doolet

[doolet]

BLACK AND BLUE - K.YG (2)

pairing: mafiaboss!k.yg x makeupartist! Fem reader

summary: you've been working for Yeosang and his friends for a few months now, what happens where there's stolen glances between you and the mafia boss?

Warning (s): fluff, slow burn, suggestive (no smut)

wc: 6k

🎧: i wanna be yours

part 1 part 2

The headquarters was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hum of the refrigerator sound louder than it should. The overhead lights were off in most of the building, leaving the hallways dim. You walk down the corridor barefoot, the cold of the polished wood sends chills down your back.

The kitchen was warmer than the rest of the building, bathed in a soft amber glow from the under-cabinet light someone had forgotten to switch off. The counters glow from the light, still smelling faintly of coffee from earlier in the day. Somewhere outside, rain tapped lazily against the windows, steady and rhythmic.

Yeosang was already there.

He stood by the counter with his back half-turned to you, one hand resting against the marble surface, the other holding a dark green mug. He wasn’t in his usual sharp layers, just a black t-shirt and loose sweats, his hair a little messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. You hovered in the doorway for a moment, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall with each quiet breath. The sight felt strangely domestic, almost too soft for the man who's usually uptight and fearsome.

The air carried the faint scent of tea and something warmer, maybe cinnamon, and it made the space feel welcoming. You make your way to the cupboards without a word, the sound of ceramic clinking gently as you searched for a mug. Behind you, you could hear the slow tap of his finger against the counter, you could find a slight rhythm in it. It wasn’t uncomfortable silence—If anything, it felt like the kind that filled itself, the kind that didn’t need to be broken.

The kettle clicked off, and you poured the hot water, watching the steam float upward. The rain outside seemed to pick up, a little heavier now, thudding against the glass. You set your mug down and glance toward him. He hadn’t moved much, still leaning against the counter but his eyes had shifted to you, unreadable look on his face.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” he says, though there’s no accusation in the tone, just stating a fact. You look at him through the soft steam of your tea, noting how the light catches the line of his jaw and the way his eyes, usually so guarded, soften when he talks to you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, your fingers wrapped around the mug, warming your hands.

He doesn’t step closer, doesn’t move from his place against the counter, but there’s a small shift in his weight. The air seems scented faintly with chamomile.

You stir your tea slowly, watching the soft yellow liquid move in a whirl, and you think about how ordinary this moment feels. Safe. Yeosang’s gaze is still on you, lingering just a little longer than necessary on the movement of your hands, the way you tilt your head to examine the drink. He notices how focused you are, how comfortable you are with him, and it tugs at him unexpectedly, this small interaction, so unlike the chaos you’ve both experienced.

You reach for the honey, tilting the jar slightly, and your eyes flick toward him. He’s watching, but not judging, just observing. A fleeting thought brushes his mind,

‘how strange it is that you could be so calm here, so unconcerned by him, when normally everything about the night is edged with tension. Especially when he's involved.’

He clears his throat softly, the sound almost swallowed by the rain, and you feel a small pull in your chest. Not fear, just awareness, the kind that makes you notice the details: the curve of his shoulder, the faint shadow under his eyes, the way he stands so still that he could almost be carved from stone.

You're adding the honey into the liquid, watching as it dissolves in lazy circles. You both don't dare to move, don't dare to speak, not yet. You look at him again, and this time you notice the way his jaw is set loosely, there’s a vulnerability in him that you haven’t seen before, a pause in his usual tense posture. Your chest tugs.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes following your hands as you lift the tea to your lips. There’s a flicker of something, curiosity or maybe interest and it lingers just long enough to make you notice. You take a sip, the warmth spreading slowly through you. Yeosang reaches a hand toward the counter, just near your elbow, not touching but close enough that you feel the faint heat radiating from him.

“Do you ever feel like people only see what you let them?” he says quietly, almost to himself.

You pause, nursing the mug in your hands. “Sometimes,” you admit, tilting your head to study him,“You think that's what you do?”

He shifts slightly, bringing his hand closer to the counter, brushing near your elbow. He's resting his head in his hand and staring at his half-empty cup of tea. The brief contact sends a little spark up your arm, and you freeze, pretending it’s nothing. He doesn't answer your question.

“I’m not used to calm,” he continues, voice low. “Not ordinary, quiet. It makes me uncomfortable but I think in a good way.”

You smile softly, setting the spoon down. “ That's okay,” you say gently. “Being uncomfortable just means you’re human.”

He's quiet, he just stirs his tea with the metal spoon. You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “You look ridiculous concentrating so hard on tea.”

He smiles at that, a small, meek laugh escaping him—it catches him off guard. His eyes widen slightly, and the flush creeping along his neck betrays his composure.

“Didn't know I was so funny,” you say teasingly, letting the moment.

He clears his throat, trying to wipe the smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t mean to,” he mutters, still watching you carefully. “Just happened”

“Whatever you say,” you say with a small grin. “I like it, it sounds nice."

He's smiling again and shaking his head, “I’m not ready to sleep yet,” he admits, voice low, as he glances towards the hallway.

“Neither am I,” you respond, your smile growing wider. “We can stay up together. Talk.. or just be there.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Alright. We’ll stay up then.”

You walked down the hall together, moving without much thought, like it had become natural to be near him. The movie room door was open, and the faint glow from the screen spilled into the hallway. He decides on a random movie to play across the screen, the title barely catching your attention. You watch him sinking on the couch, and you hesitate for a moment before you do the same, the credits are playing on the screen. The cushions are soft, the room is warm with the faint smell of popcorn. You shivered slightly, realizing there was a slight chill in the room from the AC.

Yeosang notices immediately and without a word, he shifts, draping a soft blanket over you. You felt the weight of it, its comforting, the warmth of the fabric mixing with the faint heat radiating from the inside of your chest. The movie played, but neither of you paid much attention. The sound of his steady breathing, the faint rustle of the blanket, and the dark colors on the screen were hypnotic. Your eyes felt heavier than they should have, blinking slower and slower as drowsiness settled in.

You felt him shift again, closer this time, not enough to alarm you, just a little nudge against your side. The warmth of his arm brushing against yours, the faint scent of his cologne, and the soft weight of the blanket made it impossible to stay awake. Somewhere in the middle of the film, you realized your eyes were closing more often than you intended. A soft sigh escaped him beside you, and your hand brushed his in the space between blankets. Neither of you moved it away.

You woke with a soft groan, the morning light filtering gently through the curtains. The blanket had fallen further down, pooling at your feet. Your eyes widened slightly as you realized Yeosang was still there, asleep, his head resting lightly against the crook of your neck and one arm draped over your waist, holding you closer than either of you had ever intended to be.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, caught somewhere between embarrassment and happiness. He was so still, so peaceful, and it was impossible not to admire the way he was so vulnerable in this state. You shifted ever so slightly, careful not to wake him, and you couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, in the quiet of the night, the two of you had ended up exactly where neither of you had expected— limbs tangled together, comforted by each other’s presence, and slowly, unconsciously, discovering a new kind of closeness.

You stayed still for a moment, letting yourself memorize the feeling—the gentle weight of his arm and the way his slender fingers curled into the hem of your shirt, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, the faint warmth where his cheek brushed against your skin. His hair was slightly messy from sleep, strands falling across his forehead, and you had to fight the urge to smooth them away.

A quiet sigh escaped him, and you froze, thinking you’d woken him. But he only shifted slightly, tightening his hold in an unconscious reflex, pulling you closer into the heat of his body. It was protective, but not in the usual way you’d come to expect from him, it was instinct. When his lashes finally fluttered open, there was a brief flicker of confusion in his eyes before he seemed to remember where he was. His gaze shifted from the blanket to you, and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked almost shy.

Yeosang sat up slowly, dragging a hand over his face as if it could hide the faint flush creeping up from his neck and ears. His arm slipped from around your waist, leaving behind a strange emptiness that made you want to reach for it again. He didn’t look at you again right away. Instead, he busied himself with fixing his hair, a little too hurriedly, his movements stiff.

“We must’ve been more tired than I thought,” he said, voice soft but tense.

You could see it, the tightness in his shoulders, the way he kept his eyes fixed anywhere but on you. It wasn’t cold, not exactly. More like he was mad at himself, wrestling with the fact that he’d let his guard down so completely.

“I believe we were,” you reply gently.

His jaw flexed, the muscle twitching once before he replied. “I just—” He stopped, the words catching. A short breath escaped him, and he finally glanced your way, only for his gaze to dart away again. “I don’t do that. Let people close. Not like that.”

There was something almost vulnerable in the admission, but he shut it down quickly, turning his focus to the screen like it would pull him from this moment and let him escape. “Anyway, it won’t happen again.”

