You're My Enemy...Right? [Scaramouche x FEM! Reader]

~Cold Weathers Pt.2~ Chapter 37

Y/n's POV

Scara's lips curved into a grin, pressed against my shoulder firmly. He inhaled my being, it felt like, before exhaling in a long sigh. It was so peculiar to me. Thoma's glances turned into ones of annoyance. His hands balled into fists. His veins apparent. Yet, he refused to say anything directly to either me or Scara. I felt a strong pang of guilt in my chest, weighing on me like boulders.

Scara's hands still remained in my pockets. His hands were warm, not cold whatsoever. It made no sense for him to put his hands in my pockets, especially if he had pockets of his own on top of that. His soft exhales were warm against my shoulder. His head tilted, dragging his face more into the crook of my neck. I could feel his lips right against my inner shoulder, caressing my collarbone. It felt almost ticklish, but warm nonetheless.

I stepped on Scara's foot again. I couldn't bare see Thoma this annoyed, but for what reason? If he was concerned about me being around Scara he could simply tell me. If that was really what it is then I would feel bad for not reassuring him to fullest I possibly could. Scara didn't budge, and instead held me tighter. He had never been this affectionate with me. Was he... Being protective of me? Was Thoma why he was like this...? But even if so, that wouldn't explain last night. Yet again, he was intoxicated to another, quite humbling and embarrassing, extent.

Scara peered up at Thoma, whilst his mouth was against my collarbone and neck. It was more than a simple stare, it was a glare. The way his eyes were hooded over his luxurious indigo eyes, and how his brows furrowed showed just how much he needed it to show. Thoma wasn't much better. But instead of a smug grin, it was a sour frown. One that spoke of revolt. His eyes hooded and filled to the brim with irritability. 

Scara was simply getting a kick out of Thoma's pure reaction to his affection. This new side of Scara was similar to the one he showed me when he was filled to the brim with alcohol. So much so that he reeked of it. The only real difference with this was a veil of rivalry; this overwhelming sense of tension between the two of them. It was getting annoying, yet charming, in a sense. I sighed, and ignored it to the best of my ability.

Lola was still talking on and on about products, lecturing Thoma like a know-it-all mom. A good know-it-all mom, of course, it was Lola we're talking about. "And don't even get me started on their lip-gloss! It sucks ass with how sad the pigment is! It's overrated for shit, while there's even an absolutely nauseating stench of cheap bubblegum that some stray cat threw up. It's a sad excuse of lip-gloss for how overly expensive it is!"

Lola's rant filled my ears. When she really gets into things you can tell. It's hilariously and scarily entertaining to the fullest. I used her rants as a mental plug to overlay the wasteful glares. I peered over at Lola to see her rolling her eyes with disgust, the side of her upper lip curling up, and the side side of her nose scrunching to fit her overall sassy mood. It was all delicious, especially with the way that she was utterly distracted from the chaos between me and a certain somebody with that signature silky soft indigo hair. I hoped it would stay this way. My thoughts were interrupted with Thoma's very fake voice. "If your hands are so cold, why don't you rest them in my pockets, buddy ol' palLLLL?"

My glance strayed from Lola and instead landed on Thoma. I could see a vein on his neck almost exploding. He was trying so hard to be nice, it was admirable. Scara really didn't give two shits about this request. He chuckled into my shoulder, his competitive smirk merging onto his face once more. He lifted his head only enough for Thoma to clearly hear him. He wanted him to hear all of his uptight words that insinuated so much more than I thought would ever be spoken by Scara. "I don't want my hands in your  pockets. That's about as close to touching an active oven that I surely am not seeking to fulfill. Especially not if you get as warm as an oven, cause' buddy ol' palll, I simply don't feel compliant in rocking that kind of way, especially not with you. I am perfectly used to Y/n being in my hold as warm as a fireplace, however, and I am quite immune to as hot as she gets simply by looking at me. I would feel more compelled to kiss a person with the black plague, so I will leave it at a simple, 'No thank you, dearest friend of mine.'" 

Thoma's facial muscles twitched behind his reluctant smile, his forced and fake-as-fuck smile. He was holding on to any bit of sanity and control he had left in his leaking body. "A simple 'no' would have been much preferred.", Thoma remarked in that same fake nice voice.

"And you minding your own business would also be preferred, but we can't always have what we want, can we?", Scara hissed back at Thoma.

Scara was asking a rhetorical question, which just made Thoma's veins rush with steam. "This sight hurts my eyes, so it became my business a while ago."

"Then close your eyes. Not my fault you looked over."

"I don't need to walk with my eyes closed."

"Then run."

"I don't feel like running."

"Then jump."

"I don't want to."

"Then be a big boy and deal with it."

"Says the one who-"

"CAN YOU GUYS SHUT THE FUCK UP?"