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[chu16a-blog]

Dream x Reader - The Dream He Dared to Shape

Pairing: Dream x Reader

Warning: Spoiler season 2

This is the last part of this fanfic.

Part I - The Price of Mercy

Part II - Dinner with a Goddess

Part III - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

Part IV (End) - The Dream He Dared to Shape

The Dream He Dared to Shape

It had been weeks since the coffee shop incident.

Since you'd choked on your drink in the middle of Dream’s confession, and Death nearly broke a table laughing. Since Morpheus had walked you home and stood outside your door for a very long time, looking like he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about him since.

And he? He was spiraling.

The Dreaming was suffering.

Not in the usual ways, no cracks in the sky, no nightmares gone rogue. On the surface, all was well.

But the King of Dreams was a wreck.

He sat at his obsidian desk for hours thinking. The stars in his realm had rearranged themselves into your face. A rose had sprouted through his throne. Lucienne caught him reading the same line in a book for three days straight.

“She liked the food,” he muttered one evening.

“That was two months ago, my lord.”

“And the tea. She called it ‘divine.’ I should’ve asked what blend it was. Why didn’t I ask?”

Lucienne took a deep breath and closed the book for him.

“Do something about it. Or I swear I’ll lock you in the library with only romance novels and no exits.”

That... actually helped.

Morpheus had circled his throne more times than the moon had circled the Dreaming that day, muttering to himself like a scholar faced with a riddle he couldn't solve.

Matthew perched on the throne’s edge, watching with something between amusement and concern. “You look like you’re planning a war. Or possibly a dinner party. Either way, you’re freaking me out.”

Dream spun, cloak flaring. “It must be perfect.”

“For a date.”

“It is not just a date. It is a declaration.”

Matthew cocked his head. “Declaration? You gonna write her a treaty?”

“She deserves… more. Something unforgettable.”

“That’s fair. But maybe chill? You're acting like you're about to propose and duel a rival king at the same time.”

“I considered a garden.”

“You would.”

“She likes food.”

“She also likes not being bored to tears.”

“I could recreate a dreamscape of her favorite memories,” Dream offered, fingers twitching.

Lucienne, who had been lingering in the archway with her ledger, finally spoke up. “She doesn't want a monument, Lord Morpheus. She wants you. Something real. Personal.”

Dream sighed, slumping into the air like a defeated wraith. “And what would you suggest?”

Lucienne raised an eyebrow. “Try asking what she’d want, not what you think she deserves.”

Then came Merv, dragging a wheelbarrow full of nightmares.

“If you’re trying to impress her, maybe don’t bore her to death. Think spectacle. Impact. Drama! A date she’ll tell her immortal grandkids about!”

“I am not trying to overwhelm her.”

“You’re an Endless. You exist to overwhelm.”

Fiddler’s Green, gentle as ever, brushing dew from a flower with his fingertip.

“I think,” he said kindly, “if you’re asking all of us and not her, it means you already know what you want to do. You’re just scared it’s not enough. But if it’s from the heart… it always will be.”

But it was Lucienne, again, who gave him the final nudge.

“You always build dreams for others. Why not craft one for her?”

So he did.

You weren’t expecting him that night. Not exactly. But when the wind in your realm shifted, soft, lilac-scented, carrying the familiar pull of dreams, you smiled.

He arrived dressed in shadows and twilight-blue. Nervous. Clearly rehearsed.

“If you’re kidnapping me,” you said, “you’d better have snacks.”

“Better,” he replied. “I have something… for you.”

You didn’t walk this time.

You stepped directly into a dream.

It was a world of floating islands and shifting light.

Each platform hovered in a star-lit void, suspended in weightless grace. One held a glowing orchard where fruits shimmered like crystals. Another had a candlelit table for two, the air filled with your favorite dishes and a sky that mirrored your eyes (not that he’d ever admit that part aloud).

One island, smaller, quieter, had a hammock woven from constellations. A picnic basket beside it. Two glasses. Music playing from nowhere.

“You made all of this?” you asked, breathless.

“I shaped it from what I know of you,” he said, gaze steady. “And what I hope to learn.”

You blinked.

Then smiled. Slowly.

“You sure know how to seduce a woman.”

“I… wasn’t trying to seduce you.”

“You’re terrible at lying. It’s endearing.”

“I wasn’t—” He caught your smirk. Sighed. “Fine. Perhaps a little.”

You laughed.

The evening unfolded like magic.

