“Ugh. Still broken,” you sighed, trudging back to your table without your favorite morning pick me up.
“No luck?” Scotty asked, eyebrow raising at your black coffee.
“Nope.” You leveled him a sad puppy look that had him shaking his head and squirming a little.
“I’m sorry, love,” he apologized earnestly. “It’s been on my list for the last week, but we keep running into higher priority issues. I asked Fletcher to take a look, but he’s about as reliable as the first gen transporters.”
You snorted and started drawing pumpkins on your napkins. Fall was your favorite season back on earth and even now, being in the cold blackness of space, you still religiously observed fall traditions, chief of which was the pumpkin spice latte.
Sadly, the replicator was unable to make the flavorful drink and your boyfriend had been too busy with more pressing issues.
Scotty smiled as he watched you eat and draw. He loved your little doodles and your passion for all things autumn.
“I’ll get right on it first thing tomorrow, that’s a promise,” he declared. “And I’ll really make it up to you next fall when I show you Scotland in the fall.”
First fanfic. Resume: A fiery rivalry between Scotty and a new engineer hides feelings neither will admit — until a near-tragedy, a drunken confession, and one kiss change everything.
A kiss for a kiss:
The first time you walked into Engineering aboard the Enterprise, all heads turned.
It wasn’t just your looks, though, frankly, that played a part — it was the energy you carried. Like a star imploding and creating something entirely new. Confident stride. No-nonsense tone. You were assigned straight into the engineering department.dw
You glanced around, noting the wide eyes of most of the men in the room. A few offered nods, one even winked. But you weren’t here to flirt. You were here to work.
On your first day, scotty watched you stalk up to the diagnostics terminal, drop your toolkit with a loud clang, and immediately start poking through the ship’s energy redistribution logs without so much as a “good morning.”
You didn’t even introduce yourself. Just started rewiring like you’d built the ship yourself.
He narrowed his eyes. “She’s gonna be a nightmare.”
And you were.
Every day, it was something new. You bypassed protocol. Refused gloves. Crawled into ducts without a spotter. You fixed things fast, maybe too fast, and left him trailing behind with paperwork and complaints.
After your third incident, where you nearly overloaded a relay by jamming two incompatible coils together (“It worked, didn’t it?”) — Scotty exploded.
“If I wanted a demolition crew, I’d have called one! Ye can’t just jam stuff until it sticks, lass!”
“I didn’t jam anything. I applied pressure physics and ran a manual override. You should try reading the schematics sometime, Chief.”
“Den’t test me, I’ll reassign ye to cleanin' the warp nacelles with a toothbrush!”
“You’ll have to catch me first, Grandpa.”
He stared at you.
When Scotty’s frustration started bubbling over into grumpier-than-usual tirades, Kirk and Bones decided it was time for a drink and invited him to the captain’s quarters.
“She desn’t even label her tools!” he muttered to Kirk over drinks. “Jus' yanks things 'part like she’s in a bloody scrapyard.”
Kirk grinned behind his glass of Saurian brandy. “You don’t like her because she rewired that stabilizer in half the time it would take you.”
“I den’t like her becaus' she’s reckless,” Scotty snapped. “Fixes things with spit and instinct. The lass is goin' to get herself killed.”
Bones, who’d been silently sipping, raised an eyebrow. “Funny, sounds like someone I know…”
You and Scotty spent the next few weeks locked in a steady rhythm of arguments and stubborn standoffs, the friction between you practically a part of the ship’s daily routine.
You were elbow-deep in the side panel of the power transfer grid when Scotty came storming over.
“What 'n the name of sanity are ye doin'? Ye’r rerouting a main power conduit without ae safety brace!”
You barely looked up. “Don’t need it. I’ve done this plenty of times.”
“And if the system kicks in while ye hand’s 'n there, we’ll be scraping ye off the wall!”
You rolled your eyes. “Then shut down the system. Simple fix.”
Scotty’s jaw clenched. “Ye’ll follow protocol on me deck, lass.”
“I’ll follow whatever gets the job done fastest and safest — and newsflash — I am being safe.”
