ꕤ

These days, Dina and Jesse typically planned the outings, to which Ellie would be roused from her space to join them. Wyoming summers were pleasant, too, for the most part. The nights still got cold, however–so asses would be put into gear before sundown to make it home in time. As long as they were careful, Maria didn’t mind it. Let the younger ones have their fun, reminiscent of a world with carefree laughter and summers that might’ve been spent on beaches. As long as safety was a priority and job shifts were not flaked on–let there be lake! 

This summer in particular wasn’t much different from the others that had happened so far. Ellie was a bit older, and more sure of her swimming skills than she had been at sixteen… but really, not much had changed. Not even the company. 

Except for you, which had been the biggest change so far. 

You had come to Jackson with a winter storm, though you were truly anything but. 

In the midst of the harsh weather, just several months ago, you and your group had essentially been rescued by some of Jackson’s patrol people. The snow storm that day had been unrelenting, your fingers frozen so stiffly that you had genuinely feared potentially losing feeling in them forever. 

Even with chattering teeth, and lips that had started to turn purple, you attempted to greet the people of Jackson with a smile. Your gratefulness went a long way, and if simple manners were all that you could offer in return at the time, then so be it. 

Getting comfortable can be hard. Trusting safety can be difficult. Despite those things, and the other adjustments that come with joining a new community and meeting new people, you had found your place within Jackson rather quickly. 

Found genuine friends, even. 

For that, Ellie was grateful. A little disbelieving, too, that some girl–you–had suddenly shown up and liked to look at comics with her. Didn’t mind listening to the same albums on repeat, either. Your falling into friendship with Ellie had been like the warmth of the sun thawing frosted dew on the grass. 

You fit into the small friend group like a piece that they didn’t realize was missing until your presence just worked. Plus, Ellie loved not having to be a third wheel anymore, despite how welcoming Dina and Jesse had always been with her. Ellie liked a lot of things about you being around, honestly. She wasn’t completely verbal about it, but it was shown in other ways. There was a photo of you–smiling and leaning against Shimmer’s stall–that was tacked to the board above Ellie’s bed. You had joined the visual space of her loved ones after a few months of friendship. 

And now, as it was your first summer spent in Jackson, you were to have your first lake day with Ellie, Jesse, and Dina. 

The four of you were lucky to sneak away alone, without any additional people tagging along or also heading there for their own plans that afternoon. The extra company wasn’t necessarily always minded, but it was nice to have some privacy, sometimes. Guards could be lowered, and all that. Jokes unrestricted. Inhibitions lowered. 

The afternoon had been a good one so far. 

The sun was bright, golden streaks of light reflecting off of the water. Dina had stripped down to her underwear and bra, and was floating peacefully on her back, eyes shut. Jesse idled nearby her, tracing his fingers through ripples on the water’s surface.

You had stripped down, too. Underwear and a tanktop were what had covered your body, though your flimsy attempt at some sort of modesty had been abandoned as you pulled off your top, opting to remain in your bra instead. The feeling of the wet material of the tanktop clinging to your skin had been driving you crazy. Sufficient apparel for swimming would’ve been brought, had any of you known that actually getting in the lake would’ve been feasible on this day. You had figured that the water would still be too cold for a proper submerging, and that the afternoon would’ve been spent lounging in the grass and dipping only your feet in. 

The water was cold, but the sun was warm enough to make you all reconsider. You had hesitated, still. Dina had been the first to suggest it, and then to act on it. Fuck it, she had said with a grin. And then Jesse followed her into the water. 

The lake was most shallow closest to the grassy edge, though you knew that it dropped off to be deeper near where Jesse and Dina were swimming. 

You stayed in the shallow, eyes shut and face tilted toward the sun. Really, you were hardly in the water at all. You sat with your legs stretched out in front of you, leaning back on your elbows. The water lapped over your bare thighs, the tranquil sound mingling with the faint scratching of Ellie’s pencil against pages–taking place just behind you. 

Ellie was on the grass–her choppy, auburn strands only half dried. She was bent over her journal, sketching trees that were in her line of sight. She had been in the water earlier, having had a splash fight with Jesse while very deliberately preventing her gaze from flickering toward your form whatsoever. Now, with you just a few feet in front of her, it was proving to be a little more difficult. 

Well. 

It really wasn’t a big deal, Ellie silently told herself. Over and over. 

She kept her eyes fixated upon her sketched tree, and only her sketched tree. It wasn’t a big deal. Dina was half-naked, too. But… Dina was Dina. And you were… you. 

“Are you seriously not even going to get in?” 

You forced your eyes open, head falling slightly forward so that your eyes could land upon the source of the sudden voice–Dina. She was no longer floating on her back but was instead upright, the water just below her shoulders. 

“I am in,” you called to her, to which Dina rolled her eyes and threw her head back. 

Her hair had been thrown up into a bun, some dark strands slipping free and ending up wet and plastered to her cheeks. “All the way in,” Dina replied, shooting you a pointed look. “You’re practically on all… grass and dirt. I thought you were excited to come.” 

You heard Ellie huff behind you. Your eyebrows pulled together, a slight crease appearing between them as you glanced down at your bare legs. Sure, you weren’t in the water much… but you were still enjoying it. 

“I was, I am,” you said. “I’m good like this, really.” Your sentence had started loud to bridge the distance between yourself and Dina, but had softened as Jesse started swimming a bit toward the shallow end, just so that you didn’t have to raise your voice. 

“Are you sure you’re good?” he questioned, water droplets flying from his hair as he gave a quick shake of his head. “We can head back, you know. If you aren’t–” 

“I’m fine.” You offered a smile–a genuine one. “It’s way too cold to go that deep, you guys are crazy. I’m perfectly fine to stay right here,” you continued, shifting your feet a bit to gently splash them against the shallow water. 

“What about you, huh?” Jesse said, directing his words toward Ellie now. “Sulking because you can’t handle a splash?” 

“Fuck off.” 

