every day i wake up and miss prime 2023 vulcan and romulan st posting/fanfiction - yes i will keep talking about these little vulcanoids in my phone and keep writing fics forever even if nobody else does
Inspired by this obscure bit of Star Trek lore, so thank you for sharing this book excerpt (and these brilliant tags) a bazillion years ago, @lichqueenlibrarian
VULCAN (SIMPLIFIED)
Vorik stared down at the PADD.
This was not meant to be difficult.
Vulcans did this all the time. It was one of those truths wrapped in secrecy, kept from outsiders and off-worlders under pain of mockery and indignity. Something like the pon farr- but this was not the pon farr. Vorik was not expecting his first plak tow for at least another year. In a way, that made the whole thing more shameful. There was no excuse to be experiencing this. No excuse to be feeling these... feelings, right now. He was a Vulcan, for goodness' sake. His good Vulcan breeding- and his common Vulcan sense- made it even more degrading to admit:
He wanted his fellow ensign. Desired them. Hungered for the warmth of their skin, the rise and fall of their chest as they kissed him, desiring him in turn more and more with each second that passed between them... the ensign breathlessly placing their firm fingertips onto his skin and just...
He stopped himself, the fantasy lurching to a reluctant halt inside his mind.
This was incorrect. It wasn't logical, or justifiable, or in any way honorable. It was unbecoming of a Starfleet officer, and he ought to be mortified at the mere idea that he was capable of these thoughts.
But he was not mortified. The desire had, like a thick vapor, filled all available space inside his mind. It left no room for honor, no room for propriety, or logic, or even shame.
And that was a major problem.
His only consolation was that it was not an uncommon problem among Vulcan men. His kind had wrangled with this quandary for millennia: how to reconcile the fiery passions of the blood with the dignified solace of a Surakian mind. The fine, upstanding Vulcans of old had devised a solution, carefully engineered for maximum discretion, to be kept from outsiders at all costs.
Yes, outside of pon farr, Vulcans had developed a rich literary tradition to help them cope with the lustful yearnings of an uncooperative flesh.
In vulgar parlance: they wrote a lot of pornography.
And now Vorik was to follow in their footsteps. Just as soon as his mind quieted enough to let him work.
He spoke into the PADD, voice husky in a way that he was glad it wouldn't question.
"Computer: change keyboard language to simplified Vulcan script."
There was no way in hell he'd be dictating this aloud.
---
Vorik blinked as if emerging from a trance. He looked over his handiwork, awed at the sheer volume of unspeakable-by-Vulcan-standards things he wanted to do with, to, and for his ensign. (That phrase appeared in-text multiple times: "my ensign", and then "his ensign" in sections written in third person. The text careened between the two points of view, feverish snapshots of scenes that had been running through his mind for months. Something in that possessive phrasing- "mine"- just set him ablaze in a way he'd never dream of admitting aloud.)
Vorik almost flinched when, in the middle of rereading the words that had spilled from him, he heard the ping of his PADD's integrated virtual assistant. A message popped up on the screen. The damn AI assistant could read Vulcan, apparently.
"PEOPLE YOU'VE MENTIONED. You seem to be referencing the following team members:"
Vorik felt a thrill of excitement- then guilt and shame- as he read his ensign's name on the screen.
"Invite them to edit?"
Vorik's eyes widened. No, he would most certainly NOT be inviting them to edit.
A sudden chirp from his comm badge had him jumping out of his skin- an unbecoming show of nervous emotion, he chastised himself- and he fumbled with the buttons on the PADD, finally managing to turn it off.
"Vorik? This is Torres. Where the hell are you?"
"Apologies, lieutenant. What is your current location?"
---
Elsewhere, a certain ensign received a notification:
"NEW COLLABORATION REQUEST. Auto-translate from Vulcan (simplified)?"
---
To say the ensign was shocked would be an understatement.
"Did he send me porn of us?" She muttered incredulously, feeling immediately grateful that no one was in the room with her to hear it.
