Drabble request by anon: Could you do a Drabble with the reader and Sam, where the reader is a little curvier and he helps her with her self esteem issues?
Word Count: 929
Warnings: Self esteem issues
Version en Español: La Mujer Que Va Dentro
It was all wrong. The fabric was too stretchy across your breasts and shoulders and too loose below your hips. Not to mention your legs. You really didn’t want to mention your legs, but they were kind of hard to ignore by the way they seemed to erupt from underneath the bottom of the dress.
“You found anything yet?” Sam asked from the other side of the curtain to the dressing room.
Twisting around, you tried to see how the dress fit on your ass—that was a mistake. Not good.
“Maybe you and Dean should just go tonight. I’ll stay behind in the hotel room and do some more research.” There was no way you would be able to pull off a miracle and find a dress that fit you before the gala tonight.
“You’ve gotta come. All hands-on deck, remember?”
You scoffed. “Please. Like anyone will actually want to talk to me, much less give me any juicy info about whatever it is that we’re hunting.”
Yoga pants and t-shirts. That’s what you belonged in. Definitely not these fancy dresses. Though maybe…
You pulled your hair up, testing to see if an up-do might bippity-boppity-change your appearance to someone worthy of going to a gala on Sam Winchester’s arm. After all, your hair was your best feature.
A glance in the mirror and a grimace later, you dropped your hair back into place. Revealing your neck just accentuated how your wide shoulders were not made to be in dresses.
“What did you just—? Y/N, anyone would be lucky to talk to you for even a minute at the party tonight.”
“Says you,” you mumbled, frowning at your reflection. Black was supposed to be slimming, right? Whoever said that had apparently not met you. “You have to say that because you’re my friend and you already know me. If you didn’t though, I would be the last person you would want to talk to tonight. Especially in this stupid thing.”
“Alright, I’m coming in.”
“Sam, no!”
But it was too late. The curtain moved and he slipped in. You watched in horror as his eyes trailed over your body. And it wasn’t a quick perusal either, because there was a lot of body to look over. “Holy shit.”
“I know, it’s horrible. My arms look like freaking Hulk arms if the Hulk wasn’t green and was fat instead of muscular. And my hips look like someone stuffed a dozen balloons in there. And don’t even get me started on how my boobs are way too big for this stupid dress. You and Dean really should just leave me at the motel tonight. You’ll get more done at the gala if I’m not there scaring everyone away.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Y/N? That dress is…. Stunning on you.”
“Stunning like a death ray,” you muttered. Sam was just being nice. That’s what he did.
“Death of all common sense, maybe.” He deliberately took step after step until he was behind you, towering over you in the mirror. “Seeing you in that dress… Y/N, let’s just say that I’m not having very friendly thoughts right now.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Not friendly? The opposite of friend was a foe, but what the hell did that mean? Maybe this dress was the outfit that finally made him realize just how big you were. Maybe he realized that you didn’t belong with him and Dean, the Winchester Greek Gods.
“It means,” he whispered in your ear, warm hands landing on your shoulders and carefully skimming down your arms. “That I’m having a hard time not ripping that dress off of you right here.”
Goosebumps and disbelief followed in the wake of Sam’s touch and words. Jaw hanging open a bit and eyes wide open, you had no idea how to respond. You just watched him in the mirror as he physically steeled himself and took a step back.
“You’re wearing that dress to the gala,” he commanded. “Everyone is going to want to talk to you and when they do, they’ll realize that you’re so much more than a gorgeous woman because you’ve got the brains and determination too. They’ll fall in love with you just like—” He broke off and you were too confused and scared to ask that he finish his sentence. “Trust me on this, Y/N. That dress and your brains? You’ll figure out who and what we’re hunting in the first half hour.”
Well. How the fuck do you respond to that? Sam was just being a friend. He was saying what he thought you needed to hear. That’s it. So you could just calm your heart down, return the dress to the reject rack, and get ready for a comfy night in the motel room with books ready to be researched.
“I think you’re full of shit.”
