Ghost Light, Jealous Night
***GIF IS NOT MINE***
Rating: mature (explicit if you pass the smut warning at the end)
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader
Summary: When a hunt requires flirting with a stranger, Sam’s jealousy erupts into a raw confrontation where fear and desire collide—proving some claims need no words.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, jealousy, references to past trauma, emotional angst, mild violence (bar altercation).
Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)
If you love it, please comment and/or reblog. Let me know your thoughts! :)
**IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT**
A/N: This was a request for
@thesundontshineontheseeyebrows
I really hope you like it!!! ;)
“Hi hi!! LOVE your writing!!! wondering if you would ever write a fic (maybe with some angst, maybe a little bit of smut 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂) about Sam getting jealous of a guy hitting on reader? 🥰”
I actually really enjoyed writing for a request it gave me a bit of a challenge and I’ve got a couple more to fulfill! So those will be coming soon!
The neon Budweiser sign buzzed like an angry hornet, casting a sickly red glow over the crowded dive bar. The air hung thick with stale beer, cheap perfume, and desperation. You perched on a sticky barstool, swirling the watery dregs of your club soda, forcing a bright, vacant smile onto your face. Across the room, crammed into a shadowed booth, Sam Winchester looked like he was chewing glass.
"Easy, tiger," Dean muttered, draining his own beer. "She's got this. It's the fastest way to ID the pattern."
"He's looking at her like she's dessert," Sam ground out, his knuckles white where they gripped the chipped Formica table. His gaze burned into your back, then slid to the man leaning too close to you at the bar – Benny, he’d introduced himself with a smarmy grin. Benny, who supposedly knew everyone in this dying mill town, including the three factory workers recently found pale and terrified, drained of life by something unseen. Your target.
You had agreed with Dean. The ghost had attacked men who frequented this bar. Flirting for intel was the fastest in. But feeling Sam’s raw, jealous energy radiating across the room made your skin prickle. You focused on Benny, laying it on thick.
"Wow, Benny, you really know everyone, huh?" you giggled, leaning in conspiratorially, your shoulder brushing his arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam flinch. "So, those poor guys… Jimmy, Carl, Pete… they were all regulars here?"
"Like clockwork, sweetheart," Benny slurred, his breath hot and beery in your ear. His eyes roved over the neckline of your borrowed, tight-fitting top. "Real sad cases. Loners. Always lookin' for someone to talk to." He leaned even closer, his hand landing heavily on your thigh. "Kinda like someone else I know tonight."
Inside, you recoiled. But you kept the smile plastered on. "Oh, I'm just here for a drink, Benny," you demurred, subtly shifting your leg away. "But it's fascinating, really. Did they ever mention anything strange happening? Before they got… sick?"
Benny’s eyes darkened, the friendly mask slipping. He misinterpreted your shift away as playful resistance. "Playing hard to get, huh? I like that." His hand clamped back onto your thigh, higher this time, fingers digging in possessively. He leaned in, his lips aiming for your neck. "C'mon, darlin'. Let's ditch this dump. I know a quieter spot. You can ask me anything you want… privately."
Panic flared, but you calmed your features. “Benny, seriously," you said firmly, pushing against his chest. "I'm not into that. Back off."
He chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound. "Sure you are. You've been leading me on all night, flashing those pretty eyes." His other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you against him on the stool. "Don't be a tease."
That's when the shadow fell over you both.
Sam Winchester filled the space beside you, radiating a quiet fury that made the noisy bar seem suddenly silent. He wasn't shouting. He didn't need to. Every coiled muscle, the dangerous glint in his hazel eyes, the way his jaw worked silently – it screamed violence barely contained.
He dwarfed Benny instantly.
"Problem here?" Sam's voice was a low growl, vibrating with barely leashed anger directed solely at Benny. His gaze flicked to you for a split second – a silent question, a blaze of protectiveness and something darker, primal.
Benny blinked, momentarily stunned by Sam's sheer size and intensity. He tried to bluster. "We're just talking, pal. Private conversation."