This was an egregious breach of professionalism. It was completely unlike him, sure, but it still constituted an open-and-shut case of harassment. She ought to report it immediately. She was horrifically uncomfortable with all of this...
Wasn't she?
She ought to be. She took a moment to remind herself that she ought to be.
However...
The truth was, Vorik was sweet. He'd first taken interest in her at Ten Forward, seated at a table with the other ensigns. She'd used an Earthen expression that he was unfamiliar with, and he asked her about the meaning. That question had led to a follow up question the next day, which led to near-daily discussions in the corridors about new human idioms he'd picked up. She never thought to wonder how he'd suddenly heard so many.
One day, after much back and forth, she'd brought him a reference book. It was a custom-replicated copy of an ancient text from the 20th century. "Webster's Dictionary of Idioms".
The moment he'd seen it, she could've sworn both corners of his lips had twitched up. It was the Vulcan equivalent of lighting up on Christmas morning.
Now, that Vorik... sweet, earnest, handsome-in-a-green-tinted-way, Vorik... had suddenly sent her an absolute odyssey of home-brewed Vulcan porn.
It was a baffling choice for a first move. Beyond insane.
But if she was being honest? From him, she didn't totally hate it.
----
"Vorik, can we talk?"
She was more nervous than she had any right to be, and she knew it. After all, she wasn't the one who sent the porno novella. (To be fair, it hadn't all been torrid bodice-ripping. There was a lengthy section about guiding her through a mind meld, and multiple very detailed passages about the two of them just holding hands.) Still, it was all she could do to keep her voice even, and she had no idea how to even ask what she wanted to know.
Where do you start with that conversation? Hi, what are you thinking for lunch today? By the way, I noticed you sent 30 pages of erotic literature about us to my work email last night. Can we chat about that?
"We can certainly speak, yes. It would be my pleasure."
She blinked at how unfazed he sounded. Was this normal to him? She turned over the possibility on the very fringes of her mind. The thought seemed absolutely preposterous, but... could this be some kind of canonized flirtation ritual? A Vulcan thing?
"I got your message."
She was unsure what else to add. The words hung thick as molasses in the air between them, full of unanswered sub-questions.
Questions that Vorik, bless him, was completely oblivious to.
"My message?"
She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Yes. Your message."
One of his brows flicked up in the way that only Vulcan brows truly can.
"You received a message from me?"
She stared at him. "Yes. Of course I did. You... you messaged it to me."
"I messaged you a message?" He confirmed evenly, eyebrow still aloft.
"Yes! What, are you mocking me?"
Vorik was taken aback by the sudden accusation.
"Certainly not. I..." He thought back to the books he had read about actively listening to humans. "I hold you in very high regard, ensign." Yes. Good. The chapter on validation had said that 'genuine praise' was very important to her kind. "But I do believe there has been a mistake. I have not sent you any correspondence."
"Yes, you did!" She insisted in the desperate way someone does when they're afraid they've entered the Twilight Zone. "You sent me this!"
She pulled out her PADD, showing him the offending message. Instantly, she could see the blood drain from his face.
"I..." He blinked hard, mind spinning at a million lightyears a minute. How did she...
It didn't matter how. He felt the cold, cruel grip of dread tightening around his heart.
"How- when did you procure this?" His voice managed not to betray his panic; it was smooth, silky, and not at all the sound of a man whose world and dignity are currently crumbling around him.
She looked at him like he'd suddenly become very slow. "You sent it to me! Last night! And the system asked me to collaborate with you on it!"
Vorik sat with that for a moment. Processed it. Really digested it.
Then he stood up, turned on his heel, and strode wordlessly out of Ten Forward.
---
Humans are able to "hold it together". Even under severe distress, most of them can will themselves not to cry until they have reached a safe, appropriately private location. (Vorik knows this, because Vorik has read extensively about human behavior since first taking an interest in his ensign.)
