a smile curling at the edges of your lips.

“Well?” you said.

“Well what?”

You smiled. “You asked me for a second chance.”

Benji blinked.

“I’ll consider it,” you said softly. “You earned that much.”

Benji tried not to grin. It didn’t work.

You pulled your shirt back on with quiet ease, like none of it had meant anything. But he knew it had. And somewhere deep down, so did you.

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn X Reader - Enemy to Lover (Part 4/6)

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Reader

This is chapter 4/6. I already wrote everything, so don't worry, it's a finished fic ;) I publish one chapter per day.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 4: THE RUSSIAN TRAP

Since Geneva, everything had spiralled.

You’d lost the briefcase , the key to a new life, a clean slate. That had been your last real shot at disappearing for good. Now, scraping the bottom of the barrel, you found yourself in the one place you swore you’d never return to: Russia.

Desperation brought you here. The plan was simple, a discreet meet, a quiet deal with a contact who claimed they could get you new papers, fresh identity, a second chance.

But nothing ever stayed simple for long.

The exchange had barely begun when it all unraveled. A flicker of movement in the shadows, a breath too sharp, you spotted him, Benji. And then chaos.

Gunfire echoed through the abandoned gulag’s crumbling corridors as chaos erupted. You slipped away into the shadows, but Benji wasn’t so lucky.

Separated from Ethan and Luther during the chase, Benji took a wrong turn into a deserted courtyard. The walls closed in. Heavy footsteps approached from all sides.

Before he could react, rough hands grabbed him, dragging him into the darkness.

Benji jerked awake, his body stiff and restrained. Rough leather straps bit into his wrists as he found himself slumped in a rusty metal chair. Overhead, harsh lights hummed and flickered, casting a cold, unforgiving glare. On a nearby metal table, an array of menacing tools, pliers, needles, sharp knives, lay ready.

His heart hammered against his ribs. Okay, stay calm. You’ve handled worse. No… not this. Not this one.

The heavy door groaned open, and a towering Russian brute stepped inside, his eyes cold and unyielding.

Benji swallowed hard, voice trembling but trying to sound casual. “Hey—hey, maybe we could talk this out? Use words? Friendly chat, yeah?”

The man’s lips curled into a cruel smile as he picked up a glinting blade from the table.

Benji’s throat tightened.

As you were chased by at least five Russian mafia members armed to the teeth, you decided it was a good time to hide for a while, for you know, … Let the situation de-escalate.

You burst through the door, slamming it so hard it rattled the walls. Pressing your back against it. Catching your breath, you scanned the room and locked eyes with Benji; your look was all sharp annoyance, like really? Again?

Benji’s wide eyes met yours, a mix of relief and helplessness. No words, just that tense, exasperated silence.

Without hesitation, you turned and moved on the Russian guard. The fight was quick and brutal. The guard collapsed, unconscious.

You glanced back at Benji, expression unchanged, annoyed, but focused. If I managed to get away with that briefcase in Geneva, I wouldn’t be here. Guest whose fault is that, uh.

You crossed your arms, brows furrowed, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Still want to capture me?”

His voice cracked. “A little help?”

You leaned in, hands resting on the armrests of his chair, your stare sharp and unreadable. Why is he kind of cute when he’s nervous? you caught yourself thinking, then immediately shoved the thought aside. Focus. He’s the enemy. Sort of. Probably.

“Funny,” you said, voice low and laced with dry humor, “You chase me across continents, mess up my meet, get captured by Russians… and I’m still the one who has to save you.”

A smirk played on your lips as you watched the panic flare in his eyes, and honestly, it was kind of funny. You’d never admit it, but there was something about this jittery guy that was… interesting. Maybe even a little endearing.

Benji’s mind spun wildly. The Russians could come crashing in any second. Should I beg her? Can I even trust her? She’s the one I’m supposed to be after. Pride says no; survival screams yes.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Look, if this is revenge, could you… I don’t know… not?”

You raised a brow, amused by his obvious distress. “You’re really stressed, huh?”

He nodded quickly, cheeks flushing bright red. “Yes.”

“First time tied up in a torture room?” you teased, voice softening, but your eyes never leaving his.

“Yes.”

“Scared of me?”

He hesitated, then whispered, “…a bit.”

You leaned closer. “Good. You should be.”

His cheeks flushed.

You let your fingers trail slowly over the leather strap binding his wrist to the chair. "Tell me, why exactly should I free you? After all… you’re the one chasing me.”

Your voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “What’s your excuse?”

Benji swallowed hard, caught off guard. The question hung heavy in the tense air.

You leaned in even closer, a slow, wicked smile playing on your lips. “You don’t have an answer for that, huh?”

Benji swallowed hard, eyes darting everywhere but meeting yours.

You pulled out a small torture tool from the table, a knife, sleek and sharp, and played with it, deliberately close to him.

“Okay, fine,” you said, voice low and mocking. “What do I get in exchange, then?”

Benji’s breath hitched. He didn’t dare look at you, his gaze fixed on the cracked floor.

Behind you, the door banged loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. You barely flinched, completely ignoring it, as if the chaos outside didn’t concern you one bit.

Your eyes locked on his trembling form, amused and annoyed all at once.

Benji’s voice came out barely above a whisper, shaky and uncertain. “Please.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how simple and sincere it was.

A tiny, unexpected smile played on your lips. “…That was kind of adorable.”

Without another word, you sliced through his restraints with a practiced flick of your wrist, letting him rub his wrists free.

He hesitated, glancing around the dim room. “So... uh, do you know a way out?”

You stepped forward. “Lucky for you, I’m not exactly planning on sticking around here either.”

Together, you slipped through the shadows of the gulag, moving fast and low. You had no idea if he could keep up, but right now, he was the only ally you had.

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader - Enemy to Lover (Part 3/6)

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Reader

This is chapter 3/6. This fic is already finished, I publish one chapter per day.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 3: THE WRONG PARTY

Geneva. An opulent private estate perched along the dark water, where a mafia gathering cloaked itself in the elegance of a charity fundraiser. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light over masked smiles. Jazz quartets played soft melodies no one was truly listening to. Beneath the laughter, there were knives.

For you, it was the last step in vanishing.

Berlin and Paris had been about the Cyberspine blueprints and to vanish from the eye of the CIA. Geneva was vanishing from eyes of earth and start a second life. The plan was to meet with a buyer or rather, the broker. A former intelligence spook turned underworld facilitator. You weren’t here to sell. You were here to trade information for access. New ID, clean records, an exit route scrubbed clean by someone with the power to make it stick.

Disappearing meant burning the last of the old world down. Geneva was where the match got lit.

“She’s here,” Luther confirmed through comms. “Briefcase changed hands twenty minutes ago. She’s still inside.”

Ethan was already moving. Through the crowd. Past the silent security with guns under their coats. He caught a glimpse of you slipping through a staff exit.

“I see her,” he said low. “Going after her.”

Ethan pushed through a service corridor, followed her up a narrow flight of stairs, then across a mezzanine level.

You were fast.

He lost you at the corner of a dark hallway, where a caterer’s cart suddenly tipped and blocked the path. When Ethan got around it.

Gone.

“Damn it. She’s gone.”

Benji’s voice came through. “Hold on, I think I’ve got her. South wing. Red curtain hallway. I’ve got her. I’ve got her.”

He turned the corner, heartbeat in his ears.

And there you were.

Alone. Back turned. Walking calmly, like none of this was even a problem.

Benji didn’t think. “Stop! I—uh—I’ve got you.”

You turned slowly. No gun drawn. Just that glare, ice-cold, weary, and beyond annoyed. The moment you saw him, Benji, of all people, you had the briefest, most inconvenient thought: Infuriatingly cute, with that panicked face and winded breath like he’d stumbled into the wrong movie.

Then it hit you like a slap: Enemy.

He was here to ruin everything, your last shot at disappearing for good, gone if he made a scene. And what, now you were soft about it?

You were mad at him. For being here. For looking at you like that.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered. “You again?”

You took a step toward him. Slow. Intimidating.

“You’ve been following me for weeks,” you said. “You chased me in Berlin. Paris. And now Geneva. This was a clean job. I didn’t even shoot anyone.”

Benji stammered. “Wait, so you were—what, negotiating?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I was selling girl scout cookies. What do you think?”

But before you could answer. A shot exploded from the hallway behind him.

Benji ducked instinctively.

Mafia guards. At least three. Suits, sunglasses indoors, automatic pistols.

“THERE SHE IS!”

They opened fire.

Benji flinched, off-balance, completely exposed.

You didn’t hesitate.

One clean motion, you let go of the briefcase, grabbed him by the jacket, yanked him around the corner, and slammed him against the wall, shielding him with your body just as another round hit the marble where he’d stood.

He gaped up at you.

“Get your idiot head down!” you snapped.

You pulled a grenade from your coat, rolled it down the hall.

BOOM—the hallway lit up and the briefcase with it.

You shoved him again. “If you die, I swear I’ll kill you myself.” Mad that you instinctively chose him over the briefcase. How could you do that! This was your chance for a new life, dammit!

Benji stammered. “Wha—wait—you saved me—”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hissed. “I just don’t need another body on my trail.”

You escaped by the side door.

By the time Benji got to his feet, coughing from the smoke, you were gone again.

“Benji?” Ethan’s voice crackled. “Did you see her?”

He looked down the empty corridor, stunned, bruised, heart racing.

“She saved me,” he whispered. “Again. And she’s… really mad this time.”

Benji stayed quiet for a beat longer, still staring into the smoke.

“…She’s terrifying,” he muttered. Then softer, barely audible, almost to himself “...but kind of amazing.”

Benji came back into the safehouse just past 3 a.m., the front door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality. His ribs ached from the last scuffle, he was definitely bruised, possibly cracked, and every muscle in his body screamed for rest.

He barely managed to kick off his shoes before collapsing onto the narrow bed, one arm flung over his eyes.

Sleep didn’t take long to catch him.

But rest? That was another story.

Because the dream wasn’t peaceful.

You.

And not the shooting-a-gun-at-him version.

The version with soft fingers tracing down his chest, lips way too close, voice in that low teasing whisper that always left him forgetting how to breathe.

Benji startled awake with a sharp inhale, bolt upright in the dark.

“Oh no.”

He rubbed his face with both hands, heart racing for all the wrong reasons. “Nope. Nope. She’s the enemy,” he muttered.

The words tasted like panic.

He looked around like someone might’ve heard him thinking something that compromising.

“She’s the enemy,” he repeated, firmer now, like saying it again would help.

Didn’t.

Because the scent from the dream still lingered in his brain, your perfume, the warmth of your skin, your laugh so close to his ear.

He fell back into the pillow with a groan. “I’m losing it. I’m actually losing it.”

And even then, eyes wide open, he couldn’t stop the image of you flashing behind his eyelids, dangerous, yes. But also magnetic. Infuriating. And stunning.

Enemy.

Maybe.

Hopefully not.

