Greta Van Fleet | One-Shots

Picasso | Aftermath

Graduating university brings plenty of emotions; pride, excitement, accomplishment, even the feeling of losing adolescence. Before their era of study draws to a close, Sam finds one more way to make the experience unforgettable for Picasso.

Warnings: literally just fluff!! some swearing, too!sorry if i miss any!

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"Stop moving!" You expelled, a giggle falling from your lips.

"I didn't move!" Sam shot back, a laugh hidden in his defence.

"Clearly you did! If you didn't, why is your Bass facing the wall, now?" The question caused a look of surprise to cross his face. He looked down at the instrument, unable to argue the point. "Don't lie to me, Samuel!" You continued to look over the top of the canvas, hoping to catch his eye for a moment. Redness was riddled across your skin, the constant ghost of laughter stuck in your throat, and the urge to throw your paintbrushes down and run over to kiss him was growing by the second. He glanced over at you, doing his absolute best to keep his body still.

"It's hard, okay? I don't think I've ever sat still for this long in my entire life!"

"You were the one who insisted we do it this way, so stop complaining." You reminded him, looking over the glisten of wet paint on the previously white material.

"Can't a man change his mind?"

"No, actually." You nudged your fingertip against the spot you'd just brushed the bristles against, smoothing out the dollop of paint that laid on a bit too thick. "In your words, a reference photo is 'impersonal and boring'. If you want to be a live model so bad, then shut up and enjoy it."

"You're mean to me, you know. You used to be so nice." He chided, but obliged to your request. He kept his position, both of you knowing that the argument was only in good fun.

"Then I got to know you." You grumbled.

"Ouch," you ran a few thin strokes of white paint through the mess of brown you'd used for his hair. "I don't have to take this abuse." He informed you.

"God, you talk a lot!" You exclaimed, a grin eating away at your lips. "The more you distract me, the longer this is going to take!"

"Fine," he replied, much like a toddler who couldn't get his way. You both fell back into silence, your hands working while your eyes familiarized yourself with him even more, if it were even possible.

In truth, you were almost finished with the portrait. You were dragging it out just a little bit longer because of his refusal to comply. You'd been working for a few hours, now, focused solely on your final piece for the semester. Portraits were your least favourite type of painting, but the process was much more enjoyable with him as the subject. This was your seventh and final session, the weeks of hard work finally coming to a close. You were almost sad to wrap up the project, mostly because it meant your uninterrupted one-on-one time would be coming to an end, too. Not that it would disappear completely, though. You were sure you'd both find another way to engross yourself in one another. It was just how you worked; yours and Sam's lives were almost unbearably intertwined, starting from the very beginning and only worsening as time went on.

The end of your university experience was drawing to a close. This class was your final credit needed to graduate, and you were determined to go above and beyond. There was no doubt in your mind that this would do the trick, but even you had to admit you were a tad bit biased. In your opinion, anything that had to do with Sam was awe-inspiring. The piece was your largest to date; it was nearly half your height and was about just as wide. To you, it didn't matter. You'd paint murals if it meant you got to showcase the beauty of Sam Kiszka. In the journey of loving him, this was your biggest profession of romance, to date.