The tension was magnetic. And maddening. You drove each other up the wall. But that didn’t stop you from looking when he passed by. Or him from watching you when he thought you weren’t noticing.
He started complaining more to Bones and Kirk, his grumbling less furious, more… tortured.
“She struts around like she invente' the warp core. Always has thae grease smear on he' cheek. Why is that attractive?!” Scotty groaned.
“She’s got you twisted,” Bones laughed. “Might want to untangle yourself before it gets worse.”
“You know, if you keep complaining about her every day, people might start thinking you're obsessed.”
“Obsessed with no' dying, maybe,” Scotty grumbled. “She hotwires power converters like she’s trying te trigger a core meltdown.”
“She’s efficient,” Bones offered.
“She’s reckless.”
“You also said she solved the capacitor issue in under five minutes,” Kirk pointed out.
“Aye,” Scotty muttered.
Kirk exchanged a knowing glance with Bones.
A few days later, the perfect opportunity for mischief presented itself.
Kirk, being Kirk, decided a little tight space would “build camaraderie.”
“Two of my best engineers,” he said innocently, “I need you both in the auxiliary core junction. Crawling space only. You’ll need to work together.”
Scotty glared at him. “Th' is about yoe' amusement, isn’t it?”
So, that’s how you ended up shoulder-to-shoulder with Montgomery Scott under a massive tangle of Enterprise machinery, both of you flat on your backs, shoulders pressed together, tools in hand, faces barely inches apart.
The air was thick with the hum of energy conduits and barely-contained irritation.
“I told ye we should’ve rerouted the EPS flow from th' secondary regulator,” he muttered.
“And I told you,” you said, squinting up at the wiring, “that doing it your way would’ve overloaded the entire subsystem.”
“I’ve bee' running thes' systems since befor' ye got your first toolkit,” he grumbled.
You gave a lopsided smile. “Right, because time automatically makes someone right.”
He grunted in response, reaching overhead to adjust a coupling, his elbow brushed your ribs. You flinched. “Watch it.”
“Maybe if ye didn’t take up half the damn crawlspace—”
“Oh please, I’m not the one with the overgrown toolbelt and a tendency to manspread under warp coils.”
He paused. “Tha's no' even a real word.”
“It is.”
You both glared at each other in the dim lighting, chests rising and falling with the heat of the argument, and something else. The tension buzzed louder than the plasma regulators above your heads.
Every time your hand brushed his while reaching for a spanner, every grunt or shift of his leg that nudged yours. It was like static electricity building up with nowhere to discharge. You tried to ignore it. You focused on the panel, the wires, anything but the warmth of his body or the faint scent of engine grease and cologne.
He spoke again, quieter this time. “I just... don’t like the way ye throw yerself into thes' systems. Ye’r reckless.”
You paused. “I get the job done.”
He turned his head to look at you. “Aye, ye do. But at what cost?”
You met his eyes, startled by the sudden shift in tone.
“Is that... concern?” you teased, unsure whether to mock or thank him.
He looked away quickly, cheeks slightly flushed. “Just trying to make sure I den’t have to fish ye out of the power grid one day.”
The silence after that was thick. Heavy.
You stared back at the wires, your heart beating just a little faster. His arm brushed yours again—not an accident this time—and neither of you moved away.
That night, Scotty couldn’t stop thinking about the way your smirk lingered, or the brief hitch in your breath when your knees had touched. He told himself it meant nothing. Just proximity. Just stress.
But something had shifted. Unwillingly. Uncomfortably. Irrevocably.
He started noticing more: the way you argued, sure, but also how you worked late. The way you tied your hair back when you were about to get under a console. How your lips pressed together when you were deep in thought. Caught himself looking at the back of your neck in the lift the next day. Wondering if you always twirled that same wrench when you were thinking.
And how often other men in Engineering looked at you. Talked to you. Laughed.
He hated it. Because he was older, not as polished, and damn it, he shouldn’t feel this way.
He tried to hide it. Try to work the opposite shift from yours. Avoiding was his best strategy right now, "It's just a phase, simple crush. It will go away soon,". It didn't.
You, for your part, were in full denial.