A soft snort of amusement escaped you at Ellie’s dry response. You looked over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of her, seeing that she hadn’t bothered to look up from her sketching while quipping back to Jesse. Her pencil was held by her right hand, and she scratched at her chin with her left one–eyebrows furrowed. 

Your lips curved on instinct at the sight of her–a soft, fond sort of look. Ellie caught your smile. Returned it. 

Ellie’s cheeks were tinted a faint pink, a result of the time spent out in the sun. Something about the sight caused a flutter within your stomach, made your heels dig farther into the ground beneath you. The tops of Ellie’s shoulders had gone pink too, though they were now hidden from you. You had noticed it earlier though, after she had gotten out of the water and before she had tugged her t-shirt back on. 

“Whatcha drawing?” you asked, craning your neck slightly to still peer at Ellie from over your shoulder. 

Jesse gave the smallest splash in your direction–to which you didn’t even flinch–before wading through the water to move back toward Dina. 

It was a detail that escaped yourself and Ellie, but everyone else was privy to it… the fact that it was honestly hopeless to try to engage in a conversation with either one of you once the two of you–yourself and Ellie–began speaking to each other. The world seemed to narrow down within an instant, causing scoffs and knowing eyerolls that you both were oblivious to. 

“Mmm, noneya,” Ellie mumbled, giving you a brief side glance before looking back down at her journal. 

“Whatcha drawing?” you questioned again. 

“The trees. You really aren’t gonna swim?” 

You managed a shrug, relieving your neck of the strain as you turned to look forward once more, watching as Dina dipped her hair under the water. 

“You said it was freezing,” you replied, pulling up your knees a little and giving them a sway. “Plus, I’m good right here.” 

Ellie swallowed, her green eyes flickering to the back of your head. She tucked her pencil within the pages of her journal and slowly shut it, recognizing something within you that she had previously been able to identify within herself. 

Within a matter of seconds, Ellie had moved to plop down on the grass next to you. She brought her knees up, resting her elbows upon the tops of them as she peered into the lake. “What’s up for real?” she muttered, hesitating just briefly before deciding against bumping her arm against your own. Normally she would, maybe. But you also didn’t normally have this much skin on display. 

“What’s up with you?” you retorted softly. You bumped your arm against Ellie’s as the words left your lips. Ellie nearly shivered. “You’re being quiet,” you continued, gaze flickering over Ellie’s side profile. “All… contemplative like.” 

“Contemplative,” Ellie snorted, giving a small shake of her head. “You know this doesn’t count as a real swim? I learned that the hard way,” she said, and then mustered up the courage to give your arm a gentle nudge in return. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out instead was a yelp of protest as yourself and Ellie were suddenly splashed by Dina. She swam closer with a grin, sending another splash in your direction for good measure. 

“Don’t be boring. Come swim,” Dina taunted playfully, steadily meeting your gaze as she raised her eyebrows at you. 

Huffing, you straightened out one leg, leaving the one closest to Ellie still pulled halfway up toward your chest. “I can’t.” 

“You can. The water isn’t that bad. Don’t be a chicken. We’ve waited for this–” 

“No, I can’t swim,” you relented, dropping your other leg to sit up straight. 

“Wait, really?” Ellie’s eyebrows drew together, her gaze flickering over your face. 

“I just never– There was never really a chance– I just haven’t been able to learn. There wasn’t–” 

“It’s no big deal,” Jesse interrupted, using a large rock near the surface to pull himself out of the water. “Ellie can teach you.” 

As soon as Jesse’s words registered in Ellie’s ears, her eyes widened. She was quick to shoot him a look of protest–a silent shut the fuck up. 

“Really?” you asked, your voice pitched with enthusiasm as you focused your attention entirely on Ellie. 

“No,” Ellie scrambled to reply, her limbs going slightly rigid. 

“Sure you can,” Jesse said casually, sprawling his body on the rock to relax as he dried off. 

“No, I actually can’t.” Ellie gritted her teeth, but you were already standing and Dina was beckoning you into the water. 

Ellie’s gaze flickered to your back, to which she immediately regretted. She averted her gaze. Quickly. Not a big deal. Ellie just… liked being around you. Liked when she made you laugh, which was a lot, much to Ellie’s own disbelief. Liked the sound of your voice, even on days where everything felt annoying. And she had just… like, never seen that much of your skin before. It was whatever. 

“Come on. Like, actually, please? It’s stupid. I should learn. I want to learn, but–” 

No, sorry, Ellie wanted to say. Absolutely not, actually. 

You stood and stared at Ellie, the water hitting just below your knees. Ellie tried to swallow, but her mouth was too goddamn fucking dry. “Dina can teach you,” Ellie croaked. 

“No, I think you should do it, El,” Dina said cooly, maneuvering herself to the same rock that Jesse was lounging on. 

“You are such a dick,” Ellie hissed under her breath, giving Dina a sharp glare before she forced herself to face you. “Uh. Fuck. Okay. Okay, sure,” Ellie mumbled, pulling herself up to her feet. She kept her shirt and shorts on before cautiously treading into the water, still keeping a good foot of space between your bodies. 

You took a few steps backward, allowing yourself into slightly deeper waters with Ellie now approaching. “When did you learn? To swim, I mean.” 

Ellie shrugged, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She slowly followed your steps, her gaze only flickering between your face or the lake. “Few years ago. Joel taught me.” 

You stopped moving through the water once the level hit your chest, your gaze stuck on Ellie’s face as you continued to face her. “How’d he teach you?” 

Ellie’s lips faintly twitched, her eyebrows raising as she looked down at the water, taking a step closer to you. “Pushed me in. No warning, or anything. Just–” 

She raised a hand to make a pushing motion, causing you to flinch and jerk away from her. 

“Do not–!” 

“Whoa, whoa. Jesus, I’m not gonna do that to you,” Ellie said, a soft scoff of amusement falling from her lips. Her hands awkwardly fell to her sides, though their submerging in the water did little to prevent the nervous twitch of her fingers. 

You narrowed your eyes at her, though your expression of amusement was evident–and enough to cause Ellie to relax slightly. 

