Supernatural Smut [REQUESTS CLOSED]

Bingo X Sam Winchester (Fluff)

"Sam! Oh my god, Sam."

You run up to Sam, who is unconscious and very bruised. His face is bloody and his lip is cut. He's dressed in a white gown and no shoes, which shows you that his feet are muddy and bloody as well. There's a giant gash on his arm, which is still bleeding. You stroke his cheek, feeling his weeks-old stubble.

"What?" he mumbles, his eyes opening slowly.

"Sam! Hey, Sam, baby, it's okay." You hear the word baby slip out of your mouth and you blush, but it fades away quickly.

"(Y/N)? How did I get-"  His brows unknit as he remembers. "You have to get out of here."

"What? No, Sam, I have to get you out first!"

"No," he demands, grabbing you with his bad arm and wincing. "I won't let you stay here. You have to run."

"Shut up, Sam," you say, as you work on the bondages on his legs. You can feel your anxiety building. Why is he so anxious for me to get out of here? Who put him here? It doesn't look like they tranquilized him, it looks like they beat him until he was unconscious, and then maybe a bit more. Who would do that? How did they do it? Were there many or just one?  What kind of power do these people have?

"(Y/N), stop," you hear him say.

"No," you gasp, struggling to breathe as your anxiety sweeps over you. "I have to get you out of here."

"No, I meant stop freaking out." You finally release his legs and move up to his torso, hands shaking.

"I-I'm not freaking out," you murmur, your shaking hands making it impossible to free him.

"(Y/N)," he says, taking you by the hands, "sit on my lap."

"What? I have to-"

"Do it." You turn and his eyes are filled with determination.

You take a deep breath and carefully sit on his lap, cautious not to sit on any of his bruises, which is impossible, because he has bruises everywhere. He might as well be a bruise himself. He takes your arms and places them on his shoulders, and any other day, you would've been thrilled to be in this position. You're on Sam fucking Winchester's lap, you'd scream, but today, you were just too damn scared.

"Bingo, okay?" he says.

You chuckle. "Okay."

Bingo is a technique that Sam and Dean use when you're having an anxiety attack. For some reason, staring into someone's eyes, especially Sam's, and spelling out bingo works wonders for you.

"B," you say together, taking a deep breath before you do.

"I." His eyes look particularly green today.

"N." Even though he was badly injured, the scar on his lip is actually kind of cute.

"G." And his hair is messy. Damn, do you love it when his hair is messy.

"O." Before you can thank him for calming you down, he pulls you into a kiss. He places his hand onto your lower back, holding you tight. Your eyes open wide, then flutter shut. You make some sort of muffled cry, but it soon turns into a delighted groan.

He pulls away and strokes your face. "Are you ready now?"

You simply nod. That's all you can do at the moment. You climb off of his lap, cutting open the rope that held him to the bed. You lift him up, helping him off the cot. He winces from being on his feet, then leans on you for support.

Unfortunately, he's 6'4 and you're...well...shorter than that.

You both struggle down the hallway, Sam wincing with every step. You finally break out of the building, placing Sam in the car and climbing in.

"(Y/N)," Sam says from the backseat.

"Yeah?" you mumble, focusing on the road.

"I love you."

The brakes slam before you place your foot back on the gas. You look in the mirror and see Sam smiling, the cut on his lip reopening, but you don't think he cares.

He's just happy to love you.