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satans-helper · 7 months

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Cross My Heart & Hope To Die

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 groupie fic before 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.

At the sound of the door actually opening, you jolted into sudden full-consciousness, shooting up from the couch. Sam laughed; he wasn’t in dazzling white and silver anymore. He looked almost ordinary, but just almost. You knew you’d hit the jackpot by getting with one of the most beautiful and fawned over rising musicians. Rock gods. That’s what they all were. And Sam was an enigma–so many facets to his personality. So much that went on in his head that almost no one knew about.

That rough, raw laugh echoed in your ears and made your skin tingle. “You’re back,” you said, wobbling slightly on your feet. It really was late and you really were tired, but energy was steadily streaming back into your veins at the sight of him.

Sam strode over to you with ease, like he didn’t just spend two and a half hours in front of 35,000 people. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close, sighing into your hair. “Sorry it took so long, kitten. Everyone wanted to go out for drinks.”

Then you could smell the lingering scent of beer on him. You looked up to ask, “You went out?”

Sam released his hold, suddenly putting nearly a foot of space between the two of you. “Just for a couple beers. I couldn’t get myself out of it.”

That was definitely a lie. You now were doubting that Josh, Danny and Jake even knew you had been waiting at the hotel–if they’d known, there was no way they wouldn’t have gotten you to go out too. You tried not to let the hurt show on your face but it definitely did, because Sam let out a huff and raised his eyebrows at you. You hated when he did that. It made you feel like a child.

“I would’ve gone out with all of you too,” you said, literally and figuratively standing your ground. You weren’t in the mood to argue but you also weren’t in the mood to feel like a doormat again. Being left out felt worse than anything. “If you’d just asked me.”

Sam’s mouth twitched as you saw a flicker of frustration move over his face, but then he sighed again. He pulled you back into his arms and said, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Y/N. I was an asshole.”

You could have just let it go but the pent up energy from waiting around–and it not being the first time–wouldn’t allow that. Anger bubbled up in your chest and tears broke through, streaming down your temples which made you feel even worse. Pathetic and stupid. “Sometimes it’s like you don’t even like me, Sam,” you said, pushing him away, hastily wiping the tears away. Your makeup was already ruined and you just wanted the stupid outfit you’d put on off your body now. Who even cared?

“How can you say that?” Sam asked when you sat down on the couch and looked down at your feet, still struggling to stop the tears. “I chose you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, of course you did. Like that means anything.” It was too late–the torrent of resentment was running wild now. “I saw you with that girl in New York. I saw you with that waitress in Detroit.” You lifted your hips and pulled down your tights. If you were going to argue, you could at least be comfortable.

“Jesus, Y/N, where is all this coming from?” Sam asked, still standing, running a hand through his hair like this was exhausting for HIM.

You stood up, fumbling with the zipper on your dress for a minute; Sam approached and tried to help but you scooted away. “You used to make me feel like I was the only one in the room with you,” you told him, managing to get unzipped on your own, sliding the stupid dress down to kick aside. At least if you were busy changing, you didn’t have to make eye contact. “Now I just feel so stupid. You just got some groupie to sleep with whenever you want. And I bet I’m not the only one.”

“That’s not true,” Sam replied heatedly. You still weren’t looking at him, resigned to rifle through your suitcase for pajamas. It was going to be a long night and you didn’t even want to sleep in the same bed as him right now but you couldn’t ask to bunk with anyone else. Only Danny was riding solo, but that was definitely not an option. He grabbed your arm, stopping you from retrieving your favorite sleep t-shirt–a weathered and worn From the Fires t-shirt that you’d had since the early days, before you even knew Sam as a real person. “You need to believe that. I’ve never cheated on you.”

You shook him off and pulled the t-shirt over your head, then wiped at your eyes again. The tears had mostly stopped but the anger was still brewing, making you feel hot and tight inside. “How would I even know? I can’t be with you like other girlfriends. Sometimes you don’t text me for days.”

“I hate texting and you know that.”

“Good save, Sam,” you retorted. This was going nowhere. You paused as you held your pajama pants in your hands, finally making eye contact with him again. “Maybe I should just leave.”

Sam’s head snapped back a bit in surprise. “And go where?”

“I could book a room for myself,” you said, lying, which he definitely knew. You didn’t have the money for a hotel this nice. What came out next should have remained a fleeting thought but, again, the floodgates had opened: “Or I could ask to stay with Danny. He’s not with anyone.”

It didn’t evoke the reaction you’d expected, but it was probably for the better even though Sam’s actual response stung just the same: “Yeah, right. Once he knew we were fighting, he wouldn’t go anywhere near you.”

You got your pajama pants on. You didn’t know what you were doing though, but what did it matter? You knew you weren’t just being hysterical. This was real shit that Sam had spent way too long not acknowledging. “Your brothers treat me better than you do,” you remarked. That made Sam’s cheeks flare and his eyes darken.

“If I really thought you were just some slutty groupie, you wouldn’t be in this hotel with me,” Sam said, moving in close again, not giving you any room to maneuver away or even really breathe. “You wouldn’t be coming to shows with us. I don’t know how many times I have to say that you’re with me.”