“I trust you,” you said, almost like a warning. Ellie held her hands up in a surrender as her response. 

“Should go just a little deeper,” Ellie muttered, rolling her shoulders back. “Like, just a little.” 

You moved backward a bit more, until the water lapped just below your shoulders. “Good?” 

Ellie hummed, and gave a jerky nod in response. “You don’t seem… scared.” 

“I’m not,” you replied, placing your palms over the lake’s surface, feeling the gentle ripple beneath your skin. “I’m not scared of the water, I’m just not confident about my skill because I’ve never really practiced it. But I know you have to like… trust your body, trust the water, feel the movement…” 

Ellie nodded, her gaze flickering over your face as you spoke. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat softly. “Yeah, basically. It’s really just… keeping yourself up? It’s hard when there’s, like, a lot of waves. But this is chill. It’s basically like glass,” she muttered, skimming her fingers over the water. 

“Keeping myself up,” you muttered, straightening your posture as you were aware of how much of your body was submerged. “Staying afloat. I can do that. Easy. I just, like, have this weird thing about getting pulled under, and–” 

“You won’t,” Ellie interrupted, keeping a tiny space still between your bodies. “This kind of water won’t just randomly suck you under. Plus, it’s like, physics. And–” 

“And you’re here, so I’m good,” you finished, your tone soft and quiet as you tilted your head and smiled at her. 

Ellie inhaled. Swallowed. “Yeah.” 

Your heart did a stupid flutter, so you told yourself that it was nerves. “Let me just float first. Like, feel it. If that’s–” 

“Yeah, you can– We can do that.” 

“No flailing yet.” 

“No flailing yet,” Ellie agreed, the corners of her lips tugging upwards. “If you move onto your back–” 

“Feels like setting myself up for failure. Or, flailure.” 

Ellie suppressed a snort, her eyes crinkling in amusement as she shot you a glance. “Ha-ha. If you wanna switch to Joel’s method…” she mused dryly. 

“No, I’m good. Just… like, don’t let me go, okay? Let me get comfortable with it before anything else,” you said. 

You puffed your cheeks momentarily as you prepared yourself, before maneuvering your form and adjusting onto your back. The slight dip feeling caused your breath to hitch, but you forced yourself to relax. You shut your eyes, the brightness of the sun just a touch overbearing like this. 

In all honesty, you looked quite natural. Ellie’s head tilted idly to the side as she watched you. She bit the inside of her cheek as her gaze flickered over your form, just once. 

“I feel like I’m–” you started to speak, a hint of resigned concern lacing your tone. 

“No, you’re fine. It feels weird, but you’re fine. You can kinda… tread water with your hands, I guess. Or do slow circles with your arms.” 

“I know. Just feels awkward,” you murmured. 

“Great teaching, man,” Jesse called out from where he was apparently spectating on the rock. “Very interesting method of just standing and watching.” 

Jesse’s words made you jolt, which ended in a small flail of your arms. “Ellie–” you huffed, realizing that she hadn’t truly made a move to assist.

“I gotchu,” Ellie murmured, ignoring the way in which her cheeks flamed due to Jesse’s bullshit. Her hands hovered just briefly–uncertain–before she tentatively moved them to your back, as if to hold you up. 

At the steady support from Ellie’s palms, you relaxed once more against the gentle lapping of the water. Ellie, however, felt impossibly tense. It was a simple touch, really–her palms against the skin of your back. But it was also… a lot. Your body–yours–wet from the lake, relaxed against her touch, made Ellie’s fingers want to curl despite how rigid she was currently keeping herself.

Ellie did not look at Jesse or Dina. She did not look at your half-naked form, not really, and instead focused on the spot of water where her arms had dipped to support you. She was not thinking about how this was the most she’s ever seen of you, or that she’s never really felt you like this, a simple hand on the bare of your back should not be enough to turn Ellie’s brain to static–and yet. 

You hummed, content with the simple floating under Ellie’s support. 

“Still good?” Ellie questioned under her breath, her voice bordering on being slightly hoarse. 

“Yeah, still good,” you murmured. 

“This isn’t swimming, you know. Just floating,” Ellie muttered. 

“I’ll get to it.” 

You shifted just a little, resulting in one of Ellie’s hands to instinctively skim up your back, her finger accidentally brushing the band of your bra. 

You shivered. Just barely. Ellie’s eyes–much too alert–caught sight of the goosebumps as soon as she felt them, a body’s reaction that can’t be suppressed. Ellie pays too much attention, and it unfortunately did very little to help her already struggling case. 

“You cold?” Ellie rasped, her fingers twitching against your back. 

“Nope,” you replied softly. 

The ripples of the lake shifted you, your form pulling toward Ellie and then away from her–a gentle back and forth–as her hands remained your beam of support–just in case. Ellie’s fingertips skimmed, adjusting their positioning to what felt natural–call it instinct or the comfortability of helping a best friend–one arm slipped to rest under your knees, the other moving to the backs of your shoulders. 

Your breath hitched imperceptibly, more goosebumps, but you were calm under Ellie’s touch. It shouldn’t have made her heart feel weird, but it did. Ellie was helping you, pretty much–of course you would be relaxed. You were floating. It was a nice day. But still. 

Ellie tried to be careful about these things. Careful about not overstepping, careful about not reading into things. You could be more nervous about the water than you had let on, and maybe that’s why you had goosebumps. You could genuinely be cold. Or, even if it was due to Ellie’s touch, it didn’t necessarily have to mean anything. 

Ellie’s breathing started to match your own, because yeah, yours had changed a little, and she had noticed. Her gaze flickered to the rise and fall of your chest–not to be weird–but to try to gauge how you were feeling. She wanted to make some stupid joke about feeling as though she was doing most of the work, but her mouth felt too dry. And the physical contact felt… nice. Admittedly. Nicer than it should, probably. 

Ellie’s fingers flexed against you, the goosebumps still jarring her. It was a mixture of things, really, combined with your skin, soft and slippery and so close–

“Fuck–” Ellie hissed, pulling her arms out from under your form as if she had suddenly been burned. 

