#star trek aos fanfic

[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.

[anindoorchild]

Bones making his love for Jim SUPER OBVIOUS by choosing to stay in space with him is one of my favorite micro tropes

[dinlukeandothers]

The best fanfictions i ever read! slow burn by arahir - hob gadling / dream of the endles [ the sandman ]

who wants to live forever? by ranchdiip - hob gadling / dream of the endles [ the sandman ]

just lovers (like we were supposed to be) by bizarrestars - james potter / regulus black [harry potter]

how (not) to meet your son's boyfriend by fifteenminutesoffame - din djarin / luke skywalker [star wars]

unintended consequence by itsmylifekay - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one piece]

the rorona fruit by stark_black - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one piece]

who did what now? by dancing_homestuck - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one piece]

k'diwa: a steamy novel of interspecies romance, by jim kirk by branwyn - james t. kirk / spock [star trek]

part timer by 8ball - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one pice]

wrong number by dangit - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one piece]

the curse of 100 kisses by fanfictionaddiction23 - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one pice]

where there's a will there's a way by xiaq - din djarin / luke skywalker [star wars]

naberrie blooms by zombified419 - din djarin / luke skywalker [star wars]

where hope is persevering by shyowl - din djarin / luke skywalker [star wars]

a sequence that you never learned by annataylor - james t. kirk / spock [star trek]

what the star let in by shyowl - din djarin / luke skywalker [star wars]

facade by hazel_athena - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one piece]

what matters by junimokarter - jayce / viktor [arcane]

vitya by applesharon - jayce / viktor [arcane]

mother tongue by nightlilly - jayce / viktor [arcane]

retrograde by hazel_athena - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke [one pice]

so wise we grow by deaster - james t. kirk / spock

always got your back by sydneyxface - roronoa zoro / sanji vinsmoke

[nyx-the-reader]

Hello Tumblr dwellers,

You guys must have gotten it from my previous posts that I am a huge shipper. I love my books, manga, anime, webtoon etc. and I like fanfiction just as much.

So I need some help. I read these two Spirk fanfiction, but like the idiot i am, i forgot to bookmark them. If anyone knows the names, please share 🙏

One is about AOS Spirk 5+1 where Jim keeps buying or making gifts for Spock but never has the courage to give them to him. In the last story, Spock finds them and they finally talk about feelings. Spock is also dating Uhura during the start of the fic but they break up before anything happens between Spirk.

The Other is about Jim willingly becoming hostage to their enemies to save his ship and telling Spock a number. The number turns out to be the number of his personal log where he has recorded his feelings about spock. This one also has a happy ending. I can't even tell if it is AOS or TOS.

Both are on ao3 but I can't remember any specific keywords using which I can search them. So once again please help.

[generalkenobee]

Would you do Spock headcannons?

Sooooo

•Spock is very reserved in public first of all

•And he won't do anything inappropriate outside of the bedroom, he doesn't want to risk anyone else seeing you in such a vulnerable position

•hand slut, kiss his fingers, hold his hands, run your finger tips up his wrists

•sometimes he likes to be the small spoon and have your hands rest on his chest/belly

•you know how friends will look at each other across the room to communicate? Yeah Spock definitely does that with you, like when Chekov does something stupid he's all like 😑😒

•when it's bed time and you're both laying together, sometimes you'll whisper in his ear about your day and talk to him untill he falls asleep (sensitive ears)

•calling him pet names for the first time? "Baby, honey, sweetheart, my special boy" he is flabbergasted. The affection that you show is something completely foreign and new, it's such a drastic difference from Sarek

•everyone else assumes he's a big strong Vulcan that doesn't need comfort or to be held but you see right through it

•hes talked to you about his mother and how horrible he feels for not giving her the affection she needs as a human when he was younger

•Spock cannot dirty talk you, he does moan and groan, especially when he's getting close. You'd run your hands through his jet black hair, saying how good it all feels and he can't respond. Instead he will give you a kiss on your cheek and grunt in your ear

•big fan of you saying his name "oh Spock.." he's literally spilling inside you the very next second

•very mature (if that makes sense) during sex. He's quiet and reserved and he's the same when you're intimate

•i think that Spock is so gentle but also deliberate during sex because he knows how much stronger and bigger Vulcans are than humans

•one time you called him "my favorite Vulcan" and I just think that made him feel a certain typa way yk?