You smiled faintly, though there was a little ache in your chest. “I know.”

He didn’t answer. He just stood, tossing the blanket neatly onto the couch, and left the room with his usual quiet footsteps. You stayed on the couch for twenty minutes longer after he left, staring at the discarded blanket like it might still hold the warmth from last night. Eventually, you stood and wandered toward the kitchen, unsure if you’d find him there or if he’d already buried himself in work to avoid you.

He was there, back turned, shoulders drawn tight, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The faint sound of running water and the clink of ceramic filled the space. He didn’t look at you when you stepped inside. Before you could speak, Mingi strolled through, hair messy and hoodie hanging loose around his shoulders. He froze mid-yawn when he spotted Yeosang at the stove, then glanced at you. His brows rose just slightly, but he said nothing, just grabbing a glass of water and leaning against the counter, very obviously watching the two of you in silence.

A mug appeared at the far edge of the counter, steam rising from the short glass, carrying the familiar scent of the chamomile packet. You blinked, glancing from the cup to Yeosang’s still figure.

“I didn’t know you drank tea,” Mingi commented, breaking the silence, his tone slow and teasing. Yeosang shot him a look sharp enough to cut him. Mingi smirked but backed off, muttering something about “touchy mornings” before disappearing down the hall.

You reached for the tea, taking a slow sip. It is sweet, but not overtly sugary. Exactly the way you made it for yourself last night. You guessed he had paid attention.

A plate slid toward you a moment later, eggs and a yogurt bowl, but the bowls were filled with your favorite fruits. You stared at it, then at him, but he was already rinsing out the pan, gaze fixed on the sink. Footsteps approached, and Jongho appeared in the doorway, towel draped over his shoulders like he’d just finished training. He slowed, eyes flicking between the food and you. “Special order?” he asked, directing it to Yeosang with genuine curiosity.

“No,” Yeosang replied without looking up, voice stern. “Eat before it gets cold,” he added, quieter, almost like it wasn’t meant for Jongho at all. Jongho’s gaze lingered on Yeosang for a beat, something unreadable passing in his expression, but he didn’t say anything. He just gave you a little look before heading to the fridge. You sat there in the quiet kitchen, the taste of warm tea on your tongue and the lingering thought that maybe, no matter how far he tried to pull back, Yeosang didn’t know how to stop caring.

It became one of those things you didn’t talk about. That morning in the movie room faded into just a memory, overlooked with meetings, jobs, and late nights, but it didn’t disappear. You still caught him in small, quiet moments that didn’t make sense for a man who insisted on distance.

A week later, you found a jacket draped over the back of your chair before a late night. The air had been freezing all day, and you were fairly sure you hadn’t told anyone you were cold. Yeosang never acknowledged it. Neither did you.

San did though. He picks the jacket up, eyeing it, then smirks at you. “Looks familiar,” he says. You just shrugged and put it on.

Another time, you’d been up late in the studio painting on yourself with liners. You must’ve dozed off, because when you woke, there was a blanket over your shoulders and a mug of tea, still warm, sitting on the desk. The makeup was stacked neatly where it belonged, in color order just as you like it. You heard footsteps in the hall and caught a glimpse of Yeosang’s back just before he turned the corner.

And then there was the night you’d stayed in the lounge, sitting cross-legged on the couch with your makeup kit spread out across the table. You were restocking, cleaning brushes, sorting through palettes, the kind of work that kept your hands busy but your mind quiet.

You didn’t even realize how late it had gotten until your stomach gave a low growl. Dinner had passed hours ago and everyone else had already drifted off to their rooms. When you finally walk into the kitchen, the lights are dim, and the hum of the fridge can be heard. There's a plate of food sitting on the counter, it's hot, and the steam is floating off the meal.

There's a voice behind you, “You’ll work better tomorrow if you eat,” it's Yeosang. He's standing behind you, his body leaning on the wall.

San wandered in midway through, rubbing his eyes. His gaze went from the plate to you, then to Yeosang, and his mouth curled into a grin. “Since when does he play chef?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep.

Yeosang didn’t answer, just pushing off the walls and quietly making his way down the hallway to his room. You never knew what to say in moments like that. Because the truth was, they were adding up like a snowball rolling down a hill. Quiet and small but heavy all at the same time. They never came with explanations, and Yeosang never let them linger long enough for you to ask. But you noticed, you always noticed. You ate most of the meal despite the hovering, your fork scraping softly against the plate in the quiet between San’s amused glances. Yeosang didn’t come back. You weren’t sure if that made the situation better or worse.

When the kitchen finally cleared out, you were left with the faint smell of the food he’d made, and the thought that he’d gone to bed without waiting to see if you’d listened to him.

FRIDAY 9:26am

The makeup room was already busy with the shuffle of boots in the hallway outside, voices drifting in as the guys came and went. Yeosang was already in the room, he's on his phone and leaning on the wall. You were setting out your brushes when the door opened and the usual trio strolled in—San with his coffee, Mingi with his goofy look, and Wooyoung at the back, the same old smile on his face.

San dropped into the nearest chair, tilting his head toward you. “So, someone got a special delivery last night.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was just food, San.”

“From Yeosang,” Mingi added, dragging the words out, watching Yeosang from the corner of his eye like he was waiting for a reaction.

Yeosang didn’t say anything. He just continued to lean against the far wall, arms now crossed, eyes flicking briefly to you before settling on Mingi instead.

San smirked. “Man doesn’t bring me food.”

You started getting out the palettes in neat rows, the familiar routine calming some of the nervous energy in your chest. Each palette you placed felt deliberate, a small bubble of order in the controlled chaos. Wooyoung wandered closer, leaning slightly over the table to glance at a palette. “Still reorganizing, huh? You are obsessive. I'm starting to think you're OCD herself”

You only smirked, not looking up. “Someone has to keep this under control.”

Mingi snorted, spinning a brush between his fingers. “I’d say Yeosang keeps it under control—sometimes.” His eyes flicked toward Yeosang, who stiffened just slightly, the shadow of irritation or awareness crossing his features before he relaxed again.

You laugh, shaking your head, “You two are reading into this too much.”

But you could feel it too, he way Yeosang’s jaw tightened subtly when Wooyoung leaned closer to inspect a shadow palette, the glance he cast toward you when Mingi reached over to hand a brush to you. Every small gesture from the others was watched under his gaze, and it was impossible not to notice. As you worked, you turned just in time to see Yeosang subtly making his way to the couch. He's passing you a shy glance before he sinks into the plush cushions. Wooyoung laughed at something Mingi said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder, and you felt a sharp tug in your chest when you see Yeosang’s eyes flick between you and Wooyoung, lingering on the motion for just a second longer than necessary before he turned his attention back to his phone.

The morning stretched on like that, quiet work, casual banter. He never spoke to you about it, but the subtle gestures were there: the way he occasionally shifted to look at you when the others leaned too close, and the way his eyes always returned to you, even when distracted.

San noticed it too, he tilts his head toward you again, voice low and teasing, “You realize he’s been watching you since we walked in, right?”

You shook your head, smirking without looking up. “He’s just checking to make sure I'm doing my job.”

Mingi snorted, giving you a look that said he didn’t believe you. “Uh-huh, I’m sure that’s why.”

Meanwhile, Yeosang leaned back on the couch, arms crossed loosely, but the subtle tension never left him. He shifted once to drape a jacket over the back of the couch, but you pretended not to notice, focusing on applying blush to Wooyoung's cheekbones.

Wooyoung leaned over again, trying to catch a glimpse of the new lip palette you’d opened. “Hey, can I see—”

Yeosang’s eyes flicked up sharply, and Wooyoung froze mid-motion, sensing the silent warning in that gaze. It wasn’t angry but it wasn’t like any glare you’d seen before, it was enough to make Wooyoung slump back into his seat without a word. You caught the brief exchange, hiding a smile behind your hand to prevent yourself from laughing at the younger man.

By the time lunch rolled around, the banter had faded into a quiet rhythm. Wooyoung and San wandered off, leaving you with Yeosang and Mingi, who had finally resigned himself to watching rather than hovering. Yeosang remained on the couch, occasionally glancing up to ensure you were done with Mingi.

Mingi finally stood, stretching and letting out a soft groan. “Alright, I‘m pretty now,” he said, flashing you a grin. “Thank you, beautiful.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at his playful jab, and Mingi made his way toward the door, leaving a quiet stillness in the room that felt heavier than it should have. You turned toward Yeosang, who was now sitting straighter on the couch, his phone laid aside.

“Your turn,” you said softly, wiping your hands with a clean cloth.