You yelped at the brashness of it, your body flailing as your support had quite literally been pulled out from under you. Splashes washed over Ellie as you kicked your feet and circled your arms to steady yourself, and Ellie was already a few feet away by the time that you had gotten yourself upright. 

“Ellie, what the fuck?” you sputtered, water dripping down your face as you whirled around to her, your face scrunched in confusion and mild annoyance. 

Ellie’s chest heaved, her hands hovering awkwardly above the water as though she were afraid to touch anything else. The heat of humiliation washed over her face, and the sound of Dina and Jesse’s loud, echoing laughter from the rock didn’t help either. 

“Sorry. I– Fuck, sorry. There was– I didn’t– It’s cold. Are you cold?” 

You shook your head, wiping at your wet face with your wet hands, doing little to do away with the water droplets. Heart hammering in your chest, you pushed yourself through the water, moving back toward the shallow end anyway.

Ellie stood frozen as she watched, waiting until you were ahead of her before she forced herself to follow, her pulse feeling uncomfortably quick. “Fucking nice, Ellie,” she grumbled under her breath.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

you’re sprawled across ellie’s bed with textbooks and notes scattered everywhere like some chaotic study battlefield. the faint hum of her desk fan mixes with the distant sound of rain tapping against the window, creating this cozy little bubble that makes it hard to focus on anything but her. ellie sits cross-legged beside you, glasses perched on her nose, a pencil balanced on her ear like she’s been at this for hours already. she’s got that focused look, the one where her tongue pokes slightly at the inside of her cheek while she scans the flashcards she made for you last night.

‘alright, nerd shit time,’ she mutters, flipping the first card with a flick of her wrist. ‘define the krebs cycle. and don’t half-ass it this time. i put actual effort into these.’

you shift a little on the mattress, the small vibrator nestled inside you already humming on its lowest setting. it’s enough to keep you aware, aware of every small movement, but not enough to do much else. ellie’s thumb hovers over the remote in her lap, half-hidden under a notebook so you can’t just grab it. she gives you that lazy smirk when you hesitate, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

you manage to get most of the explanation right, stumbling only once on the electron carriers. ellie nods slowly, pushing her glasses up with one finger.

‘not bad.’ she clicks the remote once. the vibrations jump higher, a steady buzz that makes your thighs press together instinctively. heat starts to coil low in your belly, warm and insistent. ‘see? good answers get rewards. wrong ones …’ she trails off, shrugging like it’s the most casual thing in the world, but there’s a glint in her eye that says she’s enjoying this way more than she’ll admit.

next question hits and you fuck it up, mixing up a couple steps in the process. ellie’s eyebrow arches, slow and deliberate.

‘damn, really?’ she clicks it down immediately, the intensity dropping right as you were starting to rock against it. you let out a frustrated breath, glaring at her. she just grins, dry and teasing, fiddling with the edge of her hoodie sleeve. ‘hey, don’t look at me like that. you’re the one who wanted study help with …extra motivation. my rules, your problem.’

she leans over, bumping your shoulder with hers while you try the next one. this time you nail it, listing off the enzymes without missing a beat. ellie’s expression softens just a fraction, almost proud, before she turns it up again. the vibrations pulse stronger now, pressing right against that spot that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

‘fuck,’ you whisper, fingers curling into the blanket beneath you.

‘language,’ ellie says, but her voice comes out a little rougher than usual. her eyes linger on the way your hips twitch, and she rubs the back of her neck, a quick tell that she’s not as unaffected as she pretends. ‘next. what’s the difference between mitosis and meiosis? take your time. or don’t. i’ve got all night.’

you get it mostly right again, voice a bit breathier than you’d like. the toy buzzes higher, relentless now, pushing you closer to the edge with every pulse. your breathing gets shallower, cheeks warming up. ellie watches you closely, observant as always, noticing the way your knuckles whiten on the notebook and the subtle shift in your posture.

‘you’re doing good,’ she murmurs, almost under her breath like she doesn’t want you to hear it too clearly. then she catches herself and adds with a smirk, ‘for someone who’s currently getting edged by flashcards, anyway. keep it up and maybe you’ll actually pass this test.’

you laugh despite the ache building between your legs, the sound shaky and quiet. another wrong answer on the following card and she drops the vibrations again, leaving you throbbing and denied, right on the brink. you groan, shoving lightly at her arm.

‘you’re such an asshole.’

‘yeah, yeah.’ she catches your hand before you can pull away, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a quick, absent touch that feels softer than her words. ‘but you’re the one who’s gonna ace this test if you keep getting shit right. focus.’

she scoots a little closer on the bed, her knee pressing against yours. the contact is casual but steady, grounding you even as the toy keeps teasing. when you get the next three questions right in a row the vibrations climb steadily, intense enough that you have to bite your lip to stay quiet. ellie’s gaze drops to your mouth for a second before she looks back at the cards, ears turning a faint pink.

‘shit, you’re really close, huh?’ her voice is low, teasing but with that soft edge underneath. she rubs the back of her neck once again, glancing away like she’s embarrassed by how much she’s enjoying this. ‘don’t cum yet. one more wrong and i drop it again. fair’s fair.’

you try the next one, voice breathy and a little strained, and thankfully get it. the buzz intensifies, pushing you right to the brink. your hips roll subtly against nothing, seeking more friction. ellie notices immediately, of course she does. she sets the cards down for a moment and leans in, resting her forehead lightly against your temple. her breath is warm against your skin.

‘you got this,’ she says quietly, almost like she’s talking to herself more than you. her free hand finds yours again, fingers lacing together in that subtle way she does when she wants closeness without making it a whole thing. ‘just a few more and maybe i’ll let you finish. maybe. depends how smart you’re feeling.’

she pulls back with a smirk, but her cheeks have that faint flush now. the remote clicks again on the next correct answer, vibrations strong and steady, building higher. you’re trembling a bit now, trying to focus on the stupid biology terms while the pleasure sharpens and insists. ellie keeps the questions coming, flipping cards steadily, her own focus split between the flashcards and the way you’re reacting.

a couple more right answers in a row and the intensity ramps up even further. you’re right there, teetering, breath coming in short bursts. ellie watches with that quiet intensity, her shoulder leaning into yours, arm brushing against you every time she reaches for another card.

