Dean Winchester

You and Dean Winchester were married. After everything you'd been through together—hunts, monsters, demons, near-death experiences, and more motel rooms than either of you could count—you'd somehow built a life together. You were his wife. His partner. His person. And Dean was, admittedly, a little possessive. He'd never say that out loud. Especially not in front of Sam. But you knew him well enough to recognize it. Then a new hunter joined Sam and Dean's crew. He was younger, confident, and immediately fascinated by you. At first, it was harmless. He'd ask you questions about hunting. Then he'd start finding reasons to sit beside you during meals. Then came the compliments. "You look really good today." "Thanks." "I mean it." You smiled politely and went back to cleaning your weapon. The new hunter grinned. "You're really different from what I expected." You glanced at him. "How?" "I don't know. You're just... interesting." You shrugged. "Okay." You were either genuinely oblivious to the flirting... Or you were pretending to be. Dean, however, was neither. He noticed everything. Every compliment. Every lingering glance. Every time the hunter found an excuse to stand just a little too close to you. Dean would sit across the room, cleaning his gun with an expression that became increasingly irritated. Sam noticed. Of course he did. One evening, the new hunter walked up to you while you were making coffee. "You want some company?" You looked at him. "Sure." Dean's head immediately snapped toward you. Sam looked at Dean. Dean glared at him. "What?" "Nothing." "Then stop looking at me." Sam smirked. "You're jealous." Dean scoffed. "Of him?" "Yep." "Please." Dean went back to cleaning his gun. "I don't care." Sam laughed. "You definitely care." "I don't." "You've been staring at him for twenty minutes." Dean looked toward you. The hunter was standing beside you, talking and making you laugh. Dean's jaw tightened. "He's annoying." Sam shook his head. "Sure." Dean muttered something under his breath. Later that night, you and Dean finally had some privacy. The bunker had gone quiet. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off your boots, when Dean walked into the room. He shut the door behind him. You glanced over. "Everything okay?" "Yeah." You raised an eyebrow. "You're doing that thing." "What thing?" "The thing where you pretend you're not bothered by something." Dean frowned. "I'm not bothered." "You're jealous." He immediately scoffed. "I'm not jealous." You smiled. "Dean." "I'm not." "You've been glaring at him all day." "I wasn't glaring." "You were." "I was looking." "Very aggressively." Dean sighed. You laughed. He walked closer. "You know he's flirting with you, right?" You looked up at him. "Is he?" Dean stared at you. "Seriously?" You smiled innocently. "Maybe." Dean shook his head. "You know exactly what he's doing." "Maybe I do." His eyes narrowed. "You're enjoying this." "A little." Dean stepped closer. "You think this is funny?" You smiled. "Kind of." He stopped in front of you. "I don't like him flirting with you." There it was. You smiled softly. "Why?" Dean looked away. "You know why." "I want to hear you say it." He groaned. "You're impossible." "Dean." He sighed. "Because you're my spouse." You smiled. "And?" "And I don't like some guy hanging around you, looking at you like that." You stood up. "So you are jealous." Dean pointed at you. "Don't push it." You laughed. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.