Summary: Dean didn’t think he could ever be jealous over someone who’s not his. He was wrong.
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester (mentioned), OMC.
Word count: 2014
Warnings: Not much. Tiny bit of fluff, some angst and a whole lot of language (because we all know that Dean and the f-word go together). Jealous Dean, I guess?
Author’s Notes: This is my sumbission for @death2thevirgin “Cassie Classic Challenge”. Cassie, congratulations on your milestone and thank you for letting me participate. I loved working on this one.
Also, I’d like to thank my amazing twin @ravengirl94 for her insightful comment on part of the dialogue -which was really needed- and some general advices about the beginning. Twin, YOU’RE THE BEST!
Now. My prompt for this was “I wish I knew how to quit you” from Brokeback Mountain and is included in bold in the text below. (This is written entirely from Dean’s POV)
The tiny bar was
crowded, filled with smoke and hundreds of conversations narrated in loud
voices, brightened only by some old bar lights. Rock music blasted through the
jukebox and people around Dean laughed and danced and talked in an annoying
And he… Well. He
absolutely hated it because there was
nothing to be cheerful about.
Swirling the amber
liquid in his glass, he let the alcohol burn down his throat, eyes focused on
the fascinating girl that was sitting a few tables away from him.
She was beautiful
in that old Bad Company T-shirt that had once been his, head thrown back
and eyes twinkling as she laughed at something the blue-eyed man next to her
had said. She looked happy and engaged in a conversation with a man that wasn’t
him and he knew, no matter how much it pained him to admit it, that she wouldn’t
be heading back to their table anytime soon.
And part of him
realized that it shouldn’t bother him.
He realized that he had no right to be jealous and that Y/N was free to do as
she pleased but the sight of her so close to another man, laughing at his
stupid jokes and looking at him like he was the moon and the stars hurt him. Because only minutes earlier she
had been chuckling at his antics, arm
brushing up against his and bright, wide smile playing at the corners of her
lips ever every time she caught him staring.
And he wasn’t
being possessive. Or, at least, not entirely. Surely, he hated the idea of someone else putting their hands on Y/N, abhorred
the mere possibility of that asshole kissing her, tracing soft skin and curves
with his fingers, doing all the things Dean wished he could but knew he’d be never able to.
And yet, he was
aware that she wasn’t his to begin