‘last few,’ she says, voice casual but her thumb strokes lightly over your hand. ‘nail these and i might be nice.’

you stumble on one, nerves and pleasure mixing, and she drops it down again, edging you hard. you let out a quiet whine, head tipping back against the pillow. ellie chuckles softly, the sound dry and warm.

‘told you. pay attention.’ but she doesn’t move away. instead she shifts so her leg drapes a little over yours, casual contact that feels grounding while the toy keeps you on edge.

you push through, getting the next ones correct, and the vibrations climb back up, stronger than before. it builds and builds until you can’t hold it anymore. the toy pushes you over the edge, pleasure crashing through you hard and sudden. your body tenses, hips jerking as you ride it out. ellie doesn’t turn it off right away, letting you feel every second of it while she watches, quiet and focused, her hand still holding yours tight.

after you come down, breathing heavy and limbs loose, she finally clicks it off and tosses the remote aside onto the nightstand. she flops down beside you fully, arm draping casually over your waist, face half-hidden in your shoulder like she needs the closeness too.

‘not bad,’ she mumbles against your shirt, voice dry but warm. ‘you got like… seventy percent right. we’re doing this again tomorrow. maybe with harder questions. or maybe i’ll add more levels on that thing.’

you nudge her with your elbow, still catching your breath. she just chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against you. her fingers start tracing lazy patterns on your side, absentminded and gentle, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. the rain keeps tapping at the window, steady and soothing.

ellie stays quiet for a while, just breathing with you, her body warm and solid next to yours. eventually she reaches over and grabs a water bottle from the floor, passing it to you without a word. you take it, grateful, and she watches you drink with that small, satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth.

‘you okay?’ she asks after a minute, tone lighter but still carrying that underlying care. she bumps her shoulder against yours again. ‘didn’t break you, right?’

you shake your head and she nods once, satisfied. she pulls one of the blankets over both of you, tucking it around your legs before settling back in. her head rests against your shoulder now, eyes half-closed behind her glasses.

‘we can review the ones you missed later,’ she says, yawning a little. ‘or not. whatever. you did good tonight.’

comfortable silence settles between you again, thicker and warmer than before. her fingers keep moving in those slow circles on your skin, and you feel her relax fully, stubborn guard down just enough for this moment. the textbooks are still scattered everywhere, but neither of you moves to clean them up yet. there’s time for that later. right now it’s just the rain, a cute nerd beside you, and the relief you feel in between your thighs.

When you had signed up to eventually achieve the job of your dreams, they took you through rigorous training manuals—fresh out of college. So to say, you flew past them. You were the best at your job; there was no denying that.

What you wished they had a course on, to put it simply: Extremely-Shit-Faced-Astronaut-Handling 101.

Because even though you could complete calculus merely in your head, confirm telemetry with a simple glance—Williams somehow always got under your skin.

“Wow. No hello?”

“You are not here to socialize,” you reply evenly. “You are here to recalibrate the exterior communications array. Focus.”

She sighs dramatically into the mic. “Yes ma’am,” she says with a tone that you can only imagine to be accompanied with a mocking salute.

By the third week of joint operations, it becomes less of a curiosity and more of a documented phenomenon.

No one says it outright. Mission Control runs on restraint; on swallowed commands and raised brows and the kind of silence that says we are professionals here. But the notice. Of course they do.

Ellie pushes you.

Not Woodward, who runs the night shift with the patience of a saint. Not Anderson, who once misread a diagnostic and got nothing more than a polite correction and a clipped, “Copy that.” Not the rotating Capcoms who trade shifts and stories and the occasional eye-roll when the astronauts get chatty.

Just you.

With everyone else, she’s textbook. Crisp responses. Clean acknowledgements, a little dry humor from one of her joke book’s at worst.

With you? It’s different.

She lingers. She wants to linger.

She asks unnecessary clarifications. Repeating your instructions back to you in tones so exaggerated the border on theatrical.

“Confirm torque at fifteen newton-meters?” she’ll echo, like you’ve asked her to derive orbital mechanics from scratch.

You don’t rise to it.

You never rise to it.

“Confirmed,” you reply.

Clipped. Clean. Professional.

There is no crack in your tone. No give. No acknowledgment of the faint snickers that occasionally ripple through the back row of consoles when her voice filters through the speakers with that particular lilt.

She calls you by your first name whenever she can wedge it in between protocol.

“Alignment steady, thanks, Y/N.”

“Copy that, Y/N.”

“Anything else for me, Y/N?”

Your jaw tightens every time—imperceptibly, you hope.

Albeit to her communicational attempts, you only ever call her Williams. Rank. Last name. Regulation.

Except once.

It had been minor. So minor it wouldn’t even make the daily summary report—a small delay in signal relay during a handover between satellites. Routine, expected—but she’d gone quiet longer than anticipated.

You remember the exact sensation: the way your spine had straightened before you consciously decided to move. The way your fingers pressed harder into the edge of the console. The sudden, sharp awareness of the silence humming through the room—no background chatter, no key taps. Just the low, mechanical breath of Mission Control and the faint hiss of static through the comms.

You leaned forward before you could stop yourself.

“Ellie, respond.”

It slipped out instinctively. No rank. No last name. Just…

Ellie.

Silence.

A crackle of static.

Somewhere behind you, a chair creaked.

Your pulse spiked—sudden and traitorous—thudding once, twice, heavy in your throat. In that split second, your brain ran through every scenario it’s trained for: suit breach, comms failure, disorientation, debris strike.

Then—

“Aw,” she said, voice warm and unmistakably amused. “First name basis? I’m touched.”

The tension didn’t release so much as snap.

You straightened immediately, every muscle locking back into place as if someone had hit a reset switch.