“I need to wash my face,” you told him, pushing him aside so you could get to the bathroom. You called back, “And it’s not only about saying it, Sam. You have to show me sometimes too.” Thankfully, Sam let you have your privacy in there–you washed the dried tears and flaking mascara away, polished your skin clean until you felt almost refreshed. When you came back out, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, hair hanging down along with his posture, almost pitiful. Almost like a sad, fallen angel with a pair of broken wings.

“Okay, fine. I can show you,” he said, sitting up straighter, shaking his hair back. “Just tell me what you want to see.”

Whenever Sam’s softer side revealed itself, you couldn’t help feeling softer in return. Still though, you weren’t feeling ready to give in entirely. You missed how things had once been and if things kept going on their current trajectory, you were just going to be stuck on him but ultimately alone no matter how much he strung you along.

“When we met, I didn’t think it was anything other than just a fan meeting a star,” you told him, satiating some of his despondence by putting yourself in front of him, running your fingers through his hair. “Rock stars aren’t supposed to take their fans seriously. But you did. Why?”

Sam looked up at you. “Because you took me seriously. You didn’t scream or gawk at me or anything. You just looked at me like I was real.”

“You’re shockingly real, Sam,” you said, petting his hair, running one hand down to rest between his shoulder blades. “So real that just seeing you sometimes makes me feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.”

Sam wrapped his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. “Gross. Don’t say that. That’s fucked up.” He pressed his hand over your very real heart. “I don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

You grabbed a strand of his hair and yanked it just enough to make him jolt. “So don’t hurt me.”

He glowered at you, the hand on your waist gripping hard. “You know I hate that.”

The strand of his hair became a fistful. “Yeah, well,” you began, craning his head back. “I hate a lot of the things you do to me.”

Sam thrashed out of your grasp and tossed you to the side, crawling over you, pushing you to the center of the bed. You wanted to laugh, but he looked so serious–of course it took a fight to get him to be the slightest bit vulnerable. But it wasn’t enough and you weren’t in the mood to fuel the fire any longer–if Sam thought he was even a little intimidating, he was wrong. When he hovered over you, the pale yellow light of the lamp on the table behind him made him glow.

You took his face in your hands, fingertips tracing along his cheekbones down to his jaw, back up to his temples, the faintest touch against his hair. “Where’d my angel go?” you asked, the anger in your chest turning to despairing, longing desire that was never going to go away. It didn’t matter when you and Sam officially ended things–you knew it would happen–because you would always carry him in your cursed, mangled and bleeding heart.

Sam sat back on top of you, thighs around your hips. He drew an invisible halo around his head which made you smile, then held his arms out as if he was spreading invisible wings. That made you laugh, then your vision went to black as he dove down to kiss you. You gave in then, holding him close, your hands pressed against his shoulder blades where those wings would be if they were real.

The soft kisses went on until you were truly calm, body placid beneath his, just grateful to be with him no matter what had led you there. Deeper, harder kisses commenced, with Sam’s tongue sliding over yours and his hands wandering along your upper body, lingering at your breasts just long enough to make you arch your back into touch before he slid his fingers up to your collarbones, then your neck. While the press of his lips and the daring moves of his tongue continued with a sort of harshness that told you Sam was not entirely over the prior argument, his touches were so delicate. The gentleness of his hands reminded you that your angel was still there–he was capable of being sweet and kind. You just wish you saw it more.

“I don’t know why you even bothered getting re-dressed,” Sam commented as he tugged at the hem of your t-shirt; you thought it was a little funny that he had to look at a cotton screenprint of his own face to get it off. “You don’t think I was waiting for this all day and all night?”

You let him take off your shirt but grabbed his wrists to stop him from doing anything else. “What if I’m not in the mood?” you replied. It wasn’t exactly true considering just being in Sam’s presence got you in the mood on a regular basis, and watching him perform earlier had you waiting in agony, but you were still feeling off. You couldn’t forget all his past indiscretions and you couldn’t get past what was arguably the worst one ever–being entirely left out of a celebratory night just to be made to wait up alone and ignored.

Sam snapped one hand away from you. He hopped off your hips so he could slide that hand between your legs, fingers easily moving beneath the pants, then your underwear. “Liar,” he said, sounding a little too smug for your liking. You tensed at the sudden, naked touch. “You’re wet.” He leaned forward, bringing his lips to yours again, kissing between softly-spoken words that made you shiver: “I know how turned on you get just watching me. You see my hands on the piano and you want them all over you. You see me looking into the crowd and wish I was only looking at you.”

Those horrible feelings were growing teeth again. “I don’t like you teasing me. It just makes me feel like even more of a joke,” you said, then Sam kissed you again and those feelings had to stay gnashing away in your guts.

Sam rested his head on the bed, looking at you with those big doe eyes, features all soft and sweet again. “You’re not a joke,” he said. You kind of believed him. And your body responded to him again, actually relaxing instead of tightening up, when he started to gently massage your clit. “You’re not just some ridiculous groupie. You’re my fucking girlfriend and I’m now beginning to realize,” he said, drawing out the word and with rolling his eyes. “That I’ve been a fucking shitty boyfriend.”

