Greta Van Fleet // Oneshots

The Heat // Sam Kiszka *SMUT*

Warnings: smut alert! [oral sex; unprotected penetrative sex] 18+ only.

One of my tumblr friends requested an enemies-to-lovers quarantine fic with Sam. I loved the request & ended up finding it to be quite a challenge to write but I am so pleased with the end result! If only we would all be so lucky as to be Y/N...

I hope you all enjoy!

The title is partially inspired by the song The Heat by Jungle, which is an absolute bop.

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It was just the wrong place and the wrong time. Getting stranded with Sam in his apartment was never something you'd intended–you had just needed a place to stay for a little while, to get away from it all, and you had gone there to hang out with Danny, since he was already headed over there to see Sam. But it was the wrong timing for everything and suddenly everything was shutting down, Danny was home and apologizing profusely via text, and you were stuck with only Sam in a one-bedroom apartment.

You didn't hate Sam, in fact, you used to really, really like Sam. And he knew it and he still decided to kick your heart around, which made you bitter and spiteful. He had known how much you'd pined for him, how desperately you'd wanted to be around him, and you felt embarrassed at remembering how you'd followed him around like a puppy, always at his heels, always ready to do anything for him.

In that bruised heart of yours, you knew Sam wasn't a bad person and, maybe after all this time, he'd actually matured and grown into someone who wasn't so careless with other people's feelings. But with him shut away in his bedroom, leaving you alone in the living area to fester in your bitterness and frustration, you felt like he was acting like a child way more than you were. What did he expect you to do there and for how long?

The whole thing was a mess. You wished Danny were there with you. You could handle Sam if Danny were there, but not alone. Not anymore. It made you feel too wound up, too hot, too frustrated, that frustration even tingling between your legs when you thought about him despite your brain trying to tell you otherwise.

You exhaled, sinking further into the couch which just smelled more and more like incense and patchouli as time went on, feeling antsy and aggravated. You didn't even feel welcome to touch anything in his place, but you squinted, surveying the shelf of books in the corner for a moment before getting up and grabbing one.

You were barely into the first chapter, though you could barely even focus on it, when Sam emerged from his room and stood in front of you. Even amidst chaos, he looked impeccable and that bothered you–his hair in a messy bun, hoodie hanging over him, those absurdly tiny shorts, looking so effortless that you had to second guess yourself and your own spontaneous quarantine outfit.

"You hungry?" he asked, stretching.

You set the book aside. When was the last time you ate a meal with just Sam? Had that ever happened? You'd always dreamed about it–a casual lunch in a diner, a dimly lit dinner with his face catching candlelight and ice clacking softly in glasses, his braying laughter cutting through the ambiance and making you laugh in turn. He hadn't wanted any of that.

"What are you making?" you asked, then added, "But yes, I am."

He hummed and stepped away, into the kitchen, and you heard a cupboard door creak. "Soup?"

You stood up and joined him in the kitchen, surveying the small mess of dishes still in the sink and the salt shaker lying on its side on the counter. You reached out and turned it upright. "Soup?"

"It's easy," Sam replied, pulling out a carton of broth. "Just might take a little while."

You leaned back against the wall. "I don't know how long we'll be stuck like this," you said, more haughtily than you'd intended. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of your own stock."