Thankfully, Vulcans have a similar mechanism to "hold it together". It's a small mercy that he can wait until he is safely in his quarters before blushing almost entirely green in embarrassment.
But it's worse than just embarrassment, he realizes. Vorik feels shame. Regret. Fear- fear that she will report him (as she should), fear that she is uncomfortable (as she surely must be, and has every conceivable right to be). Fear that she- and this is what finally makes his blood run cold- may never wish to speak with him again.
It rushes over him in an undiluted wave- Vulcan emotion, multiple times stronger than human sentiment, worthy of thousands of years' worth of ritualized suppression. And he finds that it is all just too much at once.
To Vorik's horror, he begins to weep.
His PADD pings mercilessly, over and over. Messages. He imagines what they could be: notifications that a report has been lodged against him. Admonishments from his crewmates. A court martial date. (Can court martials even be scheduled that quickly? He is too upset right now to logically parse out the probability.)
After multiple pings, his comm badge hums to life.
"Vorik! Answer me!"
It's her. How is it her?!
"Ensign." He manages.
"Don't 'ensign' me. Come back. We need to talk."
"You wish to-?"
"Of course I wish to! Get your... ugh, just check your messages."
He does, and there it is in black and white:
Get your fine, confusing self back over here. Why'd you leave?
Vorik stares at the message, unblinking and disbelieving.
Then, like a spark igniting inside an engine, his mind suddenly comprehends, and he is sprinting back to Ten Forward.
ᯓ★ (Y/N) and Ensign Vorik have been bickering since the USS Voyager got lost in the Delta Quadrant. When their latest fight ends with both of them lying on the engineering room's floor, Captain Janeway sentences them both to twenty-four hours in the ships brig as punishment. Vorik just happens to be experiencing a Vulcan's Pon Farr, and (Y/N) is the only eligible mate in proximity. ᯓ★
(Y/N) sat with her arms crossed in the grey brig.
Across from her, was Ensign Vorik, the reason why they were in this mess to begin with.
It was just another Tuesday aboard the USS Voyager. (Y/N) had been assigned to run diagnostics on the warp drive. A task which was usually simple, routine, and uneventful. That expectation vanished the moment she glanced at the duty roster and saw who had been assigned to work alongside her. She rolled her eyes.
Ensign Vorik.
The two had been bickering ever since the Earth Station McKinley where they first departed. For a Vulcan, Vorik sure had a lot of attitude. And his antics had already started to annoy ensign (Y/N) ten minutes into the diagnostic.
“I have already recalibrated the plasma injectors,” Vorik said without looking up from the control console.
“No, you recalibrated them to starfleet specifications. They’ve been running outside those tolerances since we entered the Nekrit Expanse.” (Y/N) said as she glanced over his shoulder.
“Starfleet’s specifications exist for a reason.”
“And reality exists for another.” (Y/N) said, crossing her arms. Her comment caused Vorik to finally look at her. She continued now, looking at his face which she once joked was punchable to another colleague. “They’re the only reason this ship hasn’t shaken itself apart every time Lieutenant Paris takes us to warp.”
“An illogical exaggeration.”
“Just because you’re a Vulcan doesn’t make you right, so stop undoing my work.” (Y/N) reached past him and restored the calibration he’d just overwritten. But just as fast as she restored it, Vorik reversed it again.
“The adjustment is illogical.”
Again she changed the settings.
Again he changed them back.
The console then made an odd noise in response to the commands being entered too quickly. Vorik then placed his hand over (Y/N)’s, preventing her from reaching the control buttons.
“Ensign.” He said as though he were above her in rank.
“Did you just… did you just grab me?” (Y/N) stuttered as she yanked her hand free.
“I prevented further interference. You were compromising the diagnostic.”
Their voices, (Y/N)’s specifically, had grown loud enough that several engineers had stopped pretending not to watch. B’Elanna Torres had emerged after hearing the disruption.
(Y/N) stepped forward, jabbing a finger into his chest. But Vorik caught her wrist before she could shove him, surprising (Y/N) with his strength.
