𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐚𝐠 ♡ 𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐮𝐳𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢 ✓

eleven

..••°°°°••..

"kiss me, (y/n)."

"what?"

scaramouche scowled, as you were trapped between him and the wall, "i said kiss me. don't make me repeat it again."

you stared at him with wide eyes, your hands placed on his chest to leave some space between you two. with a reddening face, scara's hand moved to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him. "if you want to kiss me so bad, why don't you do it instead of telling me to?" the same shit-eating grin he grew to love formed on your face.

with a smile as contagious as yours, he couldn't resist the smile that formed on his face.

he leaned in closer, his breath now fanning your face, "...good point." he said as his lips were so close to touch yours.

"i know, i'm smart. that's why i tutor you."

he huffed, "just shut up and let me kiss you."

a giggle left your lips, "go ahead, kuni."

then he pressed his lips against yours-

..••°°°°••..

scaramouche woke up with a hot, red face, and a heart that skipped a few beats.

"what the fuck." he muttered, then he threw himself back on his bed. he grabbed his pillow and put it against his head, pretty much suffocating himself.

he took a few breaths to calm himself down, his face still as red as ever.

you know when you have a weird dream about a certain someone, and you keep thinking about that dream until you realize you have feelings for that certain someone? well, scara thought he was in that exact scenario- except he didn't need to think about that dream to realize his feelings for you.

he also wished he never woke up, because, as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to kiss you in that dream.

uncharacteristically, he screamed into his pillow. then he punched it a few times like a high school girl whose crush won't notice her.

"what is wrong with me, oh my god." he whisper-yelled, sitting up and running a hand through his messed up hair. "fuck you (y/n)," he knew it really wasn't your fault, but he just decided to curse the first thing on his mind.

which happened to be you.

scaramouche felt like talking about this with someone, as much as he'd hate to do that. but he knew one of his friends could help. maybe. he wasn't sure.

childe could be stupid sometimes.

he looked at his bedside table, and quickly grabbed his phone that he forgot to charge overnight. he hated how his face still felt red and hot, how his heart was still racing, and how his chest felt like it was going to explode at any second.

7:34 am. just great. it's the weekend, and he woke up at this ungodly hour because of a nightmare that won't let him go back to sleep.