You floated from island to island, lounging under stars that moved with your laughter, even danced barefoot in a glowing field of flowers that sang when touched.

He didn’t fluster this time.

But he did fidget. Adjusted the cuffs of his coat. Checked the table settings. Watched your expression with rapt, silent intensity after every little surprise, as if gauging your every breath.

“You’re allowed to relax, you know,” you teased. “It’s just me.”

“Exactly.”

That shut you up.

You reached out, fingers brushing his hand in the tall grass, and he felt a rush of warmth.

At a low wooden table, a meal awaited, your favorites, dream-crafted to be tender and vibrant. You laughed softly, teasing him for watching you eat more than eating himself.

The food was delicious. The company, better. You teased. He fretted. You flirted. He tried to stay cool and failed exactly once when you licked your thumb clean and he dropped his fork.

You lay side by side in the dream-woven meadow, his cloak spread beneath you, the stars casting gentle shadows on your skin. The silence between you was not uncomfortable, just heavy with something waiting.

Dream shifted, rising slowly to sit, and then to kneel beside you. His gaze wasn’t on you, but distant, focused somewhere beyond the horizon, where words had not yet formed.

“I have spent much of my existence shaping dreams,” he said softly, “but never one I feared as much as this.”

You turned toward him, heart catching at the solemn tone in his voice.

“I have loved before,” he continued, voice like nightfall, soft and final, “and been broken. I know what it means to lose, to carry the weight of love that cannot stay.”

His hands were folded tightly in his lap, almost as if in prayer. His next words came quieter, more uncertain:

“You are not mine to ask for. You are freedom. Fire. Laughter in a world I never thought could hold joy for me again. And yet…”

A breath.

“I need you. Not as a fleeting presence or a visiting star. I want you beside me—in the Dreaming. To walk this realm not as a guest, but as my equal. My heart. My constant.”

Finally, he looked at you, truly looked, and in his eyes you saw it: all the love, fear, and quiet devotion he had tried so hard to conceal.

“Will you stay?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Not for a night. Not for a season. But for all the eons yet to come?”

There was no wind, yet everything felt breathless.

You sat up slowly, searching his face, then lifted a hand to his cheek. He leaned into it like a man starved for touch.

And you smiled.

“I would rule ten thousand realms if it meant I could stay beside you,” you said, voice firm, unwavering. “But I don’t want power. I want you. I never met someone as endlessly beautiful as you, in all the ways that truly matter. You have shown me kindness, wonder, and a home I never knew I needed. Of course I will stay. I am yours. Forever.”

His breath hitched.

Then, unexpectedly, he flushed. A bloom of soft color across pale cheeks, his lashes lowering as he tried and failed to contain the emotion breaking across his features.

You laughed, gently, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “Are you blushing, Dream of the Endless?”

“I am… unused to being seen like this.”

“You should get used to it,” you whispered, leaning in.

And when your lips met, it was not a spark. Not a sudden rush of fire or hunger. It was something far more rare.

It was peace.

A kiss that sank deep into marrow and memory. His lips were cool and trembling at first, as if this, you, were too much, too precious to touch too boldly. But he leaned in, slowly, reverently, and everything about him shifted. The cloak of the Dream Lord fell away. He wasn’t a king. Or a god. Or a myth carved into the edges of sleep.

He was a man. In love. Terrified and weightless.

Your hands rose to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and he deepened the kiss with a quiet breath, unguarded. It was as if, in that moment, the stars overhead paused to watch.

And when you finally parted, his eyes opened slowly, dark, storm-washed, and impossibly soft. He didn’t speak. He only looked at you like you were a story he’d once read and spent centuries trying to find again.

You whispered, teasing gently, “You always kiss like that?”

His lips twitched. “Only for you.”

You laughed, and the sound unraveled something in him.

But when your snake let out a soft, satisfied purr from the nearby grass—still sipping from his enchanted bubble tea—Dream’s lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile.

And this time, when he pulled you in again, there was no fear left at all.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bonus: The Family Meeting

It was a strange thing, watching an Endless look nervous.

Dream stood perfectly straight, regal, composed, utterly unreadable, but you could tell from the way he kept adjusting his cuffs that he was rattled.

You leaned over. “You’ve faced gods, devoured nightmares, rebuilt your realm from dust... but you’re scared of introducing me to your siblings?”

“I am not scared,” he said calmly.

Then immediately added, “Merely… prepared for chaos.”

You snorted.

They gathered in the Between, a realm untouched by linearity and decorated in unknowable geometry and very good lighting.