“I’m full of something, but it ain’t shit.” Sam grabbed your arm and pulled until you turned to face him. “Trust me, Y/N. You’ll be the center of attention tonight at the party and then later—”
He cut off again, but this time you couldn’t help yourself. “Later… what?”
His light chuckle filled the dressing room and he glanced away momentarily, running a hand through is hair. “Later, if you feel like it, I could help you take that dress off. We can just make sure Dean goes home with some chick from the party and I can show you exactly what that dress and the woman inside it does to me.”
Drabble request by @supernaturalmarvelgirl: Hi, I'd like to make a Sam drabble request. I had a really shitty day and I need some Sammy comfort. Thanks 😘
Word Count: 736
Version en Español: ¿Te Sientes Mejor?
“Will you just shut up and let me talk?” Your irritated voice echoed around your apartment when you yelled into your phone to be heard over your arrogant coworker.
“I would if you had anything helpful to say,” he replied haughtily.
You’d had enough. He asked for your help on his project. Your name wasn’t going to show up anywhere, so when he failed completely, you wouldn’t go down with him. “Whatever Bryan. Do what you want. I’ll just pick up your clients after they drop you.”
You stabbed your phone screen to end the call, really wishing you could slam the phone down like in the good ol’ days. Touch screens didn’t hold a flame to the satisfaction of physically slamming a phone into the cradle to end a call.
“That sounded like a fun conversation.”
“Sam!” The sight of the tall, floppy haired Winchester in your doorway brightened your day dramatically and you threw yourself into his arms. Almost as quickly as you’d thrown yourself at him, you pulled back and looked him over, searching for any injuries. “You’re okay? No broken bones or stitches?”
Laughing, he pulled you back into his arms. “I’m fine, Y/N. The ghouls aren’t, but I am. And it sounds like Bryan’s career isn’t fine.”
That reminder set you off again. It had been a long few weeks without Sam, and work was getting on your nerves. So you started ranting and pacing, fully aware that Sam was watching you amusedly the whole time.
“I don’t even know why he asked for my help if he wasn’t going listen to any of my ideas and I only agreed to help him in the first place because my boss has been on my ass for weeks about reaching out to the new people and helping them get up to speed, but these college babies think that their fresh-off-the-press bachelor’s diploma in marketing means they know how the advertising business works better than someone who has a solid career in it and they have no respect for—“
“Breathe,” Sam reminded you, laying his hands on your shoulders. You paused in your run-on sentence to do as he said.
When your lungs were once again filled, you couldn’t find the words to keep ranting because Sam’s gorgeous hazel eyes distracted you. One of his hands wandered from your shoulder to your cheek and he bent down slowly to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “Feel better?”
“Mmm, not quite.” Your hand hooked around his neck and pulled him back down for a better kiss. His fingers dug into your waist and your whole body relaxed as he pulled you closer. Three weeks without Sam was way too long.
Then he pulled back and you let out a whine of protest to which he just smiled and kissed your nose quickly. “More of that later. I just spent ten hours in a car with Dean and I’m starving.”
“Fine,” you pouted and let him pull you towards the door.
Soft moonlight drifted down through the thin layer of clouds, illuminating the street that you and Sam were strolling down. His strong fingers wove through yours, the callouses on his knuckles rubbing against your soft skin and convincing you that he really was here and that he really did come back for you, just like he always did.
“Tell me about the hunt,” you suggested softly. It seemed irreverent to speak louder than that in the cool night air. There was just something about nighttime walks and the slight breeze carrying the hoot of a distant owl that seemed to cover the world in a blanket of peace.
While you walked toward the restaurant, Sam quietly told you all about how he and Dean tracked down the ghouls. It always amazed you that Sam led such a vibrant, dynamic life, yet he loved coming home to you and hearing about your job that paled in comparison to his.
At one point during your walk, you pulled him to a stop under a lamppost and went up on tiptoes to kiss him. He leaned into the kiss, tracing his free hand down your other arm until both of your hands were tangled with his.
“What was that for?” His low, gruff voice just added to the picturesque moment.
With a slight shrug and an adoring smile, you answered simply, “Because I love you.”
