#star trek 2009 fanfiction

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Part I

We Don't Fit in Well ('Cause We Are Just Ourselves)

James T. Kirk (AOS) x Reader

Description: Riverside, Iowa. You've been here once before. Back then, everything was different. Now, you're not sure you're even in the same universe anymore. The man you might love? He's disappeared into thin air. The job you love? It might just disappear too. When everything hinges on one person, what lengths will you go to in order to save him? Can you save him while following the harsh demands you've been ordered to fulfill?

Warnings: Arguments, Mentions of Drunken Behavior, Injuries, Rough language

These will change from chapter-to-chapter. I will do my best to denote all happening as faithfully as I can. If any of these items bothers you, please do not read. One chapter of this fic includes non-graphic descriptions of Torture. All trigger warnings will be clearly demarcated in this fic.

Author’s Note: Hello my lovelies! This is my first Star Trek fic (ever), and I've been agonizing over how I could write it for so so long. This fic has been in the works since late-November 2023 and I think it's finally ready to share with you all!

I of course have to thank my faithful beta readers (and biggest cheerleaders) @desert-fern, @horseshoegirl and @sarahsmi13s for reading bits and pieces of this fic and making sure I was doing it justice. I also want to thank @a-reader-and-a-writer! Vee sent me this ask around then and nearly a year and a half later, we have this fic!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

The last time it snowed, the world was a very different place. Vulcan was still one of the biggest influences in the Federation, still orbiting its sun and still home to billions of souls, which were now snuffed out. Starfleet was thriving, with thousands of cadets and personnel boldly going into the unknown on peacekeeping and exploratory missions. What you have now is a world spinning on a different, tilted, off-kilter axis. It's like there is a hush over the grounds of Starfleet Academy still, cadets flinching, fighting their laughter when before it used to ring through the central square, melding with hundreds of conversations. The ghosts of everyone who walked the halls and never got the chance to graduate, to live, encroach on the spirits of those who remain.

It's no wonder the Admiralty have pushed for accelerated courses, aching to balloon the skeleton complement staffing the vessels still operational after the Battle of Vulcan. But the appetite to join Starfleet isn't present anymore. You've been riding a recruitment desk since graduation; you know what you're talking about. It’s like Starfleet had been inexplicably linked with the disaster on Vulcan and been found culpable for it. 

Nobody wants to be affiliated with the paramilitary organization responsible for the violent death of an entire planet. The Admirals have given countless interviews on the resettlement of the surviving Vulcan people. Ambassador Sarek himself has spoken about the loss of his wife, a prominent Terran herself, and the path to healing for the Vulcan people as a whole. Time and again, he's stressed how, without Starfleet, nothing of Vulcan-that-was would have been saved. But it doesn't seem to have worked. Every day, public sentiment on Starfleet has waned, the mercury dipping lower and lower and sinking into the red until you're not sure anything will bring it back out.

Well, there is one thing that could possibly save Starfleet. But nobody’s sure if he'd agree to do it.

It's why you're in Riverside, Iowa, of all places. The last time you were here, it was in 2255, and the summer sun shone golden from a blue sky over the shafts of fragrant wheat swaying in the hot breeze. You can still recall how your uniform had stuck to the small of your back, how wisps of your hair had been snatched from your braid only to get plastered against your face and neck. Back then, only a little over three years and yet a lifetime ago, you'd been awed at the mechanisms of the Riverside Shipyard, awed at the skeleton of the Enterprise as she was built piece by piece and paid little attention to the town in the shipyard's shadow. One bar fight and a pair of new cadets on board your shuttle later, you'd forgotten all about the place. 

Until now.

Your communicator trills loudly in the cold air, the tinny sound hushed between buildings blanketed in snow drifts.

“You find him yet, kid?”

“I'm 28, Doctor McCoy! I'm far from a kid.”

“You’re all kids to me.” You can hear the irascible doctor in the background, grumbling and growling. “So, did you find him yet?”

“No, and before you ask, I'm trying to remember whether I ever knew how to walk in this much snow and if the Riverside transporter station had Eskimo dogs and sleds for rent,” you snark back.

“Touchy, touchy, kid.” You don’t have to see McCoy's face to know he's smirking at you. The man may be a southern gentleman - most of the time - but a friend still amuses him in a tough situation of their own making. “Anyone would think you didn't want to see him anymore.”

“Len …” You sigh noisily, pretending your fingers aren't trembling, like snow isn’t seeping into your boots. “This was a bad idea. There’s a reason I've been riding a booth in recruitment instead of working with Scotty on his ‘wee lass’.”

“Give him a chance to explain, kid. And if he breaks your heart, tell me, and I'll come right over and getcha. Even if I have to brave a transporter to do it.”

“You're one of the good ones, Dr. McCoy.”