He offered a single shrug and stood up from the couch to sit in the chair in front of you, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was trying to hide something. You could feel your heart flutter, your hands tightening around the tubes of peach colored cream. There was something about the way he sat, so composed, enough to let you get close. You started with the base, the fingers gliding lightly over his skin. He remained still, but you caught him stealing glances at you in the mirror. His eyes lingered just a fraction too long, the faintest lift of a brow betraying that he was aware of your awareness.

“You’re quiet,” you said, voice low, not wanting to make the moment awkward.

He exhaled softly, almost a sigh. “I was thinking about that night.”

Your hand freezes and you swallow. The memory was vivid, the dim light of the movie screen, the way he had draped the blanket over you when you shivered, the way he looked in the dark glow.

“I wasn’t expecting it to happen,” he admitted, eyes focused somewhere past you, as if he were watching the past play out again.

You tilted your head slightly, brushing a bit more along his cheekbone. “Neither was I,” you tell him, voice gentle, “but it was nice.”

There was a brief pause, and your heart thudded in your chest when he let out a low, chuckle. “I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he muttered, voice quiet. “I don’t do that. Not with anyone.”

Your fingers lingered a moment longer on his jawline as you adjusted the contouring, careful, deliberate. “It’s okay,” you said softly, eyes meeting him in the mirror. “ I understand. But it felt good.”

He shifted slightly in the seat, just enough that your knees brushed accidentally as you leaned closer to reach the side of his face. The contact was fleeting, unintentional, yet it sent a spark up your back that neither of you fought against. His gaze held yours in the mirror, and for a fraction of a second, he looked completely unguarded.

“You notice everything,” he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough that you caught it.

“I do,” you admitted, brushing a thumb over the edge of his jaw as you finished blending.

There was a pause, broken only by the quiet hum of the air conditioning. You finished the last strokes of makeup, your hands lingering near his temple just a fraction too long, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He cleared his throat, glancing away from the mirror, suddenly aware of the proximity. “You make things feel different,” he said, voice low,“Even boring mornings.”

You smiled faintly, packing away the unneeded products. “Thank you,” you respond, the tension softening slightly as your fingers brush against his as you fix a stray hair on his forehead. He's looking up at your hand, which is lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The gesture was simple, but the weight of it pressed in the room like something unspoken, a quiet understanding that stuck even after you’d stepped back.

“You know,” he said quietly, voice low, almost a whisper, his eyes didn’t leave yours,his expression hard to gauge.

You felt your fingers curl slightly in your lap, uncertain whether to meet his gaze fully or let the reflection in the mirror carry the weight. “Hm?” you hummed, keeping your voice soft.

He shifted, one hand brushing against the armchair, not touching you but close enough that it made your skin tingle. “If that happens again,” he said slowly, “I won’t fight it.”

Your breath hitched just a little, and you had to remind yourself to keep your hands still. “ Okay, I won't either” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, the motion visible in the mirror, as though he were preparing himself to speak again. “But” His gaze softened, the usual edge of his voice wasn't there anymore, “We won’t seek it out either. Not on purpose. If it happens, we’ll deal with it then.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the warmth of his words sink in. For a moment, the quiet room felt like a safe space. You could hear the faint shuffle of boots somewhere down the hall and his soft breaths. Yeosang’s eyes met yours fully, before he leaned foward into the chair, letting a small exhale escape.

He's looking at you with this look, and you think it’s hope. But his pupils are wide and displayed. He’s not looking at you with a smile, it’s almost like he’s waiting for you to do something, anything. The look he has in his face makes you want to reach out, map out every dip and ridge on his pretty face. Feel the slope of his rose against your fingertips and feel the plump, soft skin of his lips. You think he’s pretty, maybe even beautiful.

He’s never looked at you this way, at least not when he’s directly in front of you— and you realise that this is the first time in the months that you’ve known him where he’s looked at you as if, if you leave it’d kill him. No one’s moving, no one’s speaking, just staring. He’s still looking up at you, and you think the way his hair frames his face makes him look ethereal, ten times more attractive than he already is.

Do you think he’s attractive?

The answer is yes. Even when you first met him, the moment you laid your eyes on him, you remember sucking in a breath and having to calm yourself down because —damn. He’s good-looking, no, captivating.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself, letting your fingers squeeze the edge of the table, not yet moving toward him but aware of every heartbeat that brings the two of you closer. The room is still, you can smell his cologne in the air and you feel it comforting you. You’re sucking in a breath when you see him leaning forward, there’s a tiny tilt of his head and his face is coming closer to you— all you can do is watch because if you move, you don’t want him to run away. He stops, he’s not overtly close to you, there’s a gap, but it’s small. Enough to where if you move forward as well, you’ll meet each other halfway.

He’s so close, just push yourself forward and you’ll get what you want. A trembling exhale escapes your lips, and your body leans forward to test the waters. His eyes widened, as though he wasn’t expecting you to reciprocate. The tension is unbearable in its silence, heavy and intimate, yet neither of you speaks. Words would ruin it.

The words echo in the back of your head, his words:

“I won’t fight it.”

That’s enough for you. Heart beating a million miles a minute, you’re lifting a shaky hand and placing it at the back of his neck. You can feel his muscles tense up for a second before he melts into your touch. He’s giving you the green light, he’s not pushing you away. You’re pulling him towards you, you see him brace himself on the armchair before his other hand finds your waist. His touch feels like fire in your skin, his hand is softer than it looks. Your lips meet, neither of you moving until he’s pulling you into him by the waist. You’re kissing him back, letting out a small breath into his mouth when he leaves your lips to change his position. You can feel the heat of his against your body, you’re inbetween his legs and yet it doesn’t feel close enough, your hand is moving from the back of his neck and up into his hair, you’re tugging strands of his hair and he’s letting out a small groan into your mouth.

He’s pulling away, and you think he’s putting a stop to this before you can go further, “Is this okay?” His voice is low and quivering, his eyes are blown out when he looks at you.

He has both hands on your now, they’re moving up and down your back like he’s trying to comfort you. You don’t answer him, instead, you’re moving your free hand to his jaw, pulling him back in, and kissing him again. His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer to you, like he’s trying to fuse you into him—the softness of his lips against yours, the subtle brush of his eyelashes on your cheek. He groans softly, tilting his head again to deepen the kiss, letting his hands wander a little further, just under your shirt where he can feel the warmth of your skin.

You whine into his mouth when you feel the swipe of his tongue on your lower lip— he’s asking for permission. You grant it to him without hesitation, opening your mouth for him and letting him lick into your mouth with fervor. He’s palming your body, avoiding the parts you so badly want him to touch, he’s trying to be respectful and it’s killing you. You’re matching his speed, kissing and licking into his mouth, still pulling at his hair and he’s groaning and whining into your mouth.

You’re grabbing at one of his hands, leading his slender fingers to the hem of your shirt, you pull away from his mouth, moving to kiss his cheekbone and down to his jaw, “please”

He’s groaning at your plea, whispering, “yea?” And then moving his warm hand under your shirt. He feels the warmth of your skin under his touch, the way your stomach sucks in slightly when contact is made. He’s drawing shapes into the soft skin of your stomach before he’s palmingat your chest. He’s soft, gentle— so careful not to make you uncomfortable because he doesn’t want this to stop. He’s not moving under your bra, just squeezing you through the fabric and paying attention to the way your body responds to him

He thinks he’s dreaming, you’re kissing along his neck and jaw, soft whimpers slipping past your lips when he touches you somewhere you like. He’s pulling back, and you’re confused on why until he’s putting his mouth back onto yours, pressing hot kisses to your lips. You're welcoming him in, mouth open and tongue pressed hot against his. His tongue slides against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, every movement deep and unhurried like he’s savoring the taste of you. His hand at your waist tightens, fingers flexing as though he’s trying to keep you exactly where you are, unwilling to let you slip away even an inch. You feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, each pass of his mouth against yours making your knees weak. Your fingers curl in this dark hair, holding him close as you kiss him back just as eagerly, letting him guide the pace but meeting him with your own hunger.

His lips are molding perfectly to yours, his free hand brushing up your side, knuckles grazing the curve of your ribs. When his thumb presses gently into your bra, you can’t help the soft sound that escapes your throat—a sound he swallows with another deep kiss, his breath growing heavier against you.

It feels like the kind of moment that could spiral out of control if either of you let it. And yet, there’s no rush. He kisses you like there’s nowhere else to be, like the world outside this room doesn’t matter, like the only thing that matters is learning exactly how you taste, exactly how you sound when he touches you like this.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you, there’s a faint sheen on his lips, his eyes dark and fixed entirely on you. His chest rises and falls faster than before, but his voice is quiet,

“The things I'd do to you if we weren't here right now.”