Death was already there, lounging with her boots on a hovering table.

She waved at you. “Hey, trouble. Welcome back.”

You grinned. “Thanks. Still working on getting my punch card.”

She snorted. “One more visit and you get a free cookie and one ‘save from untimely demise.’”

Dream sighed deeply.

Desire arrived in a shimmer of gold and tension. They looked at you, at Dream, back at you. Then sighed dramatically.

“I should be insulted,” they said. “All that power, all that mystery, and you fall for the brooding one?”

You smirked. “I like my men haunted.”

Dream visibly malfunctioned for two seconds.

Despair gave you a faint, fragile smile and didn’t say much, but handed you a locket that held a tiny void. “In case you need quiet,” she said softly.

Delirium offered your snake a balloon and declared it her “soul twin.”

And then, Destiny.

He appeared in a breathless silence, as though the universe held itself still just long enough for his arrival.

When you turned to greet him, his hands gripped his Book.

And his Book, his eternal, all-seeing, infinite Book, was blank where your name should be.

He stared at you.

“You are not written.”

You shrugged. “I get that a lot.”

“You exist outside the Pattern. That should not be possible.”

You smiled. “And yet.”

Dream stepped forward, a protective shadow cast across the garden of unreality. “She is with me.”

“Then perhaps,” Destiny said at last, “the family must grow.”

It was not warm.

But it was a welcome.

Later, you curled closer to Dream on a shifting bench made of moonlight and memory.

He hadn't let go of your hand since Destiny tried (and failed) to parse your existence.

You rested your head on his shoulder.

“They liked me.”

He nodded. “Most of them.”

“Destiny looked like he might faint.”

“He can’t. But I believe his vines recoiled.”

You laughed. “Does that mean I’m officially terrifying?”

Dream looked down at you, eyes filled with something quiet and holy.

“It means,” he said, brushing your hair behind your ear, “that you are mine.”

You smiled.

“And you are mine.”

He kissed you then, slow and sure and full of every promise the Endless could never say aloud.

[chu16a-blog]

Dream x Reader - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

Pairing: Dream x Reader

Warning: Spoiler season 2

Summary: Ehehehe

Part I - The Price of Mercy

Part II - Dinner with a Goddess

Part III - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

Part IV (End) - The Dream He Dared to Shape

Tag List: @deniixlovezelda @hiraethmae @cliff-jumper

Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

The Dreaming was quiet.

Too quiet.

And yet, somehow, this silence was... judgy.

Dream sat in his throne of onyx and night, hands steepled, expression unreadable. But his mind was absolutely not on his duties. Not on rebuilding realms torn by wrathful Furies. Not on nightmares gone rogue or dreams gone lazy.Nothing stuck.

Not because it wasn’t fascinating in its own right, but because his mind, traitorous and unhelpfully whimsical, kept drifting to you.

You, with your snort-laugh when you tried to hide amusement and failed gloriously. You, who had flirted with him, Lord Morpheus, like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if you weren’t a being of terrifying power who could rearrange universal constants with a shrug.

No. Instead, you just wanted dinner.

A date.

A real one. With candles. And wine. And flirting.

And worst of all?

He liked it.

He liked you.

You were haunting him.

Not literally. That would be easier to deal with. He knew what to do with ghosts.

But you?

You were worse.

You were in his thoughts. In his imaginary conversations, which, frankly, were getting out of hand.

Like the one just now where you called him “broody but kissable.”

He blinked hard. “This is absurd.”

From across the hall, Lucienne didn’t even look up from her paperwork.

“If you say her name out loud, I swear I’m walking into retirement.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Dream muttered.

Lucienne arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t say her name.”

“…Clear my schedule.”

“You cleared it yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that when you said you needed time to ‘commune with the darkness.’”

“I did commune.”

“Mm-hm. And did the darkness giggle when you mentioned candlelight and hand-holding?”

Dream stared at her.

Lucienne simply went back to filing nightmare reports like this wasn’t the fifth time she’d watched him spiral today.

Three Days Later

Dream had accomplished… nothing.

He hadn’t fixed the dreaming realm.

He hadn’t worked on new omens.

He had, however, alphabetized the Book of Prophetic Nightmares out of pure desperation.

He’d also very seriously considered creating a dream version of you just to see if talking to it would help. He stopped himself only when the idea felt too weird, even for him.

And the worst part?

Every time he tried to brood properly, some part of his mind would unhelpfully imagine you saying something like: “Careful, you’re gonna scowl your eyebrows clean off.”