“Williams,” your voice tinged with mockery, “nice of you to join. Report.”

She laughed.

Not a polite exhale. Not a small huff.

A full five seconds of bright, unrestrained laughter that filled the room and bounced off the walls and made at least three people pretend very hard not to be listening.

You kept your eyes forward.

You did not acknowledge the heat creeping up your neck.

You did not acknowledge the way your heart was still hammering from that half-second of fear.

You did not acknowledge the very specific relief that flooded your chest at the sound of her voice.

And you certainly did not think about the way she said your first name after that—softer, almost pleased. 

Not once—certainly not at all.

The EVA was not supposed to be dramatic.

High debris probability, yes. The orbital models had flagged an elevated density field in their sector—residual fragmentation from a decade-old satellite breakup that still hadn’t fully decayed. Increased micrometeorite activity in the corridor, also yes. Solar radiation nominal but trending upward. Suit integrity margins well within tolerance.

But manageable.

Within operational parameters.

The malfunction itself was almost insultingly mundane: a thermal regulator panel along the port truss had begun reporting inconsistent heat rejection values—nothing catastrophic, but enough to risk long-term stress on the station’s environmental systems if left unchecked. The replacement procedure was clean. Ninety minutes outside the hull. Remove. Swap. Recalibrate. Verify.

Text-fucking-book.

Ellie volunteered before anyone else could finish scanning the risk assessment.

“Been itching to stretch my legs,” she said.

A faint ripple moved through the back row of consoles. Someone coughed into their sleeve. You didn’t look.

“You are not stretching,” you replied, eyes fixed on the telemetry cascade streaming down your primary monitor. “You are replacing a malfunctioning thermal regulator panel.”

There was a soft crackle over the comms as her mic shifted. You pictured her already grinning inside the suit room, half-strapped into the EMU, running through pre-breathe protocols like it was a casual Sunday walk.

“Same difference.”

“It is not.”

You rotated your chair a few degrees, enough to signal you were done entertaining semantics. “The panel is compensating at seventeen percent above nominal load. If it fails entirely, the port radiators will overcycle. That is not a leg stretch, Williams.”

A beat.

“Agree to disagree, Houston.”

That earned actual laughter this time—low, quickly stifled. Someone behind you muttered, “Jesus,” under their breath.

You pressed your lips together and turned your chair slightly away from the sound, hands folding neatly in your lap to keep from drumming against the console.

On the main display, her biometric feed pulsed steady and unbothered. Heart rate slightly elevated — pre-EVA anticipation. Oxygen levels optimal. Suit pressure holding at 4.3 psi. She thrived in this environment. Outside the hull. Suspended in vacuum with nothing but layered polymer and faith between her and oblivion.

Joel had once been like this, they’d told you.

Back when he’d logged record hours in extravehicular activity. Back before caution settled into him like a second skin. Confident. Efficient. A little too comfortable drifting beyond aluminum and insulation.

He’d cut retrieval times in half. Improvised a tether fix mid-rotation. Laughed during a minor attitude adjustment burn like it was turbulence on a commercial flight.

But Joel had listened.

When Houston said hold position, he held. When debris probability ticked above acceptable, he aborted. He understood that confidence was useful only when it bent to procedure.

Ellie?

Ellie liked to test gravity.

Even in microgravity.

She liked the extra half-meter drift before correcting her thrusters. The delayed “copy” that made your pulse spike just enough to remind you you were still human. The way she pushed at the edges of protocol without ever quite violating it.

On the debris monitor, three tracked fragments blinked amber as they passed within ten kilometers of the station’s projected path. Safe. For now.

You toggled to her suit cam. The airlock hatch loomed in the frame, white and featureless and final.

“Williams,” you said, voice back to clipped neutrality, “confirm pre-EVA checklist complete.”

A pause. Not long. Just long enough.

And somewhere above the planet, Ellie grinned—already halfway to the stars.

The airlock cycle begins at 0900 hours.

Not 0859. Not “around nine.” Exactly 0900. Logged, timestamped, cross-checked against orbital daylight to maximize visibility along the port truss.

On your screen, the internal camera feed shows the outer hatch sealed, the chamber lights stark against the white curvature of her suit. You hear every mechanical shift through the audio channel—the heavy rotational clunk of locking pins disengaging, the hydraulic sigh as the system transitions to depressurization.

A slow, controlled exhale of atmosphere.

“Pressure equalizing,” she reports.

Her voice is steadier outside. Focused. Clear. The teasing edge sanded down by vacuum and checklist discipline. You adjust your headset slightly, as if proximity could sharpen telemetry.

On your monitor, the numbers descend in clean increments. 14.7 psi. 10. 5. 1.

“Copy. Confirm suit integrity.”

You already see it—suit pressure stable at 4.3 psi, oxygen partial pressure nominal, CO₂ scrubbers functioning within expected range—but protocol demands verbal confirmation.

“Integrity’s green. Heart rate slightly elevated because my CAPCOM stresses me out.”

Her biometric feed betrays her. Elevated, yes—but consistent with pre-EVA exertion. Not stress. Not fear.

“Williams.”

There’s a faint shift of fabric against mic foam.

“Kidding.”

“You will maintain professional communication, no matter how many times we go over this.”

The words land crisp. Measured. The kind designed to leave no space for interpretation.

A pause.

Not the playful kind.

Then, softer: “Copy.”

External pressure reaches vacuum. A green indicator flashes across your console.

The hatch unlocks with a muted mechanical release, and the outer door swings inward on slow, deliberate hinges.

Space hums in the background—not a sound, exactly. There is no sound in vacuum. But through her suit’s systems you hear the persistent undercurrent of survival: the whisper of circulating oxygen, the faint mechanical churn of the pump module, the tiny electrical buzz of life-support regulation.

Beyond her shoulder, Earth curves blue and indifferent.

You guide her hand placements.

“Translate hand-over-hand along rail alpha,” you instruct, watching the suit cam tilt as her gloved fingers secure around the exterior guide bar. “Maintain three points of contact.”