His laugh makes the bile roiling in your stomach ease a little.

“I hope you know you're one of the good ones too, kid. Now bring him home.”

The comm goes dead with a sharp click, and suddenly, you're alone again, looking at the small farmhouse in front of you. It’s two-storied and quaint, with a wrap-around porch surrounding the ground floor and dark windows peering out onto the street. Snow-covered fields surround it on either side, and you think you can see bushes buried under the relentless snow.

You think it used to be white once upon a time, when it was new, with white siding, cheerful blue shutters and a dark red shingled roof - the mid-1950s American dream. The blues have faded and blended with dust, the roof browned with age. As you walk, forcing yourself to lift each foot, you catalog the way the grass has grown up through the wooden planks of the porch over long hot summers, how there is a carving which might just spell out the words “JTK was here” hidden to the side of the door.

Because, well, if you can see the jagged lines of a pen knife on aged wood, then you're definitely too close to your goals to go home. The only part of the house which doesn't look aged is the doorbell and you press it with fingers trembling with both the cold and your nerves. But you don’t hear a bell ringing. A camera unshutters, the movements well-oiled and precise. You stand still and let it scan you, holding your Starfleet identification up when prompted. But the door doesn't open.

It feels anticlimactic. All the stress, the well-meaning, gruff pep talk from the Doc, the trembling in your fingers. Who is to say he's even home? Who is to say he'd even open the door for anyone? Why did Len think he'd open the door for you? The thought of someone you adore, and yeah, you've gone way past denial to even delude yourself into thinking you like him any less than pure adoration, seeing you standing on his doorstep and refusing to open the door, hurts like a kick to the chest.

You can’t breathe as you knock gently on the wood, ignoring the splinters as they catch on your skin.

“J-Jim?” His name leaves your chapped lips like a prayer, echoing through the cold stillness around you. “Open the door, please. It's me.”

You knock until your knuckles ache, and when you pull away, there's a rusty smudge of blood on the wood. One of the splinters has done more than catch on your skin, ripping a jagged hole against the ridged bone of your hand, embedded there like the man you're trying to find is in your heart.

“I know I'm the last person you want to see out here. B-but Len suggested to Admiral Barnett that you wouldn't come back for anyone else. I tried to tell them otherwise, but nobody listened. We're worried about you, Jim. Please. Worried sick.”

You wait with bated breath for any sign of life. But none comes. You turn, fumbling for your communicator with aching fingers because at least you can tell the Admiralty you tried, right?

“If you were worried sick, why didn't you come sooner? Took ya six months to come out here … to see the famous Captain Kirk for yourself.”

Your knees go weak at the sound of his voice, but when you whirl around, your concern doesn't fade. Because you've never seen James Tiberius Kirk in such a bad state of disrepair. The just-been-fucked state of his hair is par for the course. Bloody bar fights might very well have been normal - after all, you've seen the results on his face far too many times. But drunk, so drunk you can smell the cheap alcohol seeping from his pores, hair greasy and blue eyes dull? You've never seen James T. Kirk fall so far from the pedestal he's set himself on.

“Jay…” He snorts crudely at the pet name on your tongue like he knows you don't deserve to call him that, wheeling around and back into the yawning doorway with little grace.

“Don't haveta like ya to keep you from freezin’.”

He's slurring, and your heart cracks at the rudely dismissive tone in his voice.

“Get in ‘ere, call Bones and get out.”

Jame T. Kirk is a lot of things, you know. He's smart - smarter than anyone has rights to be - and works endlessly for his crew like he'd never work for himself. But he's not a sloppy drunk. He likes alcohol as much as the next man, preferring a light buzz to quell the jitters of a perfectionist attitude without stifling his ridiculously brilliant brain. This is so far past buzzed you're not sure he even remembers what a buzz is.

Empty bottles clank and clatter against the toes of your boots as you walk in, closing the door gently. You're hit with a cloud of dust, the musty smell coating your mouth without it even being open, the fine particulate sinking into your clothing with each step. It smells like dust and rot and spilled alcohol in the enclosed space. The pungent bouquet makes your nose wrinkle, hand rising to cover your mouth and nose in a futile effort to stave the smells away. You follow Jim through the trail he's making, circumnavigating the towering piles of bottles, avoiding the puddles on the floor that may have once been bile.

The kitchen is mostly clean, even if it does smell just as bad. But at least here, there is room to move and sit. The glare you're given as you perch on the very edge of one of the cracked vinyl chairs pushed up against a small table is vitriolic enough that you can feel your resolve, cracked and patched together with string and duct tape, begin to burn.

“I told ya. Get in. Get warm. Call Bones. And get out. I don’t care what you're doing here. I just want you off my property.”

