#Captain/Sam Coe

[m-1-8]

Never shared my old Starfield doodles of Sam and Cpt Max Sam and Cora were incredibly endearing characters, I wish Bethesda had gone more in-depth into the companions and their stories. I’d have loved to have been able to find that book for Cora. I was checking every shelf until I learned it was never implemented..

[zermbie-dergon]

Had this little encounter last night

I can just see his shit eatting grin, smh

[bearlytolerant]

Shepard, on the run from her past, seeks asylum on Neon. With the funds from a few odd jobs and a shady loan, she purchases a small bookshop. Though her shop is practically failing, she can always count on her favorite customer, Captain Cora Coe to make a weekly purchase. But when she can’t make a loan payment on time, her life gets turned topsy turvy and she’s forced to depend on friends for help.

Three

Jemison teems with all sorts of wildlife.

Cora suggests hunting. “We could get started on those ingredients for Offworld Eats. Maybe restock the lodge freezer too.”

It seems simple enough. Not too dangerous either. Sam agrees and it proves to be both. They land somewhere not too far off from New Atlantis but far enough away that none of the city looms on their horizon.

Sam perches in a lower bough of a tree, shaded by the green canopy, waiting. Just like he’s been waiting for a couple hours now. His stomach growls and he throws the rifle over his shoulder, adjusting the strap. A small insect buzzes in his ear and he waves it off. He digs around in his pack for a sandwich. Feeling around with his fingers, he brushes up against the wrapper and it crinkles. He pulls the squished sandwich free from the bottom of the bag, unwraps it and takes a bite. Cora sits next to him, curled up in the crook of the bough, book splayed open in her lap.

“You hungry?”

“Not really,” she says, fully engrossed in what she’s reading.

He’s already shoving the thermos her way. “Thirsty then?”

She pushes it back. “Thanks but I just had a drink.”

He knows better than to bother her when she’s reading but he’s bored. It’s been a long time since he’s been plain old bored. He chews his sandwich with his arm draped over his knee, other leg dangling over the tree branch. Takes a sip of water and spots some movement in the sky. Abandoning the sandwich, he shuffles back to his post. Gets into position and aims his rifle, sights set on a bird circling.

“Oh, you finally see something?”

He eyes the bird as it begins to slow to a steady glide. Its burnt orange tail catches the afternoon light and sparks like a flame in the dark. He admires the beauty of it for a moment. It swoops and the moment’s gone. “Parrothawk. Good size too. We can get a lot of meat off it.”

One intake of breath and his finger is on the trigger.

It’s midday and the heat beats down on him. A bead of sweat trickles from his forehead to the end of his nose. Exhaling, he wipes the sweat away with his sleeve, turning his attention back to the parrothawk. But now that Cora’s attention is diverted from the book, he takes the opportunity to try and coax a conversation from her.

“Hey, how did spa day go with Lillian?”

“It was alright. Feels like an eternity ago now, though.”

“Just alright, huh?”

A coral bug scuttles out from behind a rock chasing after a small cutterhead, its teal tendrils flailing wildly as it chases its prey. The rest of the herd—he counts at least four of them—startle and begin running in the opposite direction, abandoning their comrade. Funny how that works. Nothing for hours and then a barrel full all at once. The parrothawk swoops and bites down on the coral bug and the lone cutterhead hurries away. Sam holds his breath. Keeps his sights on the bird’s head and pulls the trigger. It’s a direct hit. The parrothawk spirals as it hurtles to the ground. Smacking against the coral bug corpse, one of the bug’s limbs flies into the air and lands a distance away as the dust settles around the dead parrothawk.

“Nice shot,” Cora says.

He gives a curt nod of thanks. “I’m not done hearing about your day with Lillian,” he reminds her, readjusting himself and aiming for that lonesome cutterhead now grazing a few feet away. If he’s lucky, that herd will return but he doesn’t bank on it. He focuses on the one instead. Its solid blue horn and back ridges make it trickier to kill than the others. With so much protection covering its skull, he aims for the eye.

“Eh, it was okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Our trip got cut short.”

There’s not a hint of disappointment with those words and maybe that’s what has him worried a little. Sure, Cora’s always been reasonable but she sounds apathetic. Sam lowers his rifle and glances at Cora over his shoulder. Sometimes he can’t believe how old she is. Makes him want to say what’s really on his mind but she’s still his little girl. Don't matter her age. He holds back his harsh words. Thinks them instead. It’s always something with Lillian. And that something is always more important than keeping her promises to Cora. It boils his blood when he spends too much energy thinking too long and too hard about it.

“Did she say why?”

Cora closes her book and tucks it away in her backpack. “It was just the usual. You know.”

He does. But it’s not much of a conversation if he’s filling in all the blanks. Slinging her backpack onto her shoulders, she begins her descent to the ground. Sam gathers up his belongings and follows. They trek toward the fallen parrothawk.

“Your cutterhead is getting away,” she says as they draw closer.

She’s right. It spots them and takes off running.

“Still think we can call it a win with what we’ve got.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They arrive at the parrothawk and he kneels. “You know, Lillian—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupts, bending over the parrothawk with a knife in hand. She works at cutting the skin away first and he joins her, taking the upper half.

“Oh yeah? Been spending time reading fortunes?”

“Ha, no. You’ll have a valid reason to defend her and I’ll still feel like shit about it.” Sam stills and drops the knife, standing and hovering next to her. “It’s okay dad, I already talked to Aja about it.”

It stings. He won’t admit aloud. But it’s good she at least talks to someone about it. Her best friend is probably a decent choice too. Barrett and Ervin’s girl has always been a great kid with an even better head on her shoulders. Hell, her advice was probably insightful and better than anything he could offer anyway. He wraps Cora up in a bear hug, squeezing the air out of her body.

“Dad!” She manages to squeak out and he presses his lips to her forehead before letting her go.

“I know I’m just your old man, but I’ll always be here for you.”

“I know,” Cora says. “Now, can we finish this up? I want to get back to my book. I was at the best part.”

“Is it one of the new ones you got.”

“Yeah!”

Why don’t you tell me about that then,” he says with a smile, returning to his knife and the task at hand.

And she does, softening again. It’s like a cool breeze amidst all the heat as they make quick work of the bird. They pack up what they can and make their way to Cora’s ship, The Hawk. He reckons it will take at least two—maybe three trips tops to get all the goods onto the ship.

About halfway through their trek, a ship lands a few hundred feet in front of them. The ground trembles under the weight of the landing platform, a swirl of dust obstructing their view. Then it clears, exposing about a dozen mercs—guessing Ecliptic by appearance—heading straight for them.

“Forget to make a payment on that loan you took out on your ship?” Sam asks, cocking his rifle.

“I paid it in full when I bought it. I think they’re after you.” Cora pulls her pistols from their holster and adjusts her backpack.

“Ask first and shoot later?”

“I think it’s shoot first, ask later.”

“Nah, I really think—”

The Ecliptic are on them and a bullet flies past Sam’s head, nearly brushing his hat. He glances over at Cora.

She smirks as she aims. “I’m always right.”

“You can gloat later,” Sam shouts as he tucks and rolls, dodging another stray bullet.

There’s a large boulder to his right and he rushes to it, skinning his knees as he slides in behind it. Cora follows his lead and scrambles, shrouding herself with the trunk of a tree. Ecliptic are more organized than spacers but still aren’t a match for the two of them. He aims and shoots. Cora does the same. The two in the front fall dead. One of the guys behind the fallen bodies trips and stumbles. Cora fires off another shot and takes him out.

“Care package!” Sam yells as he chucks a frag at the rest of the group.

Cora picks off the last two, her aim more accurate and deadly than Sam’s. The group is a pile of bodies and they exchange a congratulatory smile before coming out of their hiding places. Walking cautiously over to the dead, Sam counts the bodies. One, two—eleven.

“I thought there were twelve,” Sam says.

“Me too.”

Sam takes a glance around and spots the last guy heading east, sprinting off into the distance.

“Thanks for playing!” He shouts and gives a wave. “Bye!”

Cora lets out a small chuckle. “Think we should chase ‘em down?”

“Don’t think they’re gonna cause any trouble for us.” Sam shrugs and watches while Cora digs around in the dead merc’s pockets. She comes up with nothing.

“Lootin’ the dead ain’t glamorous but it sure is profitable.”

“Not in this case.” Cora sighs.

He waves a hand over them. “See anything on them like a slate? Might be able to find out why they came in guns a blazin.”

She continues to pat them down while Sam keeps watch.

“If there was a slate, it was probably on the runner.”

“Damn it.”

“Win some. Lose some.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Wait,” Cora says, pausing as she brushes dirt away from an insignia on the front of the suit. “I don’t think this is Ecliptic.”

Sam kneels next to her and with the adrenaline fading, he notices the differences between these mercenary suits and the usual ecliptic suits. Similar enough in style and color, it’s possible it’s still a subset of Ecliptic. But he doesn’t recognize the faction insignia at all.

“They all have this matching symbol,” Cora says. “Can you grab my camera for me from my backpack?”

Sam unzips her bag and digs around, pulling the camera free. “Got it.” He hands it over.

“Thank you.” Cora snaps a few close ups of the insignia before handing the camera back. “Maybe someone from Constellation will know what it means.”

“Maybe. We could also search their ship,” Sam suggests but as soon as he does, it begins to lift off.

“Think we missed our chance for that too.”

The ship takes off and they stare after it.

“Not our smoothest—”

“Hey, our response time was spectacular. We don’t have a single injury.” Cora lugs her backpack over her shoulders. “And we got what we came for. Smoother than a lot of our adventures.”

Sam chuckles. “Yeah, you’re right and any scrape you can walk away from is a good one.”

She throws him a big grin with a raised eyebrow.

“So smug. Wonder who you got that from?” He hauls his pack onto his back too and they make their first trip (of many) back to their ship.

Later, Sam kneels to the ground, eyeing the space where he and Cora killed the mercs. Someone moved the bodies, hints of where they were his only clue that they were there at all and he didn’t fabricate the whole scenario in his mind. He casts his gaze a little further and wider. The mercs were wearing heavy boots, bound to leave tracks behind. After a minute or two, he spots a patch of indented grass and the faintest of boot prints in the dirt heading east unlocking the memory of the runaway merc.