You can still feel the heat from his mouth on yours, the feeling of his hand at your waist, anchoring you in place. His gaze doesn’t waver, and it makes you hold your breath. For a second, you both want it bad but you know you can’t have it here— not now. Yeosang leans back in the chair, his hand slipping from your waist, lingering for just a second before he lets go. Voices echo faintly down the hallway, tugging the two of you back to reality.

You reach for a brush you don’t actually need, letting your fingers busy themselves while you avoid his eyes. In the mirror, you catch him watching you calm on the surface, but his gaze clings to every movement like he’s memorizing them.

“Probably safer if we just leave that where it is,” you say finally, tone quiet.

He quiet for a second, then shakes his head slightly. “If it happens again,” he says, voice steady, “I’m not stopping.”

That makes your hand pause mid-air. “You’re planning on it happening again?”

There's a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “No. But I won’t turn it away, either.”

You nod once, stepping around to the front of the chair. The hallway noise grows louder, a reminder that the moment is slipping away. But somewhere between the last stroke of the brush and the meeting of your eyes in the mirror, there’s an unspoken agreement neither of you needs to say out loud.

you're coughing out a breath,“Sorry, I kind of kissed off all of the makeup around your mouth.”

He laughs and you laugh along with him.

masterlist

[doolet]

BLACK AND BLUE - K.YG

pairing: mafiaboss!k.yg x makeupartist! fem reader

summary: when the mafia boss needs a new makeup artist for his next heist, you're the one they call for.

warning(s): fluff, hurt comfort, slow burn, blood, fights,

wc: 10.9k

🎧: i wanna be yours

not read through

part 1 part 2

HALA CASINO - Monday, 11:46pm

It's dark, there are hundreds of people wearing barely any clothes and they reek of whiskey and cigarettes. The clicks and clacks of the chips are irritating his ears, no one knows but Yeosang, the casino's owner, is sitting and watching them all from behind a screen. He's sitting in his office chair, legs crossed and fingers tapping on the dark oak desk in front of him. The tension in the room is palpable, two women are sitting on the floor, their hair is a mess and there's blood trickling down from their faces. He thinks they might be crying, but does he care though? Not really.

Sans standing in the corner of the room, his gaze is dead set on the door and he doesn't dare move from it. He's not scared of Yeosang, not really anyway. If San wanted to, he'd be able to overpower the shorter man and make a run for it to save himself— he could, but he won't. He respects him too much, Yeosang was the one to pick San off his feet when his parents kicked him out of the house and everything San has at his hands now is only because Yeosang was the one to put it there.

His jaw is clenched, fingers still tapping on the desk. He's angry, no, livid. “Get rid of them” His voice is steady but husky when he speaks. The two women begin to plead for their lives, begging him to rethink his decision but he won't budge—instead, he's watching San pick the bloodied women off the floor and out the wooden door that leads to the basement. It's their fault. They were supposed to be their designated makeup and hair stylists, they signed an NDA anyway, but I guess that wasn't enough for them. When Yeosang found out the two had been selling inside information for months, he was more than upset. They thought they were smart enough to slip under the radar and betray the system while sipping on their expensive wines. Yeosang wouldn't have that, that's why they'd pay the price.

It's only a matter of minutes before San comes back, he's wearing black sleek gloves and his suit looks just a bit more ruffled than before. He's adjusting the silver glasses that sit on his nose, “it's done”. Yeosang doesn't respond, his gaze still on the screen in front of him. It's quiet for a moment before he speaks, “Find me someone who won't fuck up this time.”

Dove & Co. - Friday, 2:30pm

You think you hate your job.

Sometimes there are ups, there are clients who make your day better when they tell you about their newest drama, how their husband is cheating on them with the new hire, or when your favorite client, Alyssa, comes in telling you about how much she hates her boyfriend. It's all in good fun, and the pay is okay. It could be better.

The salon is quiet at this hour, most people are out at their jobs, so when you're sitting at the front desk on your phone, it feels normal. The bell above the door lets out a short ‘ding’ when it swings open. You're looking up from your phone, hand on the side of your cheek.

A tall man is walking in, the kind of man who doesn't look like he belongs in a salon with vanilla-scented candles and nail polish displays covering the walls. He's in a navy blue hoodie and black baggy jeans. His hair looks clean-cut— so clean cut you're wondering even more why he's here.

Maybe he's here for a nail appointment?

He's walking towards you, he's wearing a cologne that's hard not to notice, but it's not like the normal cheap cologne. It's clean, strong enough to turn heads but not strong enough to give you a headache. It smells almost floral. He's handing you a piece of paper, and you're looking over the text. What's written in the paper causes you to pause, you're holding your breath for a second.

It's your name, your birthday, height, and everything else that no one would know except you would know. You're looking at him, pushing the paper away and back into his hands.

“Is that you?” His voice is deep, clipped. He sounds confident, he's asking you a question but you're sure he already knows the answer.

You don't respond quickly, still eyeing him, “Why?” he's taking the paper off the marbled counter, pulling out his phone, and pushing a few numbers into the device, “I'm here to employ you for a job”

The fuck?

It's unbearably awkward in the sleek black car, and honestly, you don't know why you even accepted the ride. This is the kind of thing you see in the movies and scream at the main character, 'Don't get into the car you idiot!’— so now being in her shoes, you're wanting to slap yourself across the face for it.

The man hadn't told you much after he came into the salon, he simply told you his name was Yunho and that a VIP customer wanted to use you for your “services”. You closed up shop and told your other employees they'd be off for the day, they'd send you their thanks, some heart emojis, and that was practically it from them. No one knew where you were going, or what you were doing. No one knew.

Hell, you didn't either.

The low hum of the car fills the silence— Yunho sits next to you, legs crossed and he's typing away on his phone, you can tell he's texting someone when you steal glances. He's not speaking to you or the driver up front, you so badly want to ask him what the hell this vip customer needs you so badly for but you decide it's better to keep your mouth shut for the remainder of the ride.

The tinted windows turn the world outside into vague shadows flying last, and every minute you're in the car you feel like you're slipping further and further into uncharted territory. When the car slows to a stop, you find yourself looking out the window, there's gravel covering the ground and there are high fences lining the grass yard. It looks like you're in front of the white house with how big the building is. There's a flowing fountain in front of the walkway and you can see two men making their way towards the car. One of them is tall, he has long hair and he's wearing a long trench coat. Beside him is a much shorter man, he's got shorter hair that ends just below his ears and he looks clean cut, his face is softer.

You can feel your stomach turning when the engine dies, Yunho’s taking off his seatbelt, and shoving his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “We're here,” his voice is calm and low.

The car doors are opening and Yunho’s stepping out If the car is on his side, you do the same, your shoes making contact with the small gravel stones crunching under your feet. You nod thanks to the man who had opened your door, it's the taller one. He's looking at you with sharp eyes but he has a small smile on his lips. He's closing the door behind you and offering his hand to you.

“I'm Seonghwa, it's nice to meet you.” His voice is softer than Yunho's, and his voice is warm. You're taking his hand in your own, shaking it. He's telling you he knows who you are already when you make an effort to tell him your name. It clusters you but you gather yourself back up and give him a polite smile. You don't notice it, but Yunho is making his way over to your side, he's got the other man close on his tail. He's waving you over, and Seonghwa moves out of your way, placing a slender hand on your lower back and pushing you slightly forward. You let him guide you, his touch is comforting and light but steady. It's a small reminder that you're not the one in control here.

The building looms at the end of the gate's driveway. It's tall— maybe 16 stories tall but it's wide. The windows are reflecting nothing but the sky, and the structure is modern and sharp. It's not an eyesore but you wish it looked like the stereotypical mafia house like in the movies.

You notice the sleek cars all lined up along the sides of the driveway. Most of them are black but there are a few white and blue ones thrown in there. Yunhos is leading the way and you're close behind him. Seonghwa's hand had left the small of your back right after you began to walk, so now the two other men are trailing close behind, intensely watching.

Yunhos pushes past a glass door, and another man is standing behind it. He's wearing a wired earpiece, he's tall, maybe the same height as Yunho— but he's got longer hair, like Seonghwa. He's not saying anything to you, he's not even looking at you. He's nodding and giving a tight-lipped smile to Yunho.

The air inside is cold and intense, it's somehow quieter than when you were in the car. The reception area is vast and made out of black marble, it's ten times better than the one you have back at your shop. There are some silver accents to the room, and there's a slight scent of leather and metal hanging in the air.