He sighed deeply.

This was no longer a curiosity. It was becoming a situation.

And it needed fixing.

So, naturally, he did what anyone would do when spiraling emotionally in the face of vulnerability and possible affection:

He ran to his older sister.

Meanwhile,

You sat cross-legged in your robe, holding a half-full teacup and a fully judgmental look at the wall.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered, poking the air like it owed you answers.

The tea didn’t help. Nor did pacing, scrying, or yelling into the void.

You had not meant to like him this much.

Sure, you’d expected him to be tragic and broody and annoyingly attractive. But not… funny. Not vulnerable. Not someone who, by the end of one candlelit meal, made your heart do that stupid cartwheel thing you swore you were immune to.

He hadn’t even tried to be charming.

He just was.

And now here you were, all-powerful and utterly annoyed, spiraling like a teenager.

So you made a decision.

"I'm going out."

The walking world always helped. Something about bustling cafés and unpredictable humans made the cosmos feel a little more tolerable.

You had told yourself you were not going to think about him today.

Absolutely not.

Which is why, of course, you'd spent fifteen minutes trying on outfits just to "grab a quick coffee" in the waking world. You’d finally settled on something effortless-looking that took forty minutes to assemble and involved at least one magical accessory to make your eyes look extra sparkly.

You told yourself it wasn’t for him.

You just wanted coffee.

From a new place.

Because trying oat milk was a personal journey, not a romantic maneuver.

With that totally believable lie firmly in place, you stepped into the waking world, tugging your coat tighter against a warm breeze and scanning the street.

If he showed up, it wouldn’t mean anything. Obviously.

You were just taking a healthy, confident step into the chaos of mortal life.

And maybe, if the universe was in a good mood, the barista would be hot.

Or tall.

Or broody.

You rolled your eyes at yourself and pushed open the door to a café you’d never tried.

It smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and bad decisions made with full hearts.

Perfect.

Back in the Dreaming...

Dream stood in his sister’s realm, awkwardly not-knocking at her door.

Death opened it anyway, smiling like she’d been expecting him.

“Well, look who’s emotionally backed-up,” she chirped. “Should I get you a journal or a juice box?”

“I am not here to be mocked.”

“Too late.” She stepped aside to let him in. “What is it this time? Cosmic crisis? Existential meltdown? Did someone say something nice to you again?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“…She laughed at my joke,” he said finally, like that explained everything.

Death blinked. “Whoa. Okay, yeah. That’s serious.”

Death grinned, then stretched. “Alright. We go to the waking world.”

Dream frowned. “Why?”

“Because I heard about this insanely good new coffee place,” she said casually, reaching for her coat. “And you, my dear brother, are clearly incapable of being alone with your thoughts.”

“I am the Lord of Dreams. I do not go to cafés.”

“You also didn’t date powerful women who flirt like firestorms, but here we are.”

He stared at her.

She wiggled her brows. “Come on. Worst case, you try espresso and sulk. Best case…”

She let that dangle with a smirk.

Dream took a slow sip of tea.

“…Fine. But I’m not getting anything with foam art.”

Death snorted. “Liar.”

The café was packed. Neon signs blinked softly in the windows, plants hung from every inch of the ceiling, and bubble tea drinks came with glittery foam and edible flowers.

Neither of them really looked at the crowd. They slid into a booth near the window, too absorbed in their conversation.

They sat across from each other at a tiny round table, drinks between them. Hers was pink, sparkly, and vaguely smoking. His was untouched, sitting like it had offended him.

“Okay,” she said, tapping her straw against her lip like she was conducting an autopsy, “let me get this straight. You met with her to ask for a favor, expecting torment, doom, and permanent psychological scarring. Instead, she asked you out. You were scandalized, blushed through your collar, and then had the best night you’ve had in, what, centuries?

Dream looked out the window. At nothing.

“I didn’t blush.”

“Morpheus, the temperature in the Dreaming rose three degrees. That’s how hard you were blushing.”

He looked back at her, deadpan.

“You measure the temperature of my realm for emotional feedback?”

“Absolutely. It’s more accurate than you ever are.”

He sighed, quiet and low. Then, after a long pause.

He gave her a look.

Death grinned harder and swirled her sparkly drink.

“Do you get this soft with all terrifying cosmic entities, or just this one?”

“She is not terrifying.”

“Mmm. Try telling that to Destiny. He practically short-circuited when he heard you went to her for help. Thought you were gonna come back melted into abstract sorrow and void juice.”