•you have yelled at Leonard before for calling him a "green blooded hobgoblin" you pointed your finger on his chest and yelled about how it "wasn't funny" and that "you don't know what it's like to be another species" and that made Spock very happy

•the first time he says he loves you was after a very long talk

"I feel as though you would be happier with a human. Someone who can show you as much affection and love as you would need" Spock would say with his hands folded neatly in his lap, not looking at you.

"Spock. I love you so so sooo much, everything about you. You're smart, a talented harp player, handsome, strong, methodical..I love your ears..and your eyes, and your lips and hands...I want to be with you forever! I love you." You had said I love you before but he had never said it back.

"I love you as well."

•he likes to hold your hand when you're alone, your hand is always on his. Always

[livelongandpinup]

Aliens Made Them Do It August Fic Recs

In addition to working on our big Live Long and Pinup Calendar event, our clever artists and writers indulged in a fun mini event!

If you enjoy the Spirk premise of Aliens Made Them Do It, here are a dozen fresh treats for you to enjoy!

The Box by Diamond Dove

Space Sirens by Android And Ale

Desire by USS Queertastic

In Hope and Feathers by Gensho

Showstopper by Lupo Light and Phoenix Rose

Diplomacy by Ungodly Anatomy

Shackled in Lust by Florian Gray

Sure About This? by Spongy Nova

To merge, to mingle, to mix by Moreta1848

Paired by Lokak

Buying Some Time by hyonin

Some Kind of Weapon by Phoenix Rose

(Image from Star Trek Continues webseries)

[avengetheangels]

Some fics for one of my favorite OT3s.

Entropy by yeaka

Running with Scissors by mrasaki

Rearrange by bluejbird

Approximation by liadan14

do you love your neighbor (is it in your nature) by Muir_Wolf

Part of the Whole by stealthestars

When it's Something Special by drmcbones

Tell Me True by queenklu

I'm a Doctor, Dammit, Not Casper the Friendly Ghost by Bethalous

The Waiting Game by Increasing_Paranoia

Confessions of a Southern Gentleman by klmeri

pull you in and hold you tight (love you through the heart of night) by Muir_Wolf

[celestialvoyeur]

🎨 NEW ARTWORKS! 🎨

I’ve recently been creating some art for the lovely @android-and-ale and her amazing ongoing long fic One Daily Should Pat.

The story has some amazing descriptions of the sexy and mysterious Vulcan crew so I decided to draw the enigmatic Captain Spisee! 🖖

(Been working on my realism skills, hope you enjoy) 😉

I’ve also recently created a cover art for the fic too.

[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.

[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

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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.

[illeaadante]

One Day on the USS Enterprise

Spock: [working at his console, as usual]

Chekhov: [much weaker than usual] K--Keptin on ze Bridge!

Spock: [raises eyebrow, but turns to greet the captain]

Kirk: [smiling, wearing the mini-dress uniform and the chanel thigh high boots] Good morning, Mr. Spock

Spock: [mentally bluescreens so hard he sends out a wave of psychic distress that affects around 1/4th of the crew]

Kirk: ... Mr. Spock?

Spock: thigh--hi-- hello. Captain. I have. Experiments. To see to in the lab. Excuse me. [speed walks off the bridge]

Uhura: [grinning] You look nice today, Captain.

Kirk: [grinning back] thank you, lieutenant.

Total medbay tally for the day: 23 crewmembers psychically concussed, 78 psychically induced migraines (for a number of the crew, this is how they find out they are more psi sensitive than average), 16 lacerations, 5 burns, 1 forcefully sedated Vulcan, and one demand for 6 bottles of Saurian brandy from the Captain by the CMO because McCoy doesn't know what Jim did, but he knows this is Jim's fault (he's so used to Jim's shenanigans that the different uniform doesn't even register to him, at least Jim's wearing clothes.)

Meanwhile, Elsewhere:

Some random Starfleet Intranet Communications Admin: why is there so much comm traffic coming into/out of the Enterprise today?

Fleetnet Admin: [sees a candid holo of Captain Kirk from behind, walking down the halls of the Enterprise, smiling and greeting crew members, while wearing the mini-dress uniform and thigh-high boots that have a small heel]

Fleetnet Admin: oh.