Seonghwa is still behind you, keeping you moving forward even when you slow down to take in the sights, you're following Yunho into an elevator and the other men follow suit. He's pressing a floor number, it's the top floor. It only takes maybe 30 seconds to reach the top, not enough time you think about what situation you're in. When the doors open, you're met with a long hallway, dimly lit and it's lined with black and silver walls.

You're stepping out of the elevator after Yunho, and you can see a tall man at the end of the hallway. He's not as tall as Yunho but there's a noticeable difference with him, he's buff and has wide shoulders. No one's speaking, and the carpet is muffling your footsteps. Yunhos reaches the man at the end of the hallway, and they're looking at each other and not speaking. Yunho moves to the side, and now he's looking at you— they all are.

Yikes.

Seonghwa is giving you a nod when you look at him, as if to say Go on.

The door swings open, and you're moving inside the room. It smells like expensive cologne, and it's soft when you breathe it in. The man from before is following behind you, and he's pushing up his glasses when he closes the door after himself. He doesn't even spare a glance at you when he starts walking over to the side of the room. You're looking around the room, it's big but it's still decorated head to toe. It's nicer, a bit empty but it's not as intimidating. What is intimidating is the moment your eyes catch onto the man sitting at the desk in front of you. He's eyeing you with a low gaze, he wears a flat expression and his hair is covering some parts of his face.

“Come, sit,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Your feet move before your brain can think, you're pulling the chair away from the desk, and pushing it under you when you sit down. The chair is low, but it's comfortable. Up close, his presence is heavy, it's like a weighted blanket. His gaze doesn't waver when you're in front of him— it's steady and deliberate. It's the kind of look that makes you wonder whether or not he's judging you.

“You used to work with gang members, right?” The question makes you pause.

“I used to, back when I first started my business.” You're pushing a hair out from your eyes and you're looking everywhere but at him, “I had a lot of.. Certain people come in for my services. They thought I could ‘transform’ them into new people.”

He's humming low in his throat, the sound barely audible but enough to pull your gaze back to him.

“And could you?”

You blink. “Sorry?”

“Transform them into new people.” His tone isn’t mocking—it’s curious in a way that feels almost dangerous, like the wrong answer might end this conversation before it’s even started.

You hesitate, then nod. “I guess so, I was just doing what they asked me to do.”

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “The point of makeup,” he repeats slowly, like he’s tasting the words. “Most people use it to hide flaws. I use it to hide people.”

You're nodding in confusion, “right.”

There’s a faint sound behind you— it's the man in the corner. He's shifting his weight against the cabinet, and you glance at him without meaning to, but his expression is unreadable.

“Don't look at him, look at me” Now your gaze is back on who's in front of you.

His eyes narrow, studying your face as though you’re the next problem he’s going to solve. “I need someone who understands discretion. The last people in your position… didn’t.” You don’t have to ask what happened to them. Something in the air tells you you don’t want to know.

He tilts his head. “If I give you a face you’ve never seen before, could you make it disappear in a crowd?”

Your pulse skips. “Disappear?”

“Blend,” he corrects, a faint ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Make them forgettable. Invisible, if necessary.”

The silence stretches for a few beats. He leans back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest before stilling. “I suppose I should tell you who I am, since we’re going to be—working together.”

Your stomach tightens at the way he says it—not if, but since. You're tied down to this.

He gestures toward himself, his lips curling at the corners, “My name is Yeosang.”

You recognize the name, no one's ever said anything to you directly but you've heard it in passing. Back when you worked with mysterious customers, they'd drop his name from their mouths like hot coal. If they all knew him then you may be in deep shit and now he’s here, in front of you, very real and very much in control of the room.

You nod slowly. “I know you.”

His eyes are still fixed on yours, “Good” the way he speaks makes it clear to you that he knows exactly where you've learned about him. Yeosang studies you for another long moment, his gaze sharp enough to feel like it could peel away your skin and see what’s underneath.

“I have an event tomorrow night,” he says, voice even, measured. “A gathering of associates. Some are friends. Some are enemies who pretend to be friends.”

He reaches for a crystal glass at the edge of his desk, and he's opening a bottle filled with amber liquid— pouring it inside.“These negotiations are important. One wrong word, one wrong impression, can destroy months of planning.”

He sets the glass down without drinking. “My former staff, the people who used to be in your position, forgot that betrayal isn't an option in this line of work. They sold information they had no right to share. Small details, but dangerous in the wrong hands.”

Your pulse picks up. You already know what happened to them, even without him saying it. “They thought their contracts would protect them. They thought they could work for me and work against me.” His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a weight to his words that makes you shiver. He's moving his cup in a circular motion on the desk— the liquid inside swirling. “They were wrong. They paid the price for it.”

Yeosang’s attention returns fully to you. “Which brings me to you.” He leans forward, cupping his hands on the table and his elbows on the desk. “I need someone who can make it easy to deceive.” He lets the silence hang for a moment before adding, “Tomorrow night, you’ll prepare me and a select few others for this event. You’ll be paid more than you’re used to. But if you betray me” His voice drops to something so low you barely catch it, “There will not be a second chance.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. The room feels colder now, the quiet hum of the AC almost deafening. The man who had been watching the interaction from the corner pushes off the cabinet, his silver glasses catching the low light. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice calm but firm. You stand, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel, and he leads you through the sleek hallways of the headquarters, the muted sounds of distant conversations fading away, replaced by an eerie silence pressing against your ears.

You don’t know his name, but there’s no mistaking the authority in his steps as he moves confidently toward a door you hadn’t noticed before. At the end of the hall, he stops in front of a sturdy wooden door, its plain yet somehow ominous. Without a word, he pulls out a key and unlocks it, pushing the door open just wide enough to usher you inside. The room is clean and simple. A neatly made bed, a small desk with a single lamp, and a window covered by heavy blackout curtains that shut out the outside world. It's a room just for you, it's supposed to be welcoming but it instead feels like you're walking into a prison cell.

He steps back into the hallway, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you consider asking where you’re supposed to go from here, but the weight of his gaze stops you.

“Name's San,” he whispers to you.

He leaves, and the door swings shut in front of you with a click. The sound echoes in the silence, sealing you inside.

It's cold when you wake up, and the morning light that manages to escape through the curtains is weak. You're opening your eyes to a quiet room only being broken when the ceiling fan starts its rotation. You sit up, and the unfamiliar bed is soft underneath you. The doors opened so softly you only notice it's fully opened when one of the men from yesterday makes his way inside, shutting the door behind him.

It's the other guard who was with Seonghwa. He never told you his name but now he's in the same room with you, alone. He's dressed sharp, all black outfit, a long-sleeved button-up, and slacks that are just a pinch too long when they hang over his boots.

“You're up.” He's quiet, but not shy.

You're blinking up at him, awkwardly shifting on the bed, “yeah. I am”

He offers a small nod, face still flat when he speaks up again, “ My name's Jongho, we met yesterday but I wasn't able to introduce myself. I'll be staying with you for your safety.”

You swallow hard, giving him an awkward smile, “So you're a bodyguard.” he's nodding again, his hands are behind his back and he puffs out his chest slightly. “Yeah, I was one of Yeosang's bodyguards but he sent me to you.”

He's giving you a reassuring glance when you run a hand through your hair. “Breakfast will be done soon, everyone's going to be on floor 11.” He's checking his watch, “I'll introduce you to everyone and then I'll tell you what to do in preparation for tonight.”

He's looking at you, “Any questions?”

You shake your head, and then he's gone.

You sit on the edge of the bed after a few minutes, mind racing. Your feet touch the wooden floor when you force yourself up, moving towards the window. You draw back the curtains and suddenly the room is encased in the sunlight. It's gloomy outside, there are hardly any cars passing by and the trees that surround the building are swaying in the wind. You're glancing around the room and you land on the large dresser. You hadn't brought anything with you when you came here— I mean you didn't expect to stay. They provided you with toiletries last night, you found that out when you entered the conjoined bathroom in hopes of taking a shower.

When you open the drawer you're surprised to find multiple pieces of clothing— they're all different colors and different styles. You decide on a random top, slipping it on. You're just as surprised when you find the pants drawer, again, there are different styles and fabrics of pants. You don't hesitate to put on a pair, they are perfect.

Now dressed, you find yourself looking back at yourself in the mirror, there's nothing wrong but you notice your hair is disheveled and some bags are hanging under your eyes. It's whatever, you think. You're opening the door, looking around the hallway when you finally close the door behind you, there's an elevator placed at the end of the hallway and you make your way towards it. There's a quiet ding when you press the button to summon it, its sleek doors slide open and you step inside, the soft click of the doors closing behind you sealing you in. The panel lights up, and you press the button for the 11th floor, your fingers trembling just a little as the elevator hums to life.