He doesn’t expect to find the runaway with the bodies gone. But on the off chance that the runaway is lingering nearby, he follows the trail as far as it goes. The sky shifts from a blanket of monochromatic hues of blue to a deep purple. The night might be gracious in offering unfiltered starlight but he doesn’t bank on it. He quickens his pace. Eventually the tracks peter out a few kilometers from where the dead bodies used to be and Sam finds higher ground in the lower bough of a tree.

With a better view, he spots the smoky remnants of a small fire and climbs back down. When he arrives at the dying embers, he bends low to the ground, fingers sprawling in search of any other clues. When he catches sight of another boot track, he stands up, ready to follow the new lead.

“Don’t move,” the cool butt of a gun is at the back of his head.

“Whoa, no need to let things escalate.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to speak, let alone make any demands.” A hand shoves at his back and Sam stumbles forward, making sure to over dramatize it by falling to his knees and hissing between his teeth.

He almost says he wasn’t making demands but pulls his dad card instead. “Please, I’m just an old man. Got a daughter to return to.”

A shot is fired. The bullet hits the patch of grass right next to Sam’s knee. The merc is serious, he can see that now but Sam’s always been good with people. Even the serious types. The serious types don’t take too kindly to his charm but they do take kindly to an old fashioned stroking of the ego. He’s always lived by the principle, that given a choice, he’d much rather talk his way out of a fight than slug it out.

“Bullshit. If she mattered so much to you, you wouldn’t have come looking for me. So from now on, I’ll do the talking.”

“You do have a way with words and a special sort of flair for survival,” Sam says and it’s enough of a praise.

His momentary captor starts monologuing. Blathers on about being left behind. Always forgotten. Which is a damn shame according to their perception of their own inflated skill sets. The rest of the speech settles in Sam’s mind as a static white noise. He focuses on digging into the dirt with his hand, remaining unnoticed. He manages to scrounge up a decent handful. Mixes a little sand in too. The merc is still throwing themselves a pity party when Sam hops to his feet and swivels, tossing the dirt straight into the merc’s eyes. A classic that hasn’t failed him yet.

“You’re dead,” the merc rages. One hand waving the gun around as they rub the dirt in with the other.

Sam rips the gun out of their hand and turns it on them. Smirks. “As a dead man, I’m the one haunting you and asking the questions now. Who do you work for?” Sam asks in a wavering spooky voice.

But there’s no words, only choking and gurgling sounds as the merc’s mouth fills with a bubbling white foam. Then they crash to the ground, dead.

“Well, shit. Hell of a place to have a seance,” he says sarcastically. “Knock once if you hear us spirits!” Sam says to himself as he pads the merc down, pressing his head close to the merc’s mouth where bubbles pop and the foam begins to dissipate. “No?” He shrugs.

Sam checks the pockets. There’s no slate on them either. But something tells him these aren’t mercs at all. Silence is better than spilling secrets, and this smells more foreboding than an unpaid debt. Worry pools in his stomach as he stands, pulling at his graying whiskers. Who exactly are they? But more importantly, what the hell do these people want with Cora?

[simplywintry]

Dusty. Explorer. S t a r b o r n.

[falloutstasis]

oh snap! i forgot to post these LOL the first one is based of the va for sam posting a clip of sam having an invisible gun bug on twitter/x so i wanted to draw that

[trashartgalleries]

I love Starfield and Sam Coe and spaceships and Sam Coe and the different planets and Sam Coe and the many characters in the game... and Sam Coe. Did I already mention that I like Sam Coe???

Anyway, I doodled the character I created! His name is Hoshi, which means "star or planet" in Japanese :D

Somehow, he ended up looking like Baki Hanma from Baki a little 😂😅

[vephyrus]

the cowboy and the astronaut 💗

(technically they’re both astronauts but the title sounded more aesthetic)

[shatinn]

Starfield 69/?

[spookyspecterino]

Grunt Work

Sam Coe x GN! Reader

GN! Reader. No pronouns, no use of Y/N, or reader descriptions used. Reader is referred to as Captain sometimes, like in the game.

Canon typical violence: blood, injury, mentions of death, guns, language, romance, kissing. All PG-13.

Spoilers for the “Grunt Work” Quest

It’s the very first UC Vanguard quest. If you haven’t played it yet, I highly recommend it. Out of my 20-ish hours playing it’s my favorite so far.

No spoilers for the end of game (I haven’t even gotten close to it yet) or anything to do with Sam Coe’s romance questline (I haven’t finished that either).

Non-spoiler summary for this fic/quest:

Reader and Sam Coe go to Tau Ceti II to check up on the settlers in the Tau Gormet Production Center.

More descriptions of the fic with a more specific summary below the cut. I’m being very specific about spoilers because for most people, myself included, we’ve only had the game for a week.

More specific summary of this fic/quest:

The UC Vanguard sends you on a routine mission to check in on a settler colony on Tau Ceti II—it turns out to be anything but routine. With Sam Coe at your side, your first Vanguard mission is a baptism by fire.

Characters: Hadrian, Sam Coe, Vasco (mentions of other characters: Cora Coe and Barret)

“Vasco, do a quick comms check for me. I want to make sure it’s working after it glitched out on the last planet.”

The tall robot makes some beeping and whirring noises. The way it stares into nothing bothered you at first, but after some time you’d gotten used to it—even appreciating how it followed commands without hesitation. Over by the ships on and off-boarding ramp, Sam says goodbye to Cora. A smile spreads across your face as you watch them.

The Frontier’s external lighting illuminates the surrounding landing site. An otherworldly moon hangs in the night sky. You take one more moment to do a last check of your pack’s contents. This was going to be a routine check-in mission, but it never hurt to be safe than sorry.

“Comms are operational, Captain.”

“Thank you.” You wave goodbye to Cora who smiles and waves back before returning to the Frontier. “Comms are good Sam, ready to go?”

Your companion saunters over with that signature ranger’s confidence. “Always.”

“Great. I think I’ve got everything. Vasco, have I got everything?”

“Scanning now.”

Sam shifts from foot to foot. “Storm’s rolling in.” He comments, looking into the distance. “I’d like to get there before it starts raining.”

Sure enough, muted thunder rolls on the horizon and the wind picks up a touch.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, cowboy.”

“I don’t even know what a horse looks like.” He mumbles.

Vasco beeps affirmatively. “The necessary items are present, Captain. However, you are carrying more than the recommended amount.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder with a grin, ignoring the second part. “Thanks Vasco. You know, for a second there Sam, I thought you were going to say something about your joints hurting.”

“Ha ha. I’m not that old.”

You make a teasing face at him as you start heading toward the compound’s lights in the distance. The trek isn’t bad, mostly flat terrain with a few rocks here and there. The wind continues to pick up, carrying the scent of rain.

Sam hops over a rock, taking his place by your side. “Not to sound too over-eager to get this Vanguard busy work out of the way, but, where’s our next stop after this?”

“I was thinking we could explore the rest of this system. How’s that sound?”

“You know me, no complaints here.”

A radio tower comes into view, red lights along the sides flashing periodically. Beyond it is the main compound.

“Oh, Cora asked to keep an eye out on books specifically about ship reactors. She thinks she can fix ours.”

You hike your pack higher on your shoulder, already feeling the soreness. Blast your incessant need to carry every type of weapon part with you at all times. “I’ll be on the look-out. If she can save me a few credits and fix it herself, she’s welcome to try.”

“She’s a brilliant kid, but let’s do it on a planet with an actual mechanic who can make sure it works after. I have faith in her, but she’s 11 and you can’t learn everything from books—”

“Hold up. Sam. Stop.”

He freezes, noticing your stock-still posture, eyes fixed on the wide-open doors of the radio tower. Bright light filters out into the night.

“Does that look like a body to you?” you ask him, pointing toward a slumped over shape laying against a supply crate.

“Sure does.”

Unholstering your pistol, you both crouch and move closer. The grass underfoot sways in the wind.

It’s a grisly scene. Multiple bodies litter the area. All settlers—dressed in civilian working clothes. Blood splatters dot the concrete, some trail back to a body. Sam whistles, short and low, to get your attention. He’s looking inside. On the table is a settler, face up, arms splayed out and gutted. Clothes stained a vibrant red. Deep claw marks gouge out sections of the floor.

“No bullets, no casings in sight.” He murmurs close to your ear. “And it’s all fresh.”

You don’t need to look at him to know he shares your particular anxiety. “Let’s check out the main compound.”

Moving out of the small building and down toward the tar mac, you’re about to say something about the wrecked ship when an alien scream interrupts you. It sets every hair on end. Never have you heard a sound like that, even on the many planets you’ve explored.

In little to no time after the scream, a sharp static crackles over your comms, making you jump. Sam shuffles closer, crouched low next to you. If the situation wasn’t so tense, he may have chuckled, but he stays frozen and somber faced.

“I am so glad to see you.” The voice, a woman’s, sounds heavy with relief. “I think it knows you’re here. Hurry up to the second-floor office, I’ll unlock the door.”

As you make your way into the compound, it feels like walking straight into the lion’s den. Every sense is on high alert. Lightning flashes, making you see things in the shadows that aren’t really there. Only Sam’s presence behind you keeps you level-headed.

The brightly lit, glass windowed office only makes you feel worse, like a sitting duck on display.

“I’m Hadrian.” The woman introduces herself curtly while holding her side. “Are you my saving grace?”

“Not exactly. I’m UC Vanguard—sent to check in on the settlers.”

“Well shit.” She leans against the table, eyes closed in pain.

“Please don’t tell me we’re dealing with a Terrormorph here.” Sam asks, beating you to the punch.

She sighs. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Shit. That’s bad news, Captain. Real bad.”

“Listen,” Hadrian starts, moving away from the table, “I know you’re just two people, but you have to help me kill this thing.”

“And why’s that? Why don’t we all just leave now?” You ask.

“It’s unique. It showed up way too early. Tau Ceti’s only been colonized for 20 years. If this is a new kind of Terrormorph that matures faster and shows up earlier, we need to know.”

“Damnit.” You hiss. “Terrormorphs that show up after only 20 years of colonization could wipe humanity off the map.”

“Exactly.”

Rain begins to fall on the large windows with a clatter. The rolls of thunder were becoming booming clashes now. Visibility was already reduced at night, but now the storm made things worse.

You relent, giving up any notions of leaving. “Alright. I’ll help. Got any ideas on how to kill it?”