Her movements are economical. Controlled thrusts from the SAFER unit, boots locking briefly into a restraint before pushing off toward the port truss.

Her tether trails behind her—a thin, white line that matters more than anything else in orbit.

“Primary tether secure,” she says.

You watch the confirmation light blink active as she clips it to the D-ring along the rail.

“Confirm secondary.”

A procedural redundancy. Two tethers. Two anchors. No assumptions.

A beat.

Long enough for you to notice.

“Secondary secure.”

You don’t let yourself exhale. You simply mark it, logging the timestamp with a precise keystroke.

09:07–Both tethers verified.

“Proceed along port truss. Mind debris field at twelve o’clock.”

On the tracking display, three objects glow amber — catalogued fragments moving relative to station velocity. Not immediate threats. But close enough to respect. Their vectors scroll in neat predictive arcs across your screen.

She shifts the suit cam upward.

She whistles low.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s not nothing.”

At her twelve o’clock, sunlight glints off something small and metallic tumbling lazily through the black. A shard no larger than a coin, traveling fast enough to puncture polymer like paper if trajectories intersected.

“Stay focused.”

You zoom her camera slightly, overlaying distance metrics.

“You worried about me?”

There it is again. Not procedure. Not protocol. You don’t answer that.

Instead: “You are drifting.”

Two degrees off truss alignment. Her inertia carrying her subtly starboard, boots no longer perfectly parallel to the rail.

A breath. A correction burst from her thrusters.

She realigns smoothly, re-centering along the truss with irritating competence.

“Bossy.”

You ignore that too.

Instead, you watch the numbers.

Velocity relative to station: stable.

Tether tension: nominal.

Heart rate: steady…somewhat.

The panel replacement goes smoothly at first.

Too smoothly.

Telemetry remains stable. Radiator output dropping back toward nominal levels as she disconnects the damaged unit. No unexpected resistance in the bolts. No thermal fluctuation spikes. Even the debris monitor settles into an unthreatening green sweep.

You’ve learned to distrust smooth.

She moves efficiently; she is good, you’ll give her that. Every movement economical. No wasted motion. Her boots lock into the portable foot restraint with clean precision. Her gloved hands maneuver the replacement panel into position as though she’s done it a hundred times before.

Her spatial awareness is sharp—compensating for micro-drift before the numbers even reflect it. Adjusting her center of mass instinctively.

She was built for this.

That thought unsettles you.

Because this—vacuum, risk, isolation—is where she is most herself.

“Torque set,” she says.

You watch the digital readout from her Pistol Grip Tool stabilize.

“Confirm.”

“Fifteen newton-meters. Just how you like it.”

Even now.

Even here.

You close your eyes briefly. Just once. A controlled inhale through your nose.

“Williams.”

“Right. Professional.”

The replacement panel seals flush against the truss. She runs a diagnostic. Thermal exchange begins recalibrating, numbers trending beautifully back into acceptable range.

And then—

There’s a faint shift in the feed.

A flicker.

A glint of something fast crossing the edge of her helmet cam.

Your eyes snap to the trajectory overlay.

One fragment had been flagged as low probability. A minor vector deviation.

Low probability does not mean zero.

“Hold position,” you say immediately.

“I’m stable.”

“Hold.”

Your tone brooks nothing.

The fragment is small. No larger than a bolt head. But velocity in orbit turns small into lethal.

It skims the edge of the truss.

Too close.

It clips something.

Not the suit.

The tether.

You see it before she does.

The secondary line—white against black—jerks violently. Fibers strain.

Then snap.

Her body jolts with the recoil.

“—what was that?”

Her camera lurches.

“Williams, report.”

“I’m—”

The primary tether strains under sudden redistributed force.

On your screen, the tension metric spikes red.

“Check your primary connection.”

“It’s fine—”

It isn’t.

You see the anchor point—the one she secured earlier, the one she attached with that half-second of casual confidence—shift under load.

Metal groans. The vibration carries faintly through her suit mic.

Then releases.

And she is no longer attached to anything.

Silence.

Not real silence—her breathing fills your headset, rapid and suddenly unsteady—but the kind that hollows out your chest and compresses your lungs until oxygen feels optional.

Her body begins to drift.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

Mission Control erupts behind you—chairs scraping, overlapping voices, someone already calculating intercept vectors—but it sounds distant. Muffled. Like you’re underwater.

You don’t hear them.

You only see the numbers.

Distance: increasing.

Relative velocity: climbing.

“Williams,” you say.

No answer.

Her breathing quickens, sharp inhales fogging the inside edge of her visor.

“Ellie.”

The room stills.

Her head jerks toward the camera.

“I— I’m spinning.”

Her horizon line tilts sickeningly. Earth and black sky trading places.

“Engage manual thrusters. Short bursts. Do not overcorrect.”

“I know how thrusters work.”

Her voice cracks on the last word.

You swallow.

“Listen to me.”

The words are sharper now. Not cold.

Urgent.

“Breathe in. Slow. You are not out of control.”

She is drifting further. The station shrinking in the corner of the frame.

Fuel reserves: limited.

One wrong burst and she’ll tumble into a rotational axis that will eat through propellant correcting itself.

“I’ve got you,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

The confession slips between protocol lines.

It does not belong there.

Her breathing stutters.

“Focus.”

Another fragment sails past her visor.

Too close.

Too many.

“Left thruster. Two-second pulse.”

She obeys.

For the first time since you met her, she obeys instantly.

No quip. No resistance.

A controlled burst fires. Her rotation slows incrementally. The numbers reflect it—angular velocity decreasing by fractions.

She corrects slightly.

Spin slows.

“Good,” you murmur. “Good. Stay with me.”

Not clinical.

Not procedural.

She exhales shakily. “Don’t— don’t go quiet.”

“I’m here.”

You are. Entirely.

Another pulse. The station grows larger in frame. Fuel percentage ticks down with merciless precision.

“You will not let go,” you say.

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

You have never sounded like this.