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader - Ennemy to Lover (Part 2/6)

Paring: Benji Dunn x Reader

This is chapter 2/6 chapters. This fanfic is already completed, I just upload one chapter per day, ehehe

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 2: PARIS ROOFTOPS

The team had traced your signal to Paris, a private showing in a tucked-away art gallery near Montmartre. The building was sleek and modern, all glass walls and sharp white angles, the kind of place where secrets dressed up as elegance.

For you, it was more than a hideout, it was the next step in disappearing.

The gallery served as a meeting point with an old arms contact turned fixer. He had what you needed: access to a backdoor encryption key tied to the CIA’s tracking grid. With it, you could finally vanish from their radar, no more pings, no more traces, no more ghosts in your shadow. No more cute guys chasing you.

And yet, in the quiet hours leading up to tonight, you’d found yourself distracted. Curious, even. About him.

The man from Berlin. The one who’d said hi instead of pulling a gun. You’d made a few discreet enquiries, hacked into a system or two. It wasn’t easy but you managed to put a name to that flustered face.

Benji Dunn.

It shouldn’t matter. He was CIA. A tech operative with no field experience, judging by the way he held himself. Harmless on paper, too harmless to have gotten that close to you. Still, something about him stuck.

You shook the thought off. Tonight was about the plan. Make the trade. Get the key. Erase yourself for good.

If it went smoothly, your next stop would be Geneva, where the future you didn’t dare imagine might finally begin.

From the surveillance van parked across the street, Benji watched you through a live camera feed patched in from one of the hacked gallery security cams.

“There she is,” he muttered, leaning closer to the screen. “That’s her.”

You stood near a sculpture installation, exchanging a few quiet words with a sharply dressed man. Your posture was relaxed, but your eyes constantly scanned the room, sharp, alert. Calculating.

Benji’s breath caught for just a second. Okay… seriously? Why does the world’s most dangerous fugitive have to be so, so.. stunning? His brain scrambled somewhere between admiration and mission protocol. Focus, Dunn.

Then, without ceremony, you took the case and walked out.

“She’s moving. She’s got something.”

“Visual confirmed,” Ethan said through the comms. “Luther, track her.”

Benji didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “What the hell is in that key?”

As you vanished from the camera’s view, he exhaled sharply, already moving to intercept.

Luther hacked traffic cams. “She’s heading north, fast. Rooftops."

The rooftops of Paris glistened under a light rain, turning every step into a gamble. The skyline blurred past as Ethan vaulted over a rooftop ledge.

Benji flanked from the opposite direction, breathing hard, eyes flicking between rooftops and the signal tracking your movement.

“There, northwest corner,” Luther said in his ear. “She’s on the move.”

Benji spotted you just as you sprinted across a skylight, a silhouette framed in fractured neon. You turned, mid-stride, and looked over your shoulder.

Not at Ethan.

At him.

Benji felt the moment freeze just a fraction of a second, your eyes catching his across the gap. No smile this time. Just sharp awareness.

Then you vanished over the edge.

Benji picked up speed, heart hammering. “I see her! I think I can—”

His foot hit a slick tile. His balance faltered. “WHOA—!”

The rooftop pitched sideways in his vision, and suddenly, he wasn’t falling.

A hand caught his wrist. Firm grip. Cold rain. A flash of your face above him.

You.

For the second time.

He stared, too stunned to say anything.

Your grip tightened, jaw tense as you leaned back slightly and stabilized him. Your eyes scanned his face, assessing.

"You okay?"

Benji opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

You paused just a beat longer. Then nodded once, decisive. “You’re okay,” you stated.

Before he could gather a single word, you let go and took off, vaulting over the adjacent roof like you’d never stopped.

Benji remained there, crouched on the ledge, blinking at the empty air you left behind.

His comm crackled.

“Benji?” Ethan’s voice. “What happened?”

He exhaled slowly. “She… she saved me.”

“You sure?” Luther asked.

“She didn’t hesitate. Could’ve let me fall. But she didn’t. She pulled me up like it was nothing.”

A pause.

Ethan: “She’s fast. Faster than me. That’s not normal.”

Luther: “Still think she’s dangerous, Benji?”

Benji stared across the rooftops, voice quieter now. “She’s supposed to be… but she just saved me.”

Then, almost to himself, “And she smells really good.”

“…What?”

“Nothing! Nothing. Focused. Super focused.”

Luther chimed in: “Starting to think we’re not the good guys in this story.”

At the safehouse in Paris, the room was dimly lit, screens flickering with maps and intercepted communications. Ethan, Benji, and Luther sat around the table, sifting through the fragmented intel.

“Something’s not right,” Ethan muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Why does she keep running, always just out of reach, but never strikes?”

Luther nodded thoughtfully. “The CIA files paint her as lethal. Cold. Remorseless. But she’s passed up at least a dozen clear opportunities to take us out.” Looking at Benji.

Benji caught avoiding Luther’s gaze and leaned closer to the monitor, eyes scanning the data. “Either she’s the world’s nicest assassin… or someone’s been feeding us a pack of lies.”

Luther’s fingers danced over the keyboard. “Most of the intel has been scrubbed or fabricated. The only thing I managed to get from the database is the weapons she stole, the Cyberspine, but I can’t get access to details.”

He paused, eyes narrowing at the screen. “There’s one lead. A codename—, ‘Project Helix’. But the files are heavily redacted.”

Ethan stood, rubbing his chin as he paced the room. “We know for certain she stole the Cyberspine. And looking by how desperate the CIA wants it back, it probably dangerous.”

Luther crossed his arms, eyes sharp. “But why? We have no idea what she plans to do with it.”

Benji swallowed, still unsettled. “Is she going to sell it? Use it herself? Or maybe destroy it?”

Ethan stopped and faced the others. “That’s what we need to find out. We capture her alive and get answers, no more guessing.”

Luther nodded. “Priority one: extract intel. Whatever she’s planning, we need to stop it.”

Benji added quietly, “And if she’s not the ruthless killer they described... maybe there’s more to this than just a simple theft.”

He didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

He tried, God, he tried, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. That glance across the server room. The sharpness of her movements paired with the softness of her hands when she held his. The ghost of her perfume, something warm and unexpected, lingered in his mind like static.

She hadn’t killed him. She could have. She didn’t even threaten him.

That should have been enough to shut it down, to keep things black-and-white. But it wasn’t.

Benji turned in bed again, groaning into his pillow. Enemy, he reminded himself. She’s still the enemy.

But some part of him, deep and stupid and stubborn, hoped she wasn’t.

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader - Enemy to Lover (Part 1/6)

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Reader

This is chapter 1/6 fanfic (everything is already written because I have exams in a week, and I'm procrastinating). However, I will upload only one chapter per day, ehehe

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 1: SHADOWS IN BERLIN

Ethan Hunt sat stiffly at the center of the briefing table. Benji Dunn and Luther Stickell flanked either side, the tension between them and the CIA rep so thick it could choke.

"This target is to be captured alive," the agent said, sliding the thin manila folder across the table. "She has stolen a highly sensitive asset. She is considered extremely dangerous. Location pings in Berlin, for now."

Ethan flipped open the folder. Sparse intel. No name. No clear photo. A single blurry image of you, mid-stride.

"What's the asset?" Luther asked.

"Classified. You're to retrieve it, and her."

Benji squinted. "What did she do, exactly?"

"She's considered extremely dangerous," the agent repeated with clipped precision.

Benji raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you mentioned that part. Like, how dangerous? John Wick dangerous or more like ‘don’t eat the wrong sandwich’ dangerous?”

Luther gave him a look. Ethan stayed silent, still scanning the folder.

The agent didn’t blink. “She’s killed before.”

Benji looked surprised, but not entirely convinced. “And yet you want us to bring her in alive?”

"Yes," the agent said flatly. "Just follow the mission."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed further.

The rep gave a stiff smile. "Just follow the mission."

---

The train slid into Berlin Hauptbahnhof just before dawn. Cold wind spilled across the platform as the doors hissed open. You stepped out without hesitation, no luggage, no pause, no second glance at the cameras above the ticket barriers.

New identity burned into your pocket. Data chip sewn into the lining of your sleeve. One chance.

You’d been out of the CIA for less than forty-eight hours. Not that they’d called it an “exit.” People like you didn’t resign. They vanished. Or were buried.

Berlin was the first step. The last known vault of hard-stored intel from the Helix Project. You needed the initial data set—schematics, weapon details, control bypass.

You ducked into an alley. Adjusted the weave of your scarf. Took a breath.

They would come soon. CIA. Or something worse.

You’d seen the file requests ping on the ghost server. Not even an hour after your extraction. Redacted names. One you recognized: Ethan Hunt.

Great. IMF. The CIA’s favorite wildcard cleanup crew.

You didn’t want to hurt them. But you wouldn't be captured either. Not again.

You kept moving. Always moving.

No mistakes.

No attachments.

No mercy.

Not until this thing was gone forever.

Berlin was only the beginning.

Rain misted down onto slick pavement outside an abandoned cybernetics lab tucked away in Berlin's industrial zone. Ethan, Benji, and Luther were in position.

Inside, you were hunting for an encrypted drive left behind by a contact. The place was collapsing from years of neglect, flickering lights exposing fractured tiles and broken labs.

"I’ve got visual," Ethan murmured into the comm.

From your perch near a shattered window, you spotted Ethan.

You cursed under your breath, bolted from the console and into the maze-like hallways. It didn't take long before you heard footsteps.

Ethan was fast.

But not fast enough.

You darted through a heavy security door, slamming it shut just as the sound of pursuit echoed behind you. The metallic clang reverberated through the dimly lit server room, casting long shadows across the rows of humming machines.

Benji Dunn was there.

He stood at a terminal, fingers mid-type, eyes widening as he looked up. His body froze—like a deer caught in headlights.

You had a gun in your hand. And every reason to use it.

The two of you stared at each other across the dark room, breath suspended in the charged stillness. A flickering overhead light passed across your face as your eyes locked.

Benji didn’t move. Couldn’t.

There was no fear in your stance—but there wasn’t comfort either. He didn’t know what to expect.

His breath hitched, chest rising as though bracing for a bullet.

“…Hi,” you said lightly.

Inside your mind, you paused. Why did I say hi? It was ridiculous. You barely knew him, and he was the enemy.

His mouth opened. Then closed.

She said hi.

Why did she say hi?

Is that normal? Do assassins say hi now? Was that sarcastic? Cute? No—dangerous. She's dangerous.

But her voice… it echoed in his head, light and smooth and unexpectedly warm. And those eyes—serious, focused—but there had been a flicker of something else.

Before he could blink, you were gone.

He stood frozen for a beat too long then snapped out of it, cursing under his breath as he bolted after you. He turned the corner just in time to see the tail end of your coat whip around another hallway.

Benji shook his head violently. Stop it. She had a gun pointed at you. A literal weapon. You're being stupid. Hormones are not bulletproof.

And yet, as he sprinted around another corner, a traitorous part of him kept repeating it:

She said hi.