“He’s infuriating,” you told your friend over drinks in the rec lounge. “I mean it. He talks like I’m a hazard.”
“You are a hazard,” she said, sipping her drink. “But he clearly wants to disassemble more than your circuits.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t want to have time.”
“That too.”
“Still... you’re not not into him.”
You didn’t respond.
But your silence said enough.
A week later, you were back on mission, repairing a planetary outpost. Something went wrong. You didn’t see the panel sparking until it was too late. A sharp pulse, then pain. You went down hard.
The explosion rang in his ears long after the dust had settled.
He didn’t remember running. He didn’t remember the weight of the toolkit he tossed aside or the terrain tearing at his knees when he dropped beside you. All he remembered was your face — blood at your temple, eyes half-closed, your body frighteningly still beneath the crumpled debris.
“Y/N—no, no, no—com' on, stey with me,” he’d said, voice shaking as he cupped your cheek with one trembling hand, the other checking your pulse like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
He remembered the heat of you bleeding against him. He remembered shouting into his comm, barking at the Enterprise to beam you both up now, not giving a damn if the signal was unstable or protocol was being ignored.
And when the blue light took hold and you vanished with him back to safety, something else disappeared too, any illusion that he could keep pretending.
He loved you.
He loved you, and the thought of losing you had cracked something deep inside him. Something old and quiet and buried under years of routine and stubbornness and excuses.
He sat beside your biobed in Medbay while Bones patched you up, his jaw clenched and hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. When the med team cleared out and you were resting, he just... stayed. Watching the rise and fall of your chest like it was the most precious, terrifying thing in the universe.
That was when it hit him.
This wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t annoyance mistaken for attraction. It wasn’t proximity or adrenaline or the thrill of having someone challenge him every damn day.
It was you.
It was the way you fought him on every repair because you wanted the best result, even if it meant bruised egos. The way you laughed when the warp core shuddered like a dying beast and you called it “character.” The way you called him out, stood toe-to-toe with him, refused to let him brood in silence when something was wrong.
You were everything he wasn’t, and everything he wanted to be near.
And for a second, seeing you limp in his arms, he'd thought he'd never get the chance to say it.
Now?
Now, he couldn't keep it inside anymore.
So when he left Medbay that night, he didn’t go to his quarters. He went to a secret stash. Pulled out the bottle of whisky. He needed to think — no, he needed to feel — and for once in his life, he wasn’t going to fix the damn feeling. He was going to follow it.
Just as Scotty raised his hand to knock, bottle clutched tightly at his side, he heard voices coming from inside your office.
Kirk’s voice, light but insistent: “You’ve got to tell him someday, you know. He’s not a mind reader.”
Scotty froze mid-motion, breath caught in his throat.
Tell who? he thought, heart suddenly hammering harder.
Then your voice came: “I don’t have time for this right now, Jim.”
You sounded... distant. Guarded.
Something inside him twisted.
His thoughts spiraled faster than he could stop them. Who was Kirk talking about? Some young officer? One of the blokes always orbiting you in the mess hall? Someone who wouldn’t leave grease on everything or lecture you about plasma conduits.
Not him.
And the way you said it — clipped, tired — like you were brushing the whole thing off. Like it wasn’t even worth your energy.
The bottle in his hand suddenly felt ridiculous. Heavy with hope he shouldn’t have had.
His arm fell to his side.
He stood there for a moment, silent in the hallway, the cool metal wall against his back as the voices inside faded into a low murmur.
Then he turned and walked away. Slowly. Quietly.
Whatever he'd been about to say, it stayed unspoken.
The bottle hit the workbench with a dull thunk, his fingers clumsy on the glass.
Engineering was empty. Dim. Quiet. The kind of quiet that let thoughts grow too loud.
He didn’t bother with a glass — just twisted the cap off and drank straight from the bottle, the burn a poor match for what churned in his chest.
He could still hear it — Kirk’s voice through your office door: “You’ve got to tell him someday…”
And your voice. Your voice. That pause. That distance.
The whisky hit hard, fiery down his throat, and he welcomed it. Welcomed the burn. It distracted him from the sharper pain sitting like a rock in his chest.
You had feelings for someone.
Just… not him.