Sam didn't move. He didn't even look at Benny again. His eyes locked onto Benny’s hand, still gripping your thigh like a claim. "Your hand," Sam stated, the words icy calm. "Get it off her. Now."
The command brooked no argument.
Benny flinched, his bravado evaporating. He yanked his hand back as if burned. "Alright, jeez! Easy, big guy! Sheesh, didn't know she was spoken for." He scrambled off his stool, backing away with nervous glances. "Freak."
Sam ignored him. The moment Benny was out of immediate reach, Sam’s focus snapped entirely to you. His large hand replaced Benny’s on your arm, but the touch was entirely different – grounding, urgent, possessive. "Are you okay?" The roughness was still there, layered over thick concern. "Did he hurt you?"
His proximity was overwhelming. You could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the familiar scent of his soap and flannel undercut by the sharp tang of adrenaline and jealousy. His eyes scanned your face, lingering on where Benny had tried to nuzzle your neck, his nostrils flaring slightly.
"I'm fine, Sam," you breathed, your own pulse hammering. "Really. He was just drunk and handsy. I had it."
"Had it?" Sam’s voice dropped, dangerously low, just for you. His thumb rubbed a small circle on your arm, a stark contrast to the tension radiating from him. "You looked… you looked like you were enjoying it." The raw accusation, the hurt beneath the anger, hit you like a physical blow.
"Sam," you started, shocked. "It was an act. You know that!"
"An act that involved letting him paw at you?" His grip tightened infinitesimally. "Laughing at his jokes? Leaning into him like he was the most interesting guy in the room?" The jealousy wasn't simmering anymore; it was boiling over, fueled by the helplessness of watching from the sidelines. "I saw you, Y/N. It looked pretty damn convincing."
"Because I needed the information!" you shot back, frustrated tears pricking your eyes. "And I got it! He confirmed the ghost targets the lonely regulars, the ones who feel invisible. That's the pattern!"
The information barely registered. Sam leaned down, his face inches from yours now. The neon light caught the storm in his eyes. "He had his hands on you," he rasped, the possessive fury vibrating through every word. "And I had to sit over there… feeling like I was going to crawl out of my skin." His gaze dropped to your lips for a heart-stopping second. "Seeing you look at him like that…"
His confession hung in the humid air, charged and undeniable. The mission, Benny, the ghost – it all faded into the background noise of the bar. There was only Sam, his furious jealousy, his protective rage, and the terrifyingly intense look in his eyes that promised this conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot. His hand slid from your arm to your lower back, pulling you subtly closer against him, a silent declaration that vibrated through your entire body.
"Sam," Dean's voice cut through the tension, surprisingly serious. He appeared beside you, his own expression tight. "We got what we needed. Time to go. Now." He glanced pointedly at Benny, who was whispering angrily to a bouncer across the bar, gesturing towards Sam.
Sam didn't move immediately. He held your gaze for another long, electrifying moment, the unspoken words – We are not done here – echoing louder than any shout. Finally, with a last, scorching look that promised a reckoning, he released his grip on your waist only to take your hand instead, his fingers lacing tightly through yours. He pulled you towards the exit, shielding you with his body, radiating a possessiveness that vibrated in the air long after you'd left Benny, the bar, and the neon buzz behind. The hunt for the ghost was still on, but the storm brewing between you and Sam promised its own kind of haunting intensity. His silence as he led you to the Impala was thick, heavy, and crackling with unresolved tension – the kind you knew would explode the moment you were alone.
The slam of the motel room door felt like a punctuation mark on the oppressive silence. Dean barely let it close before clearing his throat, his eyes darting between you and Sam, who radiated a barely-contained tempest of fury. Sam paced like a caged animal, his long strides eating up the cheap carpet, refusing to look at you directly.
"Yeah, so," Dean announced with forced cheerfulness that rang hollow in the tension-charged room. "Forgot I gotta... uh... check the salt lines in the trunk. Yeah. And maybe grab more whiskey. Definitely need more whiskey." He shot you a look that was pure, unadulterated ‘You brought this on yourself, good luck, you’re gonna need it’ before practically bolting out the door. The latch clicked with finality.
