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A Little Weight

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“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

Alright, so really, this isn’t my fault. It’s not. I’m just...polite. Yeah. I only eat the food she makes because I have to, and it’s fucking delicious. Roasted chicken and creamy pasta and of course bacon and then there was this apple pie pastry thing and she put ice cream on top of it and some kind of crazy good candy syrup on top of that and really, something that awesome needs to be enjoyed a few times, right? Plus it’d be rude to my girlfriend if I only had one serving. She’s the love of my life and she worked hard to make it, and I know she loves to take care of us even if Sam doesn’t eat a lot of the sugary stuff. But I mean, c’mon - something as delicious as pecan pie needs at least two servings. And then there were the homemade bacon maple bars, I took care of those real quick. The lemon meringue cheesecake was epic, even if she made me share. Baked potatoes, biscuits and gravy, omelettes. Epic burgers. I mean, if she really loves me, then she’s showing me with really awesome food. I guess between her cooking and me being more...stationary - my pants are having some kind of malfunction.

“C’mon you fucker.” I try to wiggle into my jeans a little bit more but it’s not helping. Kick, ankle….shit. After my shower when I went to put ‘em on they’re all tight. Like, I had to move up a notch on my belt and the god damn button isn’t working! It’s like I’ve got a fucking...muffin top. What the hell!

I’m not fat. I’m not. I guess I...shit. Yep, can’t get them snapped. Son of a bitch. 

“Baby?” 

Shit, she’s gonna see me all chubby bunny now. This is embarrassing. Sam is never, ever going to let me live this down. I’m going to be eating spinach and kale and blah blah cholesterol blah blah forever.

“Here you are, I was calling you for dinner.” She comes around the corner in one of my old t-shirts and sweats, a ‘Gobble til you Wobble’ apron tied loosely around her neck and waist. I try not to take it personally. Stupid fat cartoon turkey, I know the fucker is judging me. I am not like you, fat turkey! “Why aren’t you dressed?”

I look down and realize that I’m now just wearing boxers, all the rest of me on display like a 4-H cattle exhibit. As if all the freckles weren’t already bad enough. I slide the traitor pants up in front of my stomach. Everything is cool. 

No it’s not, she knows me too well. 

“Babe, why are you being weird? Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I flinch as I back up another two steps and reach for the dresser. I keep the pants in front of me while I scramble for a shirt- ANY shirt- to cover up with when I feel her soft hands on my back. 

“Hey.” She nudges me so I turn. I have no willpower when it comes to the gorgeous eyes staring up at me. “What's going on?” 

“I…” I offer the jeans silently as an explanation. I am so pathetic. Like wow, there’s badass hunter Dean Winchester, oh wait he’s not awesome anymore because he’s an old fatass that can’t keep up with the monsters. Loser.

“Hey, don’t say mean stuff to yourself,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around me. At least she can still do that. She arches a brow at me like she knows what I’m thinking. Thank god she can’t read my mind all the time. All I know is she’s gonna notice I’m getting fat and she’s gonna hate it and think I’m a bad fucking hunter because apparently at forty I can’t handle it or some shit and then she’s gonna leave me. Wow I am such a fucking teenage girl. Like a fat pregnant one.

“Dean.” She leans back and makes me meet her eyes, and there’s that hunter edge to her voice and I hafta listen. “You are amazing. Strong and powerful and an awesome hunter and the best sex I’ve ever had.” Well, yeah. I gotta smile a little at that. “And if you think I’m going to be turned off because you gained a little weight then you obviously don’t know me at all.” 

Her hand slides down my back to grab my ass. “Besides I like you with a little weight on.”

“Really?” I mean, I love her body, all soft curves and perfect tits and lots of gorgeous ass. I can’t imagine her being some skinny chick, I love that I can hold onto her, feel the strength of her. She can always take what I give her. She's amazing. 

She tilts her head to the side like she thinks I’m being funny but we’re both serious. “Fuck yes. You think I’m sexy even though I’m not some skinny waif, right?” 

“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” 

She tugs the jeans out of my hands and looks me up and down, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. I’m pretty sure she learned that from me but it’s alright cuz it’s sexy as fuck on her.

“Dean, you’re the sexiest man I have ever seen.” 

Great, now I’m blushing. “Thanks.” 

“Can I feed you now?” she asks as she digs a long sleeved black henley out of the dresser, choosing one that she knows will fit me, dark colored to hide my insecurities. I tug it on over my love handles, feeling a little bit better. She still loves me, chubby or not. 

“I’ll never turn down your cooking, sweetheart.” I finally find a pair of pants that’ll fit and pitch the tight jeans into the corner.

“Mmmm, I knew you were gonna say that.” She kisses me then, sweet and soft, and I forget about my stupid freak out. If she likes me like this, then I guess it’s okay. As long as Sam never finds out about the jeans. 

“I won’t tell Sam.” She winks, reading my mind again. “C’mon. Patty melts, fruit salad, and cobbler are waiting.” 

I love this girl.