He stares at you for several moments, warm blue eyes now flinty and cold, before turning around and walking further into the house. You can hear the clattering as he knocks into things, the hushed expletives as he no doubt bashes his elbows and knees into the sides of furniture and door jambs. Once upon a time, you would have laughed, trailing after him to ask if he needed a kiss on a fresh bruise or two marring his skin. Now you’re left paralyzed between your need to make sure he is okay and your fear of overstepping.

You’re not sure how it went so wrong. One night, you’d been curled up against his side on his ratty old couch in San Francisco, warm and comfortable, soaking in the scent of his cologne. It had been a perfect night, with friends hanging out, eating good food, and drinking good alcohol. But it didn’t stay a hangout between friends. Jim was just as distracting as usual, with his pretty blue eyes and wide grin. You’d woken up the next morning, bare and aching in the best way, in his empty bed to a cold, deserted apartment. 

You weren’t sure what you’d done to make him leave. Was giving into the sexual tension with your commanding officer why he disappeared? It was a shot to your confidence and ego. He was just gone, with no note, all the clothes still in his closet, and everything untouched. You couldn’t even tell when in the middle of the night he left or where he went. It’s taken you six months to track him down. You’re not sure how long he’s been in Riverside or if he was alone the entire time, but you’ve finally found him.

It’s probably time to make some decisions. How do you convince him to come back to San Francisco? You’re not charismatic or particularly charming. Most of the time, you’re being charmed, not doing the charming. You’re yanked viciously out of your musing by the sharp thud of a body colliding with the floor. Jim’s lying at the foot of the stairs, blood seeping sluggishly from a slice on his forehead.

“Shit, Jimmy.” You soften your voice to a whisper as you lever him up. “What have you done to yourself?”

He’s sluggish and barely responsive as you sling his heavy arm over your shoulder and stagger upright. He’s completely unresponsive as you maneuver him to the living room and lay him down on the mostly clean sofa. The wound isn’t too bad, already scabbing over, but you’re more worried by how he’s been knocked out. He’s motionless, almost lifeless, were it not for the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. You call Len three times that night - first to make sure you’re doing the right thing, second to treat the swelling, and third to get Mama McCoy’s recipe for chicken noodle soup and her award-winning pancakes.

He'll be fine, kiddo. If he's got a bump on his noggin and was as drunk as you say, he'll sleep through the night. You'll want to get some coffee in him in the morning. He'll have a bear of a hangover, but he'll be fine. Call me if you need anything, kid.

Len's advice, while comforting from a medical standpoint, only partially alleviates your worry. You spend the night in a sleepless, manic haze, focused on only two things: making sure Jim is alright and cleaning up his house, at least the kitchen and the stairs. You venture out into the cold multiple times, hauling bag after bag of trash to the big cans in the side yard, stamping the snow off your boots and shivering as you try futilely to warm up.

By the time the sun's risen, the kitchen is spotless, smelling softly of lemon cleaner, and you're no less scared than you were walking into Riverside the day before. You're terrified. Terrified at the thought of seeing censure in those blue, blue eyes. Terrified to hear James Tiberius Kirk tell you that you were only a passing flame, a quick, convenient fuck. Terrified that you’ll never be able to make him realize how much Starfleet needs him, how much you do.

The fear settles in your veins as you make an early morning trek to the grocery store. You pick up all the essentials: coffee and enough food for at least a few days more, and accept the offer of a ride back to the Kirk farmhouse. By the time the soup is bubbling away on the stove, following Mama McCoy’s exacting recipe, your nerves have soothed a little. 

Jim rockets awake at 9 o’clock on the dot, retching into the bucket you'd set by the side of the couch. Hearing him cough wretchedly into the bucket makes you feel worse than you did before. It’s a relief, knowing he’s okay, that he isn’t hurt. But he’s awake now, and you’re paralyzed. The gentle scents of coffee and buttery pancakes waft through the bright kitchen. You take comfort in it as you suck in greedy breaths to keep your rampaging heartbeat under control.

“The hell is this?” His voice is rough, deeper than usual, and just a little wondering as he takes in the magic you've wrought on his kitchen.

“Breakfast and coffee.”

He huffs, drawing his arms up across his chest, blue eyes squinting your way.

“I can see that.” 

He's stoic. Stiff-lipped and tense as he stands in the corner of the kitchen. You can feel the weight of his gaze as you flip the last few pancakes and pour the fresh coffee into a pair of mugs. You're not sure why you do it, but you step forward gingerly and press the mug into his hands. You back away slowly, like you're dealing with a spooked animal. 

His lips twitch as he looks down at the mug, his expression warring between exhaustion and anger. It's your turn to hide a grin when he takes a long sip, a grumble rather akin to a domesticated cat leaving his mouth as the rich, dark, slightly bitter liquid hits his tongue.

