➦ synopsis Aaliyah Hernandez is a popular MY account known for her looks, so when she gets a chance to attend a fansign, fellow fans can’t help but notice that some members of Aespa seem to be a bit more interested than they should be. Taking it as nothing but a stan twitter joke, how will Aaliyah react when she finds herself being contacted by one of the members?
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synopsis: you were scrolling through tiktok when a video of a girl doing her boyfriends makeup came up on your fyp and an idea pops into your head.
genre/s: fluff
warnings: none!
wc: 1.6k
a/n: been so obsessed w him lately it's RIDICULOUS. he's so bf coded so i had to make this. btw i literally wrote this using my makeup routine so!
it was a quiet evening in you and weesa's shared apartment. he was playing video games in your office/his game room while you were sitting near him on the couch, scrolling through tiktok. after aimlessly swiping past the 15th capcut template edit you've seen, a video finally catches your attention. the girl in the video was doing her makeup routine on her boyfriend and it was literally the cutest thing ever. you sneakily look over at weesa, who's completely engrossed in his game. shutting off your phone, you walk over to him.
you place your hands on his shoulders, poking your head around the right of his face to get his attention.
"weeeesa" you say, no response. you reach for his headset and lift the right side off of his ear. "weesa!" he quickly turns to look at you, startled by your antiques.
"god, you scared me baby.." he chuckles, "what is it?"
"i wanna do something with you" you smile cheekily at him. you already knew he wouldn't reject the idea of doing his makeup because he's so down for you and anything you want to do to him, but you just wanted to build up to your request to mess with him.
he grabs your wrist, pulling you down onto his lap. "what do you wanna do, pretty?" he says lowly.
"not what you're thinking, you freak!" you playfully slap his chest.
"so you're not tryna match my freak?" he raises his eyebrow all sassy at you.
"no girl i'm not tryna match your freak," you say, copying his tone "i wanna do your makeup" eyelashes batting at him, waiting for his response. you hold his left hand in between your own, holding it up to your chest in a pleading manner. "pretty pleaseee, best boyfie in the world?"
"okay okay, i was gonna say yes anyway, you know that y/n" he pinches your nose. "so we gon' do this?" he asks you, clearly excited but trying to be nonchalant.
"yes sir." you get off his lap and help him up, pulling him to your shared bedroom. you seat weesa in the fluffy stool in front of your brightly lit vanity.
"put this on" you grab your my melody headband, putting it on his head to push his hair back.
"how do i look with it?" he asks, looking up at you.
"adorable" you flick the ear on the headband. he flashes you a toothy smile in response to your compliment. "so first we need to prime your face" you say digging through your makeup drawer to find your favorite primer.
"what does that do?" he questions.
"it makes your skin smooth so the makeup stays on and looks good" you pump the primer onto his face, rubbing in it. "now we need to let it dry for a minute" in the meantime, you look for your concealer and brow gel.
"baby?" he calls.
"hmm?"
"is the priming thing supposed to be sticky on my face like this?" he touches his face as if there's some kind of gross substance on it.
"yes my love it's so the makeup sticks to your face. cool right?" he nods, amazed by the wonders of makeup. "so now i'm gonna brush out your eyebrows, then use this gel to hold them down," "look up for me" you tilt his chin up gently. as you‘re brushing his eyebrows, weesa watches you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. he's glad he can make you happy by sitting here letting you do your thing on his face.
"you're so beautiful" weesa states as he continues scanning your face and all the expressions you make. you smile warmly at him, halting what you were doing on his eyebrows. you lean down to press a soft kiss on his lips. he almost follows your lips when you pull away to resume what you were doing.
"by the time i'm done, you'll be the most beautiful of them all" you finish up his eyebrows, examing your work. "do you like them?" he looks in the mirror, eyes widening.
"woah, mama you're like, magic?!" he starts gawking at himself in the mirror.
"yeah? i’m glad you like them!" you blush at his compliment. "okay, next is foundation. i don't know if it's your shade but... we'll thug it out!" you grab a clean beauty blender before pumping some foundation onto his face. "close your eyes, love" he complies and you begin blending it in.
"drop the skincare routine oh my god? your skins so clear and smooth" despite how long you've been with weesa, his flawless skin always amazes you.
"can i confess?" he pauses. "sometimes i use your serums"
"i knew it! that's why they always finish so fast!" you gasp. "they're so expensive but i can't even be mad at you cause' i love you tons" you continue smoothing and blending the foundating, perfecting it as much as you can.
