late night drabbles

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

18+ warning: mini smut scene at the end of the second written portion, scara gives head. only one version, view it as 🍑 or 🐱…yk the drill. feel free to skip it, it takes place after scara paints ur nails.

The peace doesn’t last long.

One second, you’re sitting in the dorm’s living room, trying to process everything, and the next, the door slams open with a force that rattles the walls.

“Did you two fuck?”

“WHY DID YOU TURN YOUR MIC OFF?”

“I have money on this, please tell me—”

You sink deeper into your seat as your overbearing members pile in, voices overlapping. Across from you, Scaramouche exhales sharply, already bracing himself for whatever fresh hell this is about to be.

Then Yae walks in.

He moves instantly, slipping off the couch and crouching behind it like that’ll save him. It doesn’t. Yae doesn’t even hesitate before she strides over, grabs him by the collar, and hauls him up with practiced ease.

"Really?" she scoffs. "Turning your mic off? Are you trying to give me an aneurysm?"

Scaramouche rolls his eyes, tugging at her grip. "Oh no, the horror. They missed a few minutes of me."

"Nonetheless," she says, letting him go with a shove, "We can use this. Now that you two aren’t at each other’s throats, it’s time to sell it.” She claps her hands together, all business. “We’re sending you both to paradise."

You blink. "What?"

"But we have to pretend you won a raffle," she adds.

Scaramouche barely gets a chance to react before a crew member is shoving a bowl into his hands.

“Pretend you won!” Yae orders.

He stares down at it like it personally offends him before reaching in and pulling out a slip of paper. In the flattest voice imaginable, he says, "Wow. I won."

Yae narrows her eyes. "More oomph."

He sighs, then tries again. "Wow, I won!”

"More."

"...Yay?"

She nods approvingly. "Better. You’re both leaving today."

You should probably be more concerned about how easily they’re shipping you off somewhere, but honestly? You don’t mind. More alone time sounds nice. Being alone with him sounds nice. 

Yae turns to the crew, already barking out directions, and in the commotion, you catch movement from the corner of your eye.

Scaramouche sneaks off toward Jean, his voice low but just loud enough for you to hear. "Are we taking a boat?"

"Yeah, don’t worry," Jean replies.

You turn away before he can see your face.

He knows. He knows you hate flying. And even though he’ll never say it out loud, he’s making sure that’s not an issue.

Your fingers tighten against your knee. 

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu wash over you as you stepped back into the room. It was the same one you’d stayed in last time you were in Paradise. But the knot in your stomach felt different now, less anxiety, more anticipation.

“We should go to the hot tub again,” you muse, gazing out at the balcony. It looks far more inviting now that you and Scara aren’t at each other’s throats. Not in the way you were now at least.

You hear him before you feel him, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he steps up behind you.

“There’s a jacuzzi in the bathroom.”

“Isn’t the one outside nicer?”

“No cameras in the bathroom,” he says simply, tapping your waist before walking off. It takes you a minute to register before you’re tailing behind him.

୨୧✧

Steam clung to your skin as you stepped out of the tub, warmth still lingering in your muscles. The air outside felt cooler in contrast, a shiver running down your spine as you absently wrung water from your hair. Scara was already standing by the counter, running his hands through his hair, towel draped over his shoulder, his damp bangs sticking to his forehead. Nothing had happened in the jacuzzi, you’d both kissed a little, but for the most part you just talked. And somehow that felt a lot more intimate than when his hands had roamed your body last night.

Without a word, he gestured for you to sit in front of him. You hesitated. The silence between you was different now. Not strained, not laced with hostility, just quiet. Steady.

Still, you sat, propping yourself up on the counter in front of him. 

The towel was rough at first, dragging over your scalp as he worked through your soaked strands. But then his touch softened, fingers threading through, combing carefully, like he had all the time in the world. 

Your eyes were at level with his chest, which you were thankful for, because you could feel yourself getting flushed. You swallowed, your heart thudding louder than it had last night. This was more intimate than anything. More than the planned glances and the staged kisses for the cameras, more than the heat of his body pressed against yours in the water.

His hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the nape of your neck, tracing the damp curve of your ear as he tucked a stray piece of hair away. Your fingers fumbled idly with a bottle of nail polish left on the counter, rolling it between your hands as he worked through your hair. 

“You’re bad at this,” you murmured, half to break the tension, half because it was true. His movements were careful, almost hesitant, but nowhere near skilled.

A soft scoff left him. “I’ve never done this for someone before.”

You turned slightly, just enough to catch his expression, something unreadable flickering across his face before he glanced away.

Somehow, that made your stomach twist even more.

“Maybe you’re more of a manicure guy, then,” you murmur, your thumb tracing the ridges of the nail polish cap, an absentminded hum escaping you. 

His hands stilled for a beat before he plucked the bottle from your grip, inspecting the color. “Want me to paint them?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

“I used to paint Fischl’s all the time when we MCed together,” he answers idly, like this isn’t something you should’ve already known. 

That made you pause.

You knew a lot of things about Scara. The annoying way he held himself in interviews, answering every question like a PR team’s dream. The sharpness of his words when he was irritated, and the lack of it when he was only pretending to be annoyed. Or how he could sell a love song like he meant every lyric when you knew he didn’t. Hell, you even knew his allergies, like how he couldn’t eat shellfish without breaking out in hives or how certain flowers made his eyes itch (which you used to your advantage, spending money on bouquets back when you were rivals to see him red faced the next day).

But this? This was something so miniscule. Something unpolished. A detail from a life you hadn’t been part of.

You snap out of your daze to see Scara testing out the color on his own nails, giving it a lazy swirl before glancing at you, expectant. “Well?”

You roll your eyes before wordlessly setting your hand on the counter. He takes it, his grip surprisingly gentle as he steadies your fingers. You found yourself watching his face instead of his work. His brows were knit together, his lips pressing into a thing line. It was cute. He was cute. 

“You’re really taking this seriously,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped every time his thumb smoothed over your knuckles.

“Obviously. I’m not gonna do a shitty job.”

It was so casual, so simple, but something about it made your chest feel tight.

You swallowed, watching as he moved on to the next nail, his hands steady, familiar with the motion. It made you wonder how many times he’d done this for Fischl, how many little things like this he’d done for people you’d never even thought to ask about. 

You didn’t know enough about him. Not really. And for the first time, that realization bothered you.

The words slipped out before you could think. “What else did you do while MCing?”

It was an odd question for the moment, but he didn’t tease you about it. It was a different side of Scara you’ve never seen before, one reserved just for you.

Instead, he flicked a glance at you, “What do you wanna know?

“Everything.”

He chuckled, the sound curling around your ribs like a hook dragging you closer.

“Sure,” he says. And he does.

You learn about the time he did an entire show high off weed. Or the time he presented the award to the wrong group. Or how he forgot his mic was on and cussed out another idol backstage. And how he made a joke about a group disbanding, not realizing they actually were. 

By the time he was done painting your nails you felt your heart tighten. 

You looked down at them, admiring his work when he took your hands and placed them beside you before leaning in without warning. Your nails were still wet, so you couldn’t pull him in, but that wasn’t a problem with Scara. 

His fingers pressed into your jaw as he slid in between your legs, guiding you to wrap them around his waist as he pressed you back into the mirror while you were still on the counter. His lips are on yours and you let yourself melt into him. His fingers tease their way underneath your shirt, kneading into your skin. You wanted to touch him, and he knew that, with the way his lips twitched into a smirk as you instinctively whined into him. 

His hands fall to your waist, guiding them up to grind into him. You can’t help but arch and gasp at the touch, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around yours before sucking lightly at it. 

Perhaps he had ulterior motives for painting your nails, because you could do nothing but sit and take it as his hands and lips explored you. 

18+ warning

The hand on your waist falls away as his lips fall to your jaw. You’d just gotten dressed, but he was already undoing the first few buttons of your top, his lips trailing your collarbone. You can’t help the soft moans slipping through your mouth. With each one escaping your lips he continues to tease and you can feel yourself growing needy, mindlessly grinding up on him. 