“What are you doing?”

You should have been expecting the question. You've had a day, a night, and months of searching to think of why. Ultimately, you stick with the simplest answer you can give him.

“I'm making breakfast. I got hungry.”

You shrug and hold out your hands, palms up to the feast laid out on the sparkling counters: buttery pancakes, golden-brown and fluffy, out-of-season blueberries piled high in a bowl, crispy strips of bacon glistening with fat in the sunlight, and the pot of coffee steaming on a trivet.

“Bullshit.” 

He yanks one of the bacon strips off the platter and crams it in his mouth. It disappears in two quick bites before his tongue darts out and laps at the grease on his fingers. You're a little weak-kneed at the motion because, unlike him, you can clearly remember what those fingers, what that tongue, can do.

“You're not here just to make me breakfast. You're here because they sent you. The Admirals. Starfleet. They want Captain Kirk as their poster boy, their golden goose. They want to parade me around, drum up more recruits and ‘boldly go’ again. They could care less about how the Federation was handicapped mere months ago - how an entire people was destroyed. Because they didn't see it coming.”

His voice is ragged, chest heaving as he sets the mug down with a sharp clack, the liquid sloshing over the sides.

“That's right.” Your voice is barely a whisper as you mop up the spill. “The Admiralty sent me. But they're not why I agreed to come to Riverside. I came to Riverside to make sure you were okay. Nobody's heard from you, Jim. We were all worried - Bones, Scotty, Sulu, Chekov, Admiral Pike - I, well, I was worried. We all wanted to make sure you were okay. The Admirals just allowed me to do so without taking leave.”

“So what are you going to do?”

You grab two plates from the cabinet and start serving up some food. You mull over your response as you set the table, giving him a wide berth as you circle him to retrieve the coffee in a second trip. You settle into one of the chairs with a sigh, your aching bones relaxing into the cushioned seat, and sip the coffee doctored how you like.

“Well, for the next few days at least, I'm going to make sure you're eating and sleeping and not drinking yourself to death. Then I'm going to ask if you would ever want to come back to Starfleet if you'd ever want to be my Captain again. Regardless of your answer, I'd head back to San Francisco.”

He sits gracelessly, long limbs splayed out until his foot collides with yours, icy against your ankle. You push his mug of coffee, the expensive, real coffee you’d spent way too many credits to purchase, his way. You’re gratified at the small smile on his face when he cuts a piece of pancake, dredges it through the frankly ridiculous pool of blueberry syrup on his plate (the only syrup Len said he wasn't allergic to) and shoves it into his mouth. It’s good to see him looking a little more relaxed, to see him eat, even if he is too thin for comfort.

“So if I tell you to leave and never look back, to forget I was ever your Captain, you'd do it?”

Your heart lurches at the thought of forgetting James T. Kirk and what he means to you. But you're sure this is a test, that he's expecting you to say you can't forget him, that you won't. You're just as sure he'll never forgive you if you say those words. Because he'll take them as a betrayal and you'll lose any ground you've gained over Eleanora McCoy's pancakes and blueberry syrup.

“I promise. But only if, after I leave, you promise you'll take care of yourself. No more drinking yourself to death.”

He quirks an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging his lips up.

“Fine. Okay. I promise I'll take care of myself. Now, will you leave me to eat all this food by myself, or will you help me?” 

Your response is to oh-so-maturely launch a blueberry at his face, a blueberry he catches on his tongue.

The shaky truce you’ve brokered extends until mid-afternoon when the doorbell rings, and Jim comes back with more boxes of food than you thought you'd ordered.

“This has to be a mistake,” you groan as you set vegetables in the crisper and load the freezer with meat.

“It's not a mistake.” Your eyes are wide with something starting to feel a lot like hope as you look at him. He'd showered after breakfast, and clean-shaven and sober, he looks a lot like the Jim you remember. You’re hoping he ordered the extra supplies and wants you to stay longer. But your hopes are shattered when he gestures out the kitchen window.

“Take a look outside.” 

The sky is dark, the clouds heavy and gray as they blot out the sun. Fat snowflakes spiral heavily down, and you have a sudden lurch in your chest as it accumulates far more quickly than you'd expect on the ground.

“You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd suspect you'd planned this.” 

He's hovering just behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin. Your fingers clutch at the counter because that accusation means he might not trust you even so much to take your words at face value. 

“This is a blizzard in Iowa. It'll snow for days on end, and we'll be snowed in for longer than a few days. So buckle up, buttercup. Looks like you're stuck with me!”