You're watching the numbers slowly go down and you glance down to your left, Your reflection in the mirrored walls looks back at you— tired eyes and flat face. The elevator dings softly, the doors sliding open to reveal the polished room and big rectangular table. There are people already sitting down, they're taking bites of their food, and scrolling on their phones when you walk in. Their casual demeanors confuse you, this organization was surrounded by death and torture but these men are here like it's just a regular day.

You guessed it is for them anyway.

All eyes flick to you when you near the table, You recognize Yunho immediately — the man who brought you here, calm and unreadable, sitting with perfect posture. Next to him, Seonghwa leans in close, peeking over Yunho’s shoulder to watch his phone, a small, almost amused smile tugging at his lips.

Jongho’s is also at the table, he's watching you with an unreadable expression while he pokes at his food, and there's another man next to him who's talking his ear off. He's speaking with a tone that's a bit too loud for a casual atmosphere and he's throwing his hands everywhere while he speaks. He's sat next to the talk man from yesterday, when you came inside for the first time he was there nodding a hello to Yunho. He has his arm draped over the back of Jongho's chair and he's listening in on what the talkative man has to say.

Yeosang and San aren't there, it's only five men with you. Someone’s calling your name, it's Seonghwa’s voice. He cuts through the quiet chatter, his voice is soft and warm. You turn toward him, meeting his eyes. He gestures to the empty seat beside him. “Come, sit. We'll get you a plate.”

The room seems to shift slightly, the air thickening with expectation. You rise and move over, slipping into the chair next to Seonghwa. He leans back calmly, eyes soft on you but sharpen up as he watches the room. “You must be tired after last night,” he says quietly, not unkindly. “Sorry, we're just shoving you into our business.”

The talkative man beside him chuckles, throwing his hands in the air. “Relax, it’s not like they’re expecting a circus performance.” He glances at you, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Name’s Wooyoung. If you need someone to hack your way out of trouble, I’m your guy.” he's pointing a thumb his way when he introduces himself. It's obvious he's the talky one of the group, the rest of them seem used to it.

You glance at his friend sitting quietly next to him, arms crossed but eyes alert. “That's Mingi,” Wooyoung adds with a nod toward the silent man. “He’s all about the details being the espionage and all, he keeps us one step ahead.” Mingi gives a brief nod your way, his gaze unreadable.

You're giving him a small smile, your hands are on the table and you can't help but feel out of place with the men surrounding you.

“Ah, that's cool” Your voice is meek when you speak up.

Jongho shifts slightly in his seat across from you. His eyes remain on you the whole time, Wooyoung leans back, cracking his knuckles with a grin. “Alright, enough formalities. Big night ahead. Makes me shiver with excitement.”

Mingi folds his arms, his voice low and precise. “Discretion is essential. Any slip-up and everything we fought hard for collapses.”

Yunho’s gaze flickers between the group, his tone firm. “No surprises. We stick to the plan.”

Seonghwa adds quietly, “And keep an eye on her. She’s new, but that doesn’t mean she’s not an important asset.” he's pointing to you when he speaks up, he's not looking at you but you shrink in the spotlight.

Your heart pounds as their words settle over you, “Am I supposed to be doing something with you guys down there? I thought I was just here for.. makeup, and that sort of thing.”

Jongho catches your eye again, a slight tightening around his mouth, “You are, no one's letting you near anyone who isn't with us. But now that you're in the know, you still need to be monitored. It's barely been a day since you came.”

Everyone nods when he says this, but it makes you think out loud, “so then why do you trust me? You're entrusting me with this whole—plan, and you don't even know me.” he shakes his head, leaning forward in his elbows, “ We don't trust you. But we know your skills are good enough to be of use and we needed someone quick. If you're untrustworthy— that'll be dealt with quickly.”

That shuts you up.

Wooyoung, who’s been quiet for the first time since you sat down, leans in with a lopsided grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. No one here trusts anyone at first. We’re just very good at pretending.”

Mingi lets out a chuckle, not out of amusement but more like he’s heard this conversation a thousand times before. “You’ll earn your place, or you won’t. It’s that simple.”

The air feels thicker now, and you’re painfully aware of every pair of eyes on you—even when some of them are back to scrolling on their phones or poking at breakfast. You press your palms into your knees under the table, grounding yourself before you make the mistake of speaking again.

Jongho had somehow managed to slip past when he stopped talking, and he's now bringing you a steaming plate of whatever their chef managed to cook this morning. He sits back in his chair, “Eat. You’ll need the energy.”

There's another pause of silence before the elevator dings and slides open, and there, Yeosang steps out. He's wearing something similar to Jongho's outfit. It wasn't like yesterday when he wore that sharp suit that looked like it would cut you if you touched it. Sans behind him, he's in a plain black tee and slacks, but he's not sporting his glasses this time. Conversations die instantly. Yunho sets his phone down, Seonghwa straightens, Mingi leans back with his arms crossed, and Wooyoung flashes a lazy grin like nothing’s changed. Jongho doesn’t move at all—just watches the two men approach with that same unreadable stare.

Yeosang’s eyes sweep the table, lingering on you just long enough to make your chest tighten. He doesn’t greet anyone. Doesn't need to. San takes the seat at Yeosang’s right, resting an arm lazily on the table. Yeosang remains standing, looking over the group with his eyebrows knitted

“Tonight,” he begins, his voice low “Everything needs to run without a single misstep. No excuses. No mistakes. You all know why.”

No one dares speak, but the weight of his words makes your throat dry. Yeosang finally turns to you, his gaze still unreadable. “You’ll be briefed later.”

Breakfast feels shorter than it should, though you’re not sure if it’s because you hardly touched your food or because the air in the room stayed so heavy the whole time. When the plates are cleared away, Yeosang doesn’t waste time. He stands, adjusting his cufflinks, and says simply, “With me.”

You glance around as if to check if he’s talking to someone else, but his eyes are locked on you. The others stay seated, except for San, who rises without a word and falls in step behind you. The walk through the headquarters is quiet. The halls are sleek and clean. When you reach a dark-paneled door, Yeosang opens it and steps inside, not bothering to check if you're following. He knows you are.

The room is smaller than you expected—a single table, a laptop, and a neat stack of documents. San closes the door behind you, his presence settling against it.

Yeosang sits at the head of the table, hands held together. “I'm holding a dinner party at my casino later tonight. Some people need to be taken care of, but I can't have my men looking like they are now, like themselves. What’s being discussed is not public, and it cannot become public. That’s why certain precautions are necessary.”

He pushes a folder toward you. Inside are neatly arranged pages, profiles of all the men you had just met, times, and seating charts. “Your job,” he continues, “is to make them look untouchable. Hair. Makeup. Anything that lets them walk into that room without a shadow of doubt about their image.”

You nod slowly, still flipping through the papers. “And if they don’t cooperate?”

Yeosang’s gaze sharpens. “They will. If not… that’s San’s job.” San doesn’t speak, but the way his eyes stay fixed on you says enough.

Yeosang leans back slightly. “You’ll be escorted at all times. No wandering. No conversations with anyone unless it’s related to your work. And if I even suspect you’ve stepped out of line..” he pauses, a faint smile curling at the edge of his mouth, “I won’t need to repeat myself.”

The warning sits heavy in the air.

“Any questions?”

You swallow and shake your head. “No questions.”

Yeosang seems satisfied with that answer, closing the folder and sliding it back toward himself. “Good. Then you’ll be with Mingi until preparations start.”

It takes you a second to remember which one Mingi is, the tall one with the sharp smile from breakfast. The one who’d been lounging back in his chair like he owned the place. San pushes off the wall, opening the door. “He’s in the lounge,” he says, glancing at you briefly before stepping into the hall. You follow, your footsteps sounding too loud in the quiet corridor. The lounge is a wide space with floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight spilling across expensive furniture. Mingi is sprawled on one of the couches, phone in hand, long legs stretched out. He looks up when you enter, a grin spreading across his face.

“Well,” he starts, pocketing his phone and standing in one fluid motion. “Guess I’m your babysitter.”

You scowl slightly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Mingi chuckles, walking toward you with an easy swagger. “Yeah, well, that’s not up to you, is it? You stick with me, you stay out of trouble, we both live happily ever after.”

San doesn’t linger, he leaves without a word, the door shutting quietly behind him.

Mingi tilts his head toward the couch. “Sit. We’ve got a few hours before things get interesting. Might as well get to know each other— or at least figure out if you’re gonna be a pain in my ass today.” You huff, but eventually sit across from him. He studies you for a beat, like he’s trying to decide if you’re worth talking to.

“So,” he says finally, “are you any good at what you do, or did Yeosang just pick you because you look the part?”

