#artemis 2

mightve still been on the path for forensics too, i dont remember if i was already set on astrophysics before the Artemis 2 mission or not

ᯓ★ christina koch x f!reader

ᯓ★w/c: 897

ᯓ★summary: you and christina have a slow morning together

----

the right side of my neck

still smells like you

----

When my eyes open, I know exactly where I am.

Christina is curled around me, one arm draped lazily across my waist, her forehead resting between my shoulder blades. Her breathing is slow and even, each exhale tickling the back of my neck. Sometime during the night, she'd stolen almost the entire comforter, leaving me wrapped up more in her than in the blankets.

But I don’t mind.

I allow a small smile to tug at my lips as I reach down and run my fingertips along the back of her hand. The movement is barely enough to disturb her, just a light brush over warm skin. Her fingers twitch beneath mine before relaxing again, and a contented sigh escapes her lips. 

She shifts closer without ever really waking, her arm tightening around my waist as if she's afraid I'll disappear the moment she lets go. One of her legs curls around mine, keeping my body pinned to her chest. 

As my eyes adjust to the morning light, my gaze drifts over the posters lining her walls. They cover almost every inch of free space, ranging from newspaper clippings to photographs from her time on the International Space Station. 

A faded mission patch hangs above her dresser beside a framed photograph of Earth, the oceans impossibly blue against the blackness of space. Nearby, a newspaper cutout announces one of her missions in bold letters, its edges beginning to yellow with age. There are snapshots tucked into the corners of mirrors and bookshelves—crew photos, smiling faces in flight suits, a picture of her floating upside down with her hair fanned out around her like a halo.

And there, on her nightstand, is a photo of us. 

It's tucked into a simple wooden frame, nothing fancy. Just a candid snapshot someone caught while we were hiking last fall. I'm looking down at the trail, laughing at something she'd said moments before, while Christina is looking at me instead of the camera, smiling in that quiet, effortless way she does when she doesn't realize she's being photographed.

It still gives me butterflies.

I feel her shift behind me, her lips pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin peaking out of my shirt, just below my neck. Her arm that’s still wrapped around my waist slips beneath the fabric, her fingertips dancing along my ribs. 

I let out a quiet breath, unable to suppress my smile.

My head tilts back, which she takes as an invitation. She presses another soft kiss to the delicate spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I feel her curls brush against my jaw, causing a slight shiver to creep up my spine. 

“Good morning,” she says into my skin, her voice still husky from sleep.

I turn in her arms, moving slowly so I don't disturb the quiet that's settled over the room. The remaining blankets shift around us as I face her, and she instinctively loosens her hold just enough to let me move before wrapping both arms around my waist again.

“Good morning,” I whisper, smiling as I look at her in the morning light. 

She smiles back immediately, the kind of smile that's still sleepy around the edges. Her curls are a complete mess, flattened on one side and escaping in every direction on the other. A faint crease from the pillow marks her cheek, and her eyelids are still heavy, like she's only awake because I am, which might be true. 

It's my favorite version of her.

Her hands find their way back beneath my shirt, pressing flat against my stomach. She lets out a contented sigh, her thumbs making slow, absentminded circles against my skin.

“How’d you sleep?” She asks, her eyes focused completely on me. 

“Pretty well for someone who was left blanket-less,” I say teasingly. 

Her eyebrows lift in innocent surprise. “I figured I’d just keep you warm instead.” 

I shake my head, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. 

She smiles into it before returning the kiss just as gently, lingering for a moment as if neither of us has anywhere else we'd rather be. When we finally pull apart, our foreheads remain touching, and I can feel her smiling even before I open my eyes.

The silence of the room feels intimate, wrapped in the soft light of the morning. I keep my eyes closed for a heartbeat longer, just savoring the feeling of her breath on my skin and the gentle pressure of our foreheads together. 

Christina doesn't pull away. 

Instead, she shifts slightly, her movements fluid and slow. I feel her hands, which have been resting against my stomach, start to wander. Her palms are warm, sliding upward beneath the fabric of my shirt, tracing the lines of my ribs with a light, teasing touch. The sensation sends a quiet shiver through me, a spark of electricity that cuts through the lingering haze of sleep. 

Her fingertips are soft, grazing my skin in a way that feels both tentative and sure, as if she's rediscovering me all over again. 

I open my eyes to find her watching me, a playful, knowing glint in her gaze. She doesn't say anything, but the way her thumbs continue those slow, rhythmic circles against my chest speaks for her. 

It's a silent conversation, a promise of a morning spent in no rush at all.

----