He almost tripped. Who even says hi in the middle of a mission? That’s not protocol. That’s… flirting. Was that flirting? Oh god. Am I into that?

He definitely needed to recalibrate his instincts. Or at least stop thinking her smirk was kind of hot.

“Benji?” Ethan’s voice crackled through the comm, sharp with urgency. “What’s going on?”

Benji huffed, sprinting. “I—I think I’m chasing her? She said hi—and then she ran—and now I’m running!”

There was a pause.

“You think you’re chasing her?” Ethan replied.

Benji wheezed. “Well, she’s very fast and very armed, and I’m just trying to keep up without dying!”

Luther cut in dryly, "Be careful. She’s not a stray cat, Benji."

"I KNOW," Benji panted, turning a corner and catching only empty air.

As you escaped the facility, drive in hand. You found yourself still thinking. That guy’s… kinda cute. Who even is he? You briefly pictured your own breathless face saying hi, the silly flirtatious thought creeping in but you shook it off sharply. No. He’s the enemy.

[chu16a-blog]

Scotty X Reader – I can't be toyed with like that! Part II

Pairing: Montgomery Scott x Reader

Summary: ehehehe, here is part I (finished)

Warning: I don't own anything :)

I can't be toyed with like that! - Part 2

The next morning, Scotty was late.

Not by much, eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds, to be precise, but for someone who treated Engineering like sacred ground, it was practically mutiny.

You were already deep in diagnostics when he rushed in, hair slightly askew, uniform jacket crooked, eyes wide with the kind of haunted panic usually reserved for warp core failures.

“Sorry, sorry — time got away from me, I—” He stopped short when he saw you standing there, not with judgment but something warmer.

“Rough night?” you asked, holding out a mug.

Scotty blinked. His mouth opened, then closed again. Taking the mug. “Aye,” he finally said. “Didn’t sleep much.”

You tilted your head, eyes soft. “Second-guessing yourself already?”

Scotty gave a sheepish little smile. “Maybe just a wee bit.”

The last few days had been strange, even for Enterprise standards. The first rumor, that the two of you were dating had settled like stardust across the ship. People started smiling at you in the halls, conversations stopped when you passed, and Bones had already called you "Scotty's better half" once, with a wink.

But the new rumor, oh, that was nastier. Whispered in mess halls and corridors. That you weren’t actually together. That Scotty had lied. That maybe you were playing him, or worse, that he had made the whole thing up.

---

Your date spot was tucked into a quiet corner of the lounge, dim lights, just enough hum from the rest of the crew to feel private without being isolated. Scotty had beaten you there by two minutes and was already fussing with the coasters like they were engine relays.

You slid into the seat opposite him and smiled. “Nervous?”

“I’ve rebuilt engines under enemy fire with less stress.”

The conversation started off like a shuttle launch, a bit shaky, but full of earnest effort. Scotty, bless him, was trying so hard to play it cool, which made it all the more endearing.

He handed you a menu like it was a blueprint and cleared his throat three times before saying, “So, eh… I dinnae suppose ye like… beverages?”

You blinked. “Do I like… beverages?”

“Aye, well — drinks! Not—just—never mind,” he groaned, hiding his face behind the menu.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Yes, Scotty. I enjoy liquids.”

That earned a laugh from him, quiet and breathless, and from there, it got easier.

But eventually, something loosened. Maybe it was the second round of drinks. Maybe it was when you leaned in and teased, “So, how long have you been rehearsing this date in your head?”

He groaned, dropping his head to the table with a muffled, “Don’t make me answer that.”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you said, resting your chin in your palm.

Scotty peeked up, eyes half-lidded with defeat. “Ye’re tryin’ t’kill me, aren’t ye?”

“Just falling for you a bit, that’s all.”

He blinked, stunned silent.

And then, of course, that’s when trouble walked in.

The same crewman from the fight. The one who’d started all this.

He ambled up to your table with a drink in hand and a smirk too wide for his face.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Look at you two lovebirds.”

You tensed.

Scotty froze.

“Funny thing,” the man went on, voice slick, “heard a new rumor. Word is, our dear chief here made it all up. Bit desperate, isn’t it? Fabricating a girlfriend just to save face?”

Scotty stared into his glass, throat working. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

You, on the other hand, had had enough.

You turned toward Scotty, placed your drink down, and cupped his cheek gently, forcing him to look at you.

His eyes went wide.

Then, you kissed him.

Not a peck. Not a whisper of a kiss.

A real one.

You didn’t hesitate. You reached for him like it was the most natural thing in the world, because at that moment, it was.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently just behind his ear, and you kissed him like you meant it. Because you did. Not for show. Not to win. But because you were tired of other people writing your story, and he was the only one who made it feel real.

Scotty froze, just for a second, then he melted.

You felt the shift in his body, the slow surrender as tension drained from his shoulders. His hand found your waist, unsure at first, then firmer, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t hold you properly.

He kissed you back with this cautious, reverent kind of awe, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he’d been waiting his whole damn life and didn’t want to rush a second of it. His other hand hovered near your cheek, then settled at your jaw, thumb brushing softly over your skin like a question he was finally brave enough to ask.

And your answer was all in the way your lips moved against his, warm, steady, and just a little bit breathless.

When you finally pulled away, just enough to see him, he was blinking like you’d knocked the air out of his lungs and replaced it with starlight.

“Still rebooting?” you asked, breathless but grinning.

He nodded once. Then again. “Aye. System’s… temporarily offline.”

You didn’t even look at the crewman. “Still think it’s a lie?” you asked coolly, without turning around.

The guy made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a muttered curse, and left.

Good.

You turned back to Scotty, who was staring at you like he’d just remembered how to breathe.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Aye” His voice cracked.

You laughed softly.

He smiled crooked, dazed, blissful. “Ye kissed me.”

“I did.”

“In public.”

“Mhm.”

“In front o’ witnesses.”

“Definitely.”

He let out a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling as he looked up at you, completely undone.

“Yer dangerous,” he mumbled. “Utterly lethal.”

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

“Lethal, huh? Guess I better stick around to keep your heart racing, and maybe steal a few kisses while I’m at it.”

“And I think I’ve been waitin’ my whole life for a moment like this.”

Scotty never come late to a shift again but he did start walking around with the goofiest, proudest smile anyone had ever seen.

[chu16a-blog]

Scotty X Reader – I can't be toyed with like that!

Pairing: Montgomery Scott x Reader

Summary: Scotty loved you since you stepped on the Enterprise. While arguing with a crewmate, he lies. He tells him that you are his girlfriend. What if you play this little game?

Warning: I don't own Star Trek and this picture.

I can't be toyed with like that!

You hadn’t been on the Enterprise for more than a few hours when you noticed the looks.

Whispers trailed you like shadows down the corridors, and your comm pinged more times in a day than it ever had during your academy years. The “new hot girl” on the flagship of the Federation. Classic. Expected. Boring.

You weren’t here to be eye candy for hormone-driven ensigns. You were here to work. You were an engineer. You belonged in the engine room, with your hands covered in grease.

You didn’t notice the way some officers stared. Or how you casually ruined a dozen crushes by simply existing in a boiler suit with grease on your cheek.

Montgomery Scott noticed. Of course he noticed.

You were his new technician. His direct report. His biggest threat to professionalism since someone suggested putting cup holders in the control deck.

The moment you stepped into Engineering, wrench in hand and sleeves rolled up, he was gone.

“Chief,” you said with a small smile, “reporting for duty.”

Scotty blinked.

Then blinked again.

"Aye, um… welcome aboard," he stammered, nearly walking into a coolant pipe. “Ye, uh, comfortable wi’ power converters? Course ye are. Why am I askin’?”

From that moment on, Scotty was in a constant state of quiet panic. Because not only were you brilliant, you were kind. Funny. Always laughing with the crew. Never flirting. Never trying. Just… being.

And he was doomed.

The truth was, Scotty had never believed in love at first sight until you walked into his engine room and introduced yourself like you hadn’t just upended his entire life in five seconds flat.

From then on, he was doomed.

He tried to be professional, tried to play it cool. He really did.

But every time you brushed past him in the narrow corridors of engineering, or bent over a console in that way that made his brain short-circuit, he’d be left staring into space like a broken replicator. And when you laughed? God help him. He’d nearly drop a warp core on his foot once.

Kirk noticed. Bones noticed. Hell, even Spock raised an eyebrow once when Scotty shorted out a panel because you had simply smiled at him.

“You’re pathetic,” Bones said one day in the mess. “Just ask her out. You’re the boss. Power move.”

“I can’t! That’s wildly inappropriate!” Scotty hissed, clutching his tray like it was a shield. “Besides, she deserves someone who doesn't talk to warp cores like they're people.”

Over the next few weeks, you grew closer, not like real friends, but more like colleagues with benefits. You even patched up a plasma conduit together once, shoulder to shoulder, and he thought he might die happy.

But you were... untouchable. Smart. Funny. Gorgeous. Way too good for him.

So he buried his feelings under friendship and caffeine and starship maintenance.

Then came the shore leave

Two weeks of rest in a glittering port city. Sunlight, drinks, music, and the first time the whole crew could cut loose.

You danced. Of course you danced. Barefoot in the sand with a glowing cocktail in hand, hair down and laughter in your throat.

Scotty had never wanted to be someone’s anything so badly in his life.

But he stayed back, beer in hand, watching from the edge. That is, until he overheard it.

Some drunken crewman, leaning at the bar, talking to his friend. “She’s hot, sure. But she’s all looks. Bet she’s cosying up to Scotty just to get a promotion. Or maybe she just likes leading him on.”

Scotty’s vision went red.

“Oi!” he snapped, storming up to them. “Ye better shut that gob o’ yers. Ye dinnae know a single thing about her!”

“Oh? You her boyfriend now or something?” the guy slurred.

Scotty opened his mouth and said the dumbest thing in his life.

“Aye. I am, actually.”

The words were out before his brain could catch up.

“In fact, we’ve been together for months. So why don’t you take your misogynistic nonsense and shove it, eh?”

The words echoed. People heard. People definitely heard.

When you heard the news the next morning, your brows rose.

“Scotty said what?”

Uhura smirked. “That you’re dating. Told the guy off. Real dramatic.”

You blinked.

And then, slowly, you smiled.

From then on, you leaned into the lie.

Hard.

You didn’t say anything.

That was the first sign something was off.

After the bar, after the rumor spread through the Enterprise faster than a warp jump, Scotty expected you to burst into engineering guns blazing. Maybe punch him in the face. Maybe report him. Maybe just look at him with disgust.

But you didn’t confront Scotty. Didn’t even mention it. Instead, you walked into Engineering like nothing was different… except:

“Morning, sweetheart,” you said breezily, dropping a coffee by his workstation.

He looked at it like it might explode.

“Th-thanks?”

You winked.

Then it got worse.

You called him “sweetheart” and “handsome” in front of everyone. Fixed his collar before meetings. Rested your hand on his shoulder when other officers passed.

You even added, one day, after teasing him relentlessly during diagnostics:

“I really do love a man in uniform. Lucky I’ve got one.”

Scotty was dying.

He knew it wasn’t real. He knew you were just messing with him. But every smile, every whisper, every feigned caress lit his hope on fire. And that hope was killing him.

When people saw you together, you didn’t correct them.

Worse, he didn’t either.

Once, you were walking down the corridor with him after a long shift. Nothing unusual. Until you saw two crewmen watching you. Without skipping a beat, you slipped your hand into his.

His heart damn near exploded.

The other day, you, Scotty, and Sulu stood in the turbolift together, just the three of you. The silence was polite, the hum of the ship low and steady.

Sulu glanced at the deck readout.

Scotty stared straight ahead like his life depended on it.

You, meanwhile, slid your hand to the edge of his belt, not grabbing, just... resting. Fingers feather-light. Innocent, if anyone asked. Completely devastating, if you were Scotty.

He stiffened.

Literally.

You tilted your head, all casual innocence, and said with a whisper-light voice, just loud enough for Sulu to hear:

“He’s got the most talented hands, you know.”

Sulu looked up. “Uh…”

Scotty made a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a malfunctioning conduit.

By the end of the week, Scotty was a wreck.

You were playing some kind of game. He just didn’t know the rules.

He couldn’t keep up. Then came the breaking point.

You’d just sauntered into the mess hall, walked right up to him, and casually swiped a bite of his dessert with his spoon.

“Can’t resist chocolate,” you said, lips curling. “Lucky you’re mine, huh?”

Half the room froze.

So did he.

You turned and left with a hum.

He sat there, spoon still in hand, staring after you like you’d just shoved him into warp speed without warning.

“Tell her, or I will,” Bones said from across the table.

“I’m dyin’ ” Scotty muttered. “This is actual death.”

That night, he showed up at your quarters, looking like he'd been hit by a transporter beam going sideways.

You opened the door in a tank top and loose pants, hair tied up, face fresh from the shower. His brain briefly stopped functioning.

“Scotty?” you asked, blinking. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer. He walked right in, pacing.

You shut the door. “...Do you want some tea or something?”

“Lass,” he said suddenly, voice cracking. “What... what are we doin’, eh?”

You blinked. “What?”

“This. This! Ye’re actin’ like we’re together, and everyone else thinks we are, and I—I dinnae know what the bloody hell’s goin’ on!”

You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done.

“I lied. I know that. And it was stupid. I was drunk, and that idiot was talkin’ rubbish about ye, and I just... I wanted him t’stop. I wanted him t’think ye were mine. Because if I can’t have ye, then at least he couldna speak of ye like that.”

You swallowed, eyes wide.

“I like ye, alright? I’ve liked ye since the first day ye stepped into engineering. And I’ve tried—tried—t’be professional. I’m yer boss. I shouldna feel this way. But I do. And this—” he gestured around wildly, “—this game yer playin’? Pretendin’ like we’re together? It’s killin’ me. Because I know it’s no’ real, and I’m tired of pretendin’. I can’t be toyed wi’, lass. I can’t.”

Silence.

His breathing was ragged. His accent thickened to the point of almost being incomprehensible.

You walked toward him. Slowly. Close enough that he stepped back.

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?” you asked.

“Because ye deserve better than a nervous wreck who can’t say two words without combustin’!”

You were smiling again. But it was different now. Warm. Real.

“Monty,” you said gently, using the nickname because it made his ears go red. “You can’t tell people we’re dating unless you mean it. Unless you ask me properly.”

He blinked. “Ye—you’d actually—?”

“Ask me,” you repeated. “Like a gentleman.”

He cleared his throat, eyes wide, hair a mess, hands fidgeting.

“Would ye maybe—go on a real date wi’ me, lass? Dinner. Conversation. Handholdin’. The works.”

You stepped even closer and kissed his cheek, whispering into his ear:

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

Part II here :)

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader – That settles it

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Reader

Summary: During a high-stakes mission, rising tension between you and Benji pushes things past the breaking point. What starts as a fight ends in something neither of you expected and neither of you can ignore.

Warnings: I don't own anything

That settles it:

“You’re not thinking straight,” Benji snapped, stepping in front of the screen where you were pulling up the blueprints.

“No, you’re not thinking straight,” you fired back, jabbing a finger toward the intel spread out on the table. “The only shot we have is going through the underground utility tunnels. If we wait for extraction points or try to reroute—”

“It’s suicide!” he cut in, voice rising. “You want to sneak through a tunnel crawling with heat sensors and pressure plates just because you think it’s faster?”

“I know it’s faster. And if you’d stop trying to control everything, you’d see that too!”

Benji stared at you, jaw tight. “This isn’t about control. It’s about not watching you get blown to pieces just because you don’t want to admit I might be right!”

You stepped closer. “You aren’t right. You’re scared. And instead of trusting me, you’re trying to wrap the whole op around your paranoia!”

That struck a nerve.

Benji’s expression darkened, a flush creeping up his neck. “Don’t you dare turn this into something personal.”

“Oh, it’s always personal with you. You pretend you’re just ‘the tech guy,’ but you want to call every shot when things get messy!”

“Because I care if you come back!” he shouted.

Without another word, you surged forward and grabbed him by the collar, slamming your mouth against his.

It was harsh, angry, messy. His hands flew up in shock, then grabbed your waist and yanked you closer as he kissed back just as hard. The argument didn’t end; it just changed form. His lips moved with the same frustration that had fueled his shouting. You barely registered your back hitting the wall before his hands pinned you there, his mouth devouring yours like he needed to prove something.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, biting his lip slightly, and he growled into the kiss. Heat pooled between you. Clothes creaked under gripping hands. The tension had broken like a dam, passion crashing over both of you in waves.

There was no thought, just heat, anger, and whatever this thing between you was, finally combusting.

“Ahem. Uhm… uhm?”

You both stilled, lips still barely touching. Breathing heavily.

Luther stood in the doorway, holding a mug and a raised brow like he’d been there for way too long.

No one moved.

Eventually, Benji stepped back slowly, breath shaky, glancing down at you, his eyes wide but not regretful. He looked away, ran a hand through his hair, trying to collect himself.

“Right,” he muttered, voice hoarse. He paused, exhaled, then looked back at you with something softer beneath the tension.

“…That settles it. We’re going through the tunnels.”

You nodded once, your pulse still pounding, heart echoing in your ears.

Luther turned away muttering, “Finally,” as he walked off, shaking his head.

You and Benji didn’t say anything else. But something had changed. You both felt it. The mission wasn’t the only thing that had just crossed a point of no return.

---

You didn’t speak on the way to the site.

Benji sat beside you in the back of the surveillance van, fingers flying across the keyboard as he hacked into the security feeds. You checked your gear without a word, your eyes never straying from the mission file open in front of you.

But the air between you was radioactive.

Not just tension. Not just the kiss. But the fact that nothing had been said about it since.

The comms crackled. Luther’s voice came through: “Entry point’s clear. You’re up.”

You slid your earpiece in and stood. Benji’s hand brushed your arm as he handed you the RFID scrambler just a second too long, just a second too late. Your fingers touched. You didn’t look at him.

You dropped into the tunnel without hesitation.

The tunnels were narrow and damp, every footstep echoing in silence. You moved like a shadow, comms open.

“Two guards posted near the vault access door,” Benji’s voice came through, steady, professional. “Infrared beams cycling every 3.4 seconds. You’ll want to cross on the second pulse.”

You crouched in the dark, pressed against cold concrete, heart still hammering—but not from nerves.

“Copy,” you whispered. “Anything else I should know?”

There was a pause. Just a beat too long.

Then: “Yeah. Don’t die in there.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

The vault room was high security, motion-trapped, no alarms but instant lockout if you triggered it. You followed Benji’s voice through every step left turn, step, wait, now.

It was like music, the way the two of you worked. No second guesses. No hesitation. You trusted him. He trusted you, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

You got the package, slid it into your vest, and exfiltrated through the same tunnels.

“Extraction team is two blocks out,” Luther said in your ear. “Meet point Bravo in five.”

Benji opened the back of the van just as you reached the alley. His eyes scanned you quickly for injuries, face unreadable.

You handed him the case.

He took it, nodded, then said nothing.

You moved past him. Sat down. Pulled off your gloves, heart still punching against your ribs.

The van ride back to the safehouse was quiet, but not like before.

There was still a weight in the air but not sharp. Not angry. Just… heavy. Full.

Benji hadn’t looked at you much since the kiss. But he hadn’t looked away either.

Now, alone in the safehouse’s tiny kitchen, you stood with your hands wrapped around a mug of something too bitter to be comforting. Still wearing your tac gear. Still too wired to sleep.

Benji stepped in, quiet.

He stopped just a few feet from you, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

You turned fully toward him. “You gonna pretend that didn’t happen?”

His eyes dropped for a second, then rose again, steady. “No.”

Another pause.

“I was angry,” you said.

“I was worse.”

You looked at each other. No heat now. No sparks or shouting. Just two people standing in the slow quiet after the storm.

“I don’t regret it,” you said, simple. Clear.

Benji stepped closer. “Me neither.”

He reached for your hand, tentative. You let him take it.

No rush. No more fighting.

Just his fingers lacing with yours, the space between you finally still.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, voice low. “You and me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him, really looked at him.

The lines of tension still hadn’t fully left his face, like he wasn’t sure if this was still a fight or if it had shifted into something else entirely.

So you answered him without words.

You stepped in. Just one step. Close enough to close the gap, close enough that he’d have to say something if he didn’t want this.

He didn’t say a thing.

You leaned in and kissed him again. This time slow, steady, no adrenaline behind it. Just everything else you hadn’t said.

Benji let out the faintest breath against your lips before kissing you back, hands coming to your waist like it was instinct. Like he’d been holding that in longer than either of you wanted to admit.

It was warm. Real. Nothing like before, but somehow more.

When you finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. Just rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing slow now.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice barely there. “Now I believe you.”

You huffed a soft laugh, eyes still closed. “About the tunnels?”

He smiled against your skin.

“About everything.”

[chu16a-blog]

Drabble - You licked what? Part II

Pairing: Benji Dunn x reader

Summary: What about this accidental kiss?

Warning: I don't own Mission Impossible, Benji Dunn, or this picture, as you all know..

Part I is here :)

@ahsfan23 @life-hater39

You licked what? - Part II

The pub had thinned out, music quieter now as the crowd died down. The team lingered, drinks nursing themselves empty, and your laughter with Benji had softened into that hazy, late-night kind of warmth. His shoulder brushed yours more often now, and neither of you was really pretending it was accidental.

Benji was mid-story, something about mistaking a decoy laptop for the real intel and setting off five silent alarms in the process, when he leaned too far and nearly knocked over what remained of your drink.

"Oops—sorry! Spatial awareness is not my strong suit right now," he said, hand steadying the glass before it fell.

You laughed, grabbing it at the same time as he did. Your fingers brushed. You didn’t move.

Benji’s voice dropped into a nervous whisper. “You know, I’ve survived gun shots, car chases—and this is what might actually kill me.”