You stick your tongue out at him in a state of childish pique because if one day was enough to have you in a cold sweat, weeks might just kill you. The Admirals will probably be glad when you tell them. After all, it gives you more time to convince Jim Kirk to return to Starfleet. If only you were so sure it's what he wants in the same way they are.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[starseeker95]

Do not complain to me about how hard it is to navigate ao3 on mobile, young one. I hid under the bleachers and read Spirk fanfics on a BlackBerry during gym class. We are not the same.

[startrekbookshop]

Damn Bones.

[illegalpaladin]

Could I get a cute one of McSpirk visiting bones’ family and Kirk and him help Spock learn how to ride a horse? Also a bit of Spock being surprisingly charming meeting Bones’ parents?

Thank you for the prompt! I did something a little different-- I wrote AOS McSpirk this time. I had a lot of fun writing this one! I hope you like it!

“Good god, man. It's just a horse.”

Spock stands stiffly at the edge of the corral. A bay stallion is nosing lightly at his sleeve. He is doing everything he can to ignore it.

“According to my research, a horse kick can have an impact of 8,722 Newtons.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow and his frown deepens. He's standing next to a horse of his own, holding the reins in one hand. His mother is standing behind the fence, watching them, and covering a laugh with her palm.

He rolls his eyes. “Didn't you grow up with a saber tooth tiger?”

Spock looks as offended as he ever lets himself look. “I-Chaya was a Sehlat.”

“And that's less scary than a horse?”

Spock opens his mouth to argue, but he's cut off as Jim rides up on the two of them. He’s moving too quickly and too wildly– he tugs roughly on the reins and the horse skids to a stop. “Y’know, Bones, I think I see where Spock is coming from.” His horse snorts. “Horses are intelligent animals. I'm sure it's strange for Spock to see such a smart and powerful beast being used as transportation. Right Spock?”

“No,” Spock says flatly. “It is simply that horses…”

“They freak you out,” McCoy offers.

Spock sighs, but he doesn't object.

“Don't worry about it, honey.” McCoy's mom watches Spock warmly, and McCoy can tell she's already falling for his Vulcan charms. “Not everyone's got experience with horses. We've all gotta start somewhere.”

“Yeah, don't worry, Spock. It's easy.” As if to prove a point, Jim pulls hard on the reins and leads his mare in a tight circle. “I’ve only ridden a horse one other time, and I've got it down already.”

McCoy rubs his free hand over his face. “When the hell have you ridden a horse, Jim?”

Jim shrugs. “I got drunk when I was seventeen and climbed the neighbor’s fence.”

“Did– did you ride bareback? How did you even get on the damn thing?” He makes eye contact with his mom, who has an eyebrow raised curiously.

“No idea. I don't remember.” He turns his horse back to look at Spock. Spock’s horse nibbles his sleeve. “C’Mon, Spock. It's just a trail ride. You can handle it.”

McCoy sighs. He steps over to Spock, and his horse follows dutifully behind.

He points at the stirrup. “Put your left foot in there, then swing your right leg over.”

Spock looks skeptical. His horse’s ears twitch.

McCoy and Jim stare at him expectantly.

“You can do it,” McCoy hears his mom say. “As easy as riding a bike.”

Jim leans forward on his horse, resting against her neck. “Do Vulcans ride bikes?”

Spock sighs again, but this time he tentatively steps to the side of the horse. He reaches up, and his fingers brush against its dark coat before settling on the saddle. He lifts a foot, puts it in the stirrup, and hesitates.

McCoy hands the reins of his own horse to his mom and steps closer. He puts a supportive hand on Spock’s back. “Go ahead. I've got you.”

Spock raises himself up and throws his leg over the horse. McCoy’s hand drops, and Spock settles into the saddle.

“See? You're a natural. You even have the perfect posture.” McCoy's mom smiles. McCoy steps back, and within moments he's hoisted himself into place on his own ride.

“Finally!” Jim grins wildly. “Let's get going already!”

McCoy throws one look at him and frowns. He steers his horse towards him until they're side by side, and he reaches out to move Jim’s hands. “You're holding the reins wrong, you idiot.”

“Well,” McCoy’s mom grins. “Not all of us can be naturals like Spock, now, can we?”

[carpooling-the-internet]

Star Trek fanfic recs

A long list of some of my all time favorite Star Trek fics. Not in any order. I just combed through my ao3 bookmarks for fics that still resonate with me and really blew me away. I will try to tag the authors if I can find blogs for them. If you know an authors blog I haven’t tagged, please tag them!

I dont have the spoons to write lil reviews for each fic bc theres toooooo many but maybe I’ll come back and edit some in sometime.

And eventually I’m gonna make a list like this for Sherlock Holmes and a few other fandoms. Also want to make one specific to podfics. We’ll see what happens first! This took me way longer than I thought it would…

Recs below the cut!

