#spock x reader

"You're so warm," you informed him, for possibly the second time, and pressed your face into the side of his neck to test the theory further.

"Vulcan physiology," Spock said, in the same even tone he'd have used to report a sensor reading, "runs several degrees warmer than human baseline. I am aware this is not new information."

"I like it." You said this directly into his ear, which made him go very still in a way you found extremely funny, so you giggled, which made him go stiller. One of your hands had wandered up into his hair at some point and was now idly playing with it, and it was, you'd decided, an incredible texture, silky and thick, and did he know that, had anyone ever told him that—

"You are currently disarranging several hours of careful grooming," he said.

"You're welcome."

Your other hand had found his, resting on the table beside you both, and you'd laced your fingers through his without any particular plan in mind, just because it seemed like the thing to do. You studied the two of you together, his hand so much larger than yours, and pulled your fingers apart, then wove them back together, slow and deliberate, watching the way his fingers curled slightly around yours each time you did.

"You have hands," you said, with the weight of someone imparting great wisdom.

"An astute observation."

You pulled your fingers apart again. Threaded them back through. Repeated it, entirely absorbed in the small motion, like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever done. Spock did not pull away. If anything, his hand had gone loose and open under yours, letting you do with it whatever you liked — and you were far too drunk to register that what you were doing, with such cheerful, oblivious repetition, was something Vulcans reserved for the people they loved. A human might have called it a kiss. Several people at the surrounding tables clearly knew exactly what to call it, even if you didn't.

It was around this point that Pike wandered over, drink in hand, wearing the specific expression of a captain performing his duty of care.

"Hey," he said, crouching slightly to your eye level, "how about we get you some water, huh? Maybe give Spock his personal space back."

"I'm comfortable," you said, muffled, into Spock's shoulder.

"I can see that, but—"

"Captain." Spock's voice cut in, mild and immovable, before Pike could get any further. "That will not be necessary."

Pike blinked. "I was just going to—"

"Unnecessary, Captain. I think it is best to keep a close eye on her in her current state, and I find it considerably easier to do so while she is occupied here." A pause, delivered with all the gravity of a status report. "She is, at present, in no danger of wandering off, injuring herself, or falling from a chair. I consider this the more logically sound arrangement."

"Uh-huh." Pike's mouth was doing something complicated, fighting very hard against a smile and losing. "Logically sound."

"Indeed."

"And this—" Pike gestured vaguely at the hand in Spock's hair, the fingers laced through his own, the general state of you draped across your first officer like an extremely affectionate blanket, "—this is just, what, security detail?"

"Precisely, Captain."

You had, at this point, stopped paying attention to the conversation entirely and gone back to your very important work of pulling Spock's fingers apart and putting them back together, humming something tuneless against his shoulder. Spock's free hand had come to rest, apparently without his notice, at your waist, steadying you as you shifted.

Pike looked at his first officer for one long moment. Spock looked back, utterly composed, one eyebrow very faintly raised, as though daring the captain to say a single word further.

"Right," Pike said, grinning that particular grin, the one that meant he absolutely intended to bring this up at the most inconvenient possible moment for the rest of the week. "Well. Carry on, Mr. Spock. Very logical."

"Thank you, Captain."

Pike wandered off, shoulders shaking slightly, and you tipped your head back to squint up at Spock with the enormous, unfocused suspicion of someone very drunk.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing of consequence," Spock said. His hand at your waist tightened, just slightly, drawing you back in against him, and if his mouth curved the smallest fraction at the corner, you were too pleasantly gone to notice. "Continue your research into my hair, if you wish. I find I do not mind."

"You never mind anything," you said, satisfied, and went back to it.

"Not when it is you," Spock agreed quietly, mostly to himself.

You didn't hear that last part, already drifting, your hand slowing where it had been laced through his, your head heavy against his shoulder. The party carried on around you both — Ortegas cackling over something at the card table, the music shifting to something slower — but you had gone soft and quiet against him, humming less, holding on more.

