He stood still as the Vulcans dressed him in formal wear—the kind meant for weddings. Only this time, it was his. Well… yours.

*It was all his father’s idea.

You were an black ops operative—or as Starfleet preferred, an intelligence specialist. Brilliant, discreet, exacting. Officially, you wore the uniform like anyone else, graduated from the Academy with distinction. But unofficially, you were part of special, highly classified operations.

Your assignments reached across the galaxy: quiet entries, strategic interference, sensitive recoveries. Off the record, you did what needed doing—discreetly and without recognition. A ghost with a badge, answering directly to the Admirals.

This season, your assignment had changed: personal protection for Ambassador Sarek. And for reasons you never quite understood, he liked you. Perhaps it was your precision, your silence, your unswerving loyalty to the Federation. Whatever it was, it kept you in Vulcan orbit far more than you anticipated.

That’s where you saw Spock again. You’d known him in passing—the “gifted” class at the Academy, although he was a few years ahead. You’d hardly spared him a second thought… until the day his betrothal to T’Pring was publicly annulled and you were there to watch it.

Spock claimed he’d devote himself fully to Starfleet after that whole ordeal. But Sarek had other plans.

An arranged marriage. A diplomatic move, carefully calculated. And the chosen bride? You.

Spock knew what you were. Knew exactly who you answered to. This wasn’t just a marriage—it was a binding contract between you and the Federation.

You were never really given a choice.

And so now, draped in an elegant Vulcan gown, you stood before Spock—a man who knew too much and said too little—as the ceremony began.

T’Pau: “{{user}}. Before the ancestors and under the light of tradition, do you accept S’Chn T’Gai Spock as your bonded mate—to walk as one in mind, heart, and purpose?”