β‘βΈβΈ ππππππ 2 ππππππ ππππ,
summary,, you've always struggled with the idea of someone truly loving you because of your weight. you've always struggled with the idea of sam truly loving you because of your weight. wordΒ count,, 1,099 pairing,, sam winchester x thicker than a snicker!reader tags/genre,, body insecurity, unrequieted love, longing for something, fluff, a little angst, refusa lnowΒ playing,, season 2 weight loss - harry styles β» β II β· βΊ 1:35 βββγ βββββ 3:47 find the masterlist here!
You hear it every time Sam talks about someone he used to date.
Stanford girls with tiny waists and glossy hair. Women at bars who smile at him like they already know heβll smile back. Even the random hookups Dean teases him about always sound the same in your head: pretty. Slim. Effortless.
Nothing like you.
That thought settles ugly beneath your ribs. It sticks there.
Especially tonight.
The motel bathroom mirror is cruel under fluorescent lighting. Your sweater clings too much around your stomach, your jeans digging into your hips when you sit. You tug at the hem for the hundredth time before finally giving up and walking back into the room.
Samβs sitting cross-legged on the bed with his laptop balanced on one knee while you pretend to read through lore notes.
Pretend being the key word.
Youβve reread the same paragraph four times.
Sam laughs suddenly under his breath at something on his screen.
βWhat?β you ask.
He turns the laptop toward you a little. βDean made a dating profile for me.β
You snort despite yourself. βNo he didnβt.β
βHe absolutely did.β
The profile picture is awful. Half blurry, taken while Sam was eating fries somewhere. You laugh harder this time.
βOh my God.β
βI know.β
Samβs grinning now, eyes crinkling at the corners, and your stomach does that stupid thing it always does around him.
Then you spot the messages. A lot of messages.
Mostly women.
Pretty women.
You try not to visibly deflate. βLooks like itβs working,β you joke weakly.
Sam groans. βUnfortunately.β
βYou could answer one.β
βNah.β
βWhy not?β
He shrugs. βDonβt really care.β
Like attention has never been something heβs had to think about. Dean bursts out of the bathroom before the silence can settle, towel around his neck. βDude, tell her about the redhead.β
Sam immediately looks horrified. βDean.β
βWhat redhead?β you ask before you can stop yourself.
Dean drops onto the other bed. βGirl at the bar last week. Couldnβt stop staring at him.β
Sam rubs a hand over his face. βCan we not?β
βShe was hot too,β Dean continues, ignoring him entirely. βTotally your type.β
You hate how quickly your brain catches on that phrase.
Your type.
An ache tightens painfully in your chest.
Because of course Sam has a type. Everybody does. And you know, logically, that not every woman Sam has ever glanced at looks identical, but insecurity doesnβt care much about logic.
It just collects evidence. Real or imagined.
You mumble something about needing air and step outside before either of them can say anything.
The night air is cold enough to sting.
You lean against the motel railing and stare out at the empty parking lot, arms folded tightly across yourself. Itβs stupid to feel this bad over nothing. Samβs your friend. He hasnβt done anything wrong.
That almost makes it worse.
Because heβs kind to you. Always kind. And that leaves room for hope to grow in all the wrong places.
The motel door creaks open behind you a few minutes later, and you donβt need to turn around to know itβs Sam.
βYou disappeared.β
βIβm fine.β
βUh-huh.β
His footsteps stop beside you. For a while, neither of you says anything. Cars hiss past somewhere far off on the highway.
Then Sam says quietly, βDid Dean say something?β
βNo.β
βYou sure?β
You shrug.
Sam leans against the railing beside you, watching your face carefully in that way he always does. Like heβs trying to solve you without pushing too hard.
βYou got quiet after the dating profile thing.β
God. Of course he noticed. βItβs nothing, Sam.β
βThat usually means itβs definitely something.β
You laugh softly at that, but it comes out thin. Samβs expression shifts immediately.
And suddenly youβre tired. Tired of carrying it around alone. Tired of feeling ridiculous every time your feelings get hurt over things Sam doesnβt even realise are hurting you.
So before you can stop yourself, you say, βI donβt think youβd ever look at me like that.β
Sam frowns. βLike what?β
βLikeβ¦β You gesture vaguely, embarrassed already. βLike girls you actually find attractive.β
The confusion on his face is immediate.
βWhat are you talking about?β
You stare out at the parking lot instead of him. βNothing. Forget it.β
βNo, seriously.β
His voice is gentler now.
Your throat tightens.
βItβs just hard sometimes, okay?β you admit quietly. βWatching girls flirt with you and knowing theyβre allβ¦β You shrug helplessly. βDifferent from me.β
Sam goes very still beside you. For one horrible, long second, you think maybe youβve said too much.
βYou think Iβm not attracted to you?β
You let out a short, awkward laugh. βSam.β
βNo, answer me.β
You finally look at him then.
Big mistake. Because heβs staring at you like the answer genuinely matters.
βI donβt know,β you say honestly. βI guess I just feel like if someone looked like me and someone looked likeβ¦β You wave vaguely toward the motel room. βEvery woman that ever hits on you, itβs kind of obvious who youβd pick.β
Sam blinks once. Then again.
And suddenly he looks almost frustrated.
βYou really believe that?β
You immediately regret opening your mouth at all. βCan we just forget I said anything?β
βNo, because apparently youβve been sitting with this by yourself.β
His voice isnβt harsh, but stunned.
You look away again, heat crawling up your neck.
Sam exhales quietly beside you.
He begins softly, βHey.β
His hand brushes your sleeve just enough to get your attention. βWhen I look at you,β he says slowly, βIβm not comparing you to anybody else.β
Your chest aches.
βI donβt do that.β
You swallow hard. βYou donβt have to spare my feelings.β
βIβm not.β
Thereβs something so earnest in his face it almost hurts to look at him.
Sam shakes his head a little, like he canβt believe this conversation is happening. βYou know what I see when I look at you?β he asks quietly. βI see somebody I canβt stop thinking about.β
Your breath catches.
βI see someone beautiful.β
His expression softens instantly. βCβmere.β
Before you can overthink it, Sam pulls you gently into him. Maybe itβs pathetic how quickly you melt a little at the feeling of his arms around you, but Sam just holds you there against his chest like itβs the easiest thing in the world.
βNo more deciding what I feel for me, okay?β he murmurs into your hair.
You let out a shaky laugh. βIβll try.β
βGood.β
A beat passes.
He goes shy. After what feels like a minute has passed, he adds, βFor the record, youβre exactly my type.β
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