A wip I've been playing with since I finished Sam's personal questline in Starfield, Cowboys are my weakness -o-
Enjoy!
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The bright lights of the bar were almost blinding. Men and women were enjoying themselves, most of them drinking, while some were on Aurora.
Sam looked around as he sat on the sofa, feeling a mix of curiosity and reluctance.
"Come on, Sam! You need a night off from being a dad and from your responsibilities. You don't have to do anything you don't want to! Just come out drinking with me!"
That’s what Barrett told him, but now he was off in the corner, flirting with a tall man while sipping on a martini. Sam sighed as he took a sip of his whiskey, wishing he could fully let loose but feeling the weight of fatherhood tugging at him.
A woman walked over to him with a bottle of whiskey. "Need a top-off, handsome?" she asked, her voice smooth and inviting.
“No, thank you, ma'am. My glass is still full,” he replied politely, looking up at her. A small blush appeared on his face, partly due to her striking presence.
In the shadows of the booth, she looked otherworldly. The neon lights cast a soft blue glow on her, making her emerald eyes pop against the dim atmosphere. Her smile was warm, and there was an unspoken allure that drew him in.
“Are you sure?” she said playfully, leaning closer, her perfume wrapping around him like a soft embrace.
Sam hesitated, weighing his options. This was a night meant for fun, but a small voice in his head reminded him of the responsibilities waiting for him at home. Yet, as he looked into her sparkling eyes, he felt a part of him yearning for something beyond his usual routine—something magical.
“Yes, ma'am, I’m okay,” Sam said softly, looking at her.
She pouted slightly before smiling and nodding. “Understood, sir. If you need anything, just call me over. The name's Lexi,” she said, strutting away. Her long skirt flowed with the motion of her legs, and her long black hair bounced with each step, its glitter resembling little stars in a deep black galaxy.
Sam watched her walk away, blushing slightly. The way her hips swayed was mesmerizing; her crop top held her chest almost restrictively, and her skirt was skin-tight, flaring out wide around her thighs. As she moved, a sense of confidence radiated from her, making it hard for Sam to look away. The combination of her carefree attitude and the stylish outfit left a lasting impression, pulling him into a daydream about possibilities.
Sam Coe X GN Captain (spoiler for a random interaction in space)
Budding relationship (short sentimental snippet)
“Is it true captains have someone in every port? You know a special someone. For l’amor. Or s-,”
“You don’t have to answer that!”
“Oh, I think the captain absolutely has to answer this question.” Sam chimed in. The grin was evident in his voice, making the captain flush. “This is going to be good.” Apparently he’d also been listening to the previous questions where they’d given the most noncommittal answers possible to what could only be described as the most bullshit romanticized versions of space travel ever asked. Captain mentally face-palmed, horrified at who else might be on comms right now, too.
Suddenly desperate to stop before anyone could dig further, a quick “It’s been nice to meet you all!” was sent out.
The tour guide for the Faraday Budget Tours hurried to cut off intercoms and send over some credits. Captain was just as glad to never see the Tour ship again. In fact, she had the idea to start keeping the grav drive powered on just enough that they could jump within two seconds if she ever saw them again. Hell, maybe a new reactor so she could designate enough to jump in a second flat.
“Who’s driving next?” It was close enough to shift change…and honestly whatever was left (even if it had been hours) would have been covered, no matter who had been in the pilots seat as long if they’d put up with that. Even Vasco. Actually Vasco might have handled all that the best. Maybe he should be put on comms screening in this sector of space…
When Barrett accepted his position in the pilots seat (his chuckling earning him a glare), the Captain checked in with everyone still awake before heading to the newly installed Captains quarters. It was still new, and still being unpacked and made into a simple home, but it had been obviously needed.
At first even Sam had thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to squeeze into the same bunk some nights, but the reality had quickly set in between Sam’s abundant body heat, one or both rolling off the side at the slightest direction changes, even the feeling of others being too close for the new couple to really have any kind of intimate moment.
Now Sam was sitting on the edge of the full-sized bed, leaning back on wide arms with an all-too-pleased look on his face.
“So, Captain,” he drawled. “Should we have a talk about the many, many ports we end up in? Or maybe a special someone?” He was leaning back on his arms, the picture of Freestar cockiness. It only got worse when he heard the exaggerated sigh and wry smirk that graced his captain’s face.
“You know perfectly well no one is waiting for me at any port, Coe.” Not much had happened, but somehow the words sounded tired. “The one’s who matter are usually on this ship with me. One’s got her face in any book she can get her hands on. The other is looking damn good on my bed, right now.”
Sometimes it was hard to really see any color change on his face. He’d done a good job of getting his beard high enough to hide anything, but now it was too easy. His cheeks had turned a ruddy red and he had to take a second to look all around the room before finally looking at the one before him again.
“Have I told you today just how lucky I am to have you? I know this just started, but damn does it feel like the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” He’d said different versions of the same thing before. It seemed like after the confession in front of Solomon Coe, Sam had gotten the courage to say everything he seemed to have been piling up for who knows how long. He never seemed to lack anything encouraging, sweet, and almost sickeningly poetic anytime the Captain asked.
It still made his partner blush every time, and there was no hiding that from anyone, much to the rest of the crews delight. They had been trying to keep their budding relationship quiet, but it had become obvious lately that everyone knew.
“I can make something even better happen, if you’re up for a bit of action,” the suggestion was met with an even more sheepish grin and a quick tug had them quickly joined together while sheets and clothes were flipped through the air in utter chaos.
