Thomas Sangster Imagines/Oneshots

Passion~(Samuel Emerson x Reader)

*My Left Hand Man/Phantom Halo*

(A/N): Thomas's American accent tho🤤

And I now realize that Phantom Halo is a full movie version of My Left Hand Man.

Yay me.

Btw I went WAY overboard like I always do in these imagines and added almost the whole damn story and I actually deleted the ending and just added fluff to leave off on a good note. Maybe another imagine...

And please correct me if I'm wrong! I'm not %100 sure which Shakespeare quotes they're saying! Please comment where I might be able to find the original quotes, and I would love to learn what they actually are!

Educate me, smart people.

And btw I do NOT own My Left Hand Man or Phantom Halo! They belong to Station 8 films respectively!

Originally published: 9/9/19

*Fluff/Angst*

~

   You opened your eyes, adjusting to the dull morning light peeking through the drawn blinds.

   A quick rush overcompensated your vision as you took in the sight of Sam's room. The bedsheets were a piled mess at the corner and a dent where Sam was laying in the bed, before presumably getting up, still was prominent in the old and worn-in mattress.

   You looked down at your blanket-covered body to realize you were only wearing underwear, and that Samuel's favorite grey blanket was draped across your form.

   You had recalled the events from last night. You had come over to Sam's house to read comic books with him and help him rehearse his Shakespeare lines, then you two eventually made quiet love and at some point in the night had drifted off to sleep in each other's arms with books and comics strewn lazily across the bed, all falling off onto the floor.

   The door to Sam's room was shut, thank gods, as all of the posters of his favorite superheroes, including his all-time favorite, 'The Cardinal Comet' and the 'Phantom Halo' we're shining in the dull lighting struggling to greet your (S/C) skin.

   You sighed, ran a hand through your scalp and looked around for some clothes to wear. You spotted your day-old (F/C) bra laying on the floor just next to Samuel's empty dresser, bare of photos, just messy notebook paper drawings of superheroes.

   You lazily shrunk your way out of the warm and inviting bed to the cloth that lay on the carpet.

   You felt goosebumps rush over your exposed skin as you took in the noise of the creaky fan above you and the noticeable draft in the air. You shivered again, hurrying to find your clothes, muttering to yourself.

   You clicked your bra on with a quick snap! as you walked over to Sam's closet, the frame of the doorway stained and cracked. You saw a tiny splint in the right hand corner, presumably from someone slamming it in anger. You didn't want to think about that.

   Your footsteps made light noise against the grey carpet. You picked out one of Samuel's t-shirts, a large grey one with a yellow stag logo on the breast of the fabric, and slipped it over your head. The sleeves were baggy and the bottom hem hung over your legs, but the neckline still reached down like any of your shirts, around your collarbone.

   You grabbed the blanket off of the bed and draped it over your covered shoulders, not risking Samuel's brother, Beckett, seeing you in no pants, or worse, his father, since your pants were nowhere to be found in the messy, yet bare room.

   You stepped out of the doorway, the rattle of the not-so-good air conditioner hitting your exposed legs, sending another array goosebumps across your (S/C) skin like ocean waves. Your feet made ample noise crossing the narrow hallway to the living room, past the kitchen, hitting the floor with every step. You could feel the dust between your toes.