"I believe," Spock said, to no one in particular, since you were by now too far gone to answer, "you will not recall a great deal of this in the morning."

You made a small, questioning noise into his shoulder, more reflex than actual response.

"That is not a complaint," he added, and something in his voice had gone gentler than the rec room could see. He shifted you slightly against him, one arm firm at your back, the other hand still loosely twined with yours, and allowed himself the small luxury of watching you for a long moment — the furrow smoothing out of your brow, your breathing evening into something close to sleep.

He bent his head, unhurried, and pressed the smallest kiss to your forehead. It lasted perhaps two seconds. No one at the surrounding tables so much as glanced over; whatever Vulcan restraint he'd been quietly discarding all evening, he kept exactly enough of it left to make certain of that.

"Sleep," he murmured, in Vulcan this time, low enough that it was only ever meant for you, memory or no memory. "I will remember it for you."

You would, indeed, remember none of it by morning — not the dancing, not the hair, not the two seconds his mouth had rested against your skin. But Spock would. He filed it away with the same quiet precision he filed away everything that mattered, tucked it somewhere private, and did not, for one moment, regret being the only one who had it.

★・・・・・・★

He couldn’t find peace even for a second, trying to occupy himself with whatever he could think of – a task, or, if he didn’t have any, a silly game, a sparring session, a chat with Spock or Bones.

The latter tried to cheer their captain up, each in their own manner, but it didn’t seem to help much for Jim’s eyes would only grow heavier with each passing hour.

No matter how hard he tried to prepare himself for the worst, when you and your comrades were finally brought back aboard, the sight of you, unconscious and brutalized, felt to him like a punch in the stomach.

Kirk would find any excuse to visit you at the sickbay; his visits became so frequent that even McCoy finally snapped, advising Jim to “mind his dam’ business” - bothering you every 15 minutes wouldn’t do you any favor.

But the captain would return after another 15 minutes anyway.

When you were still unconscious, he would sit there, holding your hand, maybe tell you about his day just to show you he was there, even if he couldn’t actually help.

Grim thoughts of you never waking up deprived Jim of his own sleep.

So, when you finally did open your eyes, the captain simply couldn’t contain his happiness and squeezed air out of Bones’ lungs in a bear hug, thanking him for saving your life.

Now that you have recovered, Kirk makes sure to assign you only missions he is personally attending.

He has certainly developed a sort of separation anxiety, turning clingier that he has ever been and being overly protective at times (which you eventually bring up and you two try to work though).

If you haven’t been married yet, Jim definitely suggests a wedding and, should you accepted his proposal, orders to prepare the ceremony.

He wants to ensure that, if he was to lose you, you two would experience as much as possible together before it happened.

Spock

No one could tell what he was feeling when your transmission abruptly died after a short cry of pain rang through the radio.

Externally, he remained completely unbothered; maybe a slight confused frown would do the change.

Meanwhile, on the inside, Spock was terrified.

Of course, he was doing his best not to let his emotions interfere with his job. Not even once he left his station without a need or bothered anyone with unnecessary concerns or questions. It would be illogical after all.

Yet, every time Uhura would report, his eyes instinctively darted in her direction, barely perceptive flickers of fear and hope jolting in their dark depth.

Unfortunately, minutes were turning into hours, and there was still nothing.

Jim tried to talk to him, to make his friend open up and relieve the load he knew Spock was carrying inside, only to be pushed away with a truly Vulcan stoicism. Spock considered his problems irrelevant while you and other people lost were the top priority.

At last, after tiresome searching, the troop was beamed back on board.

Spock didn’t leave his post until Kirk (gladly) permitted him to.

Only then the Science officer allowed himself a small weakness, personally escorting you to the sickbay and staying by your side a few extra minutes to ensure you were safe and stable.

His face was unreadable, but his tense figure and unnatural lack of attention to anything but you instantly told Bones how concerned he was.

Though, McCoy couldn’t possibly imagine the pain that struck Spock at the sight of your limp, bruised body. If not for his Vulcan ways, he would have collapsed right there and then, crying like a child.

