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lucycola · 1 year

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TOS!Spock x Fem!Reader; The Visitor Part 2

ON HIATUS FOR THE TIME BEING

Modern!AU where Spock is an alien who lands in the reader’s backyard and seeks shelter while repairing his ship. Eventual romance and smut.

In The Original Series it is said Spock is a vegetarian, not vegan, so I’m basing this part off of that information.

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood and bodily harm. Awkwardness. Spock is tall and the Reader is not. Foot kink if you squint. Not proof read at all. PART ONE

Part 2: And the zipping white light beams disregarding bombs and satellites. That was the turning point- that was one lonely night

Sparse sun rays of a dreary morning ghosted through the curtains of your bedroom. The night was enveloped in sweaty tossing and turning. You remembered anxious nights before the first day of school where it took you hours to fall asleep and when you finally did you dreamt of still trying to fall asleep. You could never tell if you actually slept that way.

This night was no different.

It was easier to help your visitor into the house, as he wasn’t unconscious this time. He had leaned onto your shoulder and excused himself to the bathroom to change.

You hadn’t been sure what to do at that point, but directed him exhaustedly to a spare room. You had sealed most of the rooms to reserve heat to save money. You felt guilty for how cold it had been and thankfully the old heater in the corner worked.

You shut yourself up with your dog and lay with the fire poker for good measure. You were still equally spooked as you were tranced. Was it a dream? The green blood felt real, but it was so outlandish it couldn’t possibly be.

At some point Spaghetti was scratching the door so hard you let her out of the room. If she wanted her liver eaten, fine so be it.

When you were sure it was finally morning you roused from bed feeling your whole body ache.

You slowly pushed open the door wincing at the creak. His room was only a little down the hall. You ridiculously crawled on all fours until you came next to his doorframe. You swore you had left it closed but now it was just wide enough for your dog to push her way through.

You peeked in and saw he was lying under the two quilts you had placed atop him. Spaghetti was nestled into his side and you inwardly screeched. His head faced away from you as you slowly crept in.

His chest rose and fell calmly. The pit of anxiety in your stomach unfurled into a sigh of relief. Spaghetti’s tail began to thump and you slowly crept back out.

You dawdled to the den slowly and fumbled the fire poker back into its stand.

You felt a chill slither down your back and absentmindedly you fiddled around for some kindling to make another fire. Despite not having cleaned out the ashes from the night before it caught easily. You would have to chop more before the weekend was over and fortunately for you the logs outside were protected with a tarp. Otherwise they would be soaking wet.

You didn’t know why such a thing preoccupied your mind. There was a damn alien in your house and firewood was at the top of your list?

You fell back into the couch. How long would he be here? Would his own kind come looking for him? Would your kind look for him? You desperately did not want the FBI knocking at your door.

What the hell were you going to feed him? Could he eat Earth food? He did say he was half human-albeit he also said he was a vegetarian. What were you supposed to feed a vegetarian.

“Woof.”

“Dog,” you huffed in response, accustomed to your pet’s voice.

“Human.”

You looked up to see your guest had risen, still in your grandfather’s clothes. He was a bit pale, but seemed alright for the most part. Spaghetti was at his side, tail still wagging. Damn dog.

You stood immediately, “Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but it is of no consequence,” he replied, “I extend my gratitude for your assistance last night.”

You nodded, mouth feeling dry. You ran your fingers through your hair, finding a large knot. Your neck flushed. You must have looked awful.

He himself endured the awkward silence. Spaghetti was the first to break it.

“Breakfast,” you chirped, “I need to feed her. Are you hungry?”

You went into the kitchen, trying to smooth down your hair and retrieved her food bag from the pantry. If you didn’t keep it locked up she’d devour all of it in one day and probably die of an intestinal blockage. You almost learned that the hard way shortly after inheriting her and the house.

Spaghetti trudged to you once her bowl was filled and began chomping away.

Spock still stood at the corner of the rug, the left side of his frame bathed in little fire light. You avoided his gaze by ducking into the fridge.

“You said-eh-Vulcans don’t eat meat, right? Can Vulcans eat eggs and toast?” you asked, still feeling the heat at your neck and ears.

“I suppose that will be acceptable.”

His voice was much closer, causing you to jump and hit your head inside the refrigerator. You turned and found that indeed he was much closer than before. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

You had forgotten how tall he was.

“Right!” you blurted, “I’ll get started on that. Do you drink coffee?”

He shook his head, “Although my mother has an affinity for it, Vulcans prefer tea.”