Fleetnet Admin: ...[saves holo]

[anindoorchild]

1 hour after they get off the shuttle at Starfleet Academy

Jim: what’s up, hot stuff

Bones: who the hell is this

Jim: Bones, it’s me!

Bones: (with the foreboding knowledge that his life is about to become a lot more chaotic) Jim? How the hell did you get this number?

Jim: definitely not by hacking starfleet records if that’s what you’re thinking

Jim:…don’t tell Pike

Jim: also I changed your room assignment so that instead of a single we’re now roommates don’t be angry ok byeeeeeeee

[c4t1l1n4]

I know Spock’s misunderstanding of human things is generally played up, even by Spock himself because he’s a little shit like that, but I like to think there are some things Kirk/McCoy do that he genuinely does not understand.

Like they’re at some sort of carnival/festival and win one of those prize stuffed animals and Spock pretends to think that’s illogical and not understand the point of a worthless trinket but in reality he totally gets wanting to win something for your partner and feels all warm and fuzzy seeing them carry it around all night.

But then he swears, or makes a lewd comment or says something adult and McCoy gasps dramatically and covers the plushie’s ears and is like: “how dare you, Spock?!”

And Spock looks over at Jim all confused, but Jim just nods seriously and is like: “you can’t say something like that in front of Mr. Fluffles.”

And Spock genuinely blue screens.

He’s careful about what he says the rest of the night and when they beam back aboard he finds time to corner Uhura and tries to figure out the best way to ask WTF he did wrong. Uhura gleefully (and between giggles) explains that plushies are “innocent” and should be treated in a similar way as children (with great respect, care and not saying crude/adult things around them.)

[waldorph]

Welp. Uh, I wrote a new Trekfic?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60112099

[affixjoy]

Here’s a list of all my Star Trek fics!

Spirk

Wanna be the one that you want to see aka the Spirk sex tropes one. My most popular Trek fic on ao3 and one I’m particularly proud of!

Spectacles painted with my shaking hand aka the one with the oranges and sexy oil

I thought I saw you smile aka the snw body swap fic

We need disposable towels in the gym aka my funniest fic, the one where the Enterprise HR has to deal with ALL the sex happening on board.

Risks and Rewards aka the one with the unstoppable spontaneous orgasms

And Stars May Collide aka my very self indulgent fic where Spirk lives through the movie Moulin Rouge due to alien dream bullshit

Spock vs the IT guy aka Spock feuds with the IT guy and finally hooks up with Kirk

The Upside of Rumors aka the one where the crew makes spreadsheets and bets over where Spock and Kirk are together

And with one heart I reached for you aka the one where Sam’s ghost checks in on Spirk

Star Trek Drabbles aka 100 word warm up of Spirk

Strange New Dicks aka the one where Spock’s dick changes every chapter for Vulcan bonding purposes

McKirk

We both had a hand in it (you and me both kid) aka the one where Jim leaves a vibrator in Bones’ bed.

Hunt me down, catch in my throat, make me pray aka not even the hint of plot, this is only porn.

Spones

Nothing that shouldn’t have happened long ago aka what I think happened between Spock and Bones after the TOS episode All Our Yesterdays

Handle Me With Care aka the one where Bones has to remove his own appendix aka the one that was in the nsfw Sponeszine

McSpirk

A Most Fascinating Experience aka McSpirk pwp with a lot of dirty talk from Bones.

Sometimes a feeling is all we have to go on aka the one where Bones can’t come.

and yes I said yes I will Yes aka that time I decided to bring together mcspirk, Pon Farr, and that sexy capital Y from Molly Bloom’s soliloquy

Keep our minds on the sun of each other aka my aos McSpirk featuring some fun made up Vulcan meditation rituals for Spock to use to romance Bones.

A heart should always go one step too far aka voyeur Bones, possibly my steamiest fic?

Leap beyond logic aka the end of the TMP divorce era

Take me places I’ve never known aka snw era getting together, the one where Jim gets confused about what Spock’s genital situation is

You know we’ll have a good time then aka the one where Kirk and Spock get Joanna’s age VERY wrong

Spuhotty

Spock The Liar aka the one where Snw Spock hooks up with Uhura and Scotty, pure pwp

Amanda/Sarek

Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time aka Amanda and Sarek getting together fic, wip but will hopefully be done soon