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 :)
marvelouslytrekking