Sam’s eyeing you particularly hard from where he stands.

“Yeah, turrets. But we need to bring them back online and get them powered up. The terminal’s on ground level at the far end of the warehouse.”

Sam grunts. “So, closer to the Terrormorph?”

“I’m not sure where it is right now. My best guess is it’s still around the outer edge of the facility. But there’s a tracking system you can use on one of the terminals.”

You run a hand over your face. “Ok. Tracker and turrets. That’s better than nothing. I can make do”

“Radio me when you’ve reset the system and I’ll calibrate it from here. Thank you for helping and good luck.”

You and Sam sneak out one of the office doors into the warehouse. Fat raindrops fall on the metal roof, amplifying the sound into a loud drumming. It doesn’t come close to the volume of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Vasco, come in.”

“Reporting, Captain.”

“Initiate full lockdown on the ship. Tell Cora we ran into some trouble and are taking necessary precautions. If she seems worried, give her a book from my locker.”

“Yes Captain.”

You shut off comms and sling your pack from around your shoulders, attempting a commanding tone that you’ve always needed to fake. “Sam Coe.”

His usual raspy, low voice is layered with apprehension. “Captain?”

You’re pulling out weapon pieces from your pack for your rifle. They’re big—heavy duty—and add a decent amount of weight to the gun. “Go back to the ship.”

“I had a hunch you were gonna pull something like this. No. No way.”

“That’s an order—”

“Don’t try that with me. You know it ain’t gonna work.”

You pause, just as you’re changing out the rifle’s .50 Cal magazine with a 9x39mm eight round clip. “Sam.”

“I’m staying.”

His eyebrows are furrowed. Mouth slanted in a stubborn, almost angry frown. You’d have to dig deep. “Cora can’t lose you.”

“You always pull that card. It’s lost its affect.”

“…I can’t lose you either.”

You’ve never used that before and quite frankly are surprised to hear it come out of your mouth. Maybe it’s too soon. Up until now, you and Sam have only been flirting—no real feelings or moves have been made. It’s a bit of a jump, but you’re sincere.

His eyes hold yours unflinchingly. The crease on his forehead lessens a little. “Then you know how I feel and why I’m staying right here.”

He’s one-upped you and you weren’t prepared for it. You murmur a “Damit Sam” and go back to modifying your rifle. Fighting is pointless, and his admission has your nerves shaken more than you’d like. “Stay glued to my side unless I say otherwise. If things turn sideways and I order you back to the ship, you’d better listen. Got it?”

“Understood, Captain.”

“I mean it.”

A hint of his familiar smile returns. “I heard ya.”

“And Sam…”

“Hm?”

“No heroics.”

He doesn’t respond, his brows pinch together again. It’ll have to do.

Moving through the warehouse went excruciatingly slow. At all times you wished you could just get up and run instead, but it would signal the monster almost immediately. The whole situation made you feel like you were prey, scared and small. The addition of Sam’s presence put a heavy responsibility on your shoulders and that made you even more careful.

Hadrian was on your comms as soon as the system was reset. She directed you to the tracker frequency tuner in the same room. While finding the frequency, the system went into high alert—detecting the major threat. Your watch begins beeping steadily, and then rapidly speeds up. The Terrormorph was getting closer to your position.

Your eyes met Sam’s just as the alien appeared on the roof of the building outside. Right in sight from the room’s windows you were in. A rough hand yanks you down to the ground. Sam is crouched damn near on top of you, shotgun aimed up at it. However, it doesn’t notice you two in the dark room. You slowly cover the watch face to try and muffle the beeping sound. Maybe it was the rain, or the creature was just playing games, but it moved on past to a different part of the facility. Loud footsteps fading as it leaves. The radar lessens to a low, steady beat.

“Hadrian, come in.”

“I read you. The turrets are going to need their power sources reset with the security system in lockdown.”

“Great.” Sam sighs, lowering his gun. His shoulder leans into yours as he gets closer.

“We’ll find them. Out here.”

Reaching for your rifle, your hands visibly shook. You can feel Sam’s watchful gaze.

“Last chance to leave.” You whisper, aimlessly checking over your gun. You feel his hand squeeze your shoulder reaffirming.

“Not happening.”

The first power source wasn’t hard to find. You took the slow route, keeping an ear out for any changes in the radar frequency. The power switch was like a beacon, a big red switch on a yellow panel—it stuck out like a sore thumb. When you flipped it lights came on, loudspeakers announced to stand back…and the radar went nuts.

“Out, out, out!” You hiss, pushing Sam toward the far end door. He doesn’t need to be told twice as he beelines it.

With Sam leading, you follow him, scrambling up onto the roof of the building near the turrets. Two of the six are online now. Two more switches and you’ll have a fighting chance. Maybe.

Behind you, further in the facility, things crash. For now, it seems you’re safe.

You huff, lightening the death grip you have on your rifle. “Ok, here’s the plan. We’re going to split up.”

“I’m not gonna like this am I?”

“Take the watch. Find the power sources. I’ll create a distraction.”

“No.”

“Sam…” you exhale, closing your eyes. Despite the sheer terror you feel, you manage a chuckle. “We’re not going to get anything done if you keep arguing with me.”

“Let me create the distraction.”

“No.”

“Now who’s arguing?”

“Your shotgun has no range—it’s effectively useless, you’d be dead in two seconds.”

“Fair point. Then give me your rifle, I’m a good shot.”

You’re already unclasping your watch’s band from around your wrist. “I’m not taking the risk.”

“What if I wanna take the risk?”

Shuffling over while still crouched, you bring his arm closer. The watch slides on and you make sure to fasten it tightly. “You already know I won’t let you. At least now you can radio Vasco if…”

It didn’t need to be said.  

He looks at the device and back to you. “Why is this startin’ to feel like you’re on a suicide mission?”

You can’t look at him or you’d lose the last of your nerve. “I’ll be on that walkway over there. It’ll have to run through the turrets to get to me and they’ll still have a shot when it tries to climb up.”

The way Sam chews his cheek really underlines how unhappy he is with this plan of yours. “Remind me to have a word with you about your savior complex when this is all over.”

“Hm. I’m looking forward to it.”

A gentle hand wraps around your arm. His eyes are soft, pleading. His other hand cups your face, it’s rough and calloused, but warm. “If you need to run, then run. You don’t have to die for some Vanguard that sends you on a ‘routine’ mission they were too lazy to check first—or for a colony full of dead settlers. Ok? I want you back, with me, alive, and in one piece.”

You don’t trust yourself enough to speak, something sappy or cheesy may decide to come out, so you simply nod.

It isn’t enough for him. “Please, say you’ll come back to me. I need to hear you say it.”

If he wasn’t so close, he may not have heard you through the pounding rain. “I’ll come back to you.” You pretended that you meant it, that you believed it.

“Thank you.” His hand falls away to hold his shotgun. “Now let’s kill this thing.”

“Be safe.” You manage before turning and heading toward your position. The chill of the rain creeps through your spine, but the warmth from Sam’s hand lingers on your cheek. You try to hold onto that feeling.

The steel walkway is sturdy and grated, giving you a good vantage point of the surrounding area. Once in position, you set up your rifle and lay flat, adjusting the scope. Lightning flashes, the crash of thunder isn’t far behind it. Water runs down your face and you wipe it hastily to keep it from your eyes.

The bright fire of the flare casts everything in red. With a good toss, it lands directly in the middle of the kill lanes. Bringing out your pistol you shoot once, twice, up into the air. The alien screams and the sound of wrenching, tearing metal draws near.

The hulking creature appears at the far end of the kill lanes, focused on the flare. It’s huge, big enough to fill your scope’s sights. You breathe deep and exhale slowly as you take your first shot.

The round hits the Terrormorph square in the back leg, crippling it for a moment. Blood leaks out onto the ground below. It lurches before regaining balance on its five other legs, letting out an enraged roar.

More lights come on in the facility. Sam’s already found one power breaker. Two more turrets begin to flash and come online.

The monster’s head swings in a different direction. Toward Sam, no doubt. The realization fuels you with a cold fury. You crank the rifle’s bolt-lever, a long bullet casing flies out of the chamber with a cling. Sliding the lever back with a heavy clunk you even your breath and prepare to take another shot.

You take it, aiming for its other back leg, but miss—the shot glances off the ground. Six shots left.

The thing’s giant head swings back to stare at you directly. Through your scope it’s as if you’re staring it directly in the eyes. Its front legs stomp the ground, and it roars. It ambles forward right into the kill lanes. Four turrets open fire, knocking it off balance and sending it sprawling momentarily. You take another shot, this time severing its thinner front limb.

The thing howls, ear splittingly loud and shrill, but claws its way back onto its feet. The turrets are doing damage, but it isn’t enough. It lurches toward you with surprising speed. The turret fire follows. You take a shot and miss. You exhale and your breath comes out shaking.

It's at the base of the building your walkway is on as Sam flips the final switch and the last of the turrets power up. The Terrormorph slows down a little, struggling to climb the building with two of its limbs missing. You have another 130 seconds, maybe, before it reaches you.

Your fifth shot hits it in the back, effectively doing nothing. The thing is bloody and losing steam from the constant onslaught of all six turrets. You start to feel hopeful. There’s movement to your left. It’s Sam on one of the rooftops. You’re about to give him a thumbs up when lightning flashes—some of the facility machines spark, an alarm sounds, and all lights except for auxiliary backups flatline. An unlucky power surge from the storm.

The Terrormorph has reached the base of the walkway below and is trying to make its way up, now free from turret fire. This would be your chance to run, but something holds you there. A false hope maybe.

You hold your breath, take a shot, and hit it square in the face. It doesn’t stop, clawing at the thin metal for purchase. Pulling the bolt lever and sliding it home, you fire again, chipping its other back leg and causing it to stumble. Metal rails groan and collapse under the monster’s weight. It falls to the ground with a metallic crash. You don’t fire, yet.

Sam is still on the other roof. You wave him off, pointing to the ship. Trying to make it clear that this was the order to run. A clashing sound below snags your attention back to the monster. It’s testing out the strength of the rail supports.

You’re aiming again as it springs up and begins throwing its weight at the steel rods. The vibration of the metal groaning and shifting with each impact reverberates through you. This is your last shot.