“He overreacts.”

“You’re flirting with the most feared exception to his entire Book and you’re telling me he overreacts?”

Dream said nothing.  And Death just beamed.

“Aww, there it is. Look at you, big feelings and everything.”

“It’s irrational.”

“Yup.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“She terrifies everyone.”

“So do you. Couple goals.”

“She—she has a snake.”

“And you have a raven who won’t shut up. You’re perfect.”

Dream set his jaw, but she could see it, that flicker of panic under all the control. The vulnerability he’d buried under layers of shadow and myth.

“I don’t know what to do with this.”

Death grinned.

“You let yourself feel it, dummy.”

Death stopped smiling, just for a breath. Letting him say it. Letting it settle.

“I think I might love her.”

COUGH. CHOKE. DISASTER.

The world hiccupped.

Next to them, a sudden eruption of sputtering chaos broke the air.

You.

You, in a sleek jacket, sipping a matcha cloud drink and minding your own very food-motivated business, were now choking into your napkin, eyes wide and glistening, caught mid-swallow by the weight of that sentence.

Your pet snake was slapping your back gently with his tail while sipping from his own tiny drink, unbothered.

Death blinked. Looked at you. Then looked at Dream. Then grinned.

“Oh no,” Death whispered gleefully, leaning back. “This is better than reality TV.”

Dream straightened instinctively. His eyes were enormous. He looked halfway between vanishing into sand and launching himself into the sun.

You’d heard him.

You’d heard him.

“You— You— ”

“I was going to say something,” you said, voice slightly hoarse, “but you were mid-emotional crisis. Seemed rude to interrupt.”

Death leaned on her palm, delighted.

“This is the best coffee date I’ve ever had.”

He turned away slightly, every line of his body too stiff, too sharp. Dream couldn’t look at you directly.

“I… did not intend for you to hear that.”

“Clearly,” you said, then added, slowly, teasing,

“Love, huh?”

Dream dared to meet your gaze. His voice was soft, but sincere.

“It was not meant to be overheard. But it was also not a lie.”

That did it. You blinked, warmth crawling up your spine.

“For the record,” you said, reaching to take a sip of your drink, nonchalant, dangerous, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

Dream turned crimson. Visibly. Utterly.

His body stiffened, hands frozen mid-motion like he'd forgotten how to breathe. Death was howling silently into her straw.

You smiled, eyes glittering.

“So… next date’s on you, isn’t it?”

“…Yes,” he said finally, barely above a whisper, like saying it any louder might undo the fragile thread holding the moment together. “Next date is on me.”

You both stared at each other for a beat too long.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, rising slowly, smoothing your jacket, and walking toward the door, like your legs weren’t slightly jelly.

Dream stood motionless.

He didn’t respond.

He just smiled.

Soft. Private.

Already thinking about the second date.

[chu16a-blog]

Dream x Reader - Dinner With a Goddess

Pairing: Dream x Reader

Warning: Spoiler season 2

Summary: ehehe, the date

Part I - The Price of Mercy

Part II - Dinner with a Goddess

Part III - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

Part IV (End) - The Dream He Dared to Shape

The Waking World was noisy that evening.

Rain whispered over neon signs. The air tasted like pavement and electricity. The restaurant sat nestled on a cobblestone alley in Edinburgh,one of those places you didn’t find unless it wanted to be found. The windows glowed gold, flickering with candlelight, and through them came laughter, clinking silverware, and the smell of lobster poached in saffron butter.

Dream stood outside, silent.

He was in a sharply tailored suit, black, of course, with silver threading barely visible except under candlelight. His cloak was gone. His posture was impeccable.

His hair, however…

Wild as always.

He had tried.

He’d stood in a mirror and, somewhat hopelessly, attempted to press it down, coax it to behave. But after five minutes of failed manipulation (and one moment where it seemed to defy gravity entirely), he’d given up.

It curled in that ever rebellious way now, the front fringe falling just past his brow, soft and chaotic.

He stared at the brass handle of the door like it might bite him.

Then you opened it.

And for a moment, time did a little twirl.

You were radiant, of course, elegant and sharp, dressed in black silk and a smirk. Not flashy. Not trying. Just right.

And you smiled at him like you’d already won something.

“Look at you,” you said, eyes trailing up and down. “It suits you. That whole tortured elegance thing. Hair’s as hopeless as ever, though.”

He stiffened instinctively, hand drifting up as if to flatten a curl.

“I attempted to… tame it.”

“Don’t,” you said, leaning in with a faux whisper. “It’s half your charm.”