The sound seemed to snap something in Sam. He whirled around, finally pinning you with a gaze that was molten lava mixed with shattered glass. "Enjoyed the show?" he bit out, his voice dangerously low and ragged. "You certainly seemed to be giving him one."
"Sam, stop it," you countered, exhaustion warring with frustration. "It was a job. You saw him get handsy. You saw me push him away!"
"After you let him flirt! After you laughed at his stupid jokes, leaned in close, looked up at him like he was fascinating!" Sam took a step closer, his height suddenly looming, imposing. The air crackled with his possessive anger. "It looked real, Y/N. Damn convincing. More convincing than anything I've seen you do before."
"Because I needed him to believe it!" you shouted back, your own temper flaring. "I needed the intel! And I got it! Why are you being like this? You know I only love you! You know I'm not going anywhere with some random drunk barfly!" You stepped towards him, meeting his fury head-on. "You're being crazy!"
The word hit him like a physical blow. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping. He looked away, raking a hand through his hair, but the storm didn't abate; it shifted, turning inward, feeding on something darker. His voice, when it came, was raw, scraping against the silence.
"Crazy? Maybe. Because watching that… watching you look at him like that… it felt like someone ripped my guts out." He finally looked back at you, and the anger was still there, white-hot, but beneath it was a vulnerability so stark it stole your breath. "Because everyone leaves, Y/N. Everyone. Mom. Jess. Dad in his own way. Hell, even Dean sometimes feels like he's on borrowed time." His voice cracked on Jessica's name, the old wound flaring. "And you… you're everything. So seeing you smile at him like that… it wasn't just jealousy. It was… terror. That it would be so damn easy for you to decide I'm too much. Too broken. Too much damn baggage. That you could just walk over to a guy who doesn't know about monsters and blood and loss, and…" He choked off, unable to finish the horrifying thought, the raw fear beneath the rage finally laid bare.
His admission knocked the wind out of your anger, leaving only aching tenderness and a fierce protective surge. He wasn’t just jealous of Benny; he was terrified of history repeating itself, of being abandoned by the one person he couldn’t bear to lose. You didn't hesitate. You closed the distance between you in two strides.
"Sam Winchester," you said, your voice firm but infinitely gentle, "look at me." When his tormented eyes reluctantly met yours, you placed your hands flat on his broad chest. "You listen to me right now." You pushed firmly. He resisted for a fraction of a second, his body tense as coiled steel, but you pushed harder. "Sit. Down." Your command, laced with unwavering certainty, broke through the haze of his anger and fear. He sank heavily onto the edge of the lumpy motel bed, the fight seeming to drain out of him, leaving him looking impossibly weary and young.
Before he could say another word, you stepped between his knees. You grasped his face firmly in your hands, forcing his gaze to stay locked on yours, seeing the lingering hurt, the fear, the desperate need for reassurance beneath the storm. "I am never leaving you," you stated, each word deliberate, etched in stone. "Not for Benny, not for anyone. Ever. Got it?" You leaned down, pressing your lips to his forehead, then each cheek, feather-light kisses against his flushed skin. "You are mine, Sam Winchester. My giant, brilliant, beautiful hunter with too big a heart and too much damn history. And I love you too much. Too much."
You felt the tension in him begin to loosen, inch by painful inch, as your words seeped past the walls his fear had erected. You slid your hands from his face into his hair, your fingers sinking into the soft, thick strands, massaging his scalp with firm, soothing strokes. "You can't stay mad at me when I'm doing this," you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. He let out a shaky breath, a low rumble deep in his chest that wasn't quite a growl anymore, more a weary sigh. His large hands settled tentatively on your hips.
"No," he mumbled, his forehead dropping to rest against your sternum. "Hard to stay mad when you're… doing that." His voice was thick, muffled against your shirt. The raw edge of fury was gone, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion and a fragile, tentative hope.
You tilted his chin back up. His eyes were still stormy, the jealousy not entirely vanished, the fear a shadow in the depths, but the overwhelming rage had receded. There was a vulnerability there now, open and waiting. A need that went beyond words.