You nodded again, “I’ll see what I can do.” You began to rummage through the cupboard.

“Could I be of assistance?” he asked, having taken a step back. Did he sense it-how you felt?

“No-no, please. You’re still hurt. Just sit down.”

He didn’t move to argue with you and did as instructed. He laid his hands atop the kitchen table, brushing off some crumbs from the placemat.

Why were you so flustered by him? You didn’t feel that way helping him change or into bed. If anything you were wholly consumed by anxiety.

What if you hadn’t stitched him properly? you remembered thinking, What if he bled to death in your house?

He had developed a shiver about him that night so you layered him heavy with quilts, even pulling one off your bed for good measure. You had whispered fiercely into the old heater in the corner, threatening it with the dumpster if it didn’t turn on. Thankfully the old crystals rattled to life and filled the room with its orange glow.

Now he was at your kitchen table politely and patiently waiting to be fed. Spaghetti was done with her own breakfast and settled at his feet.

You scowled inwardly. That dog had never been that nice to you. You wondered if it was because of the scent of his clothes-reminding her of her old master.

You managed to find some ancient tea your grandmother had in the cabinet and set the kettle to boil. You hoped to every and any holy entity it didn’t taste like shit. You fetched eggs from the fridge and procured a pan.

“How do you like your eggs?” you asked.

“I was not aware there were multiple ways to like them.”

“Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“Am I to understand your kind consumes them?” he quipped.

You stifled a sigh, settling on whipping the eggs in a bowl, “No-we don’t eat cats. Well, some people might. I’ve never met one. It’s just an expression really.”

Neither had you seriously met someone seriously considering eating a feline either. You had only heard racists jokes, which was not something you wanted to unpack right now.

While you were scrambling the eggs Spaghetti had managed to flip over her food bowl and began to whine. She sat sternly by it, despite the fact that it had long been empty and she knew how to flip it back.

She whined loudly, wanting more kibble.

“No,” you replied, “That’s all you get for now. Don’t indulge her-she’s just an asshole.”

Despite your order Spock was already crouching with the ghost of a wince on his features. He flipped the bowl back over.

You were seriously considering eating dog.

“Do your people have expressions?” you asked after depositing toast and eggs on a plate for the both of you.

He settled back down at the table, his reply deterred by the sudden whistle of the kettle. You rushed to it, setting it off the eye. You poured the water in his cup, hoping the tea wasn’t awful. It almost looked like it dated nearly twenty years. When you had first moved in and were cleaning out the freezer you found frozen vegetable and meats dating even farther back.

“Yes, but they are not as colorful as Terran ones I have found. I know a few from my mother, but none of the likes of which you shared today.”

You blushed again, “I’m sorry-it’s my raising I guess.” You set his plate and tea before him gingerly, avoid eye contact. You felt silly.

You had a million questions. How far was Vulcan from Earth-what was it like? What was their language like? Did they all wear robes as he did or was that exclusively for travel? Were their more planets beyond Earth like Vulcan? Did all Vulcans have pointy ears?

“Do you have shame?” he asked.

You were snapped out of your inner wondering.

“What?” you sat across from him.

“Your tone indicates your ‘raising’, as you put it, as an excuse rather than an explanation. It would seem you are shameful.”

You sighed for a moment and decided to be truthful, “Sometimes. Not for my grandparents or this house. I mean we weren’t the richest or the most sophisticated.”

He looked at his plate for a moment and picked up the fork, twisting it in his right hand.

“I understand,” was all he offered.

You normally ate a quick pace. Spaghetti had trained you that way. You had to be fast so she wouldn’t purposely drool all over your feet or lap.

The visitor ate slowly, without an hint of whether he liked his breakfast or not. You flushed again at the sight of your empty plate and his still half full.

He probably thought you were a pig.

“Do you?” you blurted.

“Pardon?” He glanced up from his ministrations.

“Feel ashamed of your upbringing?”

“Vulcans do not feel shame,” he stated plainly, resuming his meal. Spaghetti trudged over to him and began to slobber at his socks. He gently prodded her head to the side, not paying her much attention other than so.

“Why?” you asked incredulously.

“Shame is a human emotion.”

“What-do Vulcans have their own set or something?” you snarked, allowing yourself to giggle.

“Vulcans adhere to a practice in which we do not partake in such expression. Such is the philosophy of Surak.”

You stared at him. Like you were supposed to know what that meant.

“Who’s Surak?”

His right brow twitched ever so slightly.