Star Trek TOS and AOS

The Thousandth Man (56187 words) by Ophelia_j In the wake of pon farr, the events on Vulcan are weighing heavy on Spock and his Captain. But will their attempt to fix the problem only make things worse?

The effect of sucrose on Vulcans (2290 words) by Ophelia_j After a successful diplomatic mission, Jim begins to suspect there's something wrong with Spock. Some Old Married Spirk Fluff for the 2019 OMS Challenge, for the awesome plaidshirtjimkirk.

The Eleventh Hour (8551 words) by Ophelia_j During a joint lecture at the Academy, Spock senses that Kirk is growing tired of the secrecy around their relationship and takes steps to resolve the matter.

A Crazy Little Thing Called Love (14940 words) by VTsuion The development of Kirk and Spock's relationship over the course of The Original Series, told in a series of off-screen moments.

The World Turned Upside Down (24777 words) by Jenna Hilary Sinclair On a planet torn by civil war, Kirk must battle insurgents, a Vulcan Healer, and his own heartbreak to find his way to Spock.

The Ren shat'var Trilogy (184,403 words) by CateAdams A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection.

First, Best Destiny - Parts One and Two (387733 words) by Ophelia_j A novel-length retelling of original Star Trek canon through the lens of one of the greatest relationships ever committed to film. Using missing scenes, episode tags, and original story-telling. Ultimately a Generations fix-it.

All the Time in the World (27856 words) by LSPINGLES The death of Edith Keeler affects Kirk and Spock in different ways. Spock invites Kirk to come with him to Vulcan to heal. Along the way the learn something about their feelings for each other.

Spice (276553 words) by eimeo It’s a question of biology. Vulcan biology. The problem with falling in love with a member of an insanely private species is that it just might take you the best part of a five year mission to work out that the feelings are requited. And then you might discover that he’s already decided that the two of you can never be together. And what are you supposed to do if he won’t tell you why?

Fulfilling the Needs of the One (Or the Both) (8741 words) by plaidshirtjimkirk Spock begins to wonder if his relationship with Jim has been one-sided in his own favor.

Touch Upon the Wonders that You See (4071 words) by waldorph Sarek does not always understand his son, but that does not mean he does not love him.

Entering Orbit (30957 words) by museaway Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch.

Something Smart to Do (21322 words) by kianspo In which Jim finds himself fake-married to his first officer every other month. It's not his fault. Mostly. Dowries and Klingons are involved. Starfleet is decidedly not amused.

Don't Stop Believing (205901 words) by kianspo The story follows Spock from his own days as a cadet at Starfleet Academy to the ‘present day’ when he’s Kirk’s first officer and the Enterprise is on its five-year mission. Essentially, the story of Spock’s first real love followed by the story of him finding the love of his life. Ad astra per aspera.

And Then I Let It Go (10632 words) by kianspo Post-Star Trek Beyond. The crew of the Enterprise gets a breather while they are waiting for their new ship. Jim uses the time to do something he had sworn he would never do.

The Lotus Eaters (93594 words) by aldora89 Stranded on the planet Sigma Nox while searching for a missing away team, Spock and Kirk find themselves pitted against a disturbing native life form. With the captain out of commission on a regular basis and Spock struggling to preserve his stoicism, staying alive is difficult enough – but when a slim chance for escape surfaces, their resolve is truly put to the test. Together they must fight for survival in the heart of an alien jungle, and in the process, uncover the mystery of the planet’s past. Slow build K/S.

Atlas (135529 words) by distractedKat Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning. A novel-length continuation of the 2009 movie told in four parts. Cross-posted from FFN. PODFIC AVAILABLE! https://archiveofourown.org/works/652116/chapters/1187249

The Word Withheld (12032 words) by j_s_cavalcante After retrieving Kirk from the interspatial rift of "The Tholian Web," Spock realizes his oath to Starfleet and his service aboard the Enterprise are in jeopardy because he has denied to himself—and withheld from Kirk—a certain truth about the nature of the Vulcan relationship called "t’hy’la."

this is what happens when you save earth, apparently (5454 words) by WerewolvesAreReal “So, why haven't you settled down with some lucky lady yet?” the interviewer asks. Maybe it's the blinding set-lights, or the fact that he hasn't slept in thirty-five hours. But for some reason Kirk blurts, “Honestly, they all end up getting jealous of Spock.”

Four times the Enterprise Crew didn´t realize that their commanding officers were married to each other and one time they finally found out (4130 words) by razzleberryicedtea In which Spock and Jim casually forget to mention that they are married, and the Enterprise crew is too oblivious to notice on their own

A Star to Steer By (32043 words) by Borealisblue Kidnapped, injured, and headed towards Romulan space, Kirk could only be grateful that his last act was saving Spock from the same fate. And all it had cost was a stolen kiss.

