AnonymousYou got it! Writing now. I’ll edit to add them in. XD
Sam!
Christ, I fucking hate mornings. I really… Really… Really hate mornings. Okay, so what if it’s two P.M.? I Just woke up, therefore it’s morning. Okay, so I’m not even really awake. But, whatever.
My inner monologue was totally destroyed as I rolled over in bed without opening my eyes to find a warm mass next to me.
Andrew! Yay! He got home from work early! Weird… He usually wakes me up when he gets home. Oh, well.
As I snuggled against his side, and pressed my face up against his neck, and inhale the warm scent of… Leather? Why the hell does he smell like leather? And salt. What the hell?
“You smell weird…” I grumbled unhappily as I cracked one eye open and I was met with the sight of a mop of dark brown hair. “What the…?” Pushing up, and rubbing the sleep, and possibly dreams from my eyes, I stared down at what should be my husband in our bed. “You are definitely not Andrew…” My eyes went wide as a sudden realization struck me. “Holy fuck! Sam?!”
That was when he finally stirred, “Hum?” Rolling over and facing me, he opened his eyes and we stared at each other. For a moment, he looked like he was trying to recognize me, but after a long moment of giving him a serious “What the fuck?” look, he scrambled out of my bed and onto his ass on the floor. “Who are you? Where the hell am I?” He demanded, as he struggled to stand up, slipping on my dirty clothes strewn on the floor and knocking over my pink and orange lava lamp.
That’s when I started laughing, “I cannot fucking believe this. Seriously? Sam Winchester is… Was… In my bed. Wow. Okay.”
“That didn’t answer my question. Who. Are. You?” Sam started patting himself down, presumably looking for a gun, or some holy water or some other ridiculous shit.
“Sam. Well, Samantha. Samantha King.” I smiled at him and slipped out of bed, offering a hand down to him to help him up. “Sorry about the mess. But, yeah… Hi?” He took my hand, looking at me like I would either turn into some horrific creature from his universe, or worse. “Stop looking at me like that,” I frowned, “I’m not a demon or anything, calm your tits, bro.”
“Calm my what?” Then Sam took my hand and with a little effort on my end, hauled himself up. “How do you know what demons are? Are you a hunter?”
“Your tits. Calm them.” I told him, raising an eyebrow, “Okay, first things first: out of my bedroom. My husband’s gonna be home any minute, and this is gonna be hard enough to explain without having you looking guilty as hell in our room.”
“Your husband?”
“Yeah. Andrew, my husband. Whom I thought you were when I was all snuggled up against you before I was completely conscious.” I told him as I ushered him out of my room and into the living room. “You know, I never really thought about it before, but he’s kind of a giant like you.” With a shrug, I pushed past him and flopped down onto my couch, grabbing my half-empty pack of Pall Mall cigarettes and lighting one up. “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke… But, well, this is my house, and I need a serious dose of nicotine.”
Sam frowned at me, and sat down in one of the stray desk chairs floating in my living room that Andrew usually uses to play video games in, and pinned me with a stare that said he definitely didn’t trust me. Hell… I didn’t blame him. “You’ve still yet to explain where the hell I am, or how I got here… Or how you know who I am… Or what demons are.”
“Well, first of all… You’re in Maryville, Tennessee. Second, I don’t know how you got here. Thirdly, I know what demons are because I’m in love with the TV show that you’re on.”
“I’m not on a TV show.”
“Au contrair, mon ami. You are definitely on a TV show. It’s called Supernatural. It’s a lifestyle.”
Sam scoffed at me, and looked entirely too skeptical, “Supernatural?”
“Yeah. Supernatural. Remember that episode… Err… Time when you and Dean found out about those books written about your lives? Yeah, well in this universe, it’s a TV show.”
“A TV show?”
“Yes. A fucking TV show! I thought you went to Stanford?”
“How do you know that?” The accusation in his tone was somehow both hysterical, and irritating.
“Oh, my God. I didn’t think you were an idiot…” Of course, with my fucking luck, it was that moment that I heard my husband bounding up the stairs. Sam and I stared apprehensively as Andrew unlocked the door, and before I could even open my mouth to attempt and explanation…
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Sam… This is Andrew… Andrew, this is Sam Winchester.”
“Hi,” Sam, for some odd reason, looked guilty as hell.
“From that bullshit show you watch all the time?”
“Yeah…”
“What the fuck? Is that over-acting douchebag here too?”
Sam looked at me with a question mark written all over his face.
“He means Dean… Well, Jensen Ackles. He thinks he’s a bad actor. And no, babe. It’s just Sam.”
Andrew looked about as confused as Sam and I both felt, and I had no idea what to do from there. So, I did what any logical fangirl would do… I proceeded to pull up the first season of Supernatural on my computer, and set it to play while Sam looked more and more horrified as he watched. Andrew and I excused ourselves to the kitchen and had a seriously bewildered conversation in hushed tones, and I thought Andrew was going to bust a blood vessel in his face.