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”.
sam is so vocal in bed. he's a fuck baby, what're you doin to me? kinda guy, a low, visceral moan deep in your ear when he pushes into you for the first time. it's a bit of a problem when you're on the ship, trying to keep him quiet enough not to be heard, but when you catch those little glimmers of privacy, it is heaven.
he rarely uses your real name, in or out of bed, preferring m'love or darlin' or baby. he loves it when you say his name, though, caught on a sigh that tickles his ear when he touches you oh so softly.
he acts like a man starved when it comes to your touch. any touch, though you'll never find a more peaceful sam than one cuddling you while you give him gentle scalp scratches. he likes contact with you, tangling you fingers under the table at the lodge during meetings or running a finger up and down your arm when you're sitting together at the bar.
his self appointed purpose in life is to keep his girls safe. you and cora are his universe, and he's fiercely protective of both of you. he's a where is my wife kind of man, a get your hands off her soul. he'll drop 15 spacers where they stand for trying to hurt you, then he'll growl mine into your ear a thousand times over while he claims you body and soul.
sam coe cannot believe his luck. he wakes up to the sight of you sleeping soundly beside him and wonders what he did to deserve you. sometimes he worries that you're too good for him, that he never will truly deserve you, but he sees the way your eyes light up just as bright when your eyes fall on him, and he knows all he can ever do to be enough is keep that light shining forever. it's his offering to humanity, really, being the only one to make you smile like that.
a/n: oh no i've fallen for this man and i can't get up. anyways, i now write fics for sam coe x reader, so if you have any requests send em in! i have a few ideas i'm gonna work on soon, but these headcanons wouldn't leave me alone so i'm letting them loose to bug you guys too
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.”
Chapter 4 of Through the Star Field for You is live!
Read on AO3 →
Ash touches down in Akila expecting a dusty errand. What she gets instead:
🤠 A hostage standoff
💔 A daddy issues showdown
🔥 A gang shootout
🌌 An artifact-induced collapse (romantic tension intensifies)
…and maybe a little emotional whiplash.
Sam Coe is funny, heroic, and far too soft on our girl, whether he wants to be or not.
Ash is sharp, brave, and definitely not catching feelings. Nope. Not even a little. Certainly not while bantering in bars, surviving shootouts, and accidentally winning over his daughter. 👀
If you like:
slow burn space cowboys
Starfield canon woven into deep emotional ties
a strong female lead with secrets of her own
…you might just love this one.
💫 I update this Starfield fic + my Witcher Eskel romance fic every weekend
📚 Reblogs help so much and make my space nerd heart happy
Chapter 4-Akila Landing & Family Baggage
The dusty skyline of Akila stretched below them like a faded painting—bone-dry hills, golden light flaring off rooftops, and the spired silhouette of Freestar Collective flags flapping over the gates. It reminded her of Texas in some weird way. The Frontier’s landing gear hissed as the ship settled into the pad with a muted clang.
Ash braced herself as the hull adjusted to atmospheric pressure. Her shoulder bumped against Sam’s in the cockpit, but neither moved away. The silence between them was almost comfortable now. Almost.
Sam cleared his throat. “Hey… about what you heard earlier.” His voice was low, worn smooth around the edges. “That comms call with Lillian. I didn’t mean for you to… well, hear that.”
Ash tilted her head. “Sam, your ex-wife called you a ‘wandering dust-licker with a martyr complex.’ Pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear that either, but here we are.”
He grimaced. “Yeah. That’s her being… generous.”
“I’ve heard worse,” she said lightly, though there was no mockery in her tone.
Sam gave her a sidelong glance, watching her profile as she stared out the viewport. “Still. You didn’t sign up for domestic baggage.”
Ash shrugged. “Everyone’s got baggage. Yours just happen to yell over open comms.”
He barked out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re not wrong.”
She offered him a half-smile, then nodded toward the city below. “So. This is your hometown?”
He leaned forward, elbow propped on the console as if the view required commentary. “Akila City. Home of well-made guns and self-righteous politics. And me, apparently.”
Ash narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Walter said you're some sort of celebrity here or something?”
He grimaced again, like it physically pained him to talk about. “Solomon Coe was my great-grandfather. He's the Founder of the Freestar Collective. Bit of a legend around here. They built statues and everything. Real heroic rebel stuff.”
Ash blinked. “Sooo... you’re basically space cowboy royalty?”
He scoffed. “More like a walking PR problem. Local celebrity with a bad attitude.”
“You ever get mobbed by admirers at the market?” she teased. “Or wake up to find someone’s named their pet Ashta after you?”
Sam chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “You’d be surprised. Got asked to sign a bra once. Lady was seventy if she was a day.”
Ash burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did. Can’t disrespect the elders.”
Ash was still giggling as she stood, grabbing her gear. The ship’s ramp began to lower with a hiss of steam and metal.
“Well,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “if we run into more fangirls, I’ll be sure not to shield you.”
"Rude." Sam’s grin softened into something warmer, quieter. “Reckon I’m more worried about how you’ll do around all this.”
Ash met his gaze. “I can handle a crowd, Coe. Besides—you're the one with the groupies.”
He hesitated a second longer than necessary, then stepped aside to let her go first down the ramp.
“You lead the way then, hotshot.”
Ash descended into the wind and sunlight of Akila.
***
Akila City hit Ash like a wall of dust and sun-bleached wood. The air was dry, and the streets were streaked with half-dried mud from last night’s storm—more muck than sand, and more sullen than lively. No animals roamed the paths, no wandering livestock—just a low buzz of tension hanging in the air.
As they came around the corner past the General Store, she caught sight of the barricades first—crates, barrels, hastily thrown-up steel mesh. Armed lawmen crouched behind cover, weapons drawn, all eyes fixed on the two-story stone face of GalBank.
“What the hell?” Ash murmured.
Sam was already moving. He picked out the oldest of the lawman, a grizzled man in a long coat with an iron-set jaw and a faded silver badge. Sam approached, hands visible but confident.
“Marshal Blake,” Sam called. “What’s going on?”
The lawman straightened just enough to scowl. “Well, if it ain't Sam Coe. We’ve got ourselves a hostage situation. Don't suppose you came to pick up the badge again?”
Sam smiled and shook his head. “No, I'm here on Constellation business. How many inside?” Sam asked.
“Three robbers, heavily armed. Went sideways fast—one of the tellers took a hit to the leg. At least five hostages still breathing. They're holed up behind the main desk.”
Ash moved closer, eyes scanning the scene. Her voice was even. “You got anyone trying to talk them down?”