You sink back into the couch, arms crossed on your chest, “I'm good at what I do. That's why I'm here isn't it?” he's leaning forward when you reply.

“That's one way to think of it. Yeosang is always picking up strays. That was who the last girls were anyway. Wastes of space, they had it coming eventually.” he's rubbing his face while he speaks.

You scoff, “strays? Is that what you call everyone who works for him?”

He smirks, eyes scanning your face in a way that feels teasing. “Nah. Some of us volunteered. Others got recruited.” His tone dips on the last word, which piques your interest.

You tilt your head. “And which are you?”

Mingi’s grin widens. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re not sure you hide the small smile tugging at your lips well enough. “I'm asking you aren't I?”

He chuckles, leaning back with a lazy stretch. “Gotta make the job interesting somehow. Besides,” His gaze sweeps you over, lingering just long enough to make your pulse kick. “You don’t seem like the type who’d be boring to work with.”

“Is that your professional opinion or just a guess?” you ask, voice casual.

He shrugs, still relaxed in his chair. “Half professional, half gut feeling. I’ve learned to tell when someone’s going to keep things moving or just slow everything down.”

You catch a flicker of something behind his eyes. Experience? Maybe, or a hint of frustration. It makes you wonder about the kind of people he’s worked with before.

“Sounds like you’ve had your fair share of dead weight,” you say with a smirk.

He's laughing when you say that, “More than I like to admit,” a faint smile crossing his lips. “But I’m optimistic. Thought maybe you’d be different.”

The words hang between you, a subtle challenge. You tap your chin thoughtfully, “Well, optimistic or not, I'm stuck here with you,” you say, a teasing edge to your voice. “Hope you can keep up.” He straightens, shifting forward just enough to show he’s interested. “I don’t plan on falling behind,” he replies easily. “If you get too far ahead, I might have to drag you back.”

You pause, considering the implication. It sounds like a threat but it comes off more as a promise. Maybe it's both, you don't know. “Is that a threat or a promise?” brow arching when you ask.

“Depends on how fast you move,” he answers, grinning lightly. “I’ve got a decent pace.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s the kind that settles like a quiet truce—two people assessing each other, waiting to see how the other reacts.

“So,” you say, breaking it, “what made you volunteer for this? Boredom? Thrill-seeking?”

He shrugs again, this time slower, like weighing the answer. “ My friend. He's the one who got me here. I’ve known him since high school so I felt it was natural to accept his offer when he told me he could get me a job with good pay.” His words feel honest, with no underlying tone. You get the sense that this isn’t just a job for him; it’s something that keeps the edges of his life from blurring into a dream.

“If you're still here I'm guessing he is too,” you observe.

“Exactly,” he nods. “And working with someone who doesn’t back down makes it worth it.”

San’s footsteps return after what feels like an hour, and he's opening the door and stepping into the room. “The rest of the men are ready,” he announces without wasting time. His eyes flick to Mingi, who’s still lounging like he owns the place. “You’d better get yourself ready too.”

Mingi stretches, finally pushing off the couch with a lazy smile, but there’s a spark of purpose beneath the ease now. San glances at you and gestures toward the door. “Come with me.” You follow him down a narrow hallway, the walls brightening as you move forward, until you reach a room flooded with light. It’s a makeup studio, thank God. Its gleaming countertops are packed with every product imaginable, from vibrant eyeshadows to the most delicate brushes. The scent of cosmetics hangs in the air, sharp and oddly comforting. Normally, you've been missing.

Sitting casually in one of the chairs is Wooyoung, his easy smile on full display, fingers idly toying with a makeup brush. “Hey, look who finally showed up,” he says with a cheeky grin, eyes sparkling. “I couldn’t resist a little pampering. Even hackers need to look good, you know?”

He winks, clearly enjoying the attention as he settles deeper into the chair, making the room feel a little less tense only for a moment. You smirk, checking out the products sitting on the table in front of him. San clears his throat behind you. “We don’t have much time. Wooyoung, you good to get started once you’re done here?”

Wooyoung nods, still grinning. “Absolutely. This session’s just a bonus. Don’t worry, I’ll have their system crawling in no time.”

Mingi steps forward now, shaking off the last of his laid-back vibe. “You sure you don’t want me to help with the tech?”

Wooyoung snorts At this, “Please, stick to looking intimidating and leave the tech to me.” You stand in front of the smiling man, eyes drifting over his features in preparation for what you'll do. For a moment, you let yourself relax into the routine—the brushes, the colors, the small world of normalcy before reality sets back in.

Wooyoung's looking at you when you press your fingertips lightly under his eyes, he has a certain look in his eye but you can't gauge it. Maybe it's curiosity or amusement. Your touch is gentle when you apply the makeup, blending the colors with practiced ease and he already looks more intimidating than before. The room hums with quiet energy around you—San standing nearby, eyes alert watching you two, Mingi’s pacing impatiently, Jongho and Seonghwa exchanging low words, and Yunho is leaning against the wall, calm and composed. Everyone is waiting, the weight of what’s coming almost tangible.

You finish the touch-up with a final sweep, stepping back to inspect your work. Wooyoung catches your eye and gives you a subtle nod of approval.

“You’re good”

Before you can thank him, San clears his throat again. “Time’s up. Wooyoung, get to work. Who's next?.”

It's been an hour of the same process, foundation, contour, maybe some blush so they don't look sickly, and then eyeshadow to sharpen their eyes. Your hands are cramping slightly. Yeosang steps into the now-empty room, the rest of them having left after you finished with their makeup. It's kind of awkward, you're just watching as he carefully plants himself into the chair in front of you. He's pushing his hair back slightly so you have enough room to apply the products.

The foundation slides into his face and you begin to gently blend it out. You notice he's beginning to relax, jaw loosening under your touch and his eyebrows relax. For a long time, the two of you are silent, making no move to speak. It's just the sound of soft strokes and the low hum of outside chatter. The moment you press lightly onto his cheekbones with contour, you notice his eyes beginning to flutter. His breathing is even and slowing down and he's closing his eyes. He somehow manages to keep himself upright, and his shoulders are relaxing, the knots in his back relaxing under your comfort. The calmness settling over him feels almost fragile, like a rare glimpse behind the guarded walls he wears so well.

You pause for a moment, unsure whether to keep going or to let him rest, but the brush moves on almost instinctively soft, measured strokes that seem to soothe rather than apply. The faintest rise and fall of his chest is slow and even, as if he’s leaning into the quiet more than he intended. A small smile tugs at your lips, surprised at how this unexpected softness feels like a secret shared between the two of you. You only knew him as the boss who had everything beneath his fingertips, fearing no one. Seeing him in this light is comforting.

Once you finish, you decide to gently nudge his shoulder with your fingertip. “Hey,” you whisper, “time to wake up.”

His eyes flutter open slowly, revealing that familiar calm, but with a flicker of something warmer now, it's almost sheepish. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he says quietly, though the earlier action betrays him.

You grin gently. “Sure you weren’t.”

He shifts slightly looking at himself in the mirror behind you, finally allowing himself a small, shy smile. “You’re good at this.”

Your heart skips a beat at the compliment. “Only because you let me,” you say, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.

He slightly moves from your touch, his face turning back into something stoic, but you notice the way he seems to move back into your touch. The way his fingers twitch ever so slightly, almost reaching toward your hand, says more than words ever could. It’s like he’s drawn to the quiet comfort you’re offering, even if he won’t admit it aloud. Like he's chasing the feeling.

The room feels softer now, the usual edge around him smoothed by something gentle. He doesn’t speak, but there’s an unspoken understanding hanging in the air—this small moment of vulnerability that neither of you would break.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror’s reflection, steady but warmer than before. “I have a job to do” he replies simply.

A tight smile tugs at your lips again, and you nod your head in understanding. Then, almost reluctantly, Yeosang straightens, the boss returning as he shifts in the chair.

“Let’s finish,” he says, voice commanding but with a softness that lingers just beneath the surface. You nod, brushing the last touches gently across his skin, grateful for the unexpected warmth this moment brought.

The low hum of laughter and clinking glasses filled the dim halls of HALA Casino, where the city’s elite mingled beneath dazzling chandeliers and velvet drapes. Yeosang moved through the crowd like a shadow, his eyes scanning every face with quiet calculation. Tonight wasn’t just about business—it was about rooting out enemies disguised as friends, and doing so without raising suspicion. Beside him, Mingi leaned casually against the polished marble bar, his gaze flicking from one person to another. Yunho stood near a poker table, his expression calm but ready, while Seonghwa and Jongho circulated among groups of high rollers, exchanging pleasantries but always alert.

Yeosang’s voice was low when he murmured to Mingi, “They’re near the west lounge. Keep them busy.”