Dream’s body locked up as you casually adjusted his lapel with an elegant touch that lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re breathtaking,” you said, voice casual. “I’d eat you instead of lobster, but I doubt you’d taste as good.”

He froze.

Completely, utterly froze.

You arched an eyebrow, watching the way his pale ears turned pink.

“Did I break you already?”

He coughed lightly, looking away. “I — was not expecting —”

“Flirting?”

He nodded once, as if admitting defeat.

“Oh, darling. We’re just getting started.”

The maître d’hôtel welcomed you with a knowing look, clearly assuming you were some mysterious power couple escaping paparazzi. You were shown to a private booth by the window, dimly lit, cozy, romantic.

Dream sat across from you stiffly. Too still. His fingers hovered above the table, unsure where to rest.

You opened your menu.

He did not.

You peered over. “You do realize you have to order, right?”

Dream looked visibly distressed. “I do not… normally eat.”

“I know. But tonight you do. Deal’s a deal.”

He picked up the menu like it was an ancient curse tablet, eyes flicking nervously.

“This… dish includes butterflied crustaceans marinated in… passionfruit glaze?” he asked.

“Exotic, sensual, messy. Like a good dream,” you said. “Or a very bad decision.”

His hand faltered.

When the waiter came, you ordered with practiced ease, then turned to Dream, your voice lilting:  “I’ll have the lobster. Medium heat. Citrus butter on the side. And the elderflower spritz.”

Dream blinked. “You said that very quickly.”

“I’ve read the menu a lot. I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

“You… are truly excited for this.”

You looked at him. Smiled, this time without teasing.

“Yeah. I am.”

He blinked again. That answer seemed to rattle him more than the flirting.

Dream, after an awkward pause, mimicked your order exactly.

“Excellent choice,” you said, voice full of mirth.

“I simply… trust your judgment,” he muttered.

The main course arrived in a quiet ballet of silver trays and whispered enchantments. The lobster was no brutish shell to be cracked; it had been delicately prepared, butter-poached to perfection, and arranged artfully atop a velvet, smooth bed of golden risotto, flecked with edible pearls and slivers of moon, glazed with herbs.

Dream stared at it like it might come alive and accuse him of blasphemy.

You, however, lit up the moment it was placed before you. Your eyes shone with unmistakable delight, hands practically hovering with excitement.

You noticed his hesitation, smirked, and reached into your small evening bag.

“I came prepared.”

You pulled out a tiny sachet of shimmering sugar stars, iridescent, clearly magical, and with a theatrical flourish, sprinkled a few over your glass of wine.

Dream tilted his head, curious.

“Improves the flavor,” you said seriously, “and ensures you dream of good things.”

He blinked.

“Is that a promise or a curse?”

“Why not both?” you replied airily, tapping your glass against his. “To magical seasoning and slightly irresponsible life choices.”

You took a sip, smug.

And then it happened.

A lone sugar star, stubborn and sparkly, had stuck itself to the tip of your nose.

Unaware, you reached for your lobster fork and began dissecting your meal with graceful precision, offering commentary about the butter's scent, possibly stealing his portion, maybe requesting seconds.

Dream’s gaze lingered.

At first, in observation, as he often did, clinical and quiet. But then it shifted. He blinked once. Again. His eyes softened.

There was something undeniably regal about you: poised, powerful, beautiful. And yet, here you were, sparkling like a festive idiot, entirely unaware.

The juxtaposition was…

Utterly disarming.

And then, it happened.

He laughed.

A warm, surprised laugh, not polished or calculated. It just escaped, like breath he’d been holding without realizing.

You froze mid-sentence. “What?”

Dream tried to compose himself, shaking his head gently, lips still curved.

“You… have something on your nose.”

You reached up instinctively, brushing it away, only to spot the faint shimmer stuck to your finger.

“Oh no.”

He said nothing, but the corners of his mouth told everything.

You narrowed your eyes. “You let me sit here, rambling about butter, glittering like a festive cupcake?”

“You seemed so confident,” he said, voice full of amusement. “I didn’t dare interrupt.”

You huffed, dabbing at your face with a napkin, though you were already laughing, too.

“You’re worse than I thought.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Don’t get smug. You just laughed for the first time in a century. That’s my win.”

“Mm,” he murmured, smiling again. “Perhaps.”

And for a moment, just a quiet, flickering beat, you saw something rare in him.

Not cold detachment. Not tired wisdom.

Just joy.

Simple. Present.