You fire and miss entirely as a section of rails to your right collapse and bend, tugging your section down. You’re forced to let go of your rifle to hang on. It clatters to the ground below.

More support beams collapse and you can feel the structure groan before you even hear it, vibrating hard enough to numb your hands. Trying to climb up the tilting walkway was a mistake as the shift in weight caused the whole thing, with you attached, to fall entirely. The feeling of falling was short-lived, something sharp sliced at your leg as you fell into the railing and walkway debris below.

For a moment, you lay dazed and in pain. The sound of rain patters around you on metallic surfaces. The whole walkway and railing fell over, the area was littered with jutted angles and metal parts. Something shifted under the debris. Something big enough to toss heavy metal away with ease. Any hope of the Terrormorph getting crushed by the impact was gone as it reared back and screamed. Its eyes, all six or seven of them, landed on you.

There was no way of escaping, debris had fallen over you. A particularly large beam held you in place on your back. Your pistol, the last line of defense, dug into your hip uncomfortably.

Sensing it had you trapped, the creature took its time closing the distance. Your leg was devoid of all feeling except a vague sensation of warmth spreading around it. The rails on top of you pinned you down, but you managed to free your measly pistol.

Only three or four of your shots made contact, others glanced off the Terrormorph’s armored shoulders or missed entirely. Either way, the low caliber did nothing to it. With an empty mag, and nothing else to defend yourself with, your arm fell to your side. You just hoped Sam was smart enough to listen and go back to the ship.

A loud blast caught the monster on the side of its head, snapping it away from you, and causing it to stumble.

Apparently, he wasn’t.

Sam emptied three more shells into the creature before reloading with cool, practiced ease. One blast dislocated the Terrormorph’s other back leg. Chunks went flying.

It howled and thrashed as he kept unloading shells into it. When he was completely out, he dropped the shotgun and picked up a long rod of metal with a jagged, broken end. The sharp tip sliced clean into its ribcage. When the alien still tried to pull itself up on its remaining two feet, Sam pulled it out with a yank and drove it home into the thing’s head, right above the mandibles. It gave one final spasm and finally fell dead.

At last, the only sound around you was the rain.

Sam dropped the crude spear with a clatter, eyeing the body a few times as he rushed over through the debris.

“You ok?” he panted, kneeling down. His hands cupped your face, bringing the familiar warmth with them.

“Holy shit.” Was all you were able to say.

It made him laugh with relief as he moved to check you over. “And you said a shotgun wouldn’t do anything.”

His hands moved debris from your legs, and he hovered as you yelped in pain. “You’ve got a nasty gash here. We need to get you back to the ship for medical attention. Let me see if I can get this off you.”

With a grunt of effort, he pushed the beam up enough for you to pull yourself out. Your leg was bleeding badly, but nothing you couldn’t fix with some TLC and bed rest. The pain hadn’t set in yet, thankfully.

Near you was a chunk of the Terrormorph’s leg. Feeling oddly disconnected from yourself, you grabbed it, staring at the gross thing, and put it in your pocket for Hadrian.

Sam started taking out bandages and doing what he could to wrap your leg. You could see his hands were shaking now.

Against all odds you both were alive; you started to laugh.

Sam gave you an odd look. “Don’t go loopy on me.”

A giant smile broke across your face. “Wasn’t expecting to live. There goes my chance at a cool memorial or bragging rights.”

“Going face to face with a Terrormorph and only losing a chunk of your leg gets bragging rights. Believe me.”

“Nah. All the credit goes to you on this one. That was just badass.”

He grunted, throwing more debris out of the way, and trying to clear a path. “Wasn’t thinking about how cool it looked when I did it. I was just trying to save you.”

“You know I’ll be telling this story forever, right?”

He chuckles, helping you up, slinging your arm over his shoulder and wrapping his around your waist. “I can see Barret’s expression now.”

“‘Sam Coe, my hero’ is how I’ll start it.”

He groans playfully. “Please don’t.”

“It’s true.” You looked at him as your feet touched even ground. Your faces were close. You could see the rain drops clinging to his hair and beard. “You saved my life.”

When he looked over, his nose nudged yours from close proximity. He didn’t shy away from the contact. Your paces slowed to a stop. “I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, either.”

Your grin was slow to spread as you glanced at his lips more than once. “Would you prefer a quippy one line as thanks?”

“Mm—no. Maybe something else though.”

You feigned ignorance as his eyes trailed down your face. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“I’ll let you think of it.”

“A hero’s song?” you joked, voice softening.

“Nope.”

“How about a poem?”

He faces toward the room Hadrian’s in with a low laugh and begins to walk again. “You know, if you were as much of a smartass to that Terrormorph as you are to me, it would have keeled over on the spot.”

You put your good foot down and hold it, halting any forward progress. “Ok, ok. I think I’ve come up with something.”

He’s still smiling as he looks at you. Your noses nudge again. “If you suggest a book or a short story—”

His surprised breath as your mouth presses to his is an award in itself. He stays motionless for a moment, as if his brain had short-circuited, before his lips move and mold to yours. Slow and tentative at first, exploratory. Soft and gentle as if he’s afraid of hurting you. His hand on your waist moves to your lower back, gripping your clothes. He leans into you, beard scratching the skin of your face. Your fingers slide through and tangle in his wet hair. It makes him pant into your mouth before kissing you again, more eager this time.

Breaking apart, you both linger close, hot breath mixing together. His forehead leans to yours, eyes still closed.

That raspy voice of his you love so much is the first to break the silence. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that.”

“You could have made the first move. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Was never sure if you were just being quippy and flirtatious for fun or not.”

“It is fun, but it’s also because I care for you.”

He hums, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Good to know, we’re going to have to find time for this more often.”

You close the distance enough to ghost your lips over his. “We have time now.”

He hesitates, so tempted with the offer, but exhales instead. “You’re hurt and bleeding all over the place, I need to get you some medical help. Plus, Hadrian needs her damn samples.”

“Pshh. I’ve got plenty of blood left—and she can be patient.”

He starts walking again, bringing you with him, and pressing the gentlest kiss you’ve ever felt against the corner of your mouth. “Just wait until you’re healed. You won’t be able to keep me away.”

[cryptidsnackpack]

Sam Coe Pining HC’s:

First off… this man PINES. NSFW under the cut so 18+ intrepid explorers only. GN Dusty/Captain. I have this Dusty having the Neon City Street Rat background in this one (bc that’s what I have and I love it). I just want to take care of this man like DAMN.

When he first sets eyes on you, he has a to take a half-step back. He’s glad Cora swooped in with the assist, babbling about how excited she was to join them on the Frontier. It took him a half second longer than he would have liked to compose himself. He scolds himself… Now is not the time to get distracted.

But hell are you distracting. Sam can count on his hand the times in his life when he has felt taken care of, but damn do you do it well. “Sam are you running low on ammo? Have you eaten today? How much water have you had? That last planet was brutal”. Sometimes you’ll place a chaste hand to his shoulder to check in on him, and that touch almost sends him into cardiac arrest.

It’s not just the way you take care of him either, it’s Cora too. When you happily slapped credits into the little girl’s palm for her book allowance, and then suggested a trip to Sinclair’s the next time you touch down on Akila? He knew he was done for.

You’re always thinking of them, and something long hidden inside him breaks at finally being seen, finally been someone’s first priority. “Everyone okay back there?!Cora? Sam?”. The dogfight had been a hairy one, they’d need to stop at Neon immediately for repairs. The Captain’s voice shook over the comm. They’d check them both over, double and triple check that they didn’t get hurt. “Cora’s walking okay right? She’s not limping, right?” Anxiety punches the words out of the Captain’s chest, like their coughing them out. “She’s alright Cap” he settles a comforting hand on your arm. He imagines he can feel the heat from your skin in his palm all day.

Neon was hell. Usually he liked the city for what it was, but watching you? Watching everyone ELSE watching you? Hell. You knew your way around, and every few steps it seemed some old friend was pulling you away for conversation. You’d slip your hand into his, or wrap an arm around his waist to pull him along, make sure he wasn’t getting lost in the flow of foot traffic. And every time he tried to get a little closer, hold you just a little longer.

You two were meeting an old contact in The Astral Lounge. He was no stranger to the Lounge, but it felt different this time. He was jumpy, felt predatory. You’d donned some Neon City threads, a tight, darkly colored tunic that dipped past your collarbone and accentuated the muscle definition in your arms. And everyone in the Lounge seemed to be fixated on you. He edged closer to you. Thighs brushing. As if you could sense his tension, you settled a hand on his knee. He rested an arm on the back of the booth to steady himself, but you took it as a cue. You wrapped his arm around your shoulders, leaning into his chest. “This alright cowboy?” Your voice is low and rich, he leans forward to catch it and nods.

The glint in your eye, the way your lips curled mischievously up at his dumbstruck expression. You knew he wanted you. Of course you knew. “You know” He’s never heard anything sweeter, “I still have access to a corporate apartment here in the building… we could. Sorry that was ah, maybe-” You faltered, stuttering over your own words. Were you nervous? Why were YOU nervous? He kisses your forehead. It’s quick, impulsive and incredibly tender. It doesn’t necessarily match the mood, but the warm goofy smile you flash his way makes up for it.

You ride the crowded elevator in silence. Your ass pressed into his crotch. You grind back against him and he grips your shoulder in warning, and as a way to steady himself. “Not gunna lose your cool are you cowboy?” You turn to look at him over your shoulder, eyes cat-like. He’s not a man prone to PDA, but he takes off his hat to shield both of your faces from the surrounding crowd. He grips your jaw tightly, pulling you in for a bruising kiss. You moan into it, caught of guard, and he can hear a few people in the elevator tittering with good natured laughter.

You look startled by the intensity of your own body’s reaction, but quickly pull him from the elevator at your next stop. His hands are everywhere. Grazing your sides under the tunic, plucking at the waistband of your pants. “Is this okay? This is okay right?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You nod frantically, your fingers flying over the apartments keypad lock.

He was being ravaged. He was coming to the realization, that he Sam Coe, had never been ravaged before. The sheets were slick with sweat underneath him, but all he could focus on was your mouth. Sweetly sucking the flesh of his thighs, licking a path from nipple to ear lobe. “I have been dreaming about this since we first met.” Your voice is shaking, your hands are shaking. But your tongue is steady when you guide his length down your throat. Your eyes glint up at him as the golden brown curls around his base tickle your nose.

