scott lost a bet… and has to wear your makeup ⋆.˚
notes: crossposted on my ao3. yay first scott fic! was planning on adding a second halve where you and scott pull up to the cafeteria with his new look in front of the cliffhangers but someone got lazy— whoops!!
“god no, I am not going out looking like this,”
“scott it’s just for one day! besides, you look like a pretty princess.” you sneer at him and ruffle his hair.
“I look like a girl!” he grumbles. “an ugly girl!”
“mmmm’nooo, you look like the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” you mock him again. earlier, you challenged scott to go the entire morning without touching you. that involved no kisses, no hugs, no head rubs, basically nothing under the umbrella of physical touch. if he won, you had to hand wash his dirty underpants tonight. if you won, you were granted access to daub your makeup all over his face.
you might have cheated your way to victory by throwing around teasing comments and innuendos here and there, which ultimately, resulted in his surrender when he caught you by the waist and lifted you over his shoulder like you were as light as a feather.
and now, here you were, with scott slouching before the vanity adorned in your messy artwork while you titter at his own reflection. his expression was one of complete dissatisfaction and shame— smeared foundation that was a stark contrast to his natural skin tone, dark blush smudged all over his cheeks, overdone mascara, neon green eyeshadow, scribbled eyeliner, and cherry red lipstick that made his lips pop. you bit your lip almost painfully just to draw back a laughing fit.
“you should model, baby.” you joke and kiss the crown of his head. scott remains expressionless, like he is questioning every life decision that led him to this point.
“yeah, this will totally gonna get me on the cover of vogue.” he crosses his arms and looks down at his lap, unable to bear staring at the mirror much longer.
you turn around the spinning chair he was sitting on and get down on a knee to face him at level. “look at me you grouch ,” he complies, his little grumpy face drawing a giggle out of you. “jokes aside, you do look cute. even if it appears that an entire urban decay exploded all over you.”
he frustratingly groans and buries his face in your left shoulder. no doubt your sleeve was smothered in makeup now. you can’t tell if he that was his intention, regardless you chuckle and take your left hand, smoothly raking his unruly locks of hair.
you lean into his ear, your lips barely brushing the skin. “you’re a mess,” you say, then kiss his temple. “but you’re my mess.”
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