Not the grease-stained, too-old, too-tired engineer who spent more time talking to warp cores than people. No. It was probably someone else. One of the young officers you laughed with in the mess. Someone with charm and bright eyes and smooth lines.
Someone who didn’t grumble every time you walked into the engine room.
Scotty let out a bitter chuckle, dragging a hand down his face.
“Aye,” he muttered to the empty room, accent curling heavier, rougher. “What the hell were ye thinkin’, Montgomery? That she'd ever look twice at ye?”
He glanced down at himself, stained uniform, scraped knuckles, hands that only ever fixed things, never held anything gently.
“She’s got feelings, alright,” he murmured. “Just not for the man who yelled at her for bypassing the safety relays.”
Another drink. His lips pressed tight to the glass like he could seal the words inside — or drown them.
The alcohol made it easier. And harder. It dulled the ache but made the truth louder.
He wasn’t what you needed.
Wasn’t what you wanted.
Probably never had been.
He set the bottle down, stared at it for a long time.
But the thought of doing nothing — of going back to pretending he didn’t care, didn’t feel anything — that was worse.
He couldn’t sit in the dark with that weight. Not tonight.
So he stood. A little too fast. The room tilted slightly, and he caught himself on the edge of the console.
Then he grabbed the bottle and made his way down the corridor, each step heavier than the last.
Maybe he was being foolish. Maybe he’d wake up regretting it all.
But if he didn’t tell you tonight — if he didn’t at least try — he’d never forgive himself.
And even if your heart belonged to someone else…
You deserved to know who’d given you his.
You opened the door and found Scotty, flushed, wide-eyed, holding a bottle of whiskey.
His accent was thick, words slightly slurred.
“Ye—ye look... radiant,” he said.
You blinked. “Are you drunk?”
“I’m... no’ not drunk.”
You stepped aside. He entered.
The scent hit you first: whisky, engine grease, and nerves.
He paced, agitated. “I had this whole plan, ye know? Thought I’d tell ye calmly. Classy. Maybe with tea. But now I’ve gone and bollocksed it up with whisky and rambling and—”
“Scott—”
“I know you don’t like me,” he blurted. “Ye roll your eyes, and ye argue, and ye’ve got these bloody perfect hands always fixing things faster than me, and everyone stares at ye like ye’re a bloody goddess and I’m just the crusty engineer who talks te warp cores like they’re alive—”
“Scotty—”
“—and I know I’m older and stubborn and no' remotely as good-looking as half the' men who trip over' themselves trying te flirt with ye, but I swear to every star in the quadrant that when I see ye, it’s like—like—gravity, and I’m too bloody tired to fight it anymore—”
And before you could say another word, he kissed you.
Not soft. Not gentle. Harsh.
Just heat, and regret, and everything he hadn’t said.
Then he pulled back, stared at you in horror, and fled the room.
You stood in the doorway, fingers to your lips, heart pounding.
The next day, scotty woke with a pounding headache and the vague, creeping sense that he'd done something very, very stupid.
He groaned, sitting up on his bunk, rubbing his face. There was a taste of whisky still lingering on his tongue and a patchy recollection of going to your quarters. Talking too much. Saying too much. Kissing—
“Oh, no.”
He buried his face in his hands. He didn’t even remember if you slapped him. Or screamed. Or threw him out. All he remembered was your eyes, wide in the low light of your quarters, and the electric jolt of your lips beneath his.
He dressed slowly, carefully, every movement tender. When he finally staggered into Engineering, he spotted you immediately across the room — working at a diagnostic station like nothing had happened.
Maybe it hadn’t.
Maybe it was all in his head.
Maybe—
You turned. Your eyes met. You didn’t look furious. But you didn’t look pleased either. Just... unreadable. Neutral.
That was worse.
He nodded stiffly. You nodded back.
No words.
Just silence.
The day dragged like a broken impulse drive. Scotty fumbled his tasks. He dropped a tool, barked at an ensign, rewired a panel backward. Keenser stared at him in concern, but said nothing.
By the time the shift ended, he felt hollowed out and stupid.
He didn’t even go to the messhall. He just wandered the corridor aimlessly, steps slow, thoughts heavy.
He turned a corner — and stopped short.
You were there. Sitting alone on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you, a cup of something warm in your hands.
You looked up at him.
“I figured you’d be avoiding me.”
He swallowed. “I... thought you might hate me.”
You gave a small, unreadable smile. “A little.”
He nodded, miserable. “Right.”
“I’ve been thinking about slapping you,” you said casually. “But then I figured... maybe I’ll just talk to you instead.”
He exhaled — unsure if it was relief or dread.
You patted the floor beside you. “Sit, Scotty.”
He did. Hesitantly. Close, but not too close.
There was a long silence.
“I didn’t know,” you finally said. “How you felt. I mean, I suspected. But you’re not exactly... emotionally transparent.”
“Aye,” he murmured. “I’ve always been better with engines than feelings.”
You glanced at him. “You were an idiot last night.”
“I am an idiot.”
“But... you were honest.”
Another silence. But this one felt different.
You leaned your head against the wall and sighed.
“I’ve been avoiding it too. What I feel. Figured it was just... tension. Frustration. Too much time in crawlspaces.”
Scotty laughed, low and rough. “And now?”
You looked at him. Really looked at him.
And then, soft as a whisper: “Now I think I’d like you to kiss me again. This time when you’re not drunk and panicking.”
His breath caught. “Are ye sure?”
You reached over, took his hand — the one that always held tools too tightly — and laced your fingers with his.
“I’m sure.”
He leaned in, slower this time, more careful. And when his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed or wild — it was real. Steady. Earned.
When you pulled back, you didn’t let go of his hand.
He rested his head lightly against yours, smiling for the first time all day.
“Well,” he murmured, “I guess Kirk was right.”
You smirked. “About what?”
“Fighting is foreplay.”
You snorted. “Don’t make me slap you now.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst way to end a shift.”
You laughed, and it echoed down the corridor like something new beginning.
Scotty X Reader kiss prompt fic: Please Be Careful
22. Kiss before heading into danger/long separation.
“Promise me you’ll be careful, lass,” Scotty implored. You were about to beam down with the away team to a rather unforgiving planet to search for a missing team of scientists. Jim had very carefully chosen a select group of experienced crew for this mission and you had been chosen as one of the red shirts to provide cover and help scout.
“Of course I will,” you assured him. “I’m determined to break the curse, you know. I’m plenty stubborn enough.”
Scotty smiled weakly, not letting go of your hands.
“Aye, that you are, love, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spend the whole time on the edge of my seat, waiting for your safe return.”
“I love having you to come back to,” you told him, leaning up to give him a good-bye kiss.
“I love you Montgomery Scott, and I will be back. You hear?”
You looked your promise into his eyes, holding his gaze steadily until you heard the captain approaching.
“I’ll see you soon, handsome.”
“You’d better, lassie,” he said, a tiny tremor in his voice.
He didn’t take his eyes off of you until he had to look down to operate the transporter.
9. One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.
“C’mon, Scotty. Take a break. You’re gonna give yourself a headache staring at those screens for so long,” you coaxed your boyfriend, who was deeply engrossed in a controversial technical article. You’d been watching him read for awhile, highly entertained by his varied facial expressions and random utterances of indignation, but you wanted his full attention now and were prepared to get it by any means necessary.
As he finally set the PADD down, you seized the opportunity and claimed possession of his lap.
“Sorry, Love,” he sighed. “I didn’t know it would be so long. “What do you need?”
In answer, you started tracing his lips with your fingertip, over and over, hoping he’d get the hint.
“Oh, I see,” he murmured, taking your face in his sturdy hands to kiss you.
“More?” he asked after a pause for breath. You nodded vigorously, making him grin.
“Very well. This is a much better use of my time, anyway.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” you replied, just before he kissed you again. The mechanical journals remained untouched for the rest of the night.
Can I just say that there is a lack of Scotty stuff on here 😟. There definitely needs to be more.