“Your conduct is inappropriate, Ensign (L/N).” Vorik said.
“Let go of me!”
(Y/N) struggled in his arms as she tried to break free, but he was too strong. It was bad enough that he had his gross Vulcan hands on her, but now the whole engineering floor was watching them. Their struggle then caused them to collide with the engineering console, sending tools clattering to the deck.
(Y/N) found herself pinned between his legs as Vorik used his hands to pin hers against the floor.
“Computer! Yellow alert!” Lieutenant Torres shouted over the chaos.
“Janeway to Engineering.”
"Captain... we've got a situation." Torres said as she pressed her combadge. It wasn’t the first time she needed to contact an authority to deal with these two.
"...I noticed,” Captain Janeway’s voice rippled through the room, in a dangerous way. Both (Y/N) and Vorik knew that they were about to regret their decisions that led up to their argument. "Both ensigns are to report to my ready room. Immediately."
⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆
Captain Janeway stood behind her desk in her office, somewhat annoyed that she had to deal with these two again. (Y/N) and Vorik stood at rigid attention on opposite sides of the room, both sporting fresh bruises.
"I've reviewed Engineering's security recordings," Captain Janeway said. “And I have also spoken with Lieutenant Torres. I expect disagreements among my crew. I even expect arguments…”
As the captain spoke, (Y/N) kept her eyes forward. Though she felt ashamed that she had been brought in to be scolded by the highest ranking officer on the ship, she did not regret yelling at Vorik. The damn Vulcan deserved it goddamnit!
"What I do not expect is for two Starfleet officers to settle those disagreements by wrestling across Main Engineering." Captain Janeway continued, looking in between both of them. "I've tried assigning you to different shifts. I've spoken to each of you individually. Clearly, neither approach has worked. For conduct unbecoming of Starfleet officers, I am confining both of you to the brig for twenty-four hours."
"The brig?" (Y/N)'s eyes widened and her foot began to tap unknowingly.
Vorik remained expressionless.
"Yes, Ensign," But Janeway wasn't finished. She stuck one finger in the air and looked at (Y/N) and then at the security officer standing by the door. "And since neither of you can seem to function professionally apart… One cell.”
Vorik raised a single eyebrow and (Y/N) stared in horror. But Captain Janeway, the bringer of the punishment, almost smiled.
"Perhaps after twenty-four hours of each other's company, you'll either learn to work together… or you'll discover that silence is preferable."
So that was what brought them here, to the small brig room which contained both of them. There was one bunk, one replicator for food, and the massive window which gave them each a view of the hallway. There was supposed to be a security guard stationed outside, but he had been gone for some time.
(Y/N) got up and started walking around in circles. It was better than sitting four feet away from the Vulcan who'd just pinned her to the engineering deck.
Vorik had taken up a position against the far wall, his spine straight as he sat, and his hands clasped in front of him. He was meditating, something that angered (Y/N) who found no peace in their arrangement.
"You could at least pretend to be upset about this," (Y/N) said. "Or is 'inconvenienced' as close to an emotion as you people get?"
"I am attempting to remain composed…"
"Composed," she repeated slowly. "Vorik, are you okay?"
Vorik’s breathing wasn't as steady as usual. A fine sheen of perspiration had formed along his brow, and every few moments his fingers curled ever so slightly against his knees before relaxing again.
"I do not have time to belabor the point." Vorik said as he got up from the ground and straightened."Ensign. (Y/N)."
"That's my name, yes."
"Let me take this opportunity to declare koon-ut so'lik." Vorik said. He was now super close to her, so close that (Y/N) could feel the beats of his heart and his elevated temperature which made it seem as though he were experiencing a human cold."My desire to become your mate."
“What!?”
"In human terms, I am proposing marriage." His eyes didn't leave hers, didn't waver, even as a muscle in brow ticked with the effort of holding still. "Do you accept?"
"Vorik, we were fighting over plasma injectors four hours ago."