He doesn’t mean to cum in your mouth. His moan sounds like a sob and he fists his hands into the sheets until he swears he can hear the fibers squeak. “Shit I’m sorry I meant to- I didn’t mean to… so early and I- it’s been a really, really long time”

You’re by his ear again. Whispering, your voice is low and soothing and fingers are lazily dancing across his skin. “You did so good Sam. That’s exactly what I wanted”. Your nails are scratching his scalp and his eyelids feel uncomfortably heavy. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, and I expect you to fuck the shit out of me Mr. Coe”. His barking laughter rouses him up a bit, enough to kiss you. He tastes himself on your lips. “I think I can arrange that Captain”.

[commanderquinn]

a list of canon ways in which lillian hart is The Fucking Worst that cora coe deserves financial and emotional compensation for:

-the basis for the big divorce counseling mission is that cora's worried for her mother's safety. that means, before going on a deep cover operation with smugglers known to kill rangers, marines, or anyone else caught trying to interfere with their business, lillian didnt leave her daughter a heads up much less a lead. once the fuck again, this woman decided that her career was more important than her daughter's mental and emotional health. once the fuck again, this woman decided she could just disappear from cora's life and then come back out of the blue without consequence

-when you go to lillian's office to look for her at cora's request, the guy working the desk knows SAM well enough to know his name and give him shit like they've got a personal history, but he??? isnt sure about????? cora's name???? word for word, he looks at her and says "it's cora, right?" you're telling me that this woman doesn't talk about her kid enough for her fellow INVESTIAGATIVE rangers to be sure about her name??? are you SHITTING ME??????? get the fuck out of here. you cant push "ranger family values" and the close ties they have in one breath then claim she likes to keep a professional distance at work in the other. you wanna have the conversation about what fresh hell it is being a working mother in a position of power, lets go, ill have that conversation all day long. but lillian hart is not a fucking example of a working mother and im gonna be pretty fucking insulted for working mothers everywhere if i catch wind of ppl trying to pull that kind of defense card. the woman's an awful parent and should be held the fuck accountable for it. you wanna know how i know????

she doesn't say cora's name enough for the ranger watching the door to be confident in it, but he remembers alllll the stories of the captain her ex is cozying up to. and lillian is the one to confirm during the quest that she has been getting the stories from cora, so there's some clear "oh she already likes the stranger more than me." i know im reading into it because its fiction and none of these people are real, but ive also, y'know been in cora's shoes, so i can tell you from real life experience that shit does exist. idk if that was the writers INTENT, but it sure does a great job at reflecting a very sad reality

-sam points out its dumb that lillian wants to speed the ship, with her daughter on it, directly at the sydicate. idk abt y'all, but my ship was pretty dinky at that point bc i was focused on outposts, and we got ambushed by like 6 ship waves once we landed for that fight. again, i get it. game mechanics get a higher priority than realism. but this whole "we have to finish this because theres a chance you were spotted trying to rescue me" shit is so. nauseating. theres no demand to drop off cora somewhere safe, theres no "lets call in the cavalry." its this fucking egomaniac looking you dead in the eye and being like "i know i just traumatized the shit out of my kid but i need you to drive us into an ambush while she's still on board. hope you're a good shot because sam and i cant kill them ourselves." and so what that we did that????? YOURE TELLING ME IT WAS JUST THOSE SHIPS???? the rest of the organization is just going to LET IT GO???? like no fucking wonder sam sees himself as the better option even through all his fucking doubt. at least he knows when to turn the fuck around because shit is above his paygrade

-she has custody rights. she is a decorated and respected ranger. sam being a smuggler wasnt public knowledge, but point out one person in akila who wouldnt believe her in a heartbeat over it. everyone in town gives him nothing but shit, and they all side with his dad who was definitely no picnic to live with. im guessing big emotional detachment there, lotta interrogation and persecution rather than teaching and understanding. HELL, sam would probably own up to his past if lillian outed him for it, he's that type of idiot. at literally any point she could put in the effort to get legal council involved. if she's SOOOO by the law, whats the hold up there???? i agree the kid shouldnt be on my ship while im in the middle of a space fight. ive talked with sam about it, and im not even the kids parent (as of the personal quest). what the fuck are you doing about it lillian????????? oh thats right. we cant get lillian on the phone. whomp whomp.

-she made cora cry. hyper independent, "big girls dont cry" cora coe. multiple times. worse, she made cora cry because she made cora feel like she wasn't as important as lillian's career. i dont give a fuck what criminals are doing. i do not give a fuck. i give a fuck that that little pixel child got her heart broken and there isnt a dialogue for me to call out her mother for being a huge fucking cunt to her own daughter but theres a thousand and one options for me to tell sam he's parenting wrong. he is, and i have no problem using them when they're appropriate, but where the fuck are they for lillian??? why am i not allowed to tear this woman a new asshole at any point, but there's like 20+ extra dialogue options added to every single npc you have a persuade option with???? todd my head hurts and its your fault

-"im sure sam's told you all about me. go on. ask whatever you want." yet there is no option to ask what the fuck her problem is. so, clearly, i cannot, in fact, ask whatever i want.

-"but the looks i got from my fellow rangers reading alexander dumas... we do strange things for kids." yeah hart??? thats your standard????? THATS your idea of going out of your way for your kid??? literally how did sam fall for this woman oh my god i cant even listen to her speak without wanting to use the power of bitchhood i inherited from a long line of angry irish women to ridicule her to tears. maybe then she'll fucking understand how small she makes her fucking kid feel every time she turns a moment of bonding into a little "woe is me and my comfort zone oh how unfortunate i am to have a brilliant daughter that wants to connect with me through her greatest passion"

-she openly admits that she dumped the cargo sam was smuggling not because she felt any connection or sympathy or just didnt want to destroy someones chance at life in a capitalist society, but because he was a good pilot and she didnt want that talent to "go to waste" so she could recruit him. thats not really a thing against cora i just really fucking hate that and the picture it paints of her priorities as a human being

-"if we're going to be really honest here... back when we were a team... cora would follow you everywhere, like a little adoring dog. i... just fell out of it. long before we separated."

i literally. do not have words for how fucking disgusted i am by that line of dialogue. oh my fucking god. oh my fucking god. i. i TRULY would not even know where to start. the dog comparison makes me violently angry and if you'd given me a punch interrupt at that moment, i would have broken my keyboard punching the accept option

-go replay or watch a recording of that divorce counseling mission one more time. while you're doing it, imagine the roles reversed. imagine youre romancing a character thats a mother bringing cora into space, and the ranger standing in your cockpit asking to finish the mission is her father who took off to live at work once it was clear his little girl liked mommy better. imagine THAT while you listen to the (imo) out of fucking pocket dialogue where sam constantly praises lillian for being "a good ranger/woman." then you come back and tell me how comfortable you are with the concept of lillian hart as a character.

[doe-writes-stuff]

A/N - Some more action this time around. I don't write too many of those types of scenes, so with any luck they are as thrilling as I hope them to be! Please enjoy, and thank you for your continued support through my Sam Coe Hoe Era <3

WARNINGS: Strong language from reader, space battles.

With the grav drive activated, the threads of space and time shot by in an inspiring painting of bright lights. Distant stars and planets, shooting by as if they were inches apart instead of lightyears. You’d dimmed the interior lights to get the full effect, the silence a fitting backdrop for the show in display. Times like this, you’d often wonder how anyone could go their entire lives not traveling the expanse of space like this. What a view they were missing out on…

Lounged in your cockpit to wait out the travel time to the next system, your eyes watched the black sea fold before the ship as you traveled forward. Cora had stayed up to watch the sight a few hours previously, jabbering on about anything space-related she’d read in her most recent books, but now both her and her father were asleep in the living quarters one deck below. Good. After the non-stop missions you’d run searching for artifacts, they both deserved the rest.

Barrett and Gideon were likely in the rec room just down the way from the sleeping quarters, shooting the shit while you traveled your course to your destination. There was little for them to do while the grav drive was engaged, but you felt it necessary to keep to the day and night shift rotations, if only not to butcher any sort of routine sleep schedule for your crew. Better that than to be unprepared in the case of an ambush from Spacers or, even worse, the Crimson Fleet.

Vasco, of course, didn’t sleep. But you’d set him to cataloguing and organizing the ship’s cargo after your latest expedition dealing with Spacers who’d taken over an abandoned mining facility. To the victor went the spoils, as Sam always liked to say. Better that those damned pirates had less equipment to work with, anyway. Like vultures, they’d eventually flock back to where their dead fell, collecting any supplies left behind and likely picking up where they left off. At the very least, selling off their armaments was an acceptable repayment for the inconvenience of having to deal with them almost everywhere you landed.

Drifting away with your thoughts, three rapid beeps drew your gaze to the navigational projection screen in the cockpit of the Razorleaf. The final stretch of your journey was nearly finished. Sitting up straighter in your chair, you stretch your shoulders and neck, letting out a sigh at the relief it brought.

You press the button to intercom only to the rec room—so as not to wake your two sleeping companions. “Approaching the Sagan system, ETA 20 minutes. Prepare for grav drive disengagement.”

There’s no immediate indication that anyone had heard you, mostly because there was no need to scramble to stations with this much prior warning. Out of habit, you glance over the system statuses. All nominal, nothing of note to be concerned about. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of boots on the rungs of a ladder, and Barrett is the first to speak as he takes his place somewhere behind you.

“Evening, Captain.” His deep, naturally-booming voice sounds all the louder in the small cockpit. You can hear his smile without having to look at it.

“Barrett.” You greet with a small twist in your chair and a nod. Then, a thought occurs to you, and a grin plants itself on your face. “So, who won?”

“I did!” A voice calls from just below the ladder, and Gideon is next to emerge from the below deck. His smiling face says all as he straightens from the rungs. “Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“If I recall, it was a stalemate.” The dark-skinned man retorted with a chuckle as he took his seat. “But if it helps you sleep at night, we’ll say you win this time.”

“Stalemate? Hardly.” Gideon took his place at the opposite crew station, turning in his chair to point at his board game opponent. “I was a few turns away from capturing your FOB, and your production facility was surrounded.”

“I think you mean to say ‘strategically positioned,’ my friend.”

You turn back to the command console as they continue debating who in fact had come out victorious this round of Star Frontiers—if memory served right, Barrett was still up 4 to 2 with Gideon—and begin settling in place for entering the system. There were still several minutes to go, so you sat and relaxed as the ship counted down the necessary time left.

Eventually, another beep from the ship’s console alerted you the the immediate, impending disengagement of the grav drives. With a loose grip on the throttle and another on the steering mechanism—it wouldn’t be the first time you’d damaged the hull because of some asteroid field suddenly manifesting into existence in front of you—you watch as the grav drive’s timer ticked down to zero.

As it disengaged, you felt that familiar pull of gravity deep in the pit of your stomach. The ship didn’t falter or shudder, but the painting of lights and lines as you’d traversed through the fold slowly lengthened and morphed until you caught a view of the star system of Sagan. All this in the blink of an eye.

So fast, in fact, it took you a solid two seconds to adjust to the change and notice the fleet of ships now pinging your proximity scanner. Too far away for a solid visual quite yet, but you preferred to be overly cautious in known Crimson Fleet territory.

Gideon’s concerned voice floated over to you. He must have noticed too. “Uh, Captain-?”

“I see them.” You say, eyes narrowing out into the endless black, speckled sea of space. You just manage to see the tail-end of their thrusters against the darkness. With one touch of a screen, you initiate a data scan of the ships. Before the report even comes through, your communication array is already pinging with an incoming transmission. In the distance, you see the group move to face your direction.

You hesitate before accepting it. The voice on the other end is…predictably malicious. “We’re going to make this real simple for you. Let us board and you might all live, or die to the vacuum of space as we blow your ship to bits.”

Probabilities are running through your head, but apparently the silence in those precious few seconds isn’t what he was wanting to hear. “You have until my ship gets within missile range to respond.”

“Barrett how fast can the grav drive re-engage?”

“We’d need about 10 minutes for the fuel tanks to be refilled. Vasco!” He commed directly to his robot companion from his station. “Whatever you’re doing right now, drop it and get us refueled as soon as you can. We’re about to have trouble.”

“Acknowledged.” Is the robotic, tinny response.

Too long on the refuel. The Crimson Fleet ships would be upon you by then. You bite your lip, cursing this whole situation. The math wasn’t in your favor, either in engaging in combat or attempting a retreat. That left you with little choice…

Leaning forward, you tap the button to transmit your own message. “This is Captain Y/N of the Razorleaf. We…will prepare to be boarded.”

You could hear Gideon make an astonished sound behind you, but ignore it in favor of listening to the pirate’s response. “Wise choice.” The transmission cut off with a blip, and the cockpit is silent for all of one second.

“Captain, how-“

“I’m not letting them onboard this ship, Gideon.” You reassure with a firm voice, any and all relaxation leaving your shoulders as you straighten in your chair and strap yourself in. “They’ll find that out soon enough. Redirect some power from the grav drive to shields and engines while Vasco refuels.” You’d sooner die than have them anywhere near the inquisitive young girl you had onboard.

Speaking of…remembering that your two other companions were still sound asleep below deck, you hit the full-ship intercom to wake them. “Sam and Cora, strap into something down there and brace for evasive maneuvers. Five Crimson Fleet ships inbound. Repeat, Crimson Fleet ships inbound.”

Once again, there’s no signal to tell you that they heard your com, but you trusted that Sam had woken up at the very least and sprung to action. The group of ships had continued their way towards you, their hulls painted with the signature skull motif growing more visible as the distance between shortened.

With one slow inhale, and carefully controlled exhale, your hands take control of the steering and thruster throttles. The odds weren’t exactly in your favor here, but with any luck, the element of surprise will give you enough of an edge to make it through.

You weren’t about to let Cora die a gruesome death in space. You weren’t about to let Cora die at all. Fuck that and fuck these pirates.

The fleet of ships drifted closer, their speed now slowing in preparation to connect to your docking bay. Crimson Fleet ships were always designed to intimidate, and you had to admit, they were doing their job. Large guns and missile mounts alongside their hulls made for quite a threatening picture. Had this been a merchant or exploration vessel, you doubt you would have had any chance at all.

Gideon says something, but in your concentration, you don’t hear him. A few more seconds…they drift closer. You swallow, anticipation and trepidation in equal parts buzzing just under your skin.

There’s no signal or sign to cause you to engage the engines at full thrust with your boost enabled. It came out of nowhere, and the Razorleaf shoots forward out from the group of ships that had been preparing to box you in. You’re pressed back into your chair, the pressure grounding you as you spin the Razorleaf on a tilt, the distant stars shifting in your cockpit’s view.

Gideon half cursed and praised the sudden change in velocity, but otherwise remained quiet and focused at his station. Barrett was unusually silent, but you were thankful for his lack of interruption or witty quip that was so typical of him. Now wasn’t the time as you began your flight away from the pirates.

Another incoming transmission pinged on your communication array, but you simply denied it, not bothering to give the pirate anymore of your attention.

It would be too much to ask to cleanly get away from the fleet without them firing a single shot. It’s less than a minute before you see the first of the laser fire shoot past your ship and out into the space beyond. With a flick of your wrist, the Razorleaf banks and plummets below their firing line, sending them to chase you through the emptiness of the black sea.

Having Sam around had definitely improved your overall piloting ability. The man was a wonder behind a command console, and you silently thanked him for all of the skill and knowledge he’d seen fit to impart upon you on your travels together. You maneuvered the ship with ease, so familiar with its ability that it felt no more than an extension of yourself, in a way.

Your console blared to life an angry red, alerts coming at you full force. ‘Enemy Missile Locked-On’ it spat at you, and you cursed.

“Shields at 86 percent.” Barrett reported, then because he figured you’d ask, “Vasco, how long before we’re topped up?”

“Should current velocity conditions persist, refueling will take an approximate 16 minutes, 39 seconds. Recommendation: stabilize current flight trajectory to decrease time required for completion.”

You feel the rumble and impact of the missile against the ship’s shielding, but your tight grip on the steering mechanism means you barely tilt off your current course at all, weaving around empty space to throw off their targeting as best you could. 

“Shields?” You ask through gritted teeth.

“49 percent. Those things ain’t no joke.” Barrett mentioned.

“Another one of those is gonna put us in a bad spot.” Gideon mentions with worry in his tone. He’s right, though, and you know it.

With few options at your disposal, you make the realization that evading was only going to last you so long. The Razorleaf had superior shields, but under the onslaught of 5 ships’ weapons systems firing upon you at the same time, they would melt away in minutes just the same as any other ship.

Offensive action was now required.

“Gideon, divert all power from the grav drive to main weapons. Keep shields and engines at their current level.” You order, settling as best you can in your chair. “Looks like fighting is our only way out of this now.”

“Y-yes, Captain.”

She knows what she’s doing.” Barrett chipped in, just as your weapons all clicked online. “Don’t start doubting her now.”

You release a steadying breath, focusing on nothing but the impending fire fight. The throttle seems to hum in reassurance beneath your fingers, and with a resolute prayer to protect those you loved most in the deck below, you activated the boost and shot forward.

4 seconds, then 5, passed as you gained ground in front of the chasing ships. Then, right at the end of your boost, you addressed Gideon. “Cut all engine power.”

Thankfully, he didn’t voice his confusion this time, and simply followed orders. Just as the engines cut off, you jerked the throttle to the side, spinning the. Razorleaf in a free-floating turn to face your attackers. For all of 7 or 8 seconds you continued drifting forward, but space shifted in your cockpit view. This was a risky maneuver, but one that you had successfully employed before.

And then the pursuers came into view as you finished your 180 degree turn. Seeing the ships coming closer with the lasers still firing your direction, you shout once more. “Engines full power!”

The Razorleaf burst to life, the velocity once more shoving you back into the seat and propelling you forward. With a direct line on the first of the approaching ships, trigger finger clamps down on the gear like a vise, shooting the lasers from your upgraded main guns straight into those of the Crimson Fleet vessel.

“Enemy guns down.” Barrett reported proudly, but you’re already onto the one behind it by the time he finishes his sentence, managing to get a lock-on to the ship. A well-placed EM shot took down their shields, and your follow up laser blast no doubt damaged some parts of their hull on the port side.

At your current speed, you shot past them with a tilt of your steering mechanism. The whole thing lasted barely 12 seconds, but it had slowed down to what felt like a lifetime. Barrett, shields?”

“41 percent. Looks like you disabled the second ship. Only 4 more to go.” He reassured with something akin to pride in his voice. You manage a small grin, but don’t let your attention up from the stars before you.

More laser shots hit your shield and past it off into the black sea. More evasive maneuvers puts you in a better position to return fire, though it’s little more than a dogfight. Time passes strangely; what feels like an eternity is mere seconds and the span of a breath, and in the moments of breathless waiting you swear it happened in an instant.

The second ships sparks and explodes in a shower of metal debris in similar fashion to the first, your EM weapon making quick work of the shields, only to be followed up with a barrage of laser fire. Only 3 ships remained, and your shields had so far held steady at 37 percent.

Another missile lock-on warning blares across your screen, sending the adrenaline up a notch. Another boost and you’re suddenly out of range of the enemy’s targeting. Really, tangible hope begins to blossom in your chest as the third ship falls. Your wing grazes some of the debris, and you grit your teeth against the reverberation it sends through the ship.

“Fuck!” You shout, nearly colliding with one of the remaining Crimson Fleet ships as you attempt another evasive roll and bank to get away from his companion’s laser fire. Something loud bangs as you pass, and Barrett cursed under his breath just loud enough for you to hear. “Status?”

“Shields at 9 percent, Captain.” His sentence is punctuated by more laser fire, and he shakes his head at his screen. “Make that 6 percent.”

“These fuckers…” You mutter, angry that they’d been laying here in wait to begin with. Angry that the Crimson Fleet even existed. Maybe once all this artifact business was done, you’d reconsider the SYSDEF’s offer after all. At this point, you’d do anything to see them all wiped from the universe.

Another swift roll of the ship and you shoot forward through the bits of debris through one of the already destroyed ships, making sure to avoid the biggest parts just in case. Your shields wouldn’t hold up much longer, and especially not with the 2 remaining ships still firing at you. Luckily, one comes into view in your cockpit, and your EM weapon was ready to dole out its deadly effects.

This one doesn’t take out the shields, rather the engine. Just as well, you think, leaving the ship to stall out in empty space as you continue on with the last ship in pursuit. Another angry beeping sound alerts and diverts your attention.