And the air around you changed.

He was still the King of Dreams. Still shadow and story and depth.

But now… he was real. Here. Laughing. With you.

And something inside you warmed in return.

Later, after dessert (he reluctantly tried the chocolate soufflé, then requested a second one), you were both leaning back, full, content.

The conversation had turned quiet. Not awkward. Just… easy.

You were mid-sentence when you caught it.

He was looking at you.

Not with confusion. Not with fear.

But with something… else.

And then he said it:

“You smile differently when you’re not pretending to be terrifying.”

You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes soften. The corners of your mouth lift less sharply. It is… enchanting.”

Your stomach did a very annoying little flip.

“Are you flirting with me, Dream?”

He tilted his head, calm. “Am I succeeding?”

You actually blinked.

He smirked.

You stared at him. “You just, did you just-”

“I believe you called it ‘getting started.’”

Oh no.

You looked away, suddenly aware of how warm your face was.

“Are you blushing now?” he asked, voice silk.

“Don’t push it, Sandman.”

He leaned a fraction closer across the table.

“Would you bite me if I did?”

You gaped.

“Excuse me?!”

“You said earlier you would. In jest, of course.” He smiled, mischievous and infuriating. “Or perhaps not.”

You narrowed your eyes, hiding the fact that your heart had flipped so hard it could sue for whiplash.

“I liked you better when you were scared of me.”

“I still am,” he murmured. “But now I’m also… curious.”

Oh this little,

You reached for your wine, masking your fluster with a sip.

“This was a mistake,” you muttered.

“On the contrary,” Dream said, smiling faintly. “It may be one of my better choices.”

And you had no comeback.

Not one.

Outside, the rain had stopped. You walked side by side, slower than necessary.

Your hand brushed his once.

He didn’t pull away.

“So…” you said at last. “Did I change your opinion?”

“Of you?”

“Of dating.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Both.”

“And?”

He looked at you. Night sky in his eyes. A hint of warmth at the corners.

“I may require… a second opinion.”

Oh gods, you were definitely blushing.

[chu16a-blog]

Dream x Reader - The Price of Mercy

Pairing: Dream x Reader

Warning: Spoiler season 2

Summary: Desperate to save his realm, Dream seeks help from a powerful, feared being ... you. Instead of demanding a painful price, you surprise him with a strange request. Flustered but out of options, he agrees.

Part I - The Price of Mercy

Part II - Dinner with a Goddess

Part III - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

Part IV (End) - The Dream He Dared to Shape

The Price of Mercy

The Dreaming was bleeding.

Dream walked through its corridors, his palace of thought. The sky above cracked with silent thunder.

All because of what he’d done.

A moment of duty. A moment of justice. A moment of blood.

Family blood.

And by the ancient Law, that was enough to summon the Kindly Ones. They were not kind. They would come. They always did. And they would unmake him.

He had exhausted every path.

There was only one door left.

And even he feared it.

You.

He had seen you once, long ago, walking through a Roman temple as if you were bored by time itself. A creature of eerie calm, elegant and still like a mirror pond untouched by wind. Beauty in a form mortals could never survive, but you walked among them like you barely noticed the difference. You had looked at him once, just once, and Morpheus had felt… something.

He didn’t dwell on it.

Destiny had warned him then.

"Do not cross her. She is the unknown chapter, the untethered clause. The Law listens to her in silence. And she charges dearly."

But he was out of options.

So, he descended through layers of reality, past dreams and gods and concepts, until he reached the threshold of your realm, an impossible space suspended between choices and probabilities, colored like dusk and rimmed with the soft laughter of stars.

Your domain was quiet, but not empty. Lanterns floated, casting soft golden light against a midnight backdrop. You sat on a couch made of impossible geometry, legs crossed, sipping tea that shimmered between blue and gold.

You felt his arrival and smiled without looking.

“Took you long enough.”

Morpheus stood still. Tall, still robed in night and regret. His face impassive.

But his eyes… hesitated.

He looked at you, truly, and something ancient and strange twisted behind his ribs. Your beauty was… disarming. The kind that wasn’t trying to seduce or impress. Just was. Effortless. Alive. You were elegance without vanity, danger without cruelty. And you smiled at him like a cat with a secret.

He straightened. His cloak curled behind him like a shadow offended by the light.

"You know why I’m here."

You circled him slowly, watching how his shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched when you got too close. A flicker in his gaze. He wasn’t used to this. Being seen.

