Greta Van Fleet // Oneshots

Cross My Heart & Hope To Die // Sam Kiszka *SMUT*

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: angst, arguing, Sam being a dick, toxic relationship, dirty talking, oral sex, unprotected PIV sex, can be interpreted as hate-fucking tbh. 18+ ONLY!

A/N: I realized after the Cleveland show that whenever I see the boys live, I spend the majority of my time watching Danny (no surprise) and a good chunk of what's left watching Sam. His stage presence really is intoxicating for me–he has this very quiet but very intense allure and sex appeal. So needless to say, I've been inspired (also thanks to the song Borderline by Tove Lo for fueling that inspiration). Now, I've only ever written one before (Groupie Love from 2019...time fucking FLIES) and it was also a Sam fic; by default, I actually kind of hate them. But this fic here was just the story I had in mind. Hope you enjoy ;)

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That first time you'd seen Sam up there, aglow in dizzying arrays of rainbow light, shimmering in white and silver satin and silk, he looked so much like an ethereal angel. You'd immediately been lost in the catharsis that radiated from his own performance to everyone else–you could imagine how wrapped up in the stardom and music he was, with the constant moves of his body and inadvertently sex-drenched facial expressions while he plucked his bass or when those long fingers slid across the keys. It was like you could see every note flowing through him.

You weren't alone in the trance, but you certainly felt like you were the only one there–the crowd had disappeared and you were on your own, standing in the dark, the only thing in your field of vision being that glorious being. "Starstruck" didn't even begin to cover it, and when that angel's gaze found your own, you were smart enough to not assume it was actually real–Sam wasn't looking at you. So when later on, he'd found you and had truly looked at you and only you, his gaze had dove deep down into your bones and you knew you were a goner.

You hadn't known what to expect. Who could say what any of those boys were like when the music was over and they were stripping down their real selves? At first, the silliness that Sam showed you was even more alluring than the silent siren that graced the stage night after night; he was funny, endearing and even chivalrous at times. He didn't treat you like some random girl who just happened to have won the lottery with that chance encounter. He'd made the first move. Things happened. He called you all the pet names, bought you all the gifts, texted you all the things, made you feel like you were a part of the team. Like you were together. Because he said you were.

But as time went on, you felt a distance inching outward between the two of you. You heard from him less, saw him even less than that and when you did see him, you no longer felt like you were the only person in the room with him. You found yourself asking why you were sticking around–you were beginning to feel like some joke, just some groupie Sam was stringing along. Was it even worth it when he could be doing the same thing with other girls? You couldn't full discount that–it stuck like a thorn in your side. But every time you saw him behind that bass or on those keys, the brilliant angel was back, sparkling like a lone star, and your heart beat fast and hard with an insatiable need to keep him for yourself no matter what.

You were still buzzing after the show–the US tour was done, which meant you'd have some real time with Sam before Europe kicked off. Or so you hoped. It's what your mind was holding onto regardless of what was going on in Sam's own. You'd wanted to meet him backstage like the other partners did, but Sam had requested you wait in his hotel room so, like the dutiful girlfriend you wanted to always be, you were doing just that. Sitting on the couch, tapping your foot, staring out the window and wishing to see your brilliant angel.

You were patient. You sat for what felt like an eternity. You checked your phone but you didn't text him, didn't call. He'd come when he was ready, so you waited some more until the door clicked in the middle of the dark midnight hours, you half-asleep against your own will.