Jim relieved him off duty despite Spock’s repeated protests, justifying this action with: “your partner needs you much more than the Enterprise right now, Spock”.

According to his captain’s (and very much his own) wishes, Spock would pass all the time he had with you.

When you woke up, he was by your side, lost in thoughts, his hand gently stroking your hair.

His voice was calm and soothing as he spoke to you; in fact, you could lie there and listen to him talk all day, but instead you chose to surprise Spock with a Vulcan kiss.

A wide smile of relief instantly bloomed on his face, and that alone revealed how much he missed you. As he leaned in for a Human kiss, there were no doubts left.

(Thankfully, McCoy wasn’t there to witness the moment)

Since then Spock always kisses/holds you in his arms a little bit before you have to go on another of your missions, no matter how many people are in the room. Quality time spent with you increases prominently as well.

And don’t even make me start on how protective he has become…

Leonard “Bones” Mccoy

If McCoy was considered irritable while you were around, it became a total disaster once you disappeared.

People were afraid to get near him for Leonard's temper would quickly get the best of him. Even nurse Chapel who had gotten used to her chief’s behavior refused to enter the sickbay with him inside.

He didn't stay at his station though. Instead, he occupied a corner on the bridge and sat there with a gloomy expression on his face, waiting for any news to come.

At times, he engaged in heated arguments with Spock who, clearly displeased at first, soon realized that it was simply the doctor’s way to cope. And so he would indulge McCoy just to keep him occupied.

Yet, with each passing hour Bones was more and more likely to prefer solitude. His eruptive energy faded away, leaving exhaustion and sorrowful indifference behind. Even his normal sassiness looked more like cinical pessimism.

Jim hated to see McCoy act this way, but could do nothing.

Things changed only once you were aboard of the Enterprise again.

Bones instantly went into doctor’s mode, ready to do the impossible to drag you out of death’s jaws. Never before or after that day he was seen working with such passion.

He would sleep on a spare bed at his work place just in case something went wrong, and his rest was hectic as he would constantly get up to check on you.

When your senses returned to you, Leonard was snoring by your bed, disheveled, heavy bags under his eyes. He looked dreadfully exhausted, yet only more endearing to you for all the efforts he had to make fighting for your life.

You couldn’t wait to finally greet your lover. But, as he stirred awake, you immediately wished he didn't. McCoy read you an entire lecture on how stupid your actions were and how you failed to use all survival techniques he thought you knew, his Southern accent and an impressive lexicon of heavy words showing off in all their glory. He even threatened he would convince Jim to remove you from your position and give you a quiet, ship-only related job (spoilers: of course, he didn’t, he values your opinions and freedom of choice).

However, his anger didn’t last too long. After all, he was so very happy you made it back to him. Nurse Chapel found you two in the middle of a fiery kiss, absorbed into your feelings to the point when you wouldn’t notice her until she accidentally dropped a book she was trying to sneak from McCoy’s table.

Since that incident Leonard has been exceptionally strict with you during check-ups. If you are about to get dropped on some random planet again, he will hold an extensive speech, naming all potential threats and how exactly you can avoid them (it doesn’t matter if you know all that already).

At the same time, McCoy has started treating you somewhat softer when it comes to daily life. He tolerates things in you which usually would infuriate him. His appetite for cuddles is now practically insatiable: his hands are constantly on you, or he is in very close proximity to you if anything else is inappropriate.

Reminded so harshly about human mortality, Leonard wants to savor every moment, every sensation, every feeling like it’s the last one, and shows patience for he knows: one day, he will miss even your flaws, but it will be too late.

Montgomery "Scotty" Scott

You could as well grab a knife and stab it though the man’s heart.

Kirk suffered from a moral dilemma. What could he say? Did he have to say it? Wouldn’t it be better if chief engineer knew nothing until the reason of your disappearance was revealed?..

But, eventually, he decided it would be unfair to hide the truth.

