The Thief and the Harbingers Childe x reader x Scaramouche

Foul Legacy

My eyes fluttered open. The familiar drought of grogginess overwhelming my senses as I shuffled in place.

My shuffling didn't get me far as I soon realized I were trapped in childes embrace.

His warm fingertips found themselves twisted into the roots of my hair, my head pressed close to his toned chest while the opposing hand cradled the small of my back.

We were extremely close, hardly and inch apart.

I couldn't lie, it was an incredibly good sleep, and though it was a restful, fulfilling slumber, that I hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing in quite a while, I was worried over my forgetfulness of the previous night.

From hopping on Childes back to falling asleep in his bed, I couldn't recall a thing.

What happened last night, and why couldn't I remember anything?

Raising my head from Childe's upper body, my face flushed a light crimson noticing his chest was not covered by the sanctity of a shirt.

Always so indecent.

My eyes rummaged through the spacious steadings of Childes tent, on the hunt for something that would spark some sort of familiarity in the recess of my mind.

His tent was neat and tidy per usual, the familiar stack of papers waiting to be completed taunted him from his work desk.

What really caught my attention, was a certain piece of torn cloth that lay dormant on the floor.

My shirt?

Looking down, I took notice that my shirt, too, was off. The only piece of clothing covering my bare upper half being my dark blue bra.

A million panicked thoughts ran through my head.

Did we...

Curling my fingers around the soft bedcover, I tore the sheet away to reveal... that I was still wearing pants?

Oh thank god.

The dirty blue jeans from yesterday still clung to my legs. However, they were covered in dirt and debris from the previous days expedition.

Why had he let me into his bed when my clothes were still dirty?

I was more than confused. There were no puzzle pieces to put together to understand the bigger picture, nothing was making sense.

A slight squeeze followed by a yawn caught my attention as I peered up at Childe's waking form. His tired blue eyes were filled with exhaustion, rightfully accompanied by purple bags that hung just under his waterline.

"Ah, sorry," Childe loosened his grip on the girl, pulling away slightly to give her space.

It was an understatement to say the boy were tired. He was completely dragging to say the least.

Keeping a watchful eye over the girl through the night proved to be tiresome. And though he didn't mind it, it still would have been nice to get more than a few hours of shut eye.

"Can I ask where my shirt went?" I asked bluntly.

I didn't mean to sound so accusatory. Especially toward Childe since I knew he wouldn't even entertain such a cruel thought. But you had to admit, this situation was rather suspicious.

Childe's eyebrows scrunched together, offense written all over his face, "no, no! I swear to you this is NOT what it looks like," he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.