Marshal Blake looked her over, unimpressed. “Lady, I don’t know who you are, but we’ve got trained men on this. Last thing I need is a civilian making it worse.”
Sam stepped in, but Ash raised a hand—cool, calm. “I’m with Constellation,” she said. “Name’s Ash. I’ve talked people out of worse. You send in a squad with rifles, someone’s going to die. Let me try first. I'm sure you know Constellation's reputation.”
Blake squinted at her. “You trained for negotiations?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I’ve been in hostage situations before.”
Sam was watching her now, head tilted, something unreadable in his expression.
“You walk in there and they panic, it’s on you,” Blake warned.
“Understood.”
“No weapons. Open comms only.”
Ash handed over her pistol without hesitation. “Deal.”
She turned to Sam, gave him a look that said trust me, even if she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted herself.
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “They need someone calm. And we need in that bank.”
He gave her a crooked, not-at-all-comfortable smile. “Don’t get shot.”
Ash crouched beside the bank where the comm box was attached, just outside the doors. She opened the comms, which was already crackling with the sound of angry, nervous breathing on the other end.
“This is Ash with Constellation,” she said, voice low and even. “The Marshall said you wanted someone not on the Rangers' payroll. I’m here to help you walk out of this alive.”
Then a voice snarled back. “We didn’t mean to shoot him, alright? He reached for the damn alarm!”
“Okay,” Ash said gently. “So let’s not make it worse.”
“He’s alive, isn’t he? He’s breathing!”
“Good. That means you still have a shot at walking out without blood on your hands.”
Another voice chimed in, younger, shakier. “We didn’t come here to kill anyone.”
Ash’s tone didn’t waver. “Then don’t. You’ve got a window right now to de-escalate. Nobody else is hurt, and if you cooperate, that makes a difference.”
“They’re gonna throw us in a cell either way.”
“Probably,” Ash said honestly. “But a short sentence is better than a body count. You cooperate now, you’ve got a case for leniency. Judges look at stuff like that.”
No response.
She pressed her advantage. “Be real with me—how many hostage takers have you heard of getting out with a ship full of credits and not getting shot in the back?”
A long pause.
“You’ve got no clean escape. This isn’t a movie. It’s three of you and a room full of scared people in there and itchy trigger fingers out here. You push it, people die—and then the only thing you’ll get is a bullet or a longer sentence.”
The static shifted. Then: “If we come out now, they won’t shoot us?”
Ash turned to Blake, who gave a curt nod. “They’ll hold fire,” she confirmed into the mic. “Hands up. No sudden moves.”
A beat.
“Alright,” the voice muttered. “We’re coming.”
Two minutes later, the doors creaked open. Three sweaty, dust-streaked figures shuffled out, hands raised. One was crying. The others looked more numb than angry.
The marshals swarmed in behind them. The hostages were rushed out, mostly unharmed. The whole street exhaled.
Ash's legs felt weirdly loose now, like the adrenaline was only just catching up.
Marshal Blake gave her a look of grudging respect. “Not bad, Constellation.”
Ash shrugged. “They needed an outside perspective and someone to be real with them.”
Sam walked up beside her, expression soft.
“Didn’t even raise your voice,” he said, admiration clear in his tone.
Ash looked over at him, a flicker of mischief behind her exhaustion. “See? I can keep my cool.”
He smiled a little warmer than necessary. “I noticed.”
The sounds of the city started to return around them—boots on wood, murmurs rising. But for a moment, Ash just stood there, grounded in the stillness, with Sam beside her and the sun finally breaking through the clouds overhead.
***
The hostage situation was over, but the adrenaline still lingered like smoke. Across the square from GalBank, an outdoor bar had reopened its counter—rough wood tables shaded by rusted tin awnings, the smell of fried something hanging on the breeze.
Ash nursed a local lager, the bottle sweating in her hand. Sam sat across from her, boots propped on the edge of her chair like it was second nature, one arm hooked over the backrest.
“Well,” he said, tipping his bottle toward her, “you made quite the impression back there.”
Ash arched a brow. “You mean I didn’t get shot. High bar.”
“Nah. I mean you talked down three twitchy kids with automatic rifles and didn’t even break a sweat.”
She smirked. “That you saw.”
He laughed, low and warm. “Fair. Still—Marshal Blake hasn’t stopped grumbling about how you made him look bad. That’s basically a medal in Akila.”
Ash glanced around after yet another local said hi to Sam. “Everyone here seems to know you.”
Sam shrugged. “Small town. Big Coe legacy.”
“You ever get tired of being recognized?”
He took a long sip, eyes scanning the rooftops like they held old memories. “Used to love it. Then I started getting into trouble—bar fights, midnight races, one very unfortunate incident with a crate of stolen spice and a goat. The shine wore off.”
Ash laughed into her drink. “Please tell me the goat survived.”
“Thrived. Lived better than I did for a while.”
They lapsed into a companionable silence, broken only by the lazy clink of bottles and the distant buzz of post-crisis cleanup. Eventually, a lawman gave the all-clear nod from the bank’s front steps.
Sam stood, downing the rest of his drink. “Ready?”
“Lead the way, your majesty,” Ash said, sweeping an arm with mock reverence.
Inside GalBank, the tension had drained. Dust floated in shafts of afternoon light. The vault lay open now—rows of old safes humming quietly.
They each held a key, matching it against the lock numbers on the doors.
“Used to come down here as a kid,” Sam said absently, testing another door. “Hide from my dad. Pretend I was on a treasure hunt.”
Ash glanced at him. “Did you ever find anything?”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Yeah. Trouble. Every time.”
Her key slid into a lock at the far end. It clicked.
Inside: a single folded note, old and worn, the ink still sharp.
Ash read it once, then again. Her expression shifted.
“Sam,” she called, voice soft but clear. “Over here.”
He joined her, taking the note from her hands. As he read, his face hardened—shoulders going taut, jaw clenching like it hurt.
“I know where this leads,” he said quietly.
Ash studied him. “Who’s Jacob?”
Grimacing, he said, "Not important."