You tilted your head. “What, sitting next to me?”

He swallowed. “Yes. I mean no. I mean—maybe.”

From across the table, Ethan and Luther had gone deadly silent, the kind of still that meant they were absolutely watching and refusing to intervene.

You shifted slightly closer, cheeks flushed, but maybe that was the warmth from the pub. Or the alcohol. Or the way Benji was looking at your mouth like he was calculating wind velocity.

“Benji,” you said softly, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said too fast. “Totally fine. Normal. Chill. Like arctic levels of chill. Polar bear chill.”

You smiled, leaning in a little more. “You don’t look chill.”

He blinked. “Do I look kissable? I mean panicked! Panicked is what I meant.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “You definitely don’t look panicked.”

And then, as you both went to speak again, heads too close, laughter still caught in your throats, you moved at the same time.

And kissed.

Right on the mouth.

It was clumsy, unbalanced, and lasted all of 0.8 seconds.

Then you both jerked back like you’d touched a live wire.

Benji’s words tumbled out, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait, did we just… kiss? Like, for real?”

You were frozen for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Well… that’s one way to skip the slow burn.”

Benji looked completely scandalized. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! That was, cheek proximity math failure!”

Ethan choked on air. “Cheek proximity math?”

Luther calmly set his drink down. “Pay up. That was a kiss.”

“I didn’t say it counted if they collided like confused pigeons!” Ethan argued.

Benji met your gaze, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find the right words, and maybe a little courage too. “So… is there like a ‘how to not mess this up’ manual? Because I definitely need one right now.”

You were still laughing, trying to breathe. “Benji calm down.”

Benji’s cheeks flushed deep pink, and he avoided your eyes for a moment before quickly stealing a glance back at you. “I can’t calm down! I think I tasted your lip balm!”

Ethan raised a brow. “And?”

“… it was nice,” Benji said quietly, then slapped his hand over his own mouth like the words had escaped on their own. His face lit up with alarm, and he mumbled behind his fingers, “Oh no, why did I say that out loud?”

You nudged him gently. “Hey. For the record?” You smiled. “I liked it.”

He blinked. “Wait, really?”

You nodded, leaning in again, but slower this time. “And this time… maybe let’s aim on purpose?”

Benji looked stunned, like his brain had momentarily stepped out for air. “I—I can do that. Definitely. Totally cool. Chill.”

You kissed him again, properly this time, warm, soft, and just a little lingering, like the pause at the end of a favorite song. This time, when you pulled back, his eyes were still closed for a moment too long.

"Hey," you said softly, brushing your fingers over his cheek, "you okay?"

His eyes fluttered open. “Yeah. Yeah, that was… kind of perfect, actually.”

Behind you, Luther let out a quiet, victorious hum. “Well. That settles it.”

Ethan sighed, handing over a crumpled bill. “Fine. You win. Accidental kiss it is.”

Benji pulled away just enough to look at them. “Wait, were you betting on us?!”

Luther shrugged. “You're a very obvious man, Dunn.”

Benji opened his mouth to protest, and promptly knocked over the empty drink he'd saved earlier.

You both stared at the spilled glass, then burst out laughing.

"Still think you're calm under pressure?" you teased.

Benji let out a dazed laugh. "Only with bombs. Not… lips."

You grinned and looped your arm through his. “That’s okay. I happen to like kissably panicked Benji.”

He blinked again, clearly buffering. “…Wait. So. You do think I’m kissable?”

You leaned in, pressing your lips just under his jaw. “Unreasonably.”

He made a small, incoherent noise that might have been his soul leaving his body.

“Okay,” he whispered, grinning now. “I can work with that.”

You settled against him as the pub lights dimmed further, conversation fading into a low, comfortable hum.

And this time, when his fingers found yours, neither of you let go.

[chu16a-blog]

Drabble – You licked what?

Pairing: Benji Dunn x reader

Summary: You and the team are out for a drinks after a mission. YOu end up with some sauce next to your lips. Benji is going to help you with it.

Warning: Still don't own mission impossible, benji dunn and this picture.

Part II

You licked what?

The mission had been a success, and not the usual barely made it out alive, let's not talk about it until the trauma sets in kind of success. This one had been clean. Sharp. No civilian casualties, no fires (unless you counted the one small explosion, which Benji insisted was "controlled"), and the data was secured. For once, there were no immediate follow-up operations, no dead drops or double-crosses.

So, when Ethan suggested grabbing drinks to celebrate, a rare luxury in their line of work , everyone said yes.

You all found yourselves tucked into a corner booth of a dimly lit, slightly too loud pub, half-eating, half-drinking, and all in varying stages of exhaustion.

Benji sat beside you, already two drinks past his usual limit, his cheeks pink and eyes wide in that innocent, slightly unhinged way he always looked when he'd had a bit too much. Across from you, Luther and Ethan sipped their beers like war-hardened veterans. Which, to be fair, they were.

Benji slammed his hand lightly on the table, startling a nearby basket of fries. "I do stay calm under pressure!"

You tried not to laugh. You really did. But it came out anyway, a snort hidden behind your drink.

“Sure, sure. Like that time in Vienna when you were so stressed you walked straight into a glass door.” You said.

Benji’s eyes went wide. “That door was invisible!”

Luther snorted. “It’s called a clean window, Benji.”

Ethan grinned. “Alright, alright. But at least you didn’t break your nose like last time you tried to do a fancy roll.”

Benji’s face went beet red. “That was one time!”

Benji crossed his arms, clearly offended. “Look, I can disarm a triple-encrypted, fingerprint-synced thermobaric device with ten seconds left on the clock. That’s calm. That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” you said, biting back a grin, “but only if there’s no sneaky glass doors or rogue floors around.”

Benji crossed his arms, clearly offended. “Look, I can disarm a triple-encrypted, fingerprint-synced thermobaric device with ten seconds left on the clock. That’s calm. That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” you said, biting back a grin, “but only if there’s no sneaky glass doors or rogue floors around.”

Benji opened his mouth, ready to defend his entire legacy, but you shoved a fry into your mouth before he could say anything. A drop of sauce, something spicy and red, landed right near the corner of your mouth, just shy of your lip.

Benji, mid-rant, blinked. “Uh—hey. You’ve got—something. Right there.” He gestured vaguely toward your face.

You blinked back at him. “What?”

“There’s, like… sauce.”

You wiped your cheek. “Here?”

“No, no the other side. A bit lower.”

You tried again, even more off-target.

Benji groaned, leaning forward with a drunken giggle. “Okay, you’re hopeless. I’ll just—let me…”

And before anyone could process the movement, he reached out and gently dabbed at the corner of your mouth with two fingers.

Unfortunately for him, you misread his intention entirely. You grinned and without thinking, or maybe fueled by your own level of inebriation, you wrapped your lips around his finger and sucked the sauce off.

Benji Dunn.exe has stopped responding.

Across the booth, Ethan nearly choked on his beer.

Luther muttered, “He’s gone.”

Benji yanked his hand back like you’d electrocuted him. “You—Why would you do that?!”

You laughed so hard you nearly fell into him. “You said I had sauce!”

“I didn’t think you’d—mouth engage! What was that?!”

You leaned into his side, still giggling. “I dunno. Thought you could handle it. You’re calm under pressure, right?”

Benji opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned bright red.

“You can’t just do that!” He muttered, flustered and completely unable to meet your eyes.

Ethan, still wheezing, raised his glass. “To Benji. Calm, cool, and completely defeated by one seductive fry.”

“It was unexpected!” Benji yelped, throwing his hands up. “There’s no training manual for that!”

Luther added, “Next time, maybe bring some gloves.”

“Admit it,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his. “You liked it.”

As the laughter died down and the night wore on, Benji slowly lifted his head again, eyes meeting yours with a shy, crooked smile.

“Okay, fine. I might like have like it a little.”

You leaned in close, almost nose to nose. “I know.”

He blinked. “How?”

You winked. “Because you didn’t pull your finger away immediately.”

Ethan clinked his glass against Luther’s. “Place your bets. Two more missions before one of them figures it out?”

Luther nodded. “They’ll probably kiss by accident before they realize.”

“Wait, what?” Benji squeaked.

You just laughed harder.

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x reader - (Im)possible to focus

Paring: Benji Dunn X reader

Summary: You are a drunk, flirty, and teasing mess. Benji can't concentrate when you are like this.

Warning: I wish one day, I could take such a nice picture.. Alas, I will have to content myself with a Pinterest pic. Mention of Tequilla, for all of you, who can taste the hangovers caused by it.

(Im)possible to focus:

Benji Dunn had been in love with you for what felt like forever.

Not the dramatic, heart-in-flames kind of love. No, it was quieter than that. Softer. The kind that built itself up over late-night mission planning and cramped van stakeouts, over the way you laughed at your own bad jokes, or always remembered to grab his favorite energy drink before a mission. It crept up on him, slow and stubborn—until one day he realized there was no part of his life you hadn’t slipped into.

Luther knew, of course. So did Ethan. They’d tease him about it in passing nudges, smirks, a not-so-subtle “maybe you should just tell her.” but Benji always brushed it off with a nervous laugh or a change of subject. Because how does he tell someone like you, someone brilliant and brave and out of his league in a dozen different ways, that he's quietly been building a future around the sound of your voice?

He doesn’t.

He just kept showing up, doing his job, pretending the look in his eyes doesn’t unravel him every time he gets too close.

Until one night, you stumble off a mission slightly drunk, still beautiful, and smiling like trouble, and suddenly Benji has a much bigger problem on his hands than he’s ever trained for.

---

The tequila hit you faster than expected, warm and reckless, loosening the tight coil of nerves you usually kept locked away. You hated it, the way your heart skipped every time Benji was near, the butterflies that wouldn’t quit, no matter how many missions you pulled together. It annoyed you, really. How was it possible to be so distracted by just one guy? Especially Benji, always the brainy, nervous tech guy. But no. He had your tongue tied and your thoughts scrambled.

Tonight, the weight of pretending was too much. Pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, or how your chest tightened when he laughed. Hiding your feelings had become exhausting. And honestly? It was kind of ridiculous.

Your boots clicked against the floor as she stumbled back into the safehouse, the remnants of the mission and a few too many drinks trailing behind you. Then, just like that, you locked eyes with Benji across the room.

The butterflies in your stomach flipped again. Your grin grew mischievous. Maybe it was the tequila talking, or maybe it was time.

Time to stop hiding.

Time to test the waters.

“Heyyyyy,” you drawled, walking into the operations room like a cowboy after a long ride, if the cowboy had glitter on their cheek and smelled faintly of lime.

Benji looked up from his monitor and froze. Luther turned slowly in his chair. Ethan, ever the professional, sighed like a man who’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes.

“You’re back,” Luther said.

“I am,” you announced proudly. “In one piece. Which is more than I can say for the guy who challenged me to a mezcal chugging contest.”

Benji opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Are you… okay?”