“We’ve lost shields.” Barrett warns.

“Now or never.” You tell yourself, bracing for a risky move yet again. “Gideon, cut engines!”

Once more, you feel the Razorleaf lose momentum just as you pull up sharply on the throttle. The view of space tilts in your cockpit as you circle around to face the final working ship. You feel and hear as your ship takes damage, but you can’t focus on that until later. With another sharp order, your engines are back online and your weapons are full-blasting in the direction of the enemy ship.

Amongst the beeping on your console and the the celebration of Barrett and Gideon as the Crimson Fleet ship suffers an explosion—one of your lasers must have hit something vital—you can barely hear anything at all. Your ears ring, what from no one knows. But you sit there, adrenaline still coursing through you as you slow the ship to a more gentle velocity.

The command console still blares, but you shakily reach for the com. “Vasco, damage report.”

“Shield generator and port-side KE-42 Cannon sustained moderate damage. Left wing sustained minimal contact damage. All other ship systems nominal.”

“Any damage below deck?”

“Habitation units sustained no damage.” Then, as if he predicted what exactly you were trying to get at, he added, “Life signs for Sam Coe and Cora Coe are nominal.”

“Thank god.” You whisper to yourself, finally leaning back and unstrapping yourself from the pilot seat. “Vasco, please resume refueling the grav drive. Gideon, reroute power from weapons back to the drive, and Barrett, do an extensive scan of the area to make sure there aren’t any other ships coming to back up those ones.”

You received a smattering of affirmatives from your crew, before slumping forward in your seat. Your legs felt like jelly and the rest of you buzzed with the unused adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Barrett must have noticed your sorry state, because you feel his hand on your shoulder after a moment. When you look up, he’s smiling at you. “That was some damn good piloting.”

“Thanks.”

He gestures to the rest of the ship behind him. “Go on and have yourself a rest, Captain. Gideon and I will handle it from here.”

“But-“

“If we need you, we’ll let you know.” He implies, not giving you the option to refuse. And truthfully, in your shaken-up state, you’re in no position to either. Nodding your acceptance, you somehow manage to stand and make your way towards the ladder to the deck down below. After all of the rolling and moving, it feels strange standing and walking on a static deck. The space seems to sway around you.

However, your head spins before you make it all the way. Dizziness overtakes you, and you sink down onto your cot just feet away. The bed is firm beneath you, but it’s enough to get your bearings on. You plant your face in your hands and exhale a shaky breath, elbows propping you up on your knees.

You’d nearly lost everything. You’d nearly lost your crew. You’d nearly lost Sam and Cora. That scared you more than any number of Crimson Fleet ships baring down on you. It had been too damn close. Too fucking close for your comfort.

Another shuddering breath escapes you, ears still ringing and hollow after such an ordeal. The weight of responsibility, to protect the ones you love most, presses ever downward on your shoulders and back. It would crush you if you let it.

Instead, a gentle hand is upon your back and a gentle voice draws your thoughts from spiraling downward. “Hey. You hangin’ in there?”

It feels like too much to lift your head and look Sam in the eyes. Instead, you simply allow your muscles to shake and shudder as the last of the adrenaline leaves you in a rush. You can’t speak, words failing uselessly at the tip of your tongue. But Sam seems to understand, and simply sits beside you, rubbing smooth circles into your back.

“C’mere.” He says, pulling your arms easily until you’ve buried your face in his leather jacket and wrapped your arms around his back. Maybe he knows where your anxiety was originating, because he whispers all the reassurances he can into your ear. “We’re alright. Cora’s alright. A little motion sickness maybe, but we’re still breathin’, darlin’.”

A deep breath fills your nose with his scent. Familiar and safe and just like home. Hearing him speak, feeling his warmth and the beat of his heart underneath the layers of his clothes…you slowly begin to use them to ground yourself back to the present, away from a possible reality where you all floated lifelessly through the dark empty void of space for eternity. No, Cora was alive. Sweet Cora and her father that you held so dear.

You feel the rumble of the grav drive come to life somewhere on the ship. Vasco must have finished the refueling. That revelation does ease some of your nerves. You lift your face away just enough to speak. “It was so close, Sam.”

“Yeah, but no cigar.” You feel Sam prop his chin on your head and pull you in just that little bit closer. “Five ships…Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

“More like crazy…”

“A bit of that too, maybe.” You can practically feel the smile when he presses a kiss against your head. “But hey…Any day we aren’t space debris is a win, right?”

You sigh, deciding to let the man comfort you for once, letting go of some of the stubborn guilt that tried eating away at you. It was warm and comfortable, and right now, nothing sounded better than a nap. “Right.”

“Get some sleep, ok?” He encourages, pulling away so he can finally look you in the eyes. Pride and warmth swims behind them, and you can’t look away. Eventually you nod, and he flashes a wider smile, bringing your head closer to place another kiss, this time to your temple.

“We’ll all be here when you wake up.” Is his promise. One you know he would always keep.

[fangbangerghoul]

Fleeting Pleasures Masterpost

Tw: 18+, MDNI, violence, cursing, drug use, degradation, interrogation, murder

WC: 62,721

Chapter 1: Hemostasis

This timeline takes place somewhere in between the previous works: Settling with the Stars and Cellar Door. Our main character is learning to live a life where her past no longer has to burden them and what life means to them. They have to decide between a future with no limits or a future with stability. (Delgado, Sam Coe, MC love triangle)

Chapter 2: Hemostasis pt 2

Tensions increase as characters do not see eye to eye like they used to. Main character struggles to feel respected by her crewmates while some of them desperately just try to reconnect with MC.

Chapter 3: The Key pt 1

It has now been a couple of months since our main character has last seen or contacted her friends. What has life on the Key had in store for them? Tw: cannon violence, blood, drug and alcohol use, sexual suggestions

Chapter 4: The Key pt 2

The murder and mayhem of living on The Key can has its benefits and its disadvantages. What does this do to our main character? Tw: cannon violence, blood, drug and alcohol use, sexual suggestions

Chapter 5: Get 'Em Cowboy

It's been two months since the main character's crew members have seen her in person. What lengths will Sam and Andreja go to, to find their captain? What has Delgado found out about his Fleet members?

Chapter 6: Quien eres tu

Our main character is at her wits end and soon the jig is going to be up. This might be her end on The Key. TW: CNC, Smut, roughness, interrogation

Chapter 7: No Rest for the Wicked

Ghoul has confessed her sins to Delgado while Andreja and Sam finally have a real lead to bring themselves closer to their captain. Our characters stories are getting closer to tying back together once again and wow there are some misconceptions for both parties.

Chapter 8: Ascensionism

A whirlwind of emotions takes our characters to situations never imagined by any of them. Sam, Ghoul, Delgado. Tw: cannon violence, blood

Chapter 9: bad decisions

The aftermath of chapter 8 and how the characters are preparing themselves to move forward.

Chapter 10: Oops I Did It Again

Time is no longer linear for our characters and is moving at an alarming rate. The choices they make will decide the nearing end.

Chapter 11: Got Lost in the Game

The FINAL chapter of the Fleeting Pleasures series. It is the end of an era for Ghoul, Sam, and Delgado.

THANK YOU so much for all the readers who have subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos, commented, and stuck with this journey to the end! Your support has meant the world and I appreciate every lovely thing anyone has ever said about my story. I poured my heart, soul, and blood into this thing.

[chaoticsleepygremlin]

My captain and Sam Coe running back into the Lounge before Walter can catch up: YO WE MET WALTER'S HOT WIFE!!!!

Walter, bursting in after them, breathing hard: She has a name you two!!

My captain, continuing the bit: We met Walter's hot wife, Issa!

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Starfield

Rating: M

Pairing: f!Spacefarer x Sam Coe

Word Count: 777

bright and new

“You’re coming with me to that gala.”

She says it so matter of fact. Her voice is muffled behind the bathroom door in the captain’s cabin.

“Why me?”

“You’re Sam Coe. Your name is well known. You make the most sense.”

What does he expect her to say? Something along the lines of, you’re my favorite Sam. Or I’m in love with you Sam. Maybe not that. He’s not ready for words like that but what’s his imagination for if not fantastical thinking?

He’s perched on the couch, stuck reading and rereading the last paragraphs in A Tale of Two Cities. Eventually, he gives into his preoccupations and sets the book down. “Walter makes more sense if you ask me.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask you.”

She reappears from the bathroom and he’s never seen her like this. Well, he hasn’t seen her in a lot of formats, really. She’s usually grimed up (and she grimes up good) or in a bulky spacesuit. But this black bodycon dress with one slit up the side accents all the places that are soft. All her curves. Curves that would be accentuated wearing his hands as an accessory.

She adjusts her purple dangle earrings. “You’re staring. You okay, Sam?”

He clears his throat and lets out a small little laugh. “Just, I—well, uh.” He breathes deep. “This sounds stupid but,” he pauses and smiles, “you leave me speechless.”

“That was a whole hell of a lot of words for a speechless man.” She beckons him over. “Help me with this?”

It’s maybe two steps before he’s got the necklace in hand, fumbling with the clasp on her neck. The exposed skin is a distraction. Not to mention she smells real nice too, something light and floral.

“A thank you would have sufficed,” he blurts.

And he’s very proud of the way his voice doesn’t crack as his eyes keep roaming where they shouldn’t.

The dress is cut low—and he means very low. It would be so easy to bend her over the desk she’s already bumped up against. Shove that half of her dress aside and—

The necklace slips and he’s on hands and knees. The rim of his hat catches on her ass and tumbles to the floor too. Trying his best to recover, he smoothly snatches up both, replacing his hat and chuckling.

“Whoa, slippery little thing,” he says.

She’s got a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. He tries again with the necklace. The angle he holds himself at does not help his case when it comes to getting the damn thing on though. He’s lucky it remains in one piece, somehow. Finally, after a few long and awkward minutes, the delicate and simple chain drapes around her neck.

“There,” he says while thinking about stepping away from her.

But he just wants to linger a moment. Aka, calm himself down before she sees, very obviously, where his mind has been. She spins to face him and he’s caught in her gaze. Thankfully, there’s at least an inch between her and him or his carefully timed breathing would have been all for naught.

“Walter already has a date, by the way. I don’t know if you remember her? Gorgeous gal, goes by the name of—“

“His wife.”