"Um, well, he took the maps and left a note saying to come get them from him in person. I'd say you two have history and id say it's not great. I have a right to know what I'm walking into."
Sam hesitated. Then, with visible reluctance: “My father.”
Ash blinked. “The one who left the note?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t want me to know.”
“No,” he admitted. “Don’t want anyone to know about our bad blood. Especially not you.”
Ash leaned a hip against the vault wall, watching him. “You think I’d judge you for daddy issues? Try growing up on a dig site surrounded by spiders the size of your face and a dad more obsessed with relics than raising his daughter.”
He looked at her, and something in his posture softened. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, genuine and a little helpless.
“You ever gonna stop surprising me?” he asked.
Ash tilted her head. “Someone has to keep you on your toes lest the 'celebrity' go to your head.”
He laughed.
The moment stretched between them—quiet, charged, just long enough for both of them to feel the shift.
Then Sam folded the note, tucking it into his pocket. “Come on. If we’re going to face Jacob Coe, we might as well do it before I change my mind.”
Ash fell into step beside him, her shoulder brushing his.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m good at translating grumpy old men.”
He gave a wry smile. “Then you’re about to meet the final boss.”
They left the vault together.
***
The house was nicer than Ash expected—polished sandstone walls, dark paneled windows, a real wood door with inlaid brass. It sat a few blocks up from the main square, tucked behind a trimmed hedge and a privacy gate that seemed more decorative than defensive.
Sam stared at it with the same expression one might reserve for a hangover or a loaded weapon.
“You good?” Ash asked, stepping beside him.
He didn’t answer at first. Just reached up and knocked.
Moments later, the door swung open. A tall man filled the threshold—silver hair swept back, sun-lined face, arms folded like he was born disappointed. His gaze landed on Sam and narrowed.
“Well,” Jacob Coe said. “Didn’t expect you to come knocking like a goddamn vagabond.”
Sam’s jaw ticked. “Nice to see you too, Dad.”
“You’ve got two minutes,” Jacob said, turning without invitation and walking back inside.
Ash followed Sam in, noting the clean lines and expensive furniture. Everything looked curated. Cold.
“You got the note,” Jacob said flatly, not turning around.
Sam stepped forward. “What the hell were you thinking? Leaving a message like that—dragging strangers into our crap?”
Jacob rounded on him. “You think I want strangers poking into this mess? Maybe if you’d answered one of my calls or brought my granddaughter by—”
Sam’s voice rose. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to call to argue with you? Because that's all we ever do. And if you think I'm bringing my daughter here to get twisted up by you like you did me, you've got another thing coming!”
Jacob barked a bitter laugh. “I only want what was best for her!”
“Like hell you did—”
“Enough,” Ash said, firmly but not loudly. She stepped between them and touched Sam’s arm, grounding him with a light pressure. He flinched at first, then slowly exhaled.
“Mr. Coe,” she said, meeting Jacob’s eyes. “We’re not here for a family reunion. We’re here for the maps.”
He crossed his arms. “And why should I hand them over to the both of you?”
“Because we’ll keep showing up until we get them,” Ash replied, calm as still water. “And because dragging this out just gives both of you more chances to say something you’ll regret.”
Jacob didn’t speak, but his eyes sharpened. Listening.
Ash pressed on. “You hand over the maps, we leave. You get your house back. Your peace and quiet. You get to be the bigger man. And maybe, someday, if things start to shift… it goes a long way toward showing Sam you’re capable of giving instead of pushing.”
A flicker passed across Jacob’s expression—too fast to pin down. Regret, maybe. Guilt. Something human.
“And Cora,” Ash added, softer now. “You want to see her again? Bridges only build one direction at a time.”
Silence stretched. The old man sighed, then walked to a locked drawer near his desk. He retrieved a thin black leather folder and slid it across the table toward Sam.
“That’s everything I had. Coordinates, notes. Take it.”
Sam looked stunned for half a breath, then scooped it up. “Thank you,” he said, clipped but not cruel.
Ash turned to follow him out.
At the door, Sam paused, then turned back. “You didn’t make it easy. But… thanks.”
Jacob gave a short nod. “Don’t make it worse.”
Outside, the sun had slipped lower, casting long shadows over the clay-brick street. They walked a few paces in silence.
Then Sam reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze.
“That was... embarrassing. But you were good in there,” he said. “Better than I deserved.”
Ash squeezed back. “Don’t get used to it.”
He smirked.
She winked.
And they walked on.
***
The descent into the valley came with a hush that raised the hairs on Ash’s arms. Even the wind had gone still. The outpost sat low, tucked between two broken ridges like it was hiding from the sky. A few prefab buildings leaned at odd angles, reinforced with rusted scaffolding and slats of scavenged metal. Ash counted two turrets—one on the far ridge, another mounted high above a solar array.
“Shaw’s gang,” Sam said, voice barely audible. “They hole up here between jobs.”
Ash dropped to one knee and raised her new rifle, the one they'd bought together this morning with her signing bonus. “Cozy.”
He crouched beside her. “Not sure cozy’s the word I'd use. You ever take down an automated turret?”
"Nope," she murmured. “First time for everything.”
Sam gave her a sidelong look. “Right. Academic with a body count.”
She shrugged. “I’ll take the left ridge. Cover me?”
His grin was grim and quick. “Always.”
She moved fast and low, navigating the rocky incline with practiced grace. The scope found her target—first the snipers patrolling the rooftops, then the turret’s exposed energy core. She timed the shot between its idle rotations. One hit. Sparks. Smoke. It sputtered out like a dying breath.
Sam moved when she did—sweeping in from the opposite side as gunfire cracked in the air. A hail of bullets tore into the path where she’d just stood. Ash dropped behind a low wall and returned fire, taking out the second turret with a clean double-tap.
A gang member rushed her from the flank—she picked up her pistol and fired with one hand without hesitation. The old sidearm Sam had given her kicked harder than she expected, but the outlaw dropped.
Sam vaulted a crumbling platform, tackled another fighter mid-swing, and elbowed him in the gut hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He dispatched the last one with a sweep and a shot to the thigh.