His hand slips down towards your pants, swiftly undoing them and lifting you up to slide them down. Your bare skin felt cold on the counter, but hot everywhere else. You were now on display for him.

“Didn’t wear any underwear, hm?” he murmurs into your ear, his fingers tracing your inner thigh. 

“Shut up,” you huff, trying not to think about how good it would feel for his fingers to be inside you once again. You were practically gripping the counter at his mere touch.

“Relax,” he says, how voice low as he falls back. Just as you start to miss his touch he lowers himself to his knees. 

“Scoot up for me,” he says.

“Wait, my nails aren’t dry yet,” you start as Scara tugs you towards him. He hooks your legs over his shoulders until your entrance is facing him.

“Try not to ruin my hard work up there while I’m down here then,” he replies.

His grip on your thighs tighten before his lips are teasing your hole. Your head falls back, a string of gasps leaving your mouth as his lips explore you. He was slow, licking at your entrance and pressing his face into you. And just as you got used to that he was teasing his way in. You buck your hips up on instinct, but he smirks against you as he holds your thighs down. With your hands out of commission you can’t do anything but take it.

You begin to feel flushed and look away from him, embarrassed from how aroused you were getting from a few licks. 

He removes himself from your entrance to dart his hand up to grab your chin, tilting your head down.

“If you look away I’m gonna stop, you don’t want that right?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Good,” he murmurs, going back down. 

He begins to alternate between sucking and quick flicks of his tongue, leaving your mind blank of anything except for him. You wanted to grab onto him so badly. He finds your spot easily, hitting it without remorse as you let out incoherent moans. He loosened his grip on your thighs, letting you grind into him as his tongue thrusted in and out of you.

“Mhm, Scara I’m gonna,” you gasp, your eyes glazed as he relentlessly kept going.

“Come for me,” he murmurs. 

The orgasm hits you and you ride it out. He pulls back and lets you finish on his face, his lips dripping with your cum. The sight only makes you want him more. 

“Scara…,” you start, but you don’t finish your sentence before his lips are already on yours, and then trailing towards your ear.

“Should we go back into the tub?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear and his bulge up against your sex.

The night is a blur after that.

[00:00:00] HOT TUB ROUND TWO SCARA

YAE: I thought we talked about this. I want to see and hear EVERYTHING.

SCARAMOUCHE: Even me taking a shit?

YAE: If it means I get everything else that happens in the bathroom then yes.

SCARAMOUCHE: You have a real problem.

YAE: I WILL GET MY SEX TAPE IF SO GOD HELP ME—

JEAN: Let’s…let’s take five.

[00:12:23] HOT TUB ROUND TWO YN

YAE: So. You and Scara aren’t pretending anymore?

YOU: No…

YAE: And how did we get here? Off camera, I’m so curious.

LISA: We also have money on this.

YOU: I honestly don’t know. I think it’s just always been there inside me.

YAE: It? As in?

YOU: My feelings for him. 

YAE: Very thin line between hate and obsession.

YOU: Hey, I didn’t say I was obsessed…

YAE: Hmm. Sure. 

YAE: Now, what exactly happened in the bathroom? If I show you pictures will you tell me if I’m hot or cold?

YOU: What–

YAE: [Pulls out photos] Does this spark any memories?

YOU: Oh my god is that fanart

JEAN: CUT! CUT!

LISA: Wait send that to me

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

wow title of the au omggggg also i ate that reddit edit UP

i hope the mini smut was gn, i tried to make it seem like u finish on his face…so if it’s masc he kinda leans back yk…yall get what i’m saying??? pleek

also chat is anyone else chronically online do we get the morning routine joke or is this too niche gulps

me asking my stoner friends for pics of their vapes for this au 😊

pls lmk if u enjoyed i need motivation juseyo

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — wow update and u didn’t have to wait a month? who am i? i’m gonna be so busy this month tho guys pray for me 😂

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!