"okay, keep your eyes closed for a little while longer so i can spray on setting spray" he nods.
"that's the stuff that keeps the makeup in place all day right?"
"perioddd you know your stuff!" weesa always watches you when you do your makeup so he must pick things up here and there. "alright i'm spraying now so don't open your eyes or mouth or anything"
"can i breathe?"
"nope" you spray a good coat on, fanning it to dry. "okay, you can open now," his eyes finally open and he lets out a loud exhale from holding his breath. "you’re skin’s perfect so we don’t need concealer which means we can get right to my favorite part! powder timeeee!"
"ooou, if it's your favorite then it's my favorite. powder timeeee!" weesa cheers.
"you're so cutie patootie, weesa" you giggle, poking his nose. you get your translucent powder from the drawer and a clean powder puff, applying some onto it, patting excess on the back of your hand. "okay look up with your eyes only" he complies and you begin pressing the powder onto his undereye area, doing the same on the other eye. with the excess that's on your hand, you put on the rest of his face, blending it all out, leaving him with a smooth matte finish.
"all done!" you put the products away and grab your eyeliner, lash curler, and mascara. "now i'm gonna do your eye makeup, it'll literally make the biggest difference"
"am i gonna be a baddie?" he says jokingly.
"the baddest ever, badder than ive. ima get you right stink," you tell him. "close your eyes for me" he closes his eyes and you start drawing on the liner, winging it out perfectly at the end. you copy the wing on his other eye and let it dry for a few seconds. "okay, open" you say tapping his cheek. "im gonna curl your lashes, so let me know if i'm pinching you, ok baby?"
"mhm"
you begin to curl his long lashes, holding it on each eye for about 10 seconds before moving on to mascara. you move to stand in between his legs so you get can a better angle. "can you tilt your head up a bit but look at me with your eyes" you hold his chin as you apply the mascara, feeling his gaze on you.
"hi pretty" he says sheepishly, loosely wrapping his arms around your hips.
"hi my love" you see him blush at the pet name, even though you call him this all the time. as weesa's watching you, it feels as though he wants to say something. for as long as you've known him, weesa's always been quiet and hasn't had a way with words. but he makes sure you know he loves you through actions
"what's on your mind?" you ask him moving to the other eye.
"just.. that you're the most gorgeous and best girlfriend in the whole world and i love you a lot. and that i think you're so talented and cool cause' you can do makeup like this" as he says this, you meet his eyes.
"awww babyyy, really? i really don't deserve you, thank you weesa, i love you too" you finish his mascara, placing it back in the drawer. you turn back to weesa, holding either side of his face, placing a kiss on his forehead. he chuckles at the gesture.
"guess what comes next" you say, still caressing his face.
"hmm, lip combo?"
"wronggg, blush!" you say, finally letting go of weesa to get the product. he frowns at the loss of your warmth.
"i don't even need blush, all i need is to make eye contact with you for 5 seconds"
"proof?" i challenge. he looks me in the eyes and just as he said, he was already blushing. "cutie" you poke his nose again before putting the blush away since he proved it to be useless. "okay now is lips"
"but baby. if you do a lip combo, i won't be able to kiss you"
"how about this?" you grab your favorite lip tint and apply it, smacking your lips twice before leaning down to kiss him. his arms snake back around you, this time pulling you onto his lap. you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss ensuring the lip tint tranfers. when you finally pull away, you admire your work.
"there you go!" you smile innocently.
"that was so sexy, i won't even lie" he says, earning a chuckle from you. his arms still firm around your waist.
"do you wanna look at the finished product?" you move your head to the side so he can look at his makeup in the vanity mirror.
"you like it?" he nods immediately, proud of the makeover you gave him.
"you're so talented y/n, you made me, a grown man, beautiful?!" he exclaims, pulling you back close to him.
"i told you i'd get you right" you say, leaning in to capture his red stained lips again, smiling into the kiss. "my pretty boy"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐚 𝐱 𝐒𝐡𝐲! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - A quiet moment backstage deepens the bond between Weesa and Y/N, as unspoken feelings begin to gently surface beneath shared touches and soft words.
female reader/ Shy! Reader/ Saiki Weesa x reader/ fluff/ romance/ PSYFE/ PSYCHIC FEVER/ ForEVER/ WEESA/ one shot
"You know, you're the only person I know who does that."