“What? That’s very sexist of you Samothy Coe. Her name is Issa Eklund.”

“Uh, not fair. I was answering the first part of your question. You know, the one about remembering.” He tilts his head a little and pulls at his collar. Then lets his hand fall naturally to his side, flexing his fingers a little to gain some sense of inner composure. “And that’s definitely not my full name.”

“Hmm, I’ll keep guessing then.”

She’s reaching up and just barely brushes his face, thumbing something away. He stills under her touch. Forgets to breathe.

“There was a little piece of oatmeal in your beard. It was distracting me. Gone now.” She smiles. “I’ve got an appointment at Enhance to do my hair and makeup and I've got a suit for you ready to be picked up at the lodge when you feel like. I’ll meet you there at five and we’ll make our way to the gala.”

“I don’t have any say in this at all?”

“Of course you do. Do you object to any of my instructions? Or have a request?”

He shifts from one foot to the other, stuffing a hand in his pocket. “Well, no but—“

She kisses his cheek then, leaving him truly speechless. “I’ll see you at five, Sam.”

Gaping after her, he remembers to breathe when the door hisses closed.

[spookyspecterino]

Card Game

Sam Coe x GN! Reader

GN! Reader. They/Them Pronouns, no use of Y/N, or reader descriptions used. Reader is referred to as Captain once or twice.

Drinking, gambling, a few swear words, kissing, a little PDA

A game of blackjack with Barrett, Andreja, and Sam gets interesting.

Requested by @notyourramona. Thank you for your request I genuinely loved every second of this! 😊

Cards slap onto the table in front of you.

Barrett’s looking very pleased with himself. “That’s it, I’ve got 19.”

Sam is slow to put his own cards on the table. “Hang on there, friend.” His hand shows 20.

“You’re kidding! Again?” You’re damn near ready to eat your shoe at this point after losing so many times to him.

His grin is devilish. “Afraid so.” He looks to the pile in the middle of the table, some money and other various items are collected there. “Which means…”

“I do not have any more money to give you, Sam.” Andreja grumbles throwing her cards.

It makes Sam chuckle, even as he’s sliding the jackpot over to his side. “Doesn’t have to be money. I’ll take guns, ammo, drinks, the keys to your starship—”

“Uh oh. I see where this is going.” Barrett laughs out.

You’re laughing with him. “Somebody’s in the market for a new ship.”

“Not new.” Sam corrects, “To be more specific, yours, darlin’.”

Your face heats up to a scarlet red. Scoffing, you’re trying to play it off as Barrett giggles and Andreja grins teasingly. A sip of your iced drink isn’t enough to cool you down. “No clue why you’d want mine, you practically live on it already.”

It makes Sam grin even more. Something playful dances in his eyes. “Nothing would really change. You’d just be flying my ship.”

“Oh, I get it. Constant reminders that it belongs to you. Your ship, your rules kinda deal?”

“Something like that.”

Andreja leans over. “Please do not bet your ship, I could not live with the constant remarks he would make.”

“I have no intention of betting my baby.”

“Well then,” Sam starts, shuffling the card deck again, “What are you betting with, Captain?”

Carefully, with all eyes on you, “I bet…a full paid, one month vacation, to Paradiso.”

Everyone’s eyes light up. “Is that so? Small fortune you’re offering there.”

“I’m going to regret this, I know it.”

Sam starts dealing the cards again. “Counteroffer.”

“Go on…”

“Let’s forget money—”

You snort. “Let’s forget money, yeah, right after you run us dry.”

Andreja joins in, crossing her arms. “He forgets he is outnumbered.”

“No, no—” He holds up a hand. “I’m fully aware. My counteroffer is we forget about money and instead, losing hands take shots.” His eyes meet yours, there’s a glint to them.

“Take shots at your head?” Andreja leans in, one hand moving to her hip.

Barrett’s holding his stomach as he laughs. “Andreja, try not to be such a sore loser.”

“I am not a ‘sore loser’!”

You take a sip, still holding Sam’s playful eyes. “I like it. Let’s do it.”

Sam leans back, victorious. “The captain says yes. So, are you two in?”

Barret looks upstairs to Constellation’s bar. “Sure. Why not. I’ll get the shot glasses.”

Andreja snorts. “You are all signing your death warrant. No one can out drink me.”

She joins Barrett as he leaves, mumbling about getting the good liquor. Sam stays busy shuffling cards. “I’m surprised you agreed so quickly, given your tolerance for drinking.”

“If you’re referring to that one time on NEON, I’ve learned my lesson, thank you.”

“Oh, have you now?”

“Yes, and I’m very confident I’ll have my full memory at the end of tonight.”

His voice tilts, teasingly. “We’ll see. I’ve been going easy on you.”

“You’ve been going easy? How is that possible? And how are you so good at blackjack?”

“I was raised in Akila, what do you think we do all day?”

“Fair point.” You lean in, eyes narrowing playfully. “Maybe I’ll step up my game too.”

“You’ve got game now?”

“I’ve always had game!”

“That’s surprising, considering you’ve lost almost—”

You shift, trying to kick his leg under the table. He laughs, skillfully dodging and fighting back. You’re both reduced to kicking and fits of laughter.

Sam catches your leg in between his feet. “How about you come over and sit next to me? Don’t want you falling out of your chair after two shots.”

Your brows pinch, stubbornly. “How about—” you attempt to pull your leg free “—you come over—” He lets your leg go and you fall back, chair legs lifting off the ground. Your hands fly out trying to gain balance. He laughs so hard he almost keels over. You’re laughing and grinning too. “Shut up!”

Andreja and Barrett are back, drinks and glasses in hand. Her usual scowl is in place. “Please get a room, you two.”

“Andreja—” Barrett lightly scolds, as he sets the shot glasses down, “Let them have their fun. Just because your heart is cold and dead—”

“My heart is neither cold nor dead!”

You’re smiling, holding your shot glass out for Sam as he unscrews the liquor cap. “She just needs a stiff drink.”

Sam is grinning, topping off the shots. “She’ll get one. I’m done going easy on you all.”

“Alright, cowboy. Square up.”

. . .

“Jesus Christ, please, no more!” Your head hangs in your hands, insides churning. You’re not even drunk, the liquor just feels like a brick in your stomach. Sam is refilling your shot glass.

“Aww, what happened to all that talk about having game, Captain?” He coos from across the table.

Andreja takes her shot like a champ. “I will volunteer to take the captain’s drink, if—”

Barrett sways as he holds a hand out. “Noopee, that’s not how it works.”

“I might be willing to make an exception.” Sam says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. Out of the whole night, he’s only taken a few shots.

You sigh in defeat. “Name it.”

“Next round, if you lose, you have to do a dare from the winning hand. Which, will most likely be me.” He adds with a smirk.

“Easy. Bring it. Just don’t make me drink any more of that motor oil.”

Andreja scoffs. “Motor oil? This is one of House Va’ruun’s finest liquors, made from plants grown in complete darkness.”

“Motor oil.” You say in near perfect sync with Sam and Barrett.

The round is played, Sam grins like a fool the whole time, right up until…

“21…”

All eyes turn to Barrett. “Which means I win? Yeah—I win! Ha!” He holds his arms up, face red from the alcohol.

Sam lays his cards out in defeat. Only slightly pouting. “Alright Barrett. Andreja and I will take our shots, and you have to come up with a dare for the captain.”

Barrett doesn’t take long to blurt it out. “I want the captain to give each one of us a kiss.”

Sam chokes, mid shot. Thumping his chest to get it down the rest of the way. Andreja looks at Barrett, horrified, paused with the glass at her lips.

She’s quick to stammer out, “W-well that is up to the captain, if they consent—I would not be opposed to…I mean, it is up to them.”

Barrett turns drunkenly to face you, “Whaddya say, cap?”

A quick glance at Sam, who watches you carefully, and your mind is made up. “Fuck it, let’s go. Come ‘ere, Barrett.”

You lean over holding Barrett’s face in your hands. The man looks more than a little intimidated. At the last second you twist his face to the side and kiss his cheek roughly, smiling and laughing as he giggles and squirms.

Andreja is more relaxed, no doubt thinking she’d get the same treatment, as you turn to face her. Your hands find her shoulders and hold her still. Just as she raises a brow at you, you’re pressing your lips to hers.

It’s relatively quick, only a few seconds long, but as you separate you feel her almost chase after you. She corrects this by clearing her throat and pouring herself a shot.

When you turn to Sam, across the table, he’s wide-eyed.

Getting up from your chair, you’re rounding to his side, slowly, grinning. The look in his eyes gives his feelings away. He’s torn between nervousness and anticipation. Hands gripping his jeans.

Like a cat closing in on a bird, you stalk closer toward him. His chest is rising and falling faster. Standing above him, Sam watches you from his chair.

Putting a hand on the back, you lean in closer. “You ready, cowboy?”

“Whenever you are, darlin’.”

In a rare move of confidence, your hand finds its way to his chin. Gently pulling his face to yours. This wasn’t like kissing Andreja, it was deeper. Slower. You took your time and enjoyed it. Noses nudging together. The soft tickle of his beard on your face. It was heaven.

There was a low whistle from Barrett across the table. You meant to pull away, suddenly aware that others were watching, and you had been kissing maybe a little too long for just a dare, but Sam held you in place with a hand at the back of your neck. He took off his hat and used it as a curtain, giving you two a little privacy as he kept kissing you earnestly. When you giggled, you could feel him smile into the kiss.

Maybe it was a minute. Maybe it was five minutes. But when you noticed the lack of noise from the table, you broke the kiss to look up. Both Andreja and Barrett were gone.

Sam’s gentle, kneading hand made its way to your hip. He pulled slightly, either trying to get your attention or bring you back in. “Looks like the game’s over.”

“So it is.”

He tugs at you a little. “You, uh, wanna take this upstairs—or maybe back to the ship?”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, whispering against them, just lightly teasing. “You’re gonna have to work a little harder for that.”

Pulling away, you can feel his fingers grasping at your clothes. A silent plea to stay. “What? What do you—work harder?”

You’re walking off now, grinning. “Oh, you heard me. You’ll have to get more creative than using a dare.”

Sam’s stubborn voice follows you. “Ok, maybe I will. Just wait until I turn the charm on—give you a good smolder.”

“Good luck!”