"I am aware of the timeline. But my attempts at meditation are proving insufficient. The condition does not respond to logic. Only to bonding."
(Y/N) took a step back, bumping into the edge of the bunk. "Okay, back up. Back up. What condition, Vorik, tell me, don't just…" she gestured helplessly at him, "...loom at me."
"Pon farr." He said the words like they were being extracted from him through torture. "The Vulcan blood fever. It occurs every seven years and it is… not optional to endure alone."
“But don’t you have a mate back on Vulcan?”
“She has sufficient reason to consider me lost, and has most likely chosen another mate. It's appropriate for me to do the same.” Vorik responded, not stepping away from (Y/N).
"Oh, well, when you put it that romantically…"
"I have come to greatly admire not only your impressive technical skills," he continued, plowing forward as though if he stopped talking his control might go with it, "but also your bravery, and your sense of moral duty. All excellent qualities in a prospective mate."
(Y/N) turned her face away from his as he had cornered her against the brig wall.
"You're proposing to me in a brig cell!"
"The location is not ideal," he conceded. "But time is a factor I do not control."
"There is a security guard right there…"
"He departed several minutes ago." A pause. "It is reasonable to assume that he will be gone for some time."
(Y/N) continued to look away from him, her heart racing in a way similar to adrenaline, which is what she told herself it was.
"You may wish to reconsider your refusal," Vorik said."Your choices for a mate are currently limited to seventy-three male crew members on this ship. Some of whom are already unavailable."
"Did you run the numbers on my dating pool while you were dying of Vulcan hormones?"
"I calculated it several hours ago. Before the onset made concentration difficult."
She should have said no. She knew she should have said no, there were about nine violations of protocol happening in this cell already, and marriage proposals from feverish Vulcans mid-biological-crisis were probably number ten. He was insufferable, whenever he sat with the rest of the engineering crew for lunch, (Y/N) would immediately find another table. If he walked into a turbolift, she'd suddenly remember she needed to be on a different deck. If Lieutenant Torres assigned them to the same maintenance rotation, she'd spend the entire shift arguing with him over tolerances, calibrations, and whether "good enough" was, in fact, good enough.
But he was standing there white-knuckled and honest in a way she'd never once seen him be.
"Fuck it," She said, mostly to herself as she closed the distance between the two and pressed her lips against his.
Their kiss was clumsy. (Y/N) seized her impulses and her feelings of frustration and became one with the heat radiating off of Vorik’s body than any practiced grace. The moment (Y/N)’s lips met his, something in the Vulcan caused him to seize (Y/N)’s waist and pull her against his own body.
(Y/N) gasped into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entrance with a Vulcan’s typical precision turned feral. She tasted spice and heat, something uniquely him, and her fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to draw another rough sound from him.
“Vorik…” she managed to breathe when they broke apart for air, but he didn’t let her finish. His mouth trailed down her jaw to the sensitive skin of her throat. One of his hands slid to unzipper her uniform, using his hands to freely explore her bare skin. He pressed her hard against the brig wall.
“The bond… it must begin,” he whispered against her collarbone, his voice strained, barely recognizable. His usual stoic tone had dissolved into something needier. “Accept me, (Y/N).”
She should have hesitated longer. Protocol, duty, the fact that they’d been at each other’s throats hours ago. She yanked open his uniform top instead, exposing the hard planes of his chest. “Then stop talking and show me.”
Vorik’s control shattered. He lifted her onto the narrow bunk with his vulcan strength that surprised (Y/N) as she let him guide her. Their uniforms were shed in a frantic tangle of fabric as they fell to the ground beneath them.
His hands were everywhere, tracing her fragile body with desperate reverence. His fingers traced the curve of her breasts, with his thumbs brushing over hardening nipples until she arched into him with a sharp moan.
When he settled between her thighs, she could feel the rigid length of him, hot and heavy against her core. Pon farr had left him aching, leaking, the head of his cock already slick. He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, the last thread of Vulcan composure fraying.