They swept through the camp, picking up ammo and provisions along the way, until every last outlaw lay unmoving.
Ash met him near the entrance to the cave, breath still quick, adrenaline still hot.
“Clear,” he said, spinning the chamber of his pistol to check rounds.
She raised a brow. “Is this like a normal day in Akila city, shootouts and family feuds?”
“Only the good ones,” he shot back, running a hand through his dust-streaked hair, then re-situating his hat.
Ash holstered the pistol and looked past him, toward the gaping dark mouth of the cave.
“Let’s see what was worth bleeding over.”
Sam nodded, falling into step beside her.
They crossed the threshold together.
***
The silence in the cave felt oppressive.
Ash moved ahead of Sam, her boots scuffing softly against the stone. The deeper they went, the more the walls seemed to narrow and smooth—unnaturally so, like something had shaped them on purpose. Not tools. Not hands.
The light came first—soft, flickering, like starlight caught in water.
Then the hum.
Subtle, melodic. A vibration that settled into her bones, her teeth, her lungs.
Sam stopped beside her, his breath catching as the artifact came into view. It sat at the heart of the cave, nestled in a cradle of stone—glowing faintly, its surface shifting like liquid metal and glass.
He didn’t move. “Ain't that a thing of beauty?”
Ash stepped closer. Her fingers tingled. Her head buzzed—not pain, but… recognition.
Sam's voice came quiet. “You get the honors.”
She turned to him, hesitating.
“You sure?”
He nodded, though his throat worked like it cost him something. “Go ahead.”
Ash approached.
Each step felt heavier than the last, like gravity knew what she was about to do. The air thickened. She stretched out her hand—
—And the moment her skin touched the surface, the world fell away.
Music.
Not just sound, but color. Meaning. A symphony of stars echoing through her skull.
Light.
A burst behind her eyes, ancient and blinding. She wasn’t just in the cave—she was everywhere. Orbiting distant moons. Walking through dust storms on Mars. Lying on a rooftop under a double sunset with a man whose face she couldn't fully see.
Memory.
Not hers. Fractured glimpses of other versions of her. Other lives. Other choices.
And Sam.
Again and again—reaching for her.
She opened her mouth to scream, but there was no breath to give it shape.
Then... nothing.
***
The glow faded.
Ash’s body slumped to the stone like a marionette with its strings cut—hard and graceless, her limbs splayed, her chest barely rising.
Sam caught her before her head struck the ground.
“Hey,” he said, panic fraying his voice as he dropped to his knees. “Ash—Ash, come on.”
She was too still. Too pale.
He cupped the back of her neck, easing her onto his lap, his thumb brushing gently along her temple. Dust clung to her lashes. Her skin felt clammy under the cavern’s cool air.
“Ash,” he whispered, softer this time. “You gotta wake up.”
No response. Just that eerie, cavernous silence. The kind that made you feel like the world was holding its breath.
Then—her lashes fluttered.
“Was…” Her voice cracked, rough and low. “Was that your idea of a first kiss? Sleeping Beauty... whatnot.”
Sam barked out a laugh, all breath and relief. “Wasn’t gonna say it, but you do make a damn dramatic damsel.”
Ash blinked up at him, trying to focus. “Did I pass out?”
“Right after touching the glowy death rock. Yeah.” His voice wavered on the last word. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I think I saw the whole damn universe,” she muttered.
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek.
“You scared me,” he said quietly. “One second you were there—and the next…”
Ash’s brow furrowed. “You were calling me.”
“Damn right I was.”
She swallowed hard. “I didn’t think I was coming back.”
Sam’s jaw flexed. “Yeah, well… you did. And you’re not alone.”
They looked at each other and, for a second, neither reached for a joke or a mask. Just two people reeling in the aftermath of something vast and unexplainable.
Ash reached up, touching his wrist lightly. “You okay?”
“Hell no,” he said, but he smiled. “But you’re awake. So I’ll live.”
A silence stretched—not empty, but full.
Then, gently, he helped her sit up, keeping a steady hand at her back.
Ash glanced toward the artifact, its light now a dull.
“I don’t know what it did to me,” she said. “But it felt… familiar.”
Sam nodded, his fingers brushing down her arm as if grounding her. “Whatever it was, we’ll figure it out.”
Together hung between them—unsaid, but thick in the space.
She didn’t pull away.
And he didn’t let go.
***
Ash and Sam stepped into the fading light, the air sharp after the cave’s dense stillness. The sky was blushed gold, clouds tinged rose, and the surrounding ridges cast long shadows across the ravine. Ash’s breath still hitched a little—residual from the vision, from the moment she nearly didn’t wake.
Sam stayed close, not touching, but near enough that she could feel the heat off him.
Then the shout came.
“Well, hell,” a woman’s voice rang out, smooth and vicious. “Look what crawled out with the treasure.”
Ash’s head snapped toward the mouth of the ravine. There, flanked by at least half a dozen gang members, stood a tall woman with short-cropped hair, a long coat, and a rifle slung casually across her shoulder. Shaw.
Sam muttered, “Figures.”
Ash raised both hands slowly, palms out. “Let’s not turn this into something messy.”
Shaw snorted. “Darlin’, this was messy the moment you stepped on our turf. Whatever you found in that cave belongs to me.”
“It was never yours,” Ash said evenly.
“Doesn't really matter what you think.”
Ash glanced at the men surrounding Shaw—tired, edgy. Not quite itching for blood, but primed. She pitched her voice low, calm. “You fire on us now, it ends ugly. The kind of ugly that gets remembered. But if you walk away, no one needs to know you were even here.”
Shaw raised a brow. “You tryin’ to talk me down?”
“I talked down three twitchy robbers this morning before I’d had coffee,” Ash said. “You really wanna test my win streak?”
Shaw smiled—slow and dangerous. “Got a mouth on you.”
“She’s got more than that,” Sam said coolly. “Walk away, Shaw.”
"Well well, Sam Coe. Akila's prodigal son returns." Her and the men behind her laughed.
The two groups stared each other down.
And then the ground shook.