An Open Secret (3495 words) by TransScribe Amanda Grayson knew her son. She could read him, easily. That might've been why she had suspicions about his relationship long before he said anything. It was more likely because subtlety was not a trait Spock had inherited.

the book of love (7297 words) by miss_frankenstein When yet another away mission goes awry, Jim and Spock are left stranded on a hostile planet with nothing to do but talk. What follows is a conversation about art and literature, life and death, love and friendship.

Take My Hand (My Whole Life Too) (5981 words) by pastmydancingdays Whilst in one of the most dangerous situations of his life, Jim Kirk came to a realisation that he should have had a very long time ago. Two, in fact, and he was about to let neither go to waste. A potential epilogue to Amok Time.

Ashayam (3378 words) by Willowe Spock knows he has no right to refer to Jim as any sort of endearment, even in the privacy of his own thoughts. If he had only listened to this logic he wouldn't find himself in this position, standing on the bridge having just called his captain "ashayam".

@ophelia-j

@razzleberryicedtea

@vtsuion

@plaidshirtjimkirk

@cate-adams

@pastmydancingdays

@werewolves-are-real

@eimeo-blog

@aldora89-blog

@museaway

@kianspo

@lspingles

@waldorph

@miss-frankenstein

[katherinewinchester13]

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰ ★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰★∻∹⋰⋰

★★★★★

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °° ∆ -------- ••• ------

Complete 💯

MATURE

Words:35,197

╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲

✨SHIPS✨

James T. Kirk/Spock

╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱

DESCRIPTION

Jim hates Vulcan but he’s stuck here while his mom works. When that’ll be up he doesn’t know, but that means Vulcan school and of course Vulcan schools involve a whole big pile of Vulcans.

▅▄▃▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▂▃▄▅

[sgtwhiskers26]

Older obscure Star Trek fanfiction

What does a TV adaption of an extremely nihilistic comic book series made in the early 2000s and a Science fiction television show of the 1960s representation of the ideal vision of the future have in common apparently, a lot of fucking actors

This is a story that has nothing to do with enterprise except for references. I’m sorry for those who were expecting Ent, but what can I say? I’m a Genz Trekkie; I can’t always stick to one audience

Warning the boy's series is a super freaking gory series, wall so is Decks, but not to the extent The Boys is. There is mentions of Disembowelment and electrocution in this story and other warnings that I cannot give you at this time because this fic is not finished you have been warned

Please don’t hesitate to PM me and give writers love and support as always enjoy

Reflected in a sunbeam By Naryix

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46413019

The ghosts of the past can be a big pain in the ass for those in the future, and there’s nothing wrong with hoping for a better tomorrow. 

[uzumaki-rebellion]

So...

I went down a rabbit hole yesterday reading old stuff about fanfiction writers, and Black fanfiction writers in particular, especially after 2009 with the whole Uhura/Spock debacle where Black women were writing fics with the new AOS canon. (which honestly was supposed to be a canon pairing in TOS, but the anti-Black racism of 1963 prevented the hook up happening. It's why Uhura and Spock are always "friends" working after hours to play the Vulcan lyre together)

I was reviewing the Racefail 2009 dustup (where some of my real life professional writing friends/associates were calling out b.s.), and I want to say how empowering it is to see Black fanfiction writers still working on things, many for years (like me) in various fandoms. Every Black fanfiction writer out there is following the tradition of Octavia E. Butler and Toni Morrison, by writing themselves in and also writing the stories they want to read. There is liberation in quietly scribbling worlds that you create. It doesn't matter if anyone else but you sees it, but there is power in putting pen to paper.

One of the things that I was reminded of is the fear of Black voices taking up space. Fandom and fanfiction writing life is often targeted by jealousy, fake concern trolling, and creating a hostile environement for Black and Blaqueer people.

It was an interesting trip down memory lane, however, I also realized that a lot of Black fanfiction writing history is in the hands of a lot of white people. I'm happy that there are people like Stitch, Princess Weekes, and other Black folks who blog/vlog, and write about Black fanfiction,. We just need more of us to see the value of fanfiction as a part of Black History in the arts. I would love to see more Black people in Academics and pop culture media doing more to preserve the history of Black fanfiction. Intersections are real and we are a distinct part of the fanfiction tapestry. Don't even get me started if you are a Blaqueer person navigating these spaces. Much of our work is niche because of Anti-Blackness and the pervasiveness of white racism in particular since whitness dominates the globe in detrimental ways.

All this to say, yay Black Fanfiction writers for staying the course. You may think it is a hobby or something frivolous, but I promise you non-Black people are out here maintaining jobs/careers, status, and accolades using your work and voices to pad their papers, books, and media appearances. I think it's time that Black folks who write fanfiction are aware of this fact.