“Say it again,” he rasped.
“Mate with me, Vorik.” she moaned, widening her legs further.
He thrust into her, burying himself into her tight core. (Y/N) cried out at the sudden stretch, the burning fullness. He was thick, pulsing inside her, and the heat of him made her clench around his cock. Vorik groaned and began breathing ragged as he fought not to lose himself immediately.
Vorik’s hips then snapped and he began to fuck her hard. (Y/N) had been with a man once while at the academy, but being with a vulcan hard from pon farr was a completely different experience. He offered her no mercy. Fucking her so hard she was forced to moan as loud as she could.
The brig cell echoed with the wet sounds of their joining. He whispered vulcan sayings against her skin as she gasped into the swollen air.
One of his hands found hers, fingers touching in the vulcan kiss. While his other hand steadied himself against the narrow cot. He angled her so he could grind against that perfect spot inside her with every stroke. He was so close, but (Y/N) beat him to it as she came first with a sharp cry, walls fluttering and squeezing around him, nails raking down his back.
Vorik followed moments later, burying himself deep as he spilled inside her with a guttural snarl, hips jerking through the aftershocks. But his pon farr wasn’t satisfied. He stayed hard, still buried in her heat, and rolled them so she was on top, hands guiding her hips as he looked up at her with raw hunger.
“Again,” he commanded, voice hoarse. “We are not finished.”
She smirked down at him, breathless and flushed, rolling her hips experimentally. “Then you’d better keep up, Vulcan.”
The night hours came. They fucked through the night cycle, slow and deep, not caring is a night guard or any of the cameras were watching them. They fucked aganist the wall, bent over the bunk, her riding him until her thighs shook… And each orgasm fed the bond, weaving their minds closer. Vorik’s touches grew more possessive, his mouth marking her neck and breasts, while (Y/N) whispered filthy encouragements that made his control fracture over and over.
By the time the security guard finally returned to check on them, both were spent, tangled naked on the bunk, sweat-slicked and breathing hard. Vorik’s arms were wrapped around her protectively, his head pressed to hers in a lingering mind-touch.
⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆
Epilogue
Ensign (Y/N) and Ensign Vorik both stood at attention in Captain Janeway’s office. She looked between the two of them as she sipped her cup of coffee. Lieutenant Torres stood idly behind her.
"Well," she said. "You're both still standing, which I'll count as an improvement over yesterday. I take it twenty-four hours in close quarters did the trick? Have you resolved your differences?"
(Y/N) glanced sideways at Vorik. Vorik glanced back, and something passed between them that had nothing to do with plasma injectors.
“Actually, Captain…” (Y/N) began, “we’d like to get married.”
“Married.” Janeway repeated as her coffee cup stopped halfway to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly."
“Yes, Captain,” Vorik confirmed, calm as ever. “Ensign (Y/N) has accepted my proposal of koon-ut so’lik. We wish to formalize the bond under Starfleet regulations as soon as it is convenient.”
Captain Janeway pinched the bridge of her nose, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself. “Of course you do. Because nothing about this situation could be simple. Well… the Delta Quadrant has seen stranger things. Lieutenant Torres, prepare the necessary paperwork. We’ll schedule a ceremony once we’re not actively dodging plasma storms or hostile species.”
Captain Janeway looked between them for one last time, her expression softening,
“Congratulations, Ensigns. Dismissed. And just try to keep the arguments to a minimum from now on.”
“Yes, Captain,” they both replied in unison.
As they turned to leave the bridge, Vorik’s fingers brushed (Y/N)’s again. She hooked her pinky around his for just a second, a small, secret smile playing on her lips.
They then went their separate ways. Leaving Captain Janeway pinching her nose in her office.
I need a fix with a Vulcan x fully unhinged reader, I’m not talking “omg I'm so crazy 😝🥺😈” I need them to see the true depths of obsession humans can go to “I carved your name into my arm bibi 😁☺️” type shii