“I’m thriving,” you beamed, arms stretched out like you were ready to be crucified by a hangover. “Ten out of ten. No notes.”

“You smell like a bar floor,” Luther muttered.

“That bar floor won us the microdrive with the nuclear launch codes on it,” you pointed out, flopping into a chair with absolutely no coordination. “You’re welcome.”

Ethan stepped in, arms crossed. “Great. You can sleep it off on the plane. We’re wheels up in twenty. Benji will brief you.”

You blinked at him. “Huh?”

“We got a new mission,” Benji explained gently. “While you were, um… blending in.”

----

You looked at him. Like, really looked at him.

And there it was again, that adorable little furrow in his brow, the nervous energy practically crackling off him. You barely heard his words, but man, his mouth moved so nicely when he talked. His lips were doing a whole performance. You were captivated. There could have been subtitles and a background score, and you still would’ve stared.

Benji paused mid-sentence. “You’re not listening, are you?”

“Nope,” you said cheerfully.

The tablet in Benji’s hands was clearly trying its best. He had diagrams, thermal scans, a bullet-pointed infiltration sequence, all very smart, very Benji. But you were leaning against the wall beside him, legs stretched out lazily, cheek resting on your hand as you stared up at him like he was an alien species made entirely out of sunshine and soft sweaters.

He was focused, reading from the tablet. “…once we get into the gala, the target’s expected to meet with a buyer, codenamed—”

You blinked slowly.

Nice eyes.

“…you’ll be in position by the east wing. Disguises are prepped. I uploaded blueprints to your—”

Cute nose. The way it crinkled a little when he got technical.

“…backup’s arriving in a separate convoy—are you even hearing this? You’re staring.”

“I am.” You didn’t even pretend to hide it.

You rested your chin in your hand, turned your head toward him with a blissful, dopey smile, and booped his nose. “I like the way you talk.”

Benji’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…what?”

“You’re just so…” You waved your fingers vaguely, as if that explained it. “Benji.”

Benji shifted in his seat, gripping the tablet a little too tightly.

“Okay,” he told himself. “Focus. You’re a professional. You’ve trained for this. You’ve hacked nuclear facilities in Belarus. You do not get rattled by—”

His eyes flicked to you.

“—by smiles. Or knees touching yours. Or that lip thing she’s doing.”

He sat back like the seat might offer protection. It did not.

You, on the other hand, were basking in the effect you had on him. It was rare to see Benji flustered to the point of collapse. His cheeks were practically glowing, and his knee had started bouncing like it was trying to send Morse code for "HELP ME."

“You always wear glasses when you brief?” you asked, ignoring him entirely. “Or is that just for me?”

He cleared his throat. “I need them to read.”

“Hm,” you said, eyes twinkling. “They make you look very… smart. Like a genius who might accidentally defuse the wrong bomb but still look good doing it.”

His lips parted, but no sound came out. His thumb accidentally flicked the tablet screen too fast, skipping four slides ahead.

“You cannot be undone by one smile and a half-drunken compliment,” he muttered under his breath, staring blankly at the tablet for the fifth time.

But you looked at him again, really looked at him.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted silently, “maybe I do like her. A little. A lot. A catastrophic amount.”

He closed his eyes for a second, just to regroup.

“She’s literally drunk on cartel tequila and flirting like she’s in the spy rom-com version. Get a grip, man.”

You giggled. “What’s your type, Benji?”

“My type?”

“Yeah,” you said casually, resting your chin on your hand. “Like. Do you go for the cool, serious types? Mysterious femme fatale? Hacker girls? Tequila-scented messes with messy hair and bad timing?”

Benji’s mouth opened. Then closed. “I, uh—don’t really—”

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes dancing. “You’ve never been flirted with on a plane by a semi-drunk teammate mid-mission briefing before.”

He gave a helpless laugh. “Not exactly a common occurrence, no.”

You leaned just a little closer, your voice dropping a note. “Well. First time for everything.”

Benji’s entire face went red. His brain short-circuited.

Words failed. Logic failed. The tablet in his hand might as well have been a toaster.

“She’s not even trying to be subtle,” he thought, eyes wide. “Is she joking? Please tell me she’s joking. Oh god, what if she’s not joking?”

He coughed, very professionally. “I should, uh, get back to .. slides.”

“I’m listening,” you said, clearly not listening at all. “I just like when you talk. You have a soothing voice.”

Benji shifted in his seat, looking like he was seriously considering jumping out of the emergency exit.

“Do you always get this shy?” you asked softly.

His response was a squeak.

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh and finally leaned back in your seat, giving him a little break. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. For now.”

He peeked at you from the corner of his eye, cautiously hopeful. “You will?”

You grinned. “No.”

Benji stared at the same mission slide for what felt like hours. Nothing was registering. He could hear his own pulse over the soft hum of the jet engines.

You shifted just a little closer, letting your hand rest on his knee.

His soul briefly left his body.

“I’ve lost all grip on reality,” he thought. “I don’t even know what I’m briefing anymore. This could be a grocery list. I’d believe it.”

He inhaled, clinging to what was left of his dignity.

“If she leans any closer,” Benji thought with wild-eyed panic, “I’m going to throw this tablet out the emergency exit, fake a nosebleed, and lock myself in the lavatory until we land.”

And honestly? It was starting to sound like a solid plan.

---

The mission was done.

No gunfire. No alarms. No sprinting through underground corridors with Benji cursing at firewalls.

Just the quiet hum of nighttime Madrid pressing in around the safehouse, and the distant flicker of neon signs across the rooftops.

Benji stood beside you, arms crossed, tablet finally powered off and stashed away. His brain should’ve been enjoying the peace, finally, a moment without explosions or last-minute improvisation. But instead, it was loud. Chaotic. Mostly because of you.

You were perched on the ledge of the rooftop, legs swinging over the edge like this was all just a casual afterparty. You hadn’t said much since the debrief. You just… smiled. Like you were still holding onto something.

Benji shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, replaying the memory of earlier. The plane ride. The briefing. The ridiculous way you leaned in way too close, asked if he always looked that “mischievously intelligent,” and ran your fingers along his arm like you were checking for static.

No more teasing, he told himself. No more flirting. Finally, some peace.

But then the question settled, sharp and heavy in his chest:

Did she really mean it?

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You were looking up at the stars now, lips parted in thought, that quiet little smile still ghosting on your face.

The way you looked at him back on the plane, like he was the only person in the room. The compliments, the soft touches. Were they just drunk-tired nonsense? Or something more?

You caught him staring.

“Benji,” you said softly, “you’re doing the overthinking face.”

He blinked. “I have a face for that?”

You nodded with mock solemnity. “It’s very... furrowed. Looks like you’re trying to defuse a bomb and do taxes at the same time.”

Benji gave a dry chuckle and looked down at his shoes. “That’s… surprisingly accurate.”

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, your voice quieter now. “Listen, about earlier… I might have been a tiny bit tipsy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just a bit?”

You gave him that smile—the one that had haunted him through more briefings than he’d admit. “Okay. Maybe more than a bit. But hey, it worked.”

He tilted his head. “Getting teased and flirting with me worked?”

“Sure did,” you said, smirking. “You didn’t run away. That’s something.”

Benji looked at you, really looked. You weren’t being flirty now. Not performative. You were just… there. Earnest. Still a little flushed from the post-mission comedown and maybe the tequila, but your eyes were clear now. Sure.

You reached out without thinking, resting your hand on his knee and giving it a playful squeeze.

He froze. “W-was that intentional?”

You tilted your head, lips curving in a smirk. “Maybe. You know. For science.”

He laughed nervously, eyes darting away for a second before returning to yours. “You’re dangerous when you’re curious.”

“Well,” you said, leaning just slightly closer, “if I’m going to be a mess, might as well have a good reason.”

And there it was again, the air shifting between you. Not heavy, not explosive. Just… full. With tension. With potential. With years of teasing, almost, maybe.

Benji’s pulse hammered in his ears as you closed the distance, your breath warm against his cheek.

He didn’t move at first. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. But your eyes flicked down to his lips, and that was permission enough.

He leaned in slowly, meeting you halfway. When your lips finally touched, it wasn’t fireworks or a dramatic swell of music. It was soft. Tentative. Real. The kind of kiss that said: Hey. Finally.

Neither of you rushed it. Neither pulled away too soon.

When it ended, you were both a little breathless. And smiling like fools.

Benji opened his mouth to say something—anything—but was promptly interrupted by Luther’s voice crackling over the comms:

“Hey lovebirds, I swear to God, if you’re making out on the roof and not helping me re-pack the gear…”

You burst out laughing, head falling against Benji’s shoulder.

He groaned. “He’s always listening. It’s terrifying.”

You looked up at him, your grin still wide. “Well… guess some things never change.”

Benji looked at you, heart still thumping, and smiled back. “I hope at least one thing does.”

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x reader - Truth Serum

Paring: Benji Dunn x reader

Summary: Benji has been injected with the truth serum. You tease him, and oupsy doupsy he confess.

Warnings: Obviously, I don't own the picture neither the mission impossible saga, not even benji dunn.

Truth Serum

Benji Dunn was in love with you.

Not in the casual crush on a coworker kind of way. No, it was the every-time-you-smile-my-heart-melts kind. The I-would-die-to-keep-you-safe kind. You had been part of the IMF team for almost three years now, and in that time, Benji had learned every tilt of your head, every cadence in your laugh, every sharp glint in your eye when you got an idea mid-mission.

He knew it all, and he kept it all. Locked tight inside him.

Because telling you? Risking what you already shared — the banter, the trust, the late-night stakeouts filled with whispered jokes and quiet glances?

Too dangerous.

He wasn’t like Ethan or Brandt. He wasn’t slick or suave or larger-than-life. He was Benji. The tech guy. The guy who panicked a little too quickly but always pulled through. The guy who carried a torch like it was his job and never said a word about it.

Until one day, everything changed.

It was a simple extraction mission. It was supposed to be, anyway.

Your team was intercepting a courier in Prague carrying a stolen prototype for a neuro-targeting chemical. Benji was supposed to be eyes in the van, but when things went south, he had to go in. You should’ve been the one to take the hit. You were just one hallway too late.

When you found him, the syringe was already empty, discarded beside his slumped body.

Ethan carried him out, his voice tight with worry. You stayed beside Benji the whole time, checking vitals, brushing his hair off his forehead, whispering, “You’re okay, you’re okay,” like it could hold him together.

He came to later, groggy but talking. A little too talkative.

“Why is everyone so perfect around here?” he mumbled while fiddling with a paperclip. “Especially her. Y/N. I mean—have you seen her? She walks into a room and suddenly my brain’s just a loading screen. Little spinny wheel of doom.”

You froze. Ethan’s eyes widened a little. Luther choked on his coffee.

“Oh, hell,” Ethan said under his breath. “Truth serum.”

Benji knew he was still compromised.

He could feel it — every word in his brain came out his mouth without a filter. Like his inner monologue had been handed a megaphone and a caffeine IV.

So he hid.