Stitch:

Princess Weekes:

[space-dog-from-space]

After his mother's death, Spock discovers that he has transporter-related PTSD.

Trektober Day 10

Prompt(s): Shuttlecraft

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Words: 766

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship(s): James T Kirk/Spock

Characters: James T Kirk, Spock

Additional Tags: PTSD, Panic Attacks

[lemonsharks]

Does anyone on this stupid Internet remember a Star Trek (2009) Kirk/McCoy fic zombie apocalypse AU called Silo, wherein Kirk starts calling McCoy "bones" because McCoy rolls into the fic on a Ossa make motorcycle?

It had a sequel, which i don't remember hardly anything about, and the writer deleted their entire online presence.

I also remember it was originally posted anon on the original st_kînkmeme and then deanoned & posted in an edited form on the author's LJ.

Anyone who has a copy of either or both fics handy will be generously rewarded with my undying gratitude.

[kcscribbler]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Crew of the Starship Enterprise & James T. Kirk Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Spock Prime, James T. Kirk Prime, Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Crew of the Starship Enterprise Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crew as Family Series: Part 2 of Second-Best Destiny Summary:

Five years after the first appearance of the Q continuum in the Reboot universe, the refitted Enterprise has set out on her second five-year mission. With the new mission comes new pressure, and to counter that, new confidence – overconfidence, for one still very young starship captain.

James T. Kirk, now a veteran captain but still far younger than most of his peers, is on a fast track to potential self-destruction, and not even his closest friends aboard can seem to impress upon him that he is not as expendable as his crew. It seems that nothing short of Omnipotent intervention will convince him of that fact.

Fortunately, there is one particular Omnipotent who is only too happy to interfere.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

We Don't Fit in Well ('Cause We Are Just Ourselves)

Status: IN PROGRESS

Last Updated: February 19th, 2025

Disclaimers: Female!Reader

Summary: When Vulcan is destroyed, quieter than a whisper, surrounded by the carnage of almost all of Starfleet, everything changes. In an instant, there's a power vacuum in the United Federation of Planets. Everyone wants to take Vulcan's place. Nobody knows how to cope without a founding civilization. The effects of Vulcan's destruction are far-flung and more deeply felt than anyone could guess. For the fledgling crew of the Enterprise, staffed mostly by Academy graduates on their first posting, its tantamount to an earthquake. Broken and battered, they came back to Terra Firma after saving the universe as most people know it.

Their captain? He disappeared without a trace.

Given orders to find him and bring him back, you're faced with an impossible choice. Do you destroy the fledgling heartbeat of a relationship just spreading its wings for 'Fleet? Or can you convince him to fight for Starfleet, the Enterprise, and you without losing himself in the balance?

Themes: Canon-typical violence, Serious conversations, Smut, Angst, Torture (In one chapter. All instances will have Trigger Warnings present)

We Don't Fit In Well on AO3

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Epilogue

Taglist

Want to be added to the Taglist for this fic? Leave a comment on this Masterlist or drop me a message in my inbox!

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[startrekbookshop]

First book /chapter I will talk about in the podcast, is a novelization of the episode Amok Time, which is up to date one of my favorites.

Kirk decides to sacrifice his career, and later on even his life, for his first officer. While the episode is incredibly interesting in seeing the developement of the relationship between Kirk, Spock and McCoy, the novelization holds mabye even sweeter moments, and more suprising situations.

Get to know all of this episodes secrets together with me, in the episode 2 of Star Trek Bookshop on February 13th.

[illegalpaladin]

I forgot how thrilling it is to write fanfic. I'm starting my first Star Trek fic, and the tabs I have open are:

-the entirety of Star Trek 2009

-a clip from Into Darkness

-My notes on Vulcans I've taken over several months

-Wikipedia on Stardates

-List of planets in Star Trek

-Multiple scientific articles about geomagnetic fields

-Articles about iron vs copper blood in animals

-Another article on the planet Vulcan

-My story outline

I've written 20 whole words. I am thriving. In my element. Free.

[darcyfitz]

Yes! Please? 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Give me a fic where Spock doesn’t program the Kobayashi Maru. Instead, he programs an entirely new test: Tarsus IV.

And Kirk? He hates it.

[sgtwhiskers26]

Older obscure Star Trek fanfiction

Magic does have a place in sci-fi

This crossover made me discover the Young Wizard Series, an entertaining and creative series that I highly recommend 

Still no word on when I will release my very first fic. It will be soon, I hope. I love T’lyn as a character, and I love her design. I love her humor. I even love her struggles, but my God, is she hard to write. It is not just because she’s a Vulcan; I’ve written other Vulcans before, but for whatever reason, she just instantly kills my creative streak.

Remember to show your love to the original writers and as always enjoy 

Deep Space Wizardry

lemonsofjune