The Thief and the Harbingers Childe x reader x Scaramouche

Electric Chaos

Surprisingly, I woke up before Scaramouche did. I didn't sleep nearly as awful as I imagined I would, especially since he was rather warm compared to his usual frigid temperature.

Scaramouche's arm was draped over my side, his hand snug between the cloth of my shirt and the skin of my spine, while I faced him head on.

My face felt weirdly hot by the unwelcomed hand under my shirt. He was totally invading my privacy.

Was I going to allow him to keep it there for now? Yes, yes I was. Its not MY fault my body was so touch starved. As long as he wasn't awake to be satisfied by my red face it wasn't a problem anyway.

Speaking of faces, his looked incredibly peaceful, no longer crinkled into a scowl like usual. He was quite pretty when he wasn't awake, much the same as Tartaglia, seeing as neither of them were conscious for long enough to run their mouths.

Scaramouche's face was eloquently structured and almost obnoxiously clear, with pretty light pink lips that stood out from the rest of his pale skin.

I watched his sleeping face curiously. How could someone so pretty be ruined by such an obnoxious personality? It was unfortunate, really.

Would he ever look this peaceful when he was conscious? Likely not, it would be back to the same old shit as soon as those pretty eyes opened.

Maybe this day will start off well. I won't provoke him, I won't disobey him. I shall simply remain calm. Absolutely nothing can go wrong so long as I cooperate.

A tired indigo orb opened to watch me, "what are you staring at brat," he mumbled.

I jerked my body backwards and out of his grasp, startled by his sudden interaction. He had a hell of a way of catching people off guard.

He scoffed tiredly, letting out a yawn and closing his droopy eyes, all the while reaching a slender hand to my waist in an attempt to pull me close once more.

I nudged his hand away gently, hoping to keep him in his groggy, unprovoked state.

I wouldn't be caught dead snuggling with him now that he was awake. Him gaining that kind of satisfaction would only feed into his ego even more. Which was something I was keen on avoiding.

Scaramouche's blue eyes peaked open slowly, curious to the sudden lack of warmth next to him, "over here," he grumbled before closing his eyes once again.

When I made no move to obey him, he groaned in irritation, lifting the upper half of his body from the bed, and in one quick motion gripped my arm to slide me across the sheets below him. 

"You suck at following orders," his lidded eyes peered down at me with interest.

"How can someone so pretty," he cupped a hand to my face, brushing circles over my cheek with his thumb, "be so-" his tone was light and filled with a false kindness, "fucking stupid," his recent airy tone replaced with malice and aggression as he pressed his fingertips into my skin.

This man was so bipolar, his intentions were absolutely impossible to read. Was there ANYONE that actually got along with this freak?

"Oh please," I swatted his hand from my face, "how did someone like you end up paired with such a shit personality," I glared daggers at him with a scowl, "a waste of a pretty face if you ask me."

He cackled with amusement, "so you think I'm pretty?"

I narrowed my eyes and grit my teeth, "get off me."

"Nah," he smirked slyly, sleepiness still present in the lids of his eyes,  "I quite like seeing you beneath me."

With his free hand he pinned my remaining one to the bed as I squirmed to get out of his grasp.