Not very effectively — behind some tactical gear in a dusty utility room — but emotionally? This was DEFCON 1. Full meltdown. And if he saw your face right now? Game over.

Unfortunately, you were very good at hide-and-seek.

“There you are,” your voice sang from behind him. “The infamous Benji Dunn. The only field agent who escapes shootouts, bomb threats, and global conspiracies, but can’t hide from a truth serum.”

He winced and turned slowly, eyes wide with guilt and embarrassment.

“Hi,” he squeaked.

You folded your arms and tilted your head at him, amused. “So. How are we feeling today, Mr. Honesty?”

Benji stared at the floor. “Exposed. Vulnerable. Like my brain is tweeting in real-time.”

You snorted, plopping down next to him behind the gear. “You know, I’ve always wondered what goes on in that genius head of yours. This might be the best opportunity I’ll ever get.”

He groaned. “Please don’t. I’m barely hanging on.”

You tapped your chin dramatically. “Let’s start small. Favorite color?”

“Teal. But only slightly desaturated. Like ocean water on an overcast day.” He looked horrified at his own specificity. “Why did I say all that?”

You smirked. “Because your mouth is on developer mode.”

Benji groaned again. “Kill me.”

“Okay, next one,” you said, scooting closer. “Have you ever hacked something for personal use? Like to skip Netflix ads?”

“Yes,” he blurted. “Also to get Hamilton tickets.”

“Oh my God, Benji!”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Alright, alright… Let’s raise the stakes.”

Benji’s eyes widened. “No. Nope. This is where I draw the line.”

“You can’t draw the line, truth-boy. You literally can’t lie.” You leaned in with a wicked glint in your eye. “Have you ever had a crush on someone on the team?”

He turned beet red.

“Don’t answer that!” he hissed.

“You have!” you gasped. “Oh my God, is it me? Is it Ethan? Is it Luther? Please tell me it’s Luther.”

“Y/N, I’m begging you,” he whispered. “Please stop before you find out—before I say something that’ll ruin everything.”

You blinked at that. “Ruin what?”

He swallowed.

“Ruin what, Benji?” you repeated, a teasing lilt in your voice but a growing curiosity behind your words. “What could possibly ruin this delightful interrogation?”

His voice cracked. “You knowing the truth.”

You leaned in, a playful but careful smile playing at your lips. “Knows what, Benji?”

There was a long silence.

And then:

“That I’m in love with you,” he whispered. “That I’ve been in love with you for years. And that I didn’t say anything because I thought you loved Ethan or someone else or literally anyone who isn’t me, and if I told you, I’d lose you completely and I couldn’t live with that.”

You froze.

His eyes were wide, like he’d just dropped a bomb and had no idea what came next.

“I didn’t mean to— I mean, I did, but not like this,” he added, fumbling, cheeks crimson. “Please, just pretend this never happened. I’ll transfer to another team or fake my death or become a monk in Tibet—just please don’t hate me—”

And before you could speak, before you could breathe, he scrambled up and ran.

Benji’s footsteps echoed down the dim hallway as he fled, cheeks still flaming, heart pounding like a drum in his ears.

You stood frozen for a beat, the weight of his confession settling around you like a warm, unexpected blanket.

He loves me.

Three years of subtle glances, of shared late-night banter, of quiet moments that suddenly made so much sense.

But before you could say anything—before you could even process—the door slammed behind him.

Your mouth opened, then closed. You swallowed hard.

“Benji...” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Then your feet moved without thinking, chasing after him.

You ran through the hall, past Ethan, who looked up from his laptop with a curious brow raise, past Luther, who grunted, “About time”, and out the back.

“Benji, wait!” you called, breath hitching.

He stopped just ahead, his shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the ground as if trying to disappear.

You caught up, grabbed his arm gently.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He flinched, then looked at you, searching your face for judgment or disappointment.

There was none.

Instead, you smiled—the kind of smile that lights up the darkest night.

“I love you, too,” you said simply.

Benji blinked, disbelief flickering in his eyes.

“I thought,” he started, voice trembling, “you liked Ethan. That you’d never feel the same.”

You shook your head. “Ethan’s a great friend, but you? You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Finally, words tumbled out in a breathless rush.

“You’re serious?”

“As serious as the fact that you’re incredibly cute when you’re panicking under truth serum.”

You reached up, fingers brushing his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw.

“Benji,” you whispered, “don’t run from this.”

He swallowed, heart still racing, and then—before either of you could stop it—he leaned in.

Your lips met, tentative at first, then deeper, more sure.

All the fears, the waiting, the secrets—they melted away.

When you pulled back, Benji grinned shyly.

“So,” he said, voice low and hopeful, “does this mean I get to stop hiding in utility closets?”

You laughed, tugging him closer.

“Only if you promise to tell me everything… no more secrets.”

He nodded eagerly. “Deal.”

And just like that, the truth serum did its job—except this time, it was love that spilled out, loud and clear.

[chu16a-blog]

Montgomery Scott x Reader - A kiss for a kiss

First fanfic. Resume: A fiery rivalry between Scotty and a new engineer hides feelings neither will admit — until a near-tragedy, a drunken confession, and one kiss change everything.

A kiss for a kiss:

The first time you walked into Engineering aboard the Enterprise, all heads turned.

It wasn’t just your looks, though, frankly, that played a part — it was the energy you carried. Like a star imploding and creating something entirely new. Confident stride. No-nonsense tone. You were assigned straight into the engineering department.dw

You glanced around, noting the wide eyes of most of the men in the room. A few offered nods, one even winked. But you weren’t here to flirt. You were here to work.

On your first day, scotty watched you stalk up to the diagnostics terminal, drop your toolkit with a loud clang, and immediately start poking through the ship’s energy redistribution logs without so much as a “good morning.”

You didn’t even introduce yourself. Just started rewiring like you’d built the ship yourself.

He narrowed his eyes. “She’s gonna be a nightmare.”

And you were.

Every day, it was something new. You bypassed protocol. Refused gloves. Crawled into ducts without a spotter. You fixed things fast, maybe too fast, and left him trailing behind with paperwork and complaints.

After your third incident, where you nearly overloaded a relay by jamming two incompatible coils together (“It worked, didn’t it?”) — Scotty exploded.

“If I wanted a demolition crew, I’d have called one! Ye can’t just jam stuff until it sticks, lass!”

“I didn’t jam anything. I applied pressure physics and ran a manual override. You should try reading the schematics sometime, Chief.”

“Den’t test me, I’ll reassign ye to cleanin' the warp nacelles with a toothbrush!”

“You’ll have to catch me first, Grandpa.”

He stared at you.

When Scotty’s frustration started bubbling over into grumpier-than-usual tirades, Kirk and Bones decided it was time for a drink and invited him to the captain’s quarters.

“She desn’t even label her tools!” he muttered to Kirk over drinks. “Jus' yanks things 'part like she’s in a bloody scrapyard.”

Kirk grinned behind his glass of Saurian brandy. “You don’t like her because she rewired that stabilizer in half the time it would take you.”

“I den’t like her becaus' she’s reckless,” Scotty snapped. “Fixes things with spit and instinct. The lass is goin' to get herself killed.”

Bones, who’d been silently sipping, raised an eyebrow. “Funny, sounds like someone I know…”

You and Scotty spent the next few weeks locked in a steady rhythm of arguments and stubborn standoffs, the friction between you practically a part of the ship’s daily routine.

You were elbow-deep in the side panel of the power transfer grid when Scotty came storming over.

“What 'n the name of sanity are ye doin'? Ye’r rerouting a main power conduit without ae safety brace!”

You barely looked up. “Don’t need it. I’ve done this plenty of times.”

“And if the system kicks in while ye hand’s 'n there, we’ll be scraping ye off the wall!”

You rolled your eyes. “Then shut down the system. Simple fix.”

Scotty’s jaw clenched. “Ye’ll follow protocol on me deck, lass.”

“I’ll follow whatever gets the job done fastest and safest — and newsflash — I am being safe.”

The tension was magnetic. And maddening. You drove each other up the wall. But that didn’t stop you from looking when he passed by. Or him from watching you when he thought you weren’t noticing.

He started complaining more to Bones and Kirk, his grumbling less furious, more… tortured.

“She struts around like she invente' the warp core. Always has thae grease smear on he' cheek. Why is that attractive?!” Scotty groaned.

“She’s got you twisted,” Bones laughed. “Might want to untangle yourself before it gets worse.”

“You know, if you keep complaining about her every day, people might start thinking you're obsessed.”

“Obsessed with no' dying, maybe,” Scotty grumbled. “She hotwires power converters like she’s trying te trigger a core meltdown.”

“She’s efficient,” Bones offered.

“She’s reckless.”

“You also said she solved the capacitor issue in under five minutes,” Kirk pointed out.

“Aye,” Scotty muttered.

Kirk exchanged a knowing glance with Bones.

A few days later, the perfect opportunity for mischief presented itself.

Kirk, being Kirk, decided a little tight space would “build camaraderie.”

“Two of my best engineers,” he said innocently, “I need you both in the auxiliary core junction. Crawling space only. You’ll need to work together.”

Scotty glared at him. “Th' is about yoe' amusement, isn’t it?”

“No,” Kirk said, utterly unconvincing. “Definitely not.”

So, that’s how you ended up shoulder-to-shoulder with Montgomery Scott under a massive tangle of Enterprise machinery, both of you flat on your backs, shoulders pressed together, tools in hand, faces barely inches apart.

The air was thick with the hum of energy conduits and barely-contained irritation.

“I told ye we should’ve rerouted the EPS flow from th' secondary regulator,” he muttered.

“And I told you,” you said, squinting up at the wiring, “that doing it your way would’ve overloaded the entire subsystem.”

“I’ve bee' running thes' systems since befor' ye got your first toolkit,” he grumbled.

You gave a lopsided smile. “Right, because time automatically makes someone right.”

He grunted in response, reaching overhead to adjust a coupling, his elbow brushed your ribs. You flinched. “Watch it.”

“Maybe if ye didn’t take up half the damn crawlspace—”

“Oh please, I’m not the one with the overgrown toolbelt and a tendency to manspread under warp coils.”

He paused. “Tha's no' even a real word.”

“It is.”

You both glared at each other in the dim lighting, chests rising and falling with the heat of the argument, and something else. The tension buzzed louder than the plasma regulators above your heads.

Every time your hand brushed his while reaching for a spanner, every grunt or shift of his leg that nudged yours. It was like static electricity building up with nowhere to discharge. You tried to ignore it. You focused on the panel, the wires, anything but the warmth of his body or the faint scent of engine grease and cologne.

He spoke again, quieter this time. “I just... don’t like the way ye throw yerself into thes' systems. Ye’r reckless.”

You paused. “I get the job done.”

He turned his head to look at you. “Aye, ye do. But at what cost?”

You met his eyes, startled by the sudden shift in tone.

“Is that... concern?” you teased, unsure whether to mock or thank him.

He looked away quickly, cheeks slightly flushed. “Just trying to make sure I den’t have to fish ye out of the power grid one day.”

The silence after that was thick. Heavy.

You stared back at the wires, your heart beating just a little faster. His arm brushed yours again—not an accident this time—and neither of you moved away.

That night, Scotty couldn’t stop thinking about the way your smirk lingered, or the brief hitch in your breath when your knees had touched. He told himself it meant nothing. Just proximity. Just stress.

But something had shifted. Unwillingly. Uncomfortably. Irrevocably.

He started noticing more: the way you argued, sure, but also how you worked late. The way you tied your hair back when you were about to get under a console. How your lips pressed together when you were deep in thought. Caught himself looking at the back of your neck in the lift the next day. Wondering if you always twirled that same wrench when you were thinking.

And how often other men in Engineering looked at you. Talked to you. Laughed.

He hated it. Because he was older, not as polished, and damn it, he shouldn’t feel this way.

He tried to hide it. Try to work the opposite shift from yours. Avoiding was his best strategy right now, "It's just a phase, simple crush. It will go away soon,". It didn't.

You, for your part, were in full denial.

“He’s infuriating,” you told your friend over drinks in the rec lounge. “I mean it. He talks like I’m a hazard.”

“You are a hazard,” she said, sipping her drink. “But he clearly wants to disassemble more than your circuits.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You don’t want to have time.”

“That too.”

“Still... you’re not not into him.”

You didn’t respond.

But your silence said enough.

A week later, you were back on mission, repairing a planetary outpost. Something went wrong. You didn’t see the panel sparking until it was too late. A sharp pulse, then pain. You went down hard.

The explosion rang in his ears long after the dust had settled.

He didn’t remember running. He didn’t remember the weight of the toolkit he tossed aside or the terrain tearing at his knees when he dropped beside you. All he remembered was your face — blood at your temple, eyes half-closed, your body frighteningly still beneath the crumpled debris.

“Y/N—no, no, no—com' on, stey with me,” he’d said, voice shaking as he cupped your cheek with one trembling hand, the other checking your pulse like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

He remembered the heat of you bleeding against him. He remembered shouting into his comm, barking at the Enterprise to beam you both up now, not giving a damn if the signal was unstable or protocol was being ignored.

And when the blue light took hold and you vanished with him back to safety, something else disappeared too, any illusion that he could keep pretending.

He loved you.

He loved you, and the thought of losing you had cracked something deep inside him. Something old and quiet and buried under years of routine and stubbornness and excuses.

He sat beside your biobed in Medbay while Bones patched you up, his jaw clenched and hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. When the med team cleared out and you were resting, he just... stayed. Watching the rise and fall of your chest like it was the most precious, terrifying thing in the universe.

That was when it hit him.

This wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t annoyance mistaken for attraction. It wasn’t proximity or adrenaline or the thrill of having someone challenge him every damn day.

It was you.

It was the way you fought him on every repair because you wanted the best result, even if it meant bruised egos. The way you laughed when the warp core shuddered like a dying beast and you called it “character.” The way you called him out, stood toe-to-toe with him, refused to let him brood in silence when something was wrong.

You were everything he wasn’t, and everything he wanted to be near.

And for a second, seeing you limp in his arms, he'd thought he'd never get the chance to say it.

Now?

Now, he couldn't keep it inside anymore.

So when he left Medbay that night, he didn’t go to his quarters. He went to a secret stash. Pulled out the bottle of whisky. He needed to think — no, he needed to feel — and for once in his life, he wasn’t going to fix the damn feeling. He was going to follow it.

Just as Scotty raised his hand to knock, bottle clutched tightly at his side, he heard voices coming from inside your office.

Kirk’s voice, light but insistent: “You’ve got to tell him someday, you know. He’s not a mind reader.”

Scotty froze mid-motion, breath caught in his throat.

Tell who? he thought, heart suddenly hammering harder.

Then your voice came: “I don’t have time for this right now, Jim.”

You sounded... distant. Guarded.

Something inside him twisted.

His thoughts spiraled faster than he could stop them. Who was Kirk talking about? Some young officer? One of the blokes always orbiting you in the mess hall? Someone who wouldn’t leave grease on everything or lecture you about plasma conduits.

Not him.

And the way you said it — clipped, tired — like you were brushing the whole thing off. Like it wasn’t even worth your energy.

The bottle in his hand suddenly felt ridiculous. Heavy with hope he shouldn’t have had.

His arm fell to his side.

He stood there for a moment, silent in the hallway, the cool metal wall against his back as the voices inside faded into a low murmur.

Then he turned and walked away. Slowly. Quietly.

Whatever he'd been about to say, it stayed unspoken.

The bottle hit the workbench with a dull thunk, his fingers clumsy on the glass.

Engineering was empty. Dim. Quiet. The kind of quiet that let thoughts grow too loud.

He didn’t bother with a glass — just twisted the cap off and drank straight from the bottle, the burn a poor match for what churned in his chest.

He could still hear it — Kirk’s voice through your office door: “You’ve got to tell him someday…”

And your voice. Your voice. That pause. That distance.

The whisky hit hard, fiery down his throat, and he welcomed it. Welcomed the burn. It distracted him from the sharper pain sitting like a rock in his chest.

You had feelings for someone.

Just… not him.

Not the grease-stained, too-old, too-tired engineer who spent more time talking to warp cores than people. No. It was probably someone else. One of the young officers you laughed with in the mess. Someone with charm and bright eyes and smooth lines.

Someone who didn’t grumble every time you walked into the engine room.

Scotty let out a bitter chuckle, dragging a hand down his face.

“Aye,” he muttered to the empty room, accent curling heavier, rougher. “What the hell were ye thinkin’, Montgomery? That she'd ever look twice at ye?”

He glanced down at himself, stained uniform, scraped knuckles, hands that only ever fixed things, never held anything gently.

“She’s got feelings, alright,” he murmured. “Just not for the man who yelled at her for bypassing the safety relays.”

Another drink. His lips pressed tight to the glass like he could seal the words inside — or drown them.

The alcohol made it easier. And harder. It dulled the ache but made the truth louder.

He wasn’t what you needed.

Wasn’t what you wanted.

Probably never had been.

He set the bottle down, stared at it for a long time.

But the thought of doing nothing — of going back to pretending he didn’t care, didn’t feel anything — that was worse.

He couldn’t sit in the dark with that weight. Not tonight.

So he stood. A little too fast. The room tilted slightly, and he caught himself on the edge of the console.

Then he grabbed the bottle and made his way down the corridor, each step heavier than the last.

Maybe he was being foolish. Maybe he’d wake up regretting it all.

But if he didn’t tell you tonight — if he didn’t at least try — he’d never forgive himself.

And even if your heart belonged to someone else…

You deserved to know who’d given you his.

You opened the door and found Scotty, flushed, wide-eyed, holding a bottle of whiskey.

His accent was thick, words slightly slurred.

“Ye—ye look... radiant,” he said.

You blinked. “Are you drunk?”

“I’m... no’ not drunk.”

You stepped aside. He entered.

The scent hit you first: whisky, engine grease, and nerves.

He paced, agitated. “I had this whole plan, ye know? Thought I’d tell ye calmly. Classy. Maybe with tea. But now I’ve gone and bollocksed it up with whisky and rambling and—”

“Scott—”

“I know you don’t like me,” he blurted. “Ye roll your eyes, and ye argue, and ye’ve got these bloody perfect hands always fixing things faster than me, and everyone stares at ye like ye’re a bloody goddess and I’m just the crusty engineer who talks te warp cores like they’re alive—”

“Scotty—”

“—and I know I’m older and stubborn and no' remotely as good-looking as half the' men who trip over' themselves trying te flirt with ye, but I swear to every star in the quadrant that when I see ye, it’s like—like—gravity, and I’m too bloody tired to fight it anymore—”

And before you could say another word, he kissed you.

Not soft. Not gentle. Harsh.

Just heat, and regret, and everything he hadn’t said.

Then he pulled back, stared at you in horror, and fled the room.

You stood in the doorway, fingers to your lips, heart pounding.

The next day, scotty woke with a pounding headache and the vague, creeping sense that he'd done something very, very stupid.

He groaned, sitting up on his bunk, rubbing his face. There was a taste of whisky still lingering on his tongue and a patchy recollection of going to your quarters. Talking too much. Saying too much. Kissing—

“Oh, no.”

He buried his face in his hands. He didn’t even remember if you slapped him. Or screamed. Or threw him out. All he remembered was your eyes, wide in the low light of your quarters, and the electric jolt of your lips beneath his.

He dressed slowly, carefully, every movement tender. When he finally staggered into Engineering, he spotted you immediately across the room — working at a diagnostic station like nothing had happened.

Maybe it hadn’t.

Maybe it was all in his head.

Maybe—

You turned. Your eyes met. You didn’t look furious. But you didn’t look pleased either. Just... unreadable. Neutral.

That was worse.

He nodded stiffly. You nodded back.

No words.

Just silence.

The day dragged like a broken impulse drive. Scotty fumbled his tasks. He dropped a tool, barked at an ensign, rewired a panel backward. Keenser stared at him in concern, but said nothing.

By the time the shift ended, he felt hollowed out and stupid.

He didn’t even go to the messhall. He just wandered the corridor aimlessly, steps slow, thoughts heavy.

He turned a corner — and stopped short.

You were there. Sitting alone on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you, a cup of something warm in your hands.

You looked up at him.

“I figured you’d be avoiding me.”

He swallowed. “I... thought you might hate me.”

You gave a small, unreadable smile. “A little.”

He nodded, miserable. “Right.”

“I’ve been thinking about slapping you,” you said casually. “But then I figured... maybe I’ll just talk to you instead.”

He exhaled — unsure if it was relief or dread.

You patted the floor beside you. “Sit, Scotty.”

He did. Hesitantly. Close, but not too close.

There was a long silence.

“I didn’t know,” you finally said. “How you felt. I mean, I suspected. But you’re not exactly... emotionally transparent.”

“Aye,” he murmured. “I’ve always been better with engines than feelings.”

You glanced at him. “You were an idiot last night.”

“I am an idiot.”

“But... you were honest.”

Another silence. But this one felt different.

You leaned your head against the wall and sighed.

“I’ve been avoiding it too. What I feel. Figured it was just... tension. Frustration. Too much time in crawlspaces.”

Scotty laughed, low and rough. “And now?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

And then, soft as a whisper: “Now I think I’d like you to kiss me again. This time when you’re not drunk and panicking.”

His breath caught. “Are ye sure?”

You reached over, took his hand — the one that always held tools too tightly — and laced your fingers with his.

“I’m sure.”

He leaned in, slower this time, more careful. And when his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed or wild — it was real. Steady. Earned.

When you pulled back, you didn’t let go of his hand.

He rested his head lightly against yours, smiling for the first time all day.

“Well,” he murmured, “I guess Kirk was right.”

You smirked. “About what?”

“Fighting is foreplay.”

You snorted. “Don’t make me slap you now.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to end a shift.”

You laughed, and it echoed down the corridor like something new beginning.

Something is finally just right.