The voice barely rose above the hum of hairdryers and chatter in the bustling makeup room, but it still reached you, low, deliberate, and close. You looked up from your palette, brush poised delicately near an idol’s cheek, and met Weesa's gaze in the mirror.
"Does what?" you asked, voice quiet but curious.
He nodded toward your hands, where you'd been gently rubbing them together to warm them before touching the idol's face. “That. You always do it.”
Your cheeks flushed a soft pink, the kind of blush that bloomed easily against your pale powder and soft rouge. “I—it’s just a habit,” you mumbled, almost too softly, eyes flicking downward. “Cold hands make people flinch. I don’t like making anyone uncomfortable.”
Weesa nodded, his eyes still on yours in the mirror. "It's sweet," he said, his voice a little louder now. "We’re all lucky to have you." Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your frilly lace cuff, the hem of your pale pink blouse peeking from under your cardigan sleeves. You ducked your head again.
Ryushin, the idol in the chair with a fresh coat of your meticulously applied foundation, chuckled. "Weesa's right. You're so gentle. It's like a little spa day every time you do my makeup."
You smiled shyly but said nothing. Compliments were hard. You never really knew what to do with them. Especially when they came from someone like Weesa—tall, quiet, He always held a neutral, almost serious expression when he entered the room.
He was towering over you even when seated, his long legs folded under the makeup chair, and you always had to stand on your tiptoes or subtly lean up just to reach his temples. He never pointed it out, but you’d sometimes catch him watching you when you did—amused, maybe, or something softer.
Over the next few weeks, you noticed he began showing up early for his sessions—and only with you. While the others laughed and jostled and filled the room with noise, Weesa stood quietly nearby, hands in his pockets, waiting. When it was finally his turn, he'd sit with that monotone expression he wore like armor, eyes flicking only to you.
He never asked questions, never pushed. But his eyes always lingered on your hands—watching the careful way you warmed your palms, how you held the brush with gentle precision, how you tiptoed to dab color on his cheekbones. You’d sometimes catch him glancing at your outfit too—your ballet flats, pastel ribbons, heart-shaped earrings, the tiny bow at your collar.
You wondered if he thought it was silly—The way you dressed. You hoped he didn’t.
Then came the day the stress of your job caught up to you. The room spun with fluorescent lights and overlapping voices. You could barely hear yourself think. Someone yelled for backup powder, another idol tapped their foot impatiently. Your heart raced, and your vision tunneled into flickering black and white. You dropped your brush.
Weesa was the first to move.
He didn’t say anything—just gently placed a large hand on your back and guided you out. You barely noticed where he led you until the door clicked shut and silence fell like a blanket.
His dressing room.
“Sit,” he said softly, guiding you to the couch. His presence filled the space, but not in a way that made you feel small, just safe. He crouched in front of you, one hand on your shoulder, the other smoothing circles on your knee. "Just breathe," he murmured, his own breaths measured and calm. "In and out."
You nodded, barely. He sat beside you, close, his knees brushing yours, the scent of his cologne curling into the air between you—cedarwood, mint, and something warm like amber. You clutched the ruffles at the edge of your skirt as you tried to mirror his breathing. Slow. In. Out.
After a long pause, your voice came out in a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked gently.
“For… making you deal with this.” Your fingers fidgeted with a satin bow at your collar. “I know I’m kind of... weird.”
He leaned back just enough to look at you, brow furrowing. “You're not weird. You're just... anxious. That’s not a bad thing.”
You glanced up, startled by the softness in his voice.
Weesa offered a small smile, his eyes warm. " You know, everyone's got their own way of dealing with stress. Some people yell, some laugh, some hide in the bathroom. You just need to find what works for you," he said, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.“It’s okay to feel anxious in stressful situations,” he added, reaching out to brush a curl away from your face.
Your breath caught in your throat. You’d never had someone say something like that to you before—not with so much ease. Not like it was obvious.
He stood up and held out his hand to help you to your feet, and when you hesitated at the door, he bent down, so far down that his face was level with yours. "Come on," he said, his grip firm but gentle. "Let's go back out there."
As you stepped out of the safety of the quiet room, the chaos of the set washed over you like a wave. Weesa noticed the trepidation in your eyes and gave your hand a comforting squeeze. "I've got you," he assured you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.