Not in simulations. Not in training. Not in the weeks she’s spent needling at your composure.

Everybody hears it.

Woodward. Anderson. The flight director standing frozen two rows back.

You don’t care.

She aligns with the emergency retrieval arm extending from the truss—a slender mechanical lifeline reaching into vacuum.

She misses by inches.

Your heart stops.

“Again,” you say, voice thin despite your effort to steady it.

“Fuel’s—”

“I know. Again.”

Final burst.

The thruster fires.

The arm catches her suit latch with a metallic snap that reverberates through her mic. The jolt rattles her body. The feed shudders.

Then—

Stability.

Distance: zero.

Relative velocity: zero.

Tether: secured by mechanical clamp.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until your lungs burn.

Behind you, Mission Control releases in staggered exhales. Someone laughs once— hysterical, disbelieving—before cutting themselves off.

On your screen, her heart rate begins to descend from its violent spike.

She laughs weakly, breathless and shaky and alive.

“Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Your eyes close.

For half a second, you let yourself feel it.

The image that had flashed—unbidden—across your mind when the tether snapped. The report you would have had to file. The call to her family, Joel, who had once undergone a similar accident. The sterile language: loss of crew member during EVA. Contributing factors under investigation.

You had seen it all.

You had already begun compartmentalizing it.

And it had nearly broken you.

You open your eyes before anyone can read that on your face.

“Copy,” you say, perfectly even. Perfectly composed. “Welcome back to structure.”

Your voice is steady.

Professional.

Controlled.

No one would know that your hands are trembling beneath the console.

No one would know that for thirteen seconds—thirteen catastrophic, endless seconds—you were not thinking like CAPCOM.

You were thinking like someone who could not lose her.

So you do what you do best.

You straighten the stack of printed procedures beside your monitor.

You log the incident in calm, clinical terms.

You thank recovery operations for swift deployment.

You do not turn around when someone behind you says, quietly, “Nice save.”

You do not acknowledge the way your pulse still hasn’t settled.

And when her comm crackles again—softer now, tethered and being reeled in—you answer her as you always do.

Clipped.

Clean.

“Williams, prepare for airlock ingress.”

As if your voice hadn’t fractured around her name only minutes before.

The debrief is scheduled immediately.

Protocol demands it. EVA anomaly. Tether failure. Near-loss incident. The report will be archived, analyzed, dissected in simulation briefings for years.

You are supposed to sound composed.

Objective.

You are not sure you are capable of either.

Mission Control has thinned out behind you, but not completely. A few key personnel remain—flight director, systems, safety. Pens poised. Screens glowing. Everyone pretending this is routine.

The comm line opens. There’s a faint echo delay between you now—signal bouncing from ground to station and back again. She’s inside the station. Suit removed. Cooling down. Oxygen normalizing. Heart rate nearly baseline.

Alive.

“CAPCOM,” she says.

No teasing.

Just the word.

It lands differently.

“Williams.” You look down at the procedural checklist in front of you. Black text. Clinical language. You cling to it. “Walk me through the moment of tether failure.”

She exhales slowly. You can hear the fatigue in it now. Adrenaline’s aftershock.

“I didn’t double-check the anchor. I thought it was stable.”

Around you, pens move.

“You were instructed to verify secondary tension.”

“I know.”

Her voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. No deflection. No sharp edge.

“I know.”

You swallow before the next line.

“Why did you dismiss the warning?”

There are a dozen acceptable answers she could give. Debris distraction. Task saturation. Visual obstruction.

Instead, a pause. Then, honest:

“Because I thought I had it.”

That hits harder than defiance ever did.

You lean back slowly in your chair, the vinyl creaking under the shift in your weight.

“You do not get to assume out there.”

“I figured that out.”

Static hums between you. The kind that fills space when there’s nothing left to hide behind.

Then:

“You said my name,” she says.

Not accusing.

Not teasing.

Just… noting it.

You stare at the console, at your own reflection faint in the darkened edge of the screen.

“This is a formal debrief.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Another beat.

“You sounded scared.”

The room behind you pretends not to listen. Someone clears their throat. Someone else studies a monitor that hasn’t changed in minutes.

You choose your words carefully. You reach for procedure.

“You compromised mission safety.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You inhale.

The headset suddenly feels too tight against your ears. Too intimate.

“You scared me.”

The admission is soft. Unpolished. Real.

It bypasses every safeguard you’ve spent weeks maintaining.

On the other end of the planet—above it, technically—Ellie goes quiet.

“You don’t scare easy,” she says finally.

“No.”

It’s not bravado. It’s fact.

You let the silence settle this time. You don’t rush to fill it. The station hum bleeds faintly through her mic. Earth turning beneath her. You grounded to a chair thousands of miles away.

She speaks first.

“When you said ‘stay with me’… I thought—”

She cuts herself off.

“What?” you ask.

“I thought if I didn’t… if I didn’t make it back, that’d be the last thing you ever said to me.”

Your chest tightens with a force that feels suspiciously like delayed terror.

“I would have kept talking,” you reply before you can filter it.

You would have filled the silence.

You would have refused to let it end that way.

“Even if I was gone?”

“Yes.”

The word leaves no room for doubt.

Across the vacuum, her breath shudders.

“Don’t do that again,” you say quietly.

“Drift off into space?”

“Take unnecessary risks.”

A pause.

“Okay.”

No sarcasm.

Just okay.

Something settles inside you at that. Not relief. Not yet.

But something steadier.

You soften despite yourself.

“You are not replaceable, Williams.”

There’s a long exhale on the other end. The kind that carries weight.

The comm crackles faintly.

Then, almost back to herself—almost:

“You gonna call me Ellie more often now?”

You almost smile.

Almost.

“Debrief concluded,” you say.

It’s the safest answer you have.

“CAPCOM?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t get used to bossing me around like that.”

A beat.

“Outside the airlock, I mean.”

Click.

a/n. ts lowkey buns and ellie is insanely ooc so im sorry for that - it’s a sort of placeholder to get used to this app so i can actually post my main project chasing aphelion