"Good," you whispered, leaning in until your lips were a breath away from his. "Because you think I was convincing with Benny?" A ghost of your mission smile touched your lips, but this time it was filled with pure, possessive promise meant only for him. "You haven't seen anything yet, Sam. Not when it comes to proving exactly how much you mean to me."
A flicker of something hot and intense sparked in his weary eyes – surprise, intrigue, the first ember of a different kind of fire. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards, the barest hint of his familiar smirk struggling to surface through the lingering emotional wreckage. "Yeah?" he challenged, his voice still rough but laced with a new curiosity. "How you planning on doing that?"
You didn't answer with words.
Instead, you shoved him backwards onto the mattress. He landed with a soft oomph, looking up at you, sprawled beneath you, surprise momentarily eclipsing the lingering shadows in his expression. You followed him down, straddling his hips, pinning him with your weight and your gaze. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss that wasn't gentle reassurance anymore. It was deep, demanding, and blazing with the fierce certainty of your love. When you finally pulled back, just enough to see his dilated pupils, the hitch in his breath, you smiled, slow and dangerous.
"I have my ways, Winchester," you murmured against his lips, your voice dropping to a husky whisper thick with intent. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers tracing the hard planes beneath his shirt. "And trust me…" You leaned in again, your breath warm against his ear, "...I can be very convincing."
Sam’s answering groan vibrated against your lips as you kissed him again, deeper this time, chasing away the last ghosts of the bar, Benny, and his own fears with the tangible, undeniable reality of you, here, now, claiming him entirely. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, not in anger anymore, but in a surrender that promised a different kind of storm altogether – one fueled by desperate need and the overwhelming reassurance that he was yours, utterly and completely.
The argument was over. The real convincing had just begun. Outside, the Impala’s engine had faded into silence. Dean was definitely getting that whiskey.
(Slightly Smutty Ending if you want it ;))
Sam’s groan vibrated against your mouth as you kissed him, raw and hungry. Your hands shoved his flannel open, buttons scattering. His palms slid up your thighs, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Prove it,” he demanded against your lips, voice ragged. “Show me I’m the only one you want.”
You rocked against the rigid heat straining beneath his jeans, drawing a sharp gasp from him. “You feel that?” you whispered, nipping his jaw. “That’s all for you. Only ever you.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to make his eyes darken.
He flipped you onto your back in one fluid motion, pinning your wrists above your head. His gaze burned—still haunted, but now fused with predatory need. “Words are easy,” he growled, hips grinding down, making you arch. “Show me.”
You bucked against him, meeting his challenge. “Then stop talking, Winchester.” You sealed the command with a searing kiss as your free hand fumbled with his belt. His breath hitched when your fingers finally closed around him, stroking firmly. A broken sound escaped him—part relief, part surrender—as his forehead dropped to yours.
“Y/N—”
“Shut up,” you breathed, guiding him to your entrance. “Feel it.”
You sank onto him in one slow, claiming slide, drowning his next words in a shared moan. His hips jerked, burying himself deeper, as if trying to fuse you together. “Mine,” he rasped, thrusting up, each movement erasing the ghost of Benny’s touch, the bar, the fear. You met him stroke for stroke, nails scoring his back, legs locking around him. The motel walls echoed with skin slapping skin, ragged breaths, and the creak of cheap springs—a primal symphony drowning out every doubt.
When release tore through him, he choked out your name like a prayer, forehead pressed to your collarbone, trembling. You held him as the aftershocks shook his big frame, his arms vise-tight around you. Outside, the Impala’s engine rumbled. Dean was back.
Sam lifted his head, eyes clear now, soft with dazed wonder. He brushed sweat-damp hair from your face, thumb tracing your swollen lip. “Convinced?” You murmured, as a real smile finally touching his mouth.
He kissed your neck. “Starting to be.”
You huffed a laugh, rolling to pull yourself atop him, still joined. “Then we’ve got all night, baby.”
Dean’s key jiggled in the lock. Sam’s arms tightened possessively. “His problem now.”