"I do. You want a law bent. A rule rewritten. A leash placed upon the Kindly Ones before they tear you and your precious realm to ribbons."

"Yes."

"That’s not usually something done without consequence, Dream. The Laws of the Endless are older than even your melancholy. You’re asking me to interfere."

He stepped closer, tone taut, restrained.

"I have tried all other paths."

You sighed, the sound somewhere between weariness and dramatic flair.

"Of course you have. And now you’ve come to me, expecting pain. Sacrifice. A price so sharp it leaves your soul limping."

He stiffened. His heart beat once, too loud in his ears.

"I will pay what is necessary."

You tilted your head. Your voice shifted, becoming cool, detached. The same script you’d used with gods, devils, and fools alike:

"The favor you ask comes with cost. Not of coin. Not of blood. But of truth. Of surrender. Of something irreplaceable. All who have bargained with me have walked away different. Most do not walk away at all."

You turned. He was waiting for torment. For agony. His black eyes, so often hollow, held a flicker of dread.

And you were…

Bored.

Gods, they’re all the same. Expecting doom and torment. Never just… asking what I want. Not even a ‘how are you’. Tch. And that restaurant just opened too…

And then it hit you.

The restaurant. The one you had tried to go to last week, only to be turned away at the door because "no singles allowed."

So here he was. Tall. Brooding. Rather unreasonably handsome, in that haunted, starving-poet sort of way.

And available.

You grinned.

"I’ve decided your price."

He braced himself.

"There’s a new restaurant in the Waking World. They serve the best lobster this side of the galaxy. Problem is, it’s couples-only. And I want to try their spicy citrus-butter crustacean."

He blinked.

"…I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." You walked towards him, hands folded behind your back, voice playful. "I want to go. I want their lobster. Their chef is a magician with butter and fire. But they don’t allow singles. I tried to bring my pet snake, but apparently that ‘violates the vibe’.

He frowned. "You… wish to dine with me?"

You smirked. "I want the food. They require a partner. You’ll do."

His brows furrowed. He searched the shadows for a trap. “That’s… it?”

You stepped closer, voice a whisper of amusement.

"What? Were you expecting I’d demand your memories? Your voice? Your first love’s heartbeat in a jar? Please. I’m not that cliché. I’m just bored. And hungry."

Morpheus hesitated. "You wish me to… date you?"

"Call it what you want, honey."

He choked. "…Honey?"

You leaned in, lips close to his ear.

"Too much?"

He straightened instantly, clearing his throat.

You watched, delighted, as his eyes flicked in every direction like he expected a trap to spring. “I—I don’t…”

“Relax. I won’t bite. Unless the lobster’s bad.”

His lips parted. Words failed him.

“So,” you continued, voice low and amused, “what’ll it be, Dream? Date or death?”

"I… accept. The terms. I choose the… date."

"Oh, how romantic," you teased, spinning on your heel. "Now. You’ll need to dress well. This place is fancy."

You turned, finger raised.

"You’ll need to pick me up. I expect you at eight sharp. No shadows. No sand. No ravens. Knock on the door like a normal being."

His voice was faint, nearly stunned.

"I… see."

"Do you?"

You stepped close again, smile playful, eyes glittering.

"You sure you’re okay with the price, Dream of the Endless? You seem a little… flustered."

He looked away quickly. "I am… simply surprised."

His ears turned faintly pink.

"Hm." You leaned back. "You’re cute when you’re trying not to blush."

Silence stretched, thick with something unexpected. Not doom. Not dread.

Anticipation.

"So," you said, extending your hand. "Do we have a deal?"

He stared at it, then at you.

There was no trick. No hidden malice.

Just you, beautiful, kind (against all rumors), and maybe a little lonely.

He hesitated. Then, slowly, solemnly, placed his hand in yours.

It was warm. Surprising.

“We have a deal.”

You smiled.

He turned to leave, half-floating, half-fleeing, his mind a storm of confusion.

And behind him, you laughed softly.

The Kindly Ones would be kept at bay. Your price was paid.

And perhaps… you wouldn’t be so bored after all.

You smiled. "Excellent. I’ll see you Friday. Don’t be late, honey."

He flinched again.

He stepped back through the veil, heart pounding like a mortal’s.

The Law had been bent. The Kindly Ones halted.

And all it cost him…

…was a date.

He touched the place on his hand where your fingers had rested.

Your laugh still echoed in his ears.

He could not stop the small smile that formed at the corner of his lips.

This is the first part of 4 delicious chapters, ehehehe, enjoy!

[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.”