Well, at least there was that. “Yeah,” you agreed in earnest. “You have been.”

“I wanna make it up to you,” Sam said, inching closer to nibble on your ear, which made you giggle uncontrollably and attempt to push him away. But he stayed right there, rubbing your clit and licking the curve of your ear then down your neck.

You just needed one more thing. You placed your hand on his shoulder, making him look into your eyes again. “You swear that you’re mine and only mine?”

Sam did a little X movement over his chest. “Cross my heart.” He sealed the statement with a kiss and then before you knew it, your mind was distracted by Sam’s bare body on top of yours, slathering you with kisses all the way down until he was between your legs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted, eyes shut tight while Sam apparently made it his mission to make all the bullshit up to you in his own way. His own way being eating you out with more fervor than ever before–he spread his tongue all over you, licking slowly up your center to flick your clit, mouthing and slobbering until your inner thighs were wet too. He slid two fingers inside you while he bit at those, sinking his teeth into your thighs until your legs started to shake and you grabbed at his hair, not caring that he hated when you pulled on it hard. He didn’t seem to mind anymore either. He just let you tug and yank, guiding his mouth back to lap at your clit while he fingered you deep and hard.

“Sam, oh my god, Sam.” You could hear how desperate his name sounded coming from your lips then, how the ache in your heart vocalized itself. Sam just licked and sucked harder, fingered even deeper, making you clench around him and yank his hair until it had to be stinging his scalp.

No protesting came from him though. Sam only paused for a moment to encourage you to come all over his face, then he went right back at it. In your mind’s eye, you saw him as he was earlier–angelic, pure, seductive and moving through the world like ocean waves, like the lightest clouds in the sky–and when another wet lick radiated up your spine, the stars that had been the backdrop to him earlier in the night exploded behind your eyes.

You were shuddering and panting, reeling from the intensity of the feelings still stuck to your ribs and the earth-shattering orgasm Sam had created to try and mitigate them. Your eyes opened in surprise when suddenly Sam was getting back on top of you, pushing inside; you grabbed his shoulders and whined. “Shit–Sam, I’m too sensitive right n–”

“Ride it out with me, Y/N,” Sam interrupted, rocking into you easily with the aid of your slick. You were left to try and catch your breath, staring at his face that mimicked expressions you’d seen earlier–the full lips, the slight slip of tongue between them, the hollowed cheeks and twitching brows. Sometimes you actually hated how beautiful Sam was. Life would be a hell of a lot easier if he wasn’t.

It would be a lot easier if he stopped teasing you every way he could too, but he didn’t. Sam started to thrust into you steadily and hard, slamming into your thighs. “Would you really share a room with Danny?” he asked and your heart flipped, leaving you motionless and in shock. But when Sam asked the next insane question, it was more curiosity that you heard, not anger, which made you even more bewildered: “Would you fuck him if he let you?”

“Sam, what the fuck?” you let out raggedly, feeling suffocated. Sam left you with that terror for another minute, fucking into you harder, one hand squeezing your breast while the other kept him propped up on the headboard.

“I’m serious,” Sam said, slowing the pace a bit, looking down at you with those perfect lips parted and cheeks all pink, sweat making his skin glow. “Would you?”

“No,” you said and it sounded like almost another whine. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and brought him down, pushing your nose through his hair, letting him pant against your shoulder. “You’re all I want, Sam. Always.” With that, Sam pushed in deeper, making you gasp. But you still had more you needed to get out: “It’s so fucking obvious and sometimes I fucking hate you for making me feel this way.”

“You don’t hate me,” Sam said, his voice deep and rough. He brought his lips to yours, the next proclamation spoken so low that you could have missed it had he not been so close: “You just love me so much it makes you sick.”

You really hated him then. You could feel the rage in your bones. But then that flicker of the exquisite angel that had graced your existence returned in the soft, dark depths of his eyes and the gentle kiss that followed to quiet your seething soul. When you gave in again, arms loosening around his shoulders, the kiss returned with you silently beckoning for more and your hands roaming down his sides, Sam’s grunts became whines of his own. His mystical sounds echoed in your ears as they crescendoed, then his hips were stuttering and he was shaking, his mouth latching onto your throat with a dash of sharp teeth.

He stayed there the rest of the night. After all, where else was there to go? The bars had closed. The boys were all in their rooms. It was just you and Sam left in the golden light of that single lamp that had been left on and he fell into a dead sleep you envied. You were left to lie there next to him, staring through the window until the sun began to creep up past the horizon, all bright orange and purple, a stark contrast that suddenly made no sense in your mind. Many things didn’t make sense. But you hated that Sam had been right earlier–you did love him so much it made you sick and your weeping heart had to find a way to deal with that before it really was ripped right out of your chest.

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#this is such a NON self-insert fic lmaoo #only danny could get away with this bullshit for me #sam kiszka #sam gvf #greta van fleet #gvf #sam kiszka x reader #danny wagner #jake kiska #josh kiszka #gvf smut #sam fic

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