Montgomery Scott had never been someone who crumbled under the load of hardship – and he didn’t. Yet, the look Jim received from him at the moment when your name and the word “lost” dropped from his mouth was heart-wrenching.

Scotty would rather deal with the entire system's overload than the news he’d just received. If it was the ship’s fault, he could have easily fixed whatever was wrong. But at the moment… He was powerless, and that was driving him mad.

Seeking distraction, Scotty hurled himself into his work, checking every cable and cog of the vessel with cold, pedantic precision. But no matter what he was doing, his thoughts would inevitably wander back to you.

Fear, pain and boiling rage competed for dominance within his soul, vigor and rebellious by design. Secure walls of the Enterprise he grew to love and call his home unexpectedly appeared restricting and unwelcoming.

All he wanted was to see you, to feel your hand on his cheek, to hear your voice calling him “Monty” once again. Stars, if you were dead, dying beside you would be a better alternative to the uncertainty.

His temptation to break or tear something apart was immense.

Throwing tantrums would do nothing, however. Therefore, Scotty bottled it up, persistently continuing his work in gravely silence; his subordinates held a respectful distance, wary of the intimidating aura he obtained.

He didn’t ask for it, but the captain would periodically contact him and inform Scotty about all actions executed to find you, both to lighten the engineer's worry and keep him company.

Till, finally, Kirk passed him the coordinates.

Never Scotty ran as fast into the transporter room.

What he saw when the troop materialized in front of him was far from reassuring. Cautiously held by your teammates, you offered a dreadful sight to anyone who even slightly cared about you. No one stopped Scotty as he rushed forward and enveloped you in a possessive hug.

McCoy was only half way there when he met chief engineer carrying you to the sickbay.

Every free minute Scotty was able to carve out of his tight schedule was dedicated to you. His shifts inevitably ended with him hurrying to your bed, by which he would linger long after the hour when the rest of the crew went to sleep. At times he would bring a book or a journal along, but, mostly, he was just looking at you. Waiting.

Fluttering your eyes open, you were greeted with his eyes gazing down at you, longing, hopeful and loving. Your awakening broke sturdy shell he maintained, making his emotions come through all at once: next few minutes he was quietly crying on your chest, feeling happy and calm for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Since that day every mission you have to attend puts Scotty in a state of unease. Although he doesn’t want to deprive you of work you enjoy, he also can’t help the worry growing in his chest as he sees you go.

Nightmarish memories wake him up at night, and he watches you sleep, relishing in presence of you, alive and breathing, while his fear dissipates.

Ocasionaly, you catch him stare, somber eyes dweling into your soul.

receiving affection in public makes him pause. his instinct is always to assess context first - who is present, rank dynamics, cultural expectations - before allowing himself to react. there’s often a half-second delay where his expression goes still while he decides what is “appropriate.”

your smaller gestures are the ones he tolerates best. standing slightly closer than necessary, your shoulder brushing his arm, your fingers lightly catching his sleeve as you walk. things you wouldn’t notice unless you were watching closely. things that only spock can feel. he insists vulcans do not experience embarrassment - but you can tell he prefers pda that’s quiet and implied.

but he definitely needs to put his patience to the test when you’re feeling extra touchy and mischievous. you only really push his boundaries off duty - when you drag him to some social gathering and you’re happy and relaxed enough to lean against him. even reaching out to take his hand or smoothing your fingers across his thigh.

spock is noticeably stiffer when others are watching. not cold, but controlled. his posture straightens, his voice becomes more measured, and his expression stays neutral. despite this, he never removes your hand. the idea of rejecting your affection would trouble him far more than enduring mild discomfort. if anything, you’ll feel his thumb make one small, deliberate movement against your knuckle. an unconscious compromise between restraint and desire.

pda overwhelms him more than it embarrasses him. at times, it feels like a completely separate language he hasn’t learned. a new set of social expectations he didn’t know he needed to follow. your affection, in private, is something he conformed to much quicker than he expected. but accepting it in public? around others? maybe even returning it in the same capacity? it feels like a skill that spock is determined to learn for you.