♡⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 2 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔,
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. word 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 lnow playing,, season 2 weight loss - harry styles ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 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 he’ll 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.
Sam’s 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.
You’ve reread the same paragraph four times.
Sam laughs suddenly under his breath at something on his screen.
“What?” you ask.
He turns the laptop toward you a little. “Dean made a dating profile for me.”
You snort despite yourself. “No he didn’t.”
“He absolutely did.”
The profile picture is awful. Half blurry, taken while Sam was eating fries somewhere. You laugh harder this time.
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
Sam’s 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. “Looks like it’s working,” you joke weakly.
Sam groans. “Unfortunately.”
“You could answer one.”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Don’t really care.”
Like attention has never been something he’s had to think about. Dean bursts out of the bathroom before the silence can settle, towel around his neck. “Dude, tell her about the redhead.”
Sam immediately looks horrified. “Dean.”
“What redhead?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Dean drops onto the other bed. “Girl at the bar last week. Couldn’t stop staring at him.”
Sam rubs a hand over his face. “Can we not?”
“She was hot too,” Dean continues, ignoring him entirely. “Totally your type.”
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 doesn’t 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. It’s stupid to feel this bad over nothing. Sam’s your friend. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
That almost makes it worse.
Because he’s 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 don’t need to turn around to know it’s Sam.
“You disappeared.”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
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, “Did Dean say something?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
You shrug.
Sam leans against the railing beside you, watching your face carefully in that way he always does. Like he’s trying to solve you without pushing too hard.
“You got quiet after the dating profile thing.”
God. Of course he noticed. “It’s nothing, Sam.”
“That usually means it’s definitely something.”
You laugh softly at that, but it comes out thin. Sam’s expression shifts immediately.
And suddenly you’re tired. Tired of carrying it around alone. Tired of feeling ridiculous every time your feelings get hurt over things Sam doesn’t even realise are hurting you.
So before you can stop yourself, you say, “I don’t think you’d ever look at me like that.”
Sam frowns. “Like what?”
“Like…” You gesture vaguely, embarrassed already. “Like girls you actually find attractive.”
The confusion on his face is immediate.
“What are you talking about?”
You stare out at the parking lot instead of him. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“No, seriously.”
His voice is gentler now.
Your throat tightens.
“It’s just hard sometimes, okay?” you admit quietly. “Watching girls flirt with you and knowing they’re all…” You shrug helplessly. “Different from me.”
Sam goes very still beside you. For one horrible, long second, you think maybe you’ve said too much.
“You think I’m not attracted to you?”
You let out a short, awkward laugh. “Sam.”
“No, answer me.”
You finally look at him then.
Big mistake. Because he’s staring at you like the answer genuinely matters.
“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I guess I just feel like if someone looked like me and someone looked like…” You wave vaguely toward the motel room. “Every woman that ever hits on you, it’s kind of obvious who you’d pick.”
Sam blinks once. Then again.
And suddenly he looks almost frustrated.
“You really believe that?”
You immediately regret opening your mouth at all. “Can we just forget I said anything?”
“No, because apparently you’ve been sitting with this by yourself.”
His voice isn’t harsh, but stunned.
You look away again, heat crawling up your neck.
Sam exhales quietly beside you.
He begins softly, “Hey.”
His hand brushes your sleeve just enough to get your attention. “When I look at you,” he says slowly, “I’m not comparing you to anybody else.”
Your chest aches.
“I don’t do that.”
You swallow hard. “You don’t have to spare my feelings.”
“I’m not.”
There’s something so earnest in his face it almost hurts to look at him.
Sam shakes his head a little, like he can’t believe this conversation is happening. “You know what I see when I look at you?” he asks quietly. “I see somebody I can’t stop thinking about.”
Your breath catches.
“I see someone beautiful.”
His expression softens instantly. “C’mere.”
Before you can overthink it, Sam pulls you gently into him. Maybe it’s 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 it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“No more deciding what I feel for me, okay?” he murmurs into your hair.
You let out a shaky laugh. “I’ll try.”
“Good.”
A beat passes.
He goes shy. After what feels like a minute has passed, he adds, “For the record, you’re exactly my type.”
✧ 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ // ✧𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 // ✧𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ

