Mingi nodded subtly, disappearing into the crowd, his gaze locked on a group of men in dark suits whispering too intently near the blackjack tables. Yunho moved in tandem, cutting off escape routes without making it obvious. But despite their efforts, the tension escalated. The men had sensed the trap tightening. Chaos erupted near the roulette wheel, a sharp shout, and glass smashing against the floor. Men dressed in suits pulled weapons from beneath their jackets, eyes fixated on Yeosang.

He didn’t back down. Gritting his teeth, he twisted, dodging a brutal punch aimed at his head, but some flying glass managed to nick him. His fist smashed into the attacker’s ribs, sending him staggering back. Blood dripped from a cut on Yeosang’s temple, his eyes burning with determination. Another man swung a heavy fist, and Yeosang caught the blow, countering with a sharp elbow that cracked against the man’s jaw. The fight was brutal and fast, chaos swirling around the poker tables and slot machines. Women are screaming and people are toppling over each other to leave the casino.

“Get him out!” Seonghwa barked, fighting off another attacker.

Jongho tackled a man rushing for Yeosang, slamming him into an overturned chair. Despite the blows pounding into him, Yeosang fought with fire, his movements a blur of power and control. He grabbed a loose bottle from a nearby table and swung, shattering it against an attacker’s head. The sharp glass forced a scream and retreat.

Breathing heavily, battered and bruised, Yeosang locks eyes with Mingi. “Now.”

Mingi stepped forward, helping Yeosang toward the back exit as Yunho cleared their path. Seonghwa and Jongho covered their retreat, pushing past people who were in their way. They slipped into the cool night air, the sounds of chaos fading behind them. Sirens are screeching in the back and there are people running past the alleyway where they all stand.

Yeosang presses a hand to his bruised ribs, “Get Wooyoung on the phone. I want the cameras wiped. Damn it.”

Mingi nodded. “We’ll make sure of it.”

You're unbelievably bored. It's been 4 hours since they left and you're wandering around the bedroom they've given you. You kick at the edge of the rug, watching it bunch up under your foot, then let it fall back into place. The room smells faintly of citrus cleaner and something more subtle. Maybe lavender? You try counting the little scratches in the wallpaper— a tiny tear by the window frame, the wallpaper is peeling on the far right corner of the wall, and then your eyes drift to the desk.

There’s a stack of books there, all neat and unreadable without knowing the language. You peek at the top one anyway. The pages are crisp and unmarked, but the words are strange and twisting in a way that makes you blink twice. A sigh escapes you, long and bored enough to almost echo, and you find yourself pacing again, because that’s the only thing to do when you’re stuck in a room with nothing but furniture that seems to judge you for existing.

It's only a matter of time until San opens your door, he's panting a bit, hair ruffled and his t-shirt is out of place.

“Do you know anything about bandaging up wounds?”

That's how you end up on the rug in the break room, there's a box full of gauze next to you and you're dampening a cotton pad with alcohol. Yeosang is in front of you, his hair is disheveled and he's not even looking at you. He's covered in bruises, some of them already blue while the rest are only starting to form. He's wincing when you press the pad against the cut on his temple, and his knuckles are white from grabbing the couch so hard. Your touch is gentle, it always is— but you're especially soft because you're scared that if you make the wrong move you'll end up looking like him, but much worse. He's letting you work, his jaw tightening and eyes looking past you like he's somewhere else mentally.

“Sorry, does it hurt?”

He's shaking his head, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks, “No, just mad the whole thing went to shit.

You don't respond to him, just throw the pad into the trash next to you. It's hot in the room, sans pacing in the back of the room, he's speaking into his phone, and pulling at his hair every three seconds. Everything smells like antiseptic and Neosporin. “I'm almost done..” You're quiet, putting the cap back onto the tube and placing a small band-aid onto his temple.

Yeosang glances at you for the first time, and his eyes are soft. His grip on the touch is relaxing and he's breathing slowly. Not talking, just breathing, looking. It's like he's trying to breathe the frustration and anger out of his system, but he's looking at you when he does it. His shoulders are relaxing just the slightest. You're sliding the bottles back into the box where you found them, your movements are slow and calculated. Yeosang's eyes follow you, and he hums slowly before speaking up.

“You're done?” He's quiet, almost hesitant when he speaks.

You nod without looking at him, but that's ruined when he taps your shoulder, “My ribs, can you check on them?”

“Your ribs? What do you mean?” Your tone is quizzical, curious. He hadn't mentioned anything about his ribs when you first came into the room, it was only his face and hands that really bothered him.

Your face falls when he raises his shirt just enough to show you his torso. You can't ignore the way he's covered in muscle, he looks like a marbled statue— but you also don't miss the black and blue bruises that decorate his soft skin. He notices your concerned face, the way your mouth opens slightly in surprise, and your hands twitch.

“It doesn't hurt a lot. Just need something to keep it from getting worse..” his voice is rough and he sounds embarrassed.

You nod, gently sliding the edge of his shirt further up to get access without causing him to flinch too much. The air’s thick with tension as you start carefully placing gauze over the bruised areas, pressing just enough to keep it secure but not enough to make him wince.

“You’re gentle,” he mutters after a moment, voice quieter, almost vulnerable.

You pause, looking up at him briefly. “I don’t want to make it worse,” you admit, and for a moment the air changes. There's an understanding between the two of you.

It’s been six months since you started working with Yeosang and the group, and somehow, you’ve carved out a role that doesn’t involve bullets, bruises, or adrenaline spikes—just brushes, palettes, and the occasional smirk. Tonight, your assignment is simple: sit in the studio room, make the gang look like a team of walking gods before they head out. Easy, right?

You settle into your high stool, brushes and palettes meticulously arranged around you, a small bubble of calm in the chaotic headquarters. San paces behind you, phone in hand, muttering under his breath.

“I hate waiting,” he says, voice low, tense—but there’s a trace of amusement that sneaks through anyway.

“You’re better off here than in the alley with them,” you reply lightly, smirking without looking up. He grumbles something inaudible, pacing faster, the click of his shoes echoing off the concrete walls.

YEOSANG

Outside, the night smells of exhaust and asphalt, the kind of sharp scent that keeps your senses razor-focused. The van rumbles along quiet streets, inconspicuous. Six targets, there's going to be a lot of blood on his hands.

After the night at the casino, he swore he'd calculate everything precisely— no mistakes, not like last time. Mingi’s driving, hands firmly on the steering wheel, and Seonghwa checks angles and positions, Jongho glances at the rearview, fingers twitching over controls. Yunho monitors exits. His comm buzzes.

Eyes on the north intersection, Yunho’s voice whispers.

Every flicker of movement matters, every shadow is a potential problem. Minutes feel like hours. The first target steps out. His pulse doesn’t spike, this is his normal, but his jaw tightens. One step, one second off, and it could ruin everything.

Then another comm,

Movement in the north alley. Possible interference.

He glances at the shadow flitting along the corner. One of the targets’ associates.. A variable he hadn’t expected.

“Handle it,” he responds firmly.

Yunho steps in, quiet and precise. Yeosang watches as the shadow disappears, there's no movement, no noise, no chaos. Just the smooth efficiency he's demanded for months. The rest of the operation flows like water. Six targets captured, killed, exits covered, streets empty. He can feel the familiar adrenaline buzz, but it’s tempered by control, precision, and the quiet satisfaction of a plan well done. Finally, the car heads back toward headquarters. He's leaning back slightly, thinking, still calculating every risk. And in the back of his mind, he's thinking of your makeup room, of you sitting there, completely unaware, smoothing collars, brushing stray hairs, humming softly. You know his business, what he does when it comes to his job, but you don't care. In fact, you're standing by his side and wishing him luck when he leaves your studio.

He feels weird, thinking that shouldn't be something he wants to do. He's not even doing it on purpose, it's something he does unconsciously. When he's lying in bed at night, you're there in his mind, and he thinks he can feel your fingertips touching his face. It comforts his fragile and cold heart, bringing warmth back to him.

He doesn’t remember the first time it happened. Maybe it was that night in the break room, when your hands moved over his bruised ribs with a care so deliberate it made him tense up, not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. You’d been quiet, focused, and yet something in your touch made the air feel different. Or maybe it was later, in the makeup room, when you were leaning in close, adjusting the line of shadow along his eyes. You’d glanced at him once, right in the middle of your work, and said something so simple, “You’ve got nice eyes” before going back to blending like you hadn’t practically cut him open with such a simple compliment. He could be thinking about a million other things right now, like what to buy the group for dinner, or when the next time they'll have training. You’ve threaded yourself into the quiet spaces between his thoughts without even trying, and that, more than anything, makes him feel unsteