Greta Van Fleet // Oneshots

To Build A Dream For Me & You // Sam Kiszka

Warnings: none; fans of domesticity like myself, I hope you enjoy.

Requested by a lovely tumblr friend <3

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Moving in with Sam was easier than you expected it be. He was so laid-back and easy-going, qualities that you had found hard to succumb to initially, but eventually his energy moved with yours and you found yourself taking things less seriously and just enjoying being along for the ride, moving included. It would have been stressful with anyone else, but Sam was so goofy, able to make even the most boring things fun, that you felt good about the process. When you did get overwhelmed, he would make sure to tell you a stupid joke or just pull you down on the couch–which had been a real bitch to move in–and wrap his arms around you, telling you, "We got this, babe."

You felt aggravated when you realized you hadn't packed your clothes and brought them in soon enough. The boxes were still miles away and you didn't feel like going back to get them, not then, anyway. So, after getting your own t-shirt sweaty and unbearable, you rummaged through one of Sam's boxes and pulled out one of his baseball tees. You tore off your t-shirt and left it hanging over one of the kitchen chairs that was just sitting in the living room, and put Sam's shirt on instead.

You were just putting your hair up when he came inside, carrying in one of the last few boxes from the day. "I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes," he said with a chuckle and set the box down. "You always laugh at my sweaters."

"I can't pull off those sweaters, but you can," you told him and collapsed back on the couch. "My t-shirt was gross. Anyway, I'm an idiot and forgot to pack my clothes today."

"Does that mean you'll be borrowing more of mine later on?" Sam asked, sitting down next to you.

You leaned into his chest. "Maybe."

"That's fine. You look cute," Sam said, twirling your ponytail. "I don't feel like driving back there again anyway. It's getting late."

You groaned. "Shit, I didn't even unpack the bedding yet. Guess we're sleeping on a bare mattress."

"Oh hell no, we're not," Sam replied and grabbed your hand. "Come here."

You could have cried when you saw the fully made bed. If the couch had been a bitch, the mattress alone had been worse, but you and Sam had dragged it in and somehow got it on the bed frame. But the fitted sheet, pillows, comforter, blankets, all of the actual dressings had been entirely Sam.

"Where was I when you did this?" you asked, still in awe of how nice he had made everything. He had even folded the throw blanket on the end of the bed and arranged the nightstand by the headboard, the old lamp you stole from your parents on top.

"I think you were putting stuff away in the kitchen," he told you, then flopped back on the mattress, patting the space next to him.

Though it was your same old mattress, knowing it was then Sam's bed too was a totally new feeling. Him spending nights was nothing in comparison to the two of you being together, always sharing a bed, having to agree on the same bedspreads and what to hang on the walls, which shelf in the shower would be whose.

You were excited; Sam was excited.

You nestled against his chest and closed your eyes. "What a week. Thank you for doing this, Sam."

"No problem, Y/N. I thought we'd want a nicely made bed after all this."

You opened your eyes and glanced around the room. "Which side do you want?"

"Well, obviously I have to take the outside," Sam said, playing with your ponytail again. "So if some psycho breaks in, I can protect you. Or die first."

You lightly hit his chest. "Sam, stop."

He laughed. "Speaking of, did we lock the front door?"

"'We?' You came in last," you reminded him. "Besides, I thought you could protect me."

Sam rolled you over then and got on top of you, straddling your hips, and gently pinned your wrists above your head. "What, you don't think I can?"

You smirked. "I didn't say anything."

Still keeping your wrists pinned, Sam bent down, the tip of his nose nudging yours before your lips met. You could feel that he was tired too from the way he kissed you–softly and slowly, even lazily, and he let his lips linger for a moment. When he gently broke away his eyelids fluttered, and you gazed up at him, exhausted but also full of adoration.

"I love you, baby," he said softly and let you go.

You tangled your fingers through his hair then, pulling him back down into another kiss. "I love you too, Sam."

When he rolled back over and situated himself next to you, turning on his side and laying his arm over you, he looked you up and down. "You should keep that shirt. It looks better on you."

You looked down at yourself. "I'm not gonna disagree."

Sam chuckled and lightly pinched your cheek. "Oh, right." He exhaled and sat up. "I gotta go see if I locked the door."

You swatted his ass as he got up. "Bring the baseball bat when you come back," you said. "I brought it with us for a reason."

Sam turned around and pointed at you as he kept making his way out of the room. "No one fucks with us, right?"

You laughed. "Right." You grabbed the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around yourself. You were home–finally home–with Sam, literally in a place for just the two of you.

"Can I get in on that?" Sam asked when he returned, and you tossed back the blanket so he could join you. He sidled up next you, hooking his calf over your shin.

You could feel sleep threatening to sweep over you. "Was the door locked?"

"Mm-hmm," Sam answered, laying his arm over your chest and burying his face against the back of your neck. "Couldn't find the bat, though."

"That's okay," you murmured. "I trust you to protect me."

Sam chuckled quietly. "Good. I'm the man of the house now."

You laughed a little, sleep getting closer. "I'll take your word for it."

If Sam responded, you weren't awake to hear it. You fell asleep then, wrapped up with Sam and cozy under the thick, fuzzy throw blanket, the lamp on the nightstand still on, Sam's shirt still on your body. It was the first night in a long time you had a deep, dreamless sleep and, when you woke up, it felt like you had actually woken up into a dream. But Sam snoring softly next to you and the mess of both of your stuff around the room was reality, and you were ready for it.