“A Vulcan philosopher.” He drank his tea, once again with no hint to whether it tasted good or bad. “One who taught that emotions makes one illogical and hindered the improvement and growth of a successful and peaceful society.”

You tapped your foot, beginning to feel the red swell on aggravation behind your lips.

“You have no shame, yet you understand it? How is that possible?”

“I was taught the history of my civilization. We were once like the humans-living rashly at the expense of survival-at the expense of our evolution to a greater society.”

“So, what, you’re saying Vulcans are better than humans for that?”

He placed the utensil back down cleanly on the plate and moved his elbows to prop on the table. He steepled his long fingers and locked his eyes with yours.

“Once again you keep inferring from declarations I have not given.”

You crossed your arms, “Indirectly. You were once like humans and now that you’re not you’re better for it?”

“Once again-”

The shrill bell of the kitchen phone interrupted the tension, slicing through it with each ring.

You went to it quickly, leaving your breakfast alone. Please, God, don’t let it be the FBI.

“Hello?”

“Good mornin’!”

“Doctor Beltik!” you strained through clenched teeth. You instantly recognized the cheery voice, slowly deteriorating in sharpness from its age.

The town veterinarian was as old nearly as the town itself-as old as your grandparents would be if they were still here. He was a good friend to them and Spaghetti’s mortal enemy.

“Little lamb, how are ya?”

“I’m well.”

You glanced back at Spock and mouthed an apology. He only nodded ever so slightly and continued his breakfast while coolly keeping your dog at bay with the heel of his foot.

A fucking pro already. You chuckled at that.

“And the ole girl?”

You stifled a huff. You did not have time for old chit chat, as much as you loved the old vet.

“She’s the same-Doctor Beltik I really-” you started but were cut off.

“I won’t keep ya long, lamb, I wanted to ask if your power went out last night. It was quite a storm-largest lightening strike we’ve seen since your ma was a wee thing! Darned thing lasted a long time, nearly blinded me! Not that I’m not already halfway there anyway.”

You paled a bit feeling the eggs churn in your belly. What if someone saw the crash or the ship? How foolish could you be to think anyone could really believe that that was lightening. The vet was a fossil and maybe a little silly, but anyone in their right mind-”

“Y/N?” the vet asked, “Ya still there?”

“Yes!” you sputtered, “It woke me up, but I didn’t have too much trouble going back to sleep. Bad weather is like white noise, y’know.”

“Did your power go out? All of downtown went black.”

Shit.

“Wow, really? Uh-it did for a short time. Listen, doc-I’ve got biscuits in the oven-”

“That’s alright. Enjoy your Sunday, lamb!”

“Thankyou, Doctor Beltik.”

You hung up the phone and grumbled. You smoothed out your robe and turned around.

The table was empty. No spaceman. Spaghetti was sniffing at the back door after leaving a trail of drool from where Spock had sat to the doorframe.

Great, just great.

---

You were already half way out the door, tugging your rainboots when you spotted him at the tree line.

“Spock!” you called, “What’re you doing?”

It had already began to sprinkle. You darted towards the tree line, the ache in your calves reminding you of the night before-both dragging and half carrying him.

You nearly ran into him as he stopped so suddenly you had no time to slow down. He steadied you with a strong hand, fingers brushing the bare skin of your collar bone. Droplets of morning drizzled flecked his dark hair and you found yourself crooning your neck back to meet his gaze.

“I must repair the ship,” he stated plainly, unmoved by your close proximity to him.

You couldn’t speak. The pads of his fingers were warm at the base of your throat. You felt a chill run up the entirety of your body.

“Breathe,” he commanded.

You took in the damp morning air and felt your face go hot immediately. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath.

He let you go and you instinctively took a step back. Your brain was fuzzy. It kept shouting the same things over and over, as if arguing with itself.

Friend. Predator. Stranger. Liver.

You hated how tall he was.

He turned curtly and began into the woods. You bumbled after him.

“I hope no one saw the crash,” you informed him, shivering. “The vet over the phone saw the light from your ship and it knocked out the town’s power, not just my house last night!”

“There was suitable cloud cover and I was able to move quietly under the detection of Earth’s authorities,” he replied, “Until the storm worsened. I was temporarily blinded and almost struck a metal structure- I believe it’s purpose is to provide the facilities to operate mobile communications.”

“You mean a cell tower?”

You stumbled over a root, sliding in the mud. You grabbed onto his sleeve without thinking. He locked his grip under your elbow and helped you along. You felt pathetic, but steadier.

