SupernaturalxReader

Muse (Sam Fluff ft. Artist Reader)

yooo homies I haven't been here as much recently and I am so so sorry but there may or may not be other projects underway hint hint wink wink nudge nudge
anyways, for now, enjoy this Artist!Reader X Sam and enjoy the piece that inspired me writing this, created by the super talented LiLen!! (is that the right capitalization? I'm trying my best. point is, credit to them.)

"Watch the young man running!" you murmur along with the song blaring from your shitty albeit loud speakers as you dance around the motel room. Paintbrush in hand, you've been working for hours, and even though the sun is long past shining through your closed curtains, you can't bring yourself to crawl in bed just yet.

You have the room to yourself for once, free to paint and dance and sing and draw undisturbed. Normally, you would've protested buying three separate rooms, because even if the cost was no object, there was typically no reason you wouldn't want to sleep in Sam's arms. Yet when Dean proposed it, you couldn't help yourself but to support him. You hadn't gotten to work on you art in so long. But even now, practicing your secret hobby that you wouldn't dream tell him about, you miss him a little.

But despite the empty space Sammy should occupy by your side, you keep singing, keep working. It's not hard, considering the subject matter of your painting. It's Sam. Then again, it's always Sam. Ever since you meet him, every canvas you've covered, all the sketchbooks you've filled, it's always Sam. Sam laughing, Sam crying, Sam winking, Sam walking, talking, hell, you enjoyed painting Sam doing nothing but breathing.

The one currently balanced on your makeshift easel was coming along quite nicely, if you do say so yourself. His stern face is in the middle ground, dominated by the barrel of the gun he's holding, pointing it as if he's going to shoot you where you stand. Except even painted Sam wouldn't do that - it's you. The real work needed to be done on the background, which you were undecided on. Grey tones to match the grim position or green tones to pull out his eyes? You have this same damn problem nearly every time.

"Really? 'Against the Wind'? I always thought I had the bigger influence on you, but Dean's curse is reaching you too, huh?" you instantly recognize Sam's teasing voice behind you and tense up immediately. He must've come right in the door - shit, why'd you leave that unlocked? you know better - so he was behind you. So he couldn't see what was clenched in your hand. He couldn't see his own likeness directly in front of you.

"Sorry babe, you okay? I, well, in all honestly, I couldn't sleep without you next to me... so I followed the obnoxious sound of somebody blasting Bob Seger- Okay, seriously, is something wrong, (y/n)? You're scaring me," Sam's boots echo on the cracked tile of your motel room as he steps in and shuts the door behind himself softly.

You squeeze your eyelids shut and pray that if you wait long enough you'll wake up to find you went into a paint-fume induced coma. That's all this is. A dream. Nothing more. That is not your song ending and leaving you in silence. Just like that's not Sam's hand grazing across the small of your back, and that's not Sam gasping, no, no, no, no, no.

"(Y/n)?" His voice is barely a whisper and you reluctantly open your eyes. Peering out into your peripheral vision, you see Sam towering over you to your left side, his own gaze transfixed on the image of him. Yep. Not a dream. A nightmare.

"Fuck, fuck, Sam, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you were never meant to see them- I mean, this - you weren't supposed to see this, I know, I know, it's bad, and it's kind of creepy to paint your boyfriend when he doesn't know, or maybe really creepy, I'm sorry, I'm not very good at painting anyways, and I-" Sam's tight grip on your shoulder silences your new record for the length of a run-on sentence. Your eyes are now very much averted, not wanting to know what he's about to say. He won't be angry, you know that much, but weirded out? Unimpressed? Those are very plausible situations. Too plausible.