A scream tore through the silence—a shrill, ear-splitting roar—and out of the brush behind Shaw’s gang came the first Ashta, all scales and claws and primal fury.
“Shit!” Shaw barked, spinning around just as the creature pounced.
Everything exploded at once.
Ash dropped into a crouch and pulled her pistol. Sam was already firing, cutting down an Ashta bounding from the ridgeline.
Chaos reigned.
One of Shaw’s men was dragged off screaming. Another shot blindly into the trees.
Ash darted forward, grabbing Shaw’s arm and yanking her out of the path of a charging Ashta, before shooting it between the eyes. “Get to cover!”
Shaw shoved her off with a growl, but retreated behind a rock outcrop. “We’re square,” she shouted. “We’re damn square!”
Sam and Ash moved as one—back to back, dodging claws, firing in short bursts, covering each other like instinct.
The fight ended as fast as it began.
Five Ashta lay dead. The rest scattered into the underbrush, leaving blood and churned dirt in their wake.
When the dust settled, Shaw and her remaining crew were already backing off—bloodied, but alive.
Shaw gave Ash one last look—not a glare, not quite. Something closer to appraisal.
“Next time,” she said, voice rough. “I won’t be so polite.”
Ash gave a half-smile. “Next time, maybe you bring better back up.”
"I did. You already killed them." Shaw barked a short, humorless laugh, then disappeared into the trees with her crew limping behind her.
Ash let out a long breath and looked at Sam.
“Just once,” she said, “I’d like a quiet walk out of a cave.”
Sam smiled, blood-splattered and winded. “Then you probably picked the wrong job.”
They stood in the silence that followed—alone now, and alive.
And for the first time in hours, the sky above them felt wide again.
***
The hum of the ship was softer now—less engine, more heartbeat.
Ash stood at the galley counter, her damp hair wrapped in a towel, steam still clinging faintly to her skin. Clean, finally. The grit of the cave, the smoke from the fight, the copper tang of blood—they’d all been rinsed away.
She’d stowed her gear, changed into something loose and soft. Now she sat cross-legged on the common room floor, a datapad balanced between her and Cora, who was already giggling at a story involving a clumsy robot and a very opinionated cat.
“—just then the cat hit the override switch with its tail,” Ash read, eyebrows raised dramatically, “and the whole cargo bay went whooooosh into vacuum.”
Cora snorted with laughter. “That cat is so me.”
Ash nudged her with a foot. “You launching cargo bays out the airlock on weekends?”
“Maybe,” the girl said smugly. "Don't tell dad."
"I won't if you won't," Ash replied with a wink.
Sam leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, just… watching. There was a softness in his face that hadn’t been there when they left Akila—a quiet, unguarded quality that flickered to life when he found the two of them like this.
Ash looked up, caught him looking, and tilted her head.
“You staring, cowboy?”
He pushed off the frame and wandered over. “Just appreciatin’ the view.”
Cora rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Adults. Gross.”
Ash laughed. “You’re not wrong.”
He gave Cora’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Alright, bug. Time for you to finish your homework. Don't think I didn't notice the assignment you skipped.”
Cora mock-groaned but handed over the datapad. “Fine. But that essay is so boring.”
“It still has to be finished,” Sam shot back.
“Dictator,” she muttered, padding toward the aft hallway.
When she was gone, Ash stood, stretching her arms overhead. “She’s quick,” she said. “Reminds me of someone.”
Sam arched a brow. “Careful. I might take that as a compliment.”
“Take it how you like,” Ash said, brushing past him toward the cockpit.
A beat.
“You ever flown this bird?” he asked.
“Not really,” she admitted. “Only a brief lesson from Sarah. It was mostly me watching her tap buttons while lecturing me about patience.”
He stepped behind her as she dropped into the pilot’s chair. The stars stretched out in lazy arcs across the viewport. “Then it’s time for a real lesson.”
"Lets start off with steering." He reached around her, fingers tapping commands on the dash. His arm brushed her shoulder, then settled casually along the back of the chair—close enough that she felt the warmth of him, smelled the lingering trace of soap and something woodsy.
Ash adjusted her grip on the controls, acutely aware of how near he was.
“You smell good,” she said, not looking at him.
A pause.
Then his grin, slow and amused, beside her ear: “Don’t go distractin’ your instructor now.”
“Sorry,” she murmured. “Can’t help it. I’m very responsive to olfactory cues.”
“Big words,” he teased. “You tryin’ to flirt or pass a science exam?”
“Little column A, little column B.”
He didn’t move away. Instead, he shifted just slightly to guide her hands over the flight stick, his breath warm on her neck as he murmured course adjustments. Together, they guided the Frontier into a wide, graceful arc around Akila’s outer orbit.
Stars spilled across the glass. The world fell away behind them.
For a few minutes, it was just the hush of space and the quiet tension between them—something steady and building, like the stretch before gravity lets go.
“You’re a natural,” Sam said softly. “Flyin’ like it’s in your blood.”
Ash didn’t answer right away.
She just looked out at the stars, wondering—maybe it was.
And beside her, Sam stayed where he was, close but not pressing, his presence a steady tether in the blackest sea.
***
Sam hadn’t moved far. He leaned against the console, arms crossed, content to watch.
“You sure you haven’t flown this thing before?” he asked.
Ash smiled faintly. “What, and ruin my reputation as an amateur?”
“Serious question,” he said, stepping forward. “You fly like you’ve done it a hundred times.”
Ash’s fingers hovered over the throttle. She stared out the viewport, brows furrowed just slightly.
“Feels like I have,” she said quietly.
Before he could answer, the comms snapped to life—Sarah’s voice, sharp and urgent, filling the cabin.
“Sam, Ash. We’ve got a situation. Message just came in—Barrett may be trouble. We need you both back at the Lodge ASAP.”
Ash jolted upright. The atmosphere shifted in a breath—warmth replaced by alert tension.
Sam stepped toward the console, already checking their course. “What kind of trouble?” he asked.
“No details yet,” Sarah replied. “But it’s urgent.”
The comms cut.
