The Thief and the Harbingers Childe x reader x Scaramouche

Stalker Stalker

A feeling of numbness followed by a burning ache poured down on my being with a certain level of intensity that was sure to make me pass out. My blurry black vision refused to clear and remained blotched and dizzy as I bounced against Thoma's chest.

Damn... this shit hurts.

Every nerve in my body screamed in agony, a fiery white-hot pain racing down my veins with a swift ferocity. The pain was both aggravating and debilitating at the same time. Aggravating, in the aspect that I wanted to rip every burning pain out from the root and debilitating in the aspect that I couldn't move any of my limbs to do so.

I groaned in pain within Thoma's grasp, clinging onto his crimson-stained shirt with the last of my strength.

What the hell happened to me?

The blood spewing from my shirt was answer enough as I scanned the wound through my blotched vision.

I could make out the outline of a large gash slashed across my chest with some more minor flurries of cuts running along said outline.

To say the least, it wasn't a pretty sight, and it was clear as day that I was losing blood much faster than I could produce it.

Thoma's squinted gaze peered down at me, a flash of worry crossing his features momentarily before picking up the pace. "Just hang on! We're almost there!" His voice cracked.

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Two Days Later...

"Lord Scaramouche," a man dressed head to toe in black addressed.

Scaramouche covered his yawn lazily, attempting to contain his boredom as best as he could.

He would admit, he was anxious at first, but soon realized he was unable to control anything, so he wouldnt stress the events to come.

He tried to see this as a trial of patience. One that he would either pass or fail. And he never failed.

The man in black bowed his head with respect, "from the tsaritsa," sticking out a white letter for Scaramouche to take.

Scaramouche snatched the letter from the man's grasp swiftly, not even sparing him a second glance before sending a snarky "leave," and tearing away at the envelopes seal.

Unfolding the paper with fumbling fingers, he read through its contents speedily, his heart jumping at the words: "leaving in 2 weeks" printed small, halfway through the sheet's contents.

Scaramouche's mind exploded with endorphins, a gruesome smile climbing up his features as his mind raced with excitement.

He'd finally gotten the okay. It was confirmed that he'd finally be leaving to Inazuma.

But damn, two weeks was far out. Really far out.

Though, he couldn't complain, it was better than not going at all.

Scaramouche was overwhelmed with a multitude of emotions, different from his typically numb personality. He wasn't really sure how to feel about all of this. Y/n, Inazuma, Childe.

One thing was for sure though, he was definitely looking forward to seeing Y/n again despite how things would likely turn out.

Scaramouche sucked in a breath. Childe. You better not fuck this up for me, he thought to himself bitterly.

Scaramouche was always one for a challenge, but with Y/n on the line, no challenge was worth risking her.

Again, might he add.