“So you just… Woke up, and he was here?”
“Pretty much…”
“Well, how do we… Send him back, or whatever?”
“Well, fuck if I know!”
“Fuck!”
“Yeah!”
“Shit…”
“Uh-huh…”
“Should we tell him to leave?”
“I don’t know… I’ve gotta call Stephanie… She will never believe this shit.”
Annnddd Thor!
“God damn it, Andrew… I’m trying to sleep, get your hands off my tits.”
The rumbling response that met me was far too deep to have been that of my husband’s and the hulking mass beside me was definitely not Andrew… Andrew’s the lean type of muscular, the kind of muscular that makes my mouth water. Not that Chris Hemsworth style of muscular doesn’t make my mouth water, too… But, there’s just something that makes a man even sexier when he’s wearing your wedding band.
I sort of thought I was dreaming, but as the groping and grabbing got more persistant, and I heard more of those deep rumbles, I was drawn directly out of La-La Land and into the bright, panicky, real world.
Frozen solid with fear, and partially pinned to my mattress by a tree-trunk of an arm, I couldn’t bring myself to move, even if I wanted to. Not to mention I was facing the royal purple wall of my bedroom, so I was quite literally, stuck between a rock and a hard place… The massive man behind me being the rock, my wall being the hard place.
Even though I was gripped by panic, I still had one working part of my body. My vocal chords… You know, once when I was in grade school, I got into a screaming (actually, now that I think about it, screeching would be a more appropriate term) competition with a few other first grade girls. Even after almost 20 years, I’m pretty sure I could still beat them in both pitch height, and volume.
Blood curdling would be a severe understatement, since immediately, the now apparently blond giant beside me sat bolt upright in my bed, and I screamed again when a hammer came crashing through the wall of my bedroom.
Throwing a protective arm around me, and puting himself between me and every opening (which used to be two, and is now three) to my room, I burst into hysterical, and I mean /hysterical/ laughter when the person I was screaming at thought to protect me from himself, with his own hammer.
Wait… Flying hammer?
“Oh. My. God.”
“Where?! I see nothing to fret over!”
“You! You’re something to fret over!”
“Me?! Surely you would not welcome me into your bed only to scream at my presence in the morning. I am not called dashing, but I was never under the impression that my looks were /that/ terrible!”
Then he smiled at me. Oh, god did he smile at me. Standing up, he looked sheepishly over at the new window to my room that conveniently led to my bathroom and promised he’d fix it. Staring wide eyed, and blushing at him, I said the only thing I could think of.
“Did you know that you’re naked?!”
A warm, rumbling laugh errupted from his chest and he grinned a grin that somehow made him look boyish and manly at the same time, “T’is usually how I slumber, m’lady.” And then he caressed my face like some god damn romance novel hero while I fitfully slapped his hand away.
“I don’t care how you ‘usually slumber’! Put some damn pants on for Christ’s sake!” Panting, and red faced, I threw my blanket at him and stomped out of my room, yelling back at him, “Or at least cover up or something!”
Following me like a confused puppy, he hesitantly wrapped my thick, warm, purple and gold comforter around his waist and dropped Mjolnir with a resounding thud onto my hard wood floors. Okay, that’s gonna scratch… “Have I done something to upset you?”
“Yeah! You showed up in my bed, naked and groping me, and I’m married! I don’t care how hot and thunder-y you are. That’s not okay!”
For a moment, he looked confused, and then his face blanched and his eyes went wide, “I was not aware you were married, m’lady…”
“Yeah? Well, I am.”
“Then why did you…” His voice trailed off, and then he looked confused, “you did invite me into your bed, did you not? I… I’m afraid I do not remember.”
“No!” I shreiked, “No! No, no, no! I did not invite you into my bed… Maybe if I were single, yeah! But, now? Not just no, but /hell no/!”
“Then how…?”
“I don’t fucking know! Will you just /please/ put on some pants?”
Glancing around the room while a burried my face in my hands and paced like a caged animal, he then tapped my shoulder and brought me to a short stop. “I do not know where my pants are…”
“Oh, this is fucking great…”
“Such a foul mouth for such a little girl.”
“Oh, my Lord! Stow it, would you? What the hell is the God of fucking Thunder doing in my house, better yet, in my bed, anyway?”
“Why would I have been in the bed of such a lady, if I can even call you that, with such a foul attitude?”
“I don’t know! Maybe you should ask your brother, you know.. The trickster god?”
“You know of Loki?”
“I know of the things you do with Loki, that you were apparently trying to do with me,” I told him with an accusatory lifted brow.
“That is none of your business.”
“Listen, I’m not Loki. He might appreciate it when you grope him and fondle him, but I…”
“You watch your tongue,”
“And you watch your ass! Get out of my house!”