Ash’s fingers were already moving, flipping switches, plotting coordinates. Sam hesitated only a second—then stepped back and nodded.
“Take us in.”
She looked at him, surprised. “You’re sure?”
“You’ve got this,” he said. “Fly us home.”
Ash adjusted the course with practiced ease, guiding the ship into a sharp curve toward orbit exit. The stars shifted, the blue haze of the atmosphere giving way to the shimmer of re-entry.
Sam watched her from the co-pilot’s chair, pride clear in his expression—but something else, too. Wonder. Maybe even awe.
“You really fly like it’s second nature.”
Ash didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes stayed on the horizon as it rolled into view.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she murmured. “But… it feels like something I lost. And now it’s coming back.”
Sam didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
The ship slipped through the stratosphere, cutting back toward the Lodge and whatever waited for them below.
***
The warmth of The Lodge hit Ash like a balm.
Worn wood beneath her boots. The low hum of conversation in the next room. Somewhere, someone was playing soft guitar over the speakers. After the sun-scorched firefight and whatever strange current had passed through her body in that cave, this place felt... grounded. Human.
She’d barely said a word after returning. Just slipped the new artifact into the Armillary, where it joined the others with that now-familiar hum and slow orbit. The second it settled into place, her shoulders slumped—not in defeat, but fatigue. Muscles aching. Fingertips still tingling like she'd been holding onto lightning too long.
“Hey,” Sarah’s voice cut through the quiet, gentle, observant. “You alright?”
Ash nodded once. “Fine. Just sore. Long day.”
Sarah eyed her, unimpressed. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
“Hang on.” Sarah disappeared down the hall and returned with a sleek metal tin. “Muscle balm. Lavender, eucalyptus, and something from Neon I’m not allowed to ask questions about. Run a bath. Use a scoop. Twenty minutes—no more, or you’ll see God.”
Second soak in one day. Worth it.
Ash cracked a tired smile and accepted it. “Much appreciated.”
“Seriously. Twenty-one minutes and you’ll start floating.”
“I’ll set a timer.”
Across the room, Sam stood near the hearth with Walter, drink in hand, posture relaxed but eyes still sharp. He wasn’t fidgeting exactly—but he hadn’t stopped watching the hallway since Ash disappeared into it.
“She dropped like a stone,” he said, voice quiet enough not to carry far, but just loud enough for Walter to hear. “Touched the artifact, then just—out.”
Walter frowned. “Out, like unconscious?”
Sam nodded once. “Yeah. Not breathing weird or anything. Just… gone. Cold, dead weight. Woke up a minute later, making jokes.”
Walter glanced toward the Armillary, then back. “You think she saw something?”
Sam’s thumb ran along the edge of his glass. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But it felt different. Like something hit her, deep.”
Sarah rejoined them, keeping her voice down. “Noel’ll run a few tests tomorrow. She didn't show any signs of system failure?”
“Nah,” Sam said, but there was a flicker of something else behind the word. “She just looked… off. Pale. Like whatever it was took more than it gave back.”
Sarah gave him a knowing look. “You care about her.”
Sam didn’t flinch. Just took another sip and said, “She’s one of us.”
Walter didn’t say anything, just raised a brow and offered a faint smile that said he wasn’t buying it—but he respected the game.
A little while later, Sam knocked lightly on Ash’s door, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.
He didn’t expect her to answer. Not immediately, anyway.
So when the door cracked open, and she appeared, towel wrapped around her like a makeshift robe, wet hair curling at her shoulders, he blinked.
“Hey,” she said, leaning a shoulder to the frame, expression sly. “You stalking me?”
He held up the cup. “An offering. Thought you might want a post bath tea.”
Ash smirked. “You bring the good stuff or is this Lodge standard?”
“Custom blend,” he said. “Mint, cinnamon, pinch of cardamom. Don’t ask me how I know that.”
She laughed under her breath and took it. Their fingers brushed for a second longer than necessary.
“You’re full of surprises, Coe.”
“Don’t go telling anyone,” he said, stepping back.
Ash leaned against the doorframe, watching him retreat. She took a sip—hot, sweet, grounding.
He turned once at the end of the hall, caught her eye again. Something unspoken passed between them.
She closed the door, smile lingering, and let herself sink onto the bed. The ache in her muscles had eased. Her chest still fluttered with whatever residue the artifact left behind. But under it all was a quiet steadiness.
She fell asleep thinking of Sam’s hands—brushing hair from her face in the cave, holding out tea in the hallway. Steady hands.
The kind you could hold on to if everything else slipped away.
photo used for banner by: @labelle-fleursauvage
Below is a masterpost of my Sam Coe centered fics, all links lead to Ao3
all fics MDNI, 18+, heed the tags please
Starfield Fanfiction, Sam Coe edition:
One Shots/Reader Fics:
Capacity Limit (Sam Coe x fem!reader) TW: Bondage, Cannon Violence
Reader and Sam Coe are on a mission to eliminate Spacers and Reader keeps picking up too much shit.
Tear You Apart (Pirate Sam Coe x fem!reader) TW: CNC, Facefucking, bondage, light forced voyeurism, it's very explicit and it's a pirate being a pirate so just be wary. This isn't your Sam Coe from Kansas anymore.
You are now Starborn in search for the remnants of what you have left behind in your new current universe. You rush to be reunited with a new version of those you cared deeply but things go awry.
soft leather and spurs (softdom!Sam x fem!reader) Tw: praise kink, soft breeding kink, language?
You are leaving the bar for the night after playing a game of let's meet like strangers with your favorite cowboy.
gameshot by me (one of the few I have ever taken lol)
Ghoul series:
The fics chosen from the Ghoul series are ones that heavily include Sam Coe. (will be updated in the future)
1. Neon City Delights (completed)TW: Drug use, SA, Cannon Violence
Walter Stroud has finally decided to talk to you (Main character) like you are a person at Constellation. So, to prove to yourself and the companion the association has assigned to you as of late, Sam Coe, you now get to walk the streets of your hometown to complete a mission with your lead. What happens at the Astral Lounge doesn't need to be told, right?