“Affirmative. Fortunately, I avoided it,” he explained, “But I was not so quick to avoid the trees up there.”

He motioned with his hand and you saw the tops of the evergreens were indeed quite taken out.

The ship loomed into view, sleek and colorless in design. It seemed smaller in the daytime.

He stopped short of where the ramp used to be and pressed his fingers to the cool metal. The maw of the ship opened quietly and out streamed the light again.

“The right side of the landing gear is damaged along with a small piece of the hull. Some of the infrastructure of the cargo bay has been warped,” he continued, still leading you carefully up the slick ramp. It’s almost like he knew how you had to crawl that night in order to keep from falling.

He was right. In the dark you had never seen it. Beams fashioned of the same white metal that crafted the cargo hold were indeed bent and some broken. One had been completely severed and was like a sharp pike. It sported a coat of dried green.

You glanced at his right flank and back up at him. He did not acknowledge your expression of horror.

“What is unknown to me is how the sensors did not detect the cell tower.”

You realized he was still holding on to your elbow.

“Maybe something was already broken?” you offered in a soft voice.

He looked down at you and removed his hold.

“I will investigate as I was not able to last evening,” he replied already starting up the ladder. “Then I must repair the ship and return to Vulcan.”

You followed after him carefully, not wanting to fall. “And how are you gonna do that? There’s not exactly many alien spaceship workshops around here.”

You poked your head through. The cockpit seemed to have the Tardis effect. Unlike the outside it seemed much bigger on the inside. Lines of soft light lined the elongated wind screen and the runway between seats. Spock was kneeling at the console.

“Aboard each private Vulcan vessel are tools and minor parts for replacement. Although it will take me some time I should be able to repair it sufficiently to return me home.”

You ran your fingers gently along the railing along the bottom of the glass outlooking the forest.

You finally registered what he had said and whipped around.

“You can’t do that in the middle of the woods out here! Someone already noticed the ship’s light last night. Who knows that someone won’t come poking around here. You-” you sighed and rubbed your temples, “-you need somewhere to work.”

He stood, once again towering over you at too close distance. “I suppose you already have a space in mind?”

“Actually,” you tapped your finger against your lips, “I might. If it will fit. God willing.”

He eyes did not meet yours, but below. You didn’t realize it at first but his gaze was following your finger, right at your lips. You didn’t know if he knew it, but he had began to chew on his bottom lip.

You felt heat blooming at your neck.

“But-!” you interrupted your line of thinking, “I don’t think I can tow this thing with my truck. Can it fly anymore?”

He nodded, “That is something I can tend to now. Although it is still cloudy it might be preferrable if we perform this operation at night.”

“This thing already stands out like a sore thumb from the sky-I mean it’s straight chrome almost.”

Almost. Not nearly as silver. More delicate and duller.

“Then I shall try now,” he said and rapidly moved back to the console, flipping switches and the like.

“Wait-wait-” you scrambled back to the ladder, “I don’t want to be on this thing when it moves.”

You were already half way down when he murmured,

“Humans. So peculiar.”

How it fit into your garage was nothing short of a miracle. You never kept the truck under there anyway. Most of your grandfather’s tools had been stuffed to the side. There’s used to be more vehicles, but in your grandparents will you had been instructed to sell the car and boat to help you with your finances. You could sell the house if you wanted, but you didn’t.

Not yet anyway.

There was a large concrete pad in front of the double garage doors and you stood there in the raining morning, motioning with your hands for him to land there. From there on you guided him to slowly back in into place. It funnily reminded you of helping friends’ parents park at graduation.

Instead of activating the ramp which if extended would destroy the stairs up into the rest of the house, he appeared from a sort of port hole near the back of the vessel.

“This will do quite well, Y/N, thankyou,” he said.

You squeezed your arm and nodded. You looked up at the sound of Spaghetti scratching the basement door.

“I-I need a shower,” you said, “Are you all set?”

“Affirmative.”

He had already began to examine landing gear, having a sort of tool belt of sorts that resembled the ships lack of color and sleek design about his waist.

“I’ll be up stairs if you need anything. Just holler.”

“I will, pi’veh.”

You slipped out of your boots and left them at the base of the staircase. He glanced back at you as the creaking of your bare footsteps filled the room.

He turned back to his work, noting subconsciously that your nails were painted.

Peculiar indeed.

#spock x reader #spock xfem!reader #spock #tos!spock x reader #star trek #startrek #tos #the original series #lucycola #the visitor #Spaceman by The Killers

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