Back in the frenetic makeup chair, you found yourself humming once again as you worked. The melody was low, almost imperceptible, but it was a lifeline back to your calm. Weesa caught the tune, recognizing it as one of his group’s songs, and began to hum along, his deep voice weaving harmonies around your softer notes. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like a secret shared between two souls adrift in a sea of noise.
Over time, the bond between you grew stronger, not through grand gestures or passionate declarations, but through the quiet moments of understanding and comfort you shared. He'd ask you if you could share headphones during his makeup sessions, and he’d let you play a song from your playlist during. He'd listen, nodding his head slightly in approval, and sometimes you'd catch him mouthing the words.
Sometimes, he’d ask what you were wearing that day. He’d smile when you showed him the frilly ribbon in your hair or let him see the lace-edged socks that peeked from your Mary Janes. “Cute,” he’d say simply. “Very you.”
One morning, the hum between you shifted. You were blending his concealer like always, standing on your toes to reach under his eye. Your hand trembled just slightly when he tilted his head to make it easier for you.
“You know…” he said, his voice just above a whisper, “you’re beautiful.”
You froze.
Your brush hovered midair.
“What?” you whispered, eyes wide.
He looked straight at you, no smile this time—just soft, steady certainty. “You’re beautiful.”
Heat flared up your neck, into your cheeks. “I-I… You don’t mean that,” you stammered, voice barely audible.
“I do,” he said. “You’re… sweet. Gentle. The way you care, the way you dress, the way you hide when people talk too loud, but still do your best to smile.”
You couldn’t meet his gaze. You stared at the palette in your hand instead. “I’m not really good at this,” you mumbled.
“At what?”
“Talking. People.”
He reached out, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. They dwarfed yours, long and warm and safe. “You don’t have to be good at it,” he said. “You just have to be you.”
Your heart fluttered like a bird caught in lace. You swallowed hard. “T-thank you… Weesa. I think you’re pretty, too.”
He leaned in, forehead almost brushing yours. “Not as pretty as you thought,” he whispered, a playful glint in his eye now. “Your little bows and ribbons make you so lovable.”
You laughed—quiet, breathy, shy. He grinned wider, clearly satisfied.
And when he gently kissed the back of your hand, your entire world tilted on its axis.
The kiss he placed on the back of your hand lingered like a flame’s gentle flicker, and your breath caught in your throat. The warmth of it traveled up your arm and settled somewhere deep in your chest, blooming like spring after a long winter.
His eyes were still on yours, searching, careful. “Is that okay?” he asked quietly, as if scared he’d broken something fragile.
You nodded slowly, unable to speak, afraid that if you opened your mouth, the moment would shatter. Your fingers tightened slightly around his, grounding you both in the space between heartbeats.
Then, something shifted.
He stood, still holding your hand, and pulled you gently to your feet. You stumbled forward just a little, and your other hand landed on his chest. His heart was racing, just like yours. You could feel it beneath your palm.
Neither of you said a word. Words weren’t needed.
Weesa leaned down, close enough that his forehead rested against yours. His breath mingled with yours, a shared rhythm in the silence. “You make everything feel quieter,” he murmured. “Like I can finally hear myself think.”
You let out a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s funny… because when you look at me like that, I forget how to think at all.”
That made him smile, slow and genuine, his nose brushing against yours. “Then we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.”
Your lips parted to respond, but the words got lost somewhere in the anticipation that hung heavy between you. Weesa’s hand slid from yours, only to rest gently on your waist, pulling you in just a little closer. Your breath hitched as your free hand crept up to his collar, fingertips curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.
And then… finally… he kissed you.
It was soft at first, tentative, like he was asking permission with every touch. His lips brushed yours once, twice, before settling into something deeper. Your heart felt like it might burst, a thousand unspoken emotions rushing to the surface all at once. The way he kissed you was reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, like he’d been waiting for this moment and didn’t want to rush a second of it.
When he pulled back, he didn’t let go. His hand stayed on your waist, and his thumb traced lazy circles against your hip. You both stood there in the quiet, the low hum of the world outside the dressing room muffled like a dream.
He was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
You smiled, shy and glowing, fingers still tangled in his shirt. “Me too.”
Weesa chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple, then your cheek, each touch lingering like a promise. “Can I take you out sometime? Not backstage, not my dressing room… just us. Somewhere quiet.”
You nodded, eyes bright. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
His grin widened, boyish and soft. “Good. Because I already know the perfect place.”
And as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you against his chest, you knew—no matter how loud the world got outside that little room—you’d always have this. Always have him.