2. Settling with the Stars(completed)TW: Cannon Violence, Alcohol
Being grounded to a planet is worse when you know you could be out doing something better with your time. Sarah Morgan wants our main character to lay low while others have been out doing quests of their own. How has our main character been settling with their down time since their near-death experience at Neon City?
Bonus story:
Ghoul Adventures (Halloween edition, on hiatus)
This Halloween edition of Starfield tales takes our Main Character and some of the crew of Constellation on a spelunking adventure in search of what is causing all of the spooky rumors at the local citizen outpost.
It’s the first time you and Sam have been apart since your relationship began. So why not send some photos to remind him of what he’s missing?
“Sarah, ready to head out?” You ask as you and the other members of Constellation stand around the lodge.
“Of course.” Sarah confirms.
“Really? Sending the big boss instead of me?”
“Don’t worry Sam, I’ll be sure to bring her back in one piece.” Sarah teases and a glint in her eyes.
“We’ll be in UC territory, somewhere a Coe doesn’t exactly fit in. Besides, we’ll be back in a week. Tops.” You kiss Sam on the cheek before grabbing your things to head out.
It’s not the week apart that has Sam pouting, it’s the fact he’ll be stuck in the Lodge for a week without you. Sam hasn’t been grounded for that long in months and the stars are already calling him.
The first three days weren’t all that terrible, as he spent most of his time helping Cora with her schooling and gathering supplies. It’s by the fifth day he’s practically bashing his head against the walls.
Knowing self mutilation isn’t the scratch to the explorers itch, he picks up the boxing gloves sitting on the floor of his room and starts wailing at the punching bag. The chain holding up the bag rattle and snap with each swing. He continues long enough to get sweat creeping down his bare chest. It isn’t until a ping from his phone comes in that he takes off the gloves and rests on the steel bench next to the leather bag.
It’s a message from you, the first he’s heard from you since you left.
“Bad news, looks like this mission might take an extra couple of days. Think you can hold out just a little longer for me?”
Sam groans at the message and grabs his explorer hat to put it back on, ready to scream into it. The hat has always brought him a little comfort.
“Another few days and I might need a new punching bag at the end of this. I miss you crazy.”
There’s no response for several minutes, making Sam all the more frustrated. After ten minutes, Sam tosses his phone on the bed and picks up the weights next to him. It’s just as the cell bounces on the mattress that another chime comes in.
Sam’s happy no one is there to see how fast he rushed to his phone to open your message. And when he does, he’s even happier that he’s alone in his room. Sam lets out a breath curse under his breath as he examines the attached image.
You’re on some hotel bed, propped up with your ass in the air and the camera angle just getting the edge of your devious smile. You’re in nothing but your bra and panties with your hair down.
Damn you’re a sight to behold.
“Don’t tease me like that. Show me more of that beautiful body.”
You respond almost immediately with a new photo. One where your bra has been removed and your hand is just barely covering your nipples. Your whole face is in this one, which he finds to be the most beautiful part of the entire photo. Your cheeks are lightly dusted from blushing and your pupils are blown out. You have a flirty smile and a certain twinkle in your eyes.
Sam can feel his loose shorts getting tighter. If you’re going to tease him, he can do just the same. Sam snaps a picture of the tent growing in his shorts. Since he’s not wearing any boxers underneath, every edge and curve of his dick just peaks through in the shadow outlines. His toned stomach is also in the picture, glistening with sweat.
Sam’s a little nervous to send the photo. He’s never sent or received photos like these. Lilian wasn’t the most keen on intimacy, and before her all the girls he’s been with didn’t last long enough to even get their phone number. His heart picks up a bit as he hits send, anxiously waiting to see what you say.
“Look who’s teasing now.”
Before Sam even has a chance to respond, you send another photo. Your back is on the bed and you’re playing with one of your pert nipples. Your teeth bitting and sucking the corner of your bottom lip.
“Fuuuuuck” Sam groans, dragging a hand down his face and letting out a breathy chuckle.
His dominate hand palms his dick over his shorts as his other hand types up a response.
“Such a good girl for me”
“God I wish you were here taking good care of me”
Sam snaps another picture, this time his hand is holding his hard member. Veins, girth, hair and all are in the photo. It’s shameless, he knows. But fuck this is just so fun. He feels young and reckless again.
“The shit I would do to you right now…”
You respond to Sam’s text with the a short video of your slender fingers stroking and dipping into your folds with your fingers coming out covered in your own slick. Sam can hear your soft moans in the video and it has his eyes rolling back.
Sam can’t take this anymore, he needs to hear you. All of you. Every breathy moan and call of his name on your tongue. He hits the dial icon next to your contact in his phone and after the first ring, you answer with the cutest giggle he’s ever heard in his life.
“Well hello handsome. Miss my voice already?”
“I miss waaay more than just your sweet voice.”
Sam starts to stroke himself, feeling himself finch in his hand. He try’s to stifle the moan that’s sitting in his throat, but it comes out louder than he expected.
“What are you doing?” You ask in a teasing tone.
“You know damn well what I’m doing.”
“What do you want to be doing?”
“Ah fuck…” Sam took in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I want to taste you.” He strokes harder, thumbing the tip of his cock.
Sam can hear your gentle cries of pleasure, hear the squelching from below. It’s fucking music to his ears.
“I want to suck on your breasts until you’re panting for me. Then when you’re nice and wet, I want to devour you. Touch you in all the ways I know you like.”
“Sam” it comes out as more of a prayer than a call. He can hear how close youre getting.
“I want to fuck you so bad”
“I need you Sam”
“I know baby. I need you too.”
As your panting picks up, so does Sam’s. Neither of you speak for a couple minutes, just moaning and groaning into the phone, cursing and chanting each other’s names.
“I’m going to cum, Sam”
“Fuck, let me hear you”
Just seconds later you’re unraveling into the mic, calling out Sam’s name. This sends Sam over the edge, moving his hand faster until warmth oozes out of him and drips onto the floor. He groans loud and fulfilled while looking at your photos.
You both take a few moments to come down from the high.