(EDIT: I wrote a oneshot that kinda follows this idea)
Imagine your ex is the newest member aboard the Enterprise and works under Scotty. Imagine one day, Scotty overhears your ex saying that he was gonna try to get back with you. Now imagine Scotty, who has liked you for quite a while but has been too nervous to say anything gets jealous and immediately just blurts out that the two of you are dating and your ex would be wise to leave you alone...Imagine this news spreads rather quickly throughout the ship, eventually making it's way back to you.
(A/N: I'm British - more specifically I'm from England - but I have a friend that's a Scot and I just hope if she ever manages to find this, that she doesn't kill me for how I wrote the accent. I tried to make it as authentic to the country and character as possible.)
Word Count: 744
The day had been long. At least that’s how it had felt to you, and you were glad to finally be done with it. You made your way to the engine room to sit down there. Something about the room and its chief engineer always made you feel better. The warm hum of the warp core filled the space like a comforting heartbeat. Scotty was working on a panel, sleeves up, grease smudged on his hands. He glanced over his shoulders when you took a seat near him and gave you a lopsided grin.
“Ye look a wee bit tired there, lass” he said with his usual warmth. “Been overexerting yourself again, haven’t ye?”
You couldn’t help but smile at the familiar term of endearment. He always did that. Called you things like ‘lass’ and ‘darlin’, but today it hit you differently. Your cheeks warmed as you ducked your head to hide the blush that was slowly creeping up your neck to your ears.
Scotty noticed. Of course he did.
His hands stilled, and he tilted his head with a curious look on his face. “What’s this now? Yer blushin’, lass?”
You shook your head furiously, trying to ignore the fact that his noticing had made you blush even more. “It’s nothing. Just… you always call me that.”
“Aye,” he said scooting his wheelie chair closer to you. “I do. I’ve called ye that since the day we met. Thought you might’ve noticed by now.” His eyes twinkled as he leaned in slightly. “But seein’ ye blush like that – well now, that is a rare treat and quite a sight to behold.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’re honestly impossible.”
“Ach,” he chuckled, the sound pleasant and deep. “Maybe. But I cannae help it. Ye bring it out in me.”
“Ye bring out a lot more in me that I care tuh admit most days.” He muttered to himself, but you heard, and the blush returned full force.
There was a moment of comfortable silence before he spoke again, his voice more serious.
“Ye know, I dinnae call everyone lass or darlin’. Only the ones that matter.”
You being you couldn’t resist the little joke that had bubbled into your head.
“So, do you call Bones darlin’? I never noticed.”
“Oh eh! Stop that. Ye are terrible. I’m trying to be serious here.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh.”
“Aye.” He reached out, gently taking your he and in his grease-streaked fingers. “And you, lass, matter more than all the dilithium crystals in the galaxy.”
“Well,” you said softly, squeezing his hand, “I suppose I’ll let you keep calling me that then.
Scotty grinned, his eyes warm with affection. “Good. I was hopin’ ye’d say that bonnie.”
For a moment he simply looked at you, his expression uncharacteristically tender. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, “Though, now that I’ve seen how you react, I might need to call ye lass a bit more often.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Terrible.”
“Me? Terrible?” he teased, laying his hand dramatically over his chest. “I’m just a humble engineer, doin’ my best to keep this ship – and you- I one piece.”
You laughed, “You make it sound like I’m a part of the Enterprise systems.”
“Aye,” he said with a nod, leaning forward with a grin. “Ye are, in a way. This ship wouldn’t feel the same without ye. I’d miss ye like I’d miss warp drive if ye weren’t here.”
Your heart swelled at his words. “That’s... the nicest and sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He gave you a soft smile, his gaze unwavering. “I only spoke the truth, darlin’. Your part of my world – and I’d like it to stay that way, if ye fancy that I mean.”
The hum of the warp core filled the quiet that followed. Scotty gently brushing his fingers over the back of your hand.
“So, what do you say lass?”
You smiled and leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek. “Of course, Monty. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He chuckled, and blushed himself. “Good. Because I’ve got a whole list of nicknames, I’ve been wantin’ to try out on ye.”
“Oh really? Like what?”
“Ach, ye’ll just have to wait and see.” He gave you a wink before pushing back to his console. “ But one thing’s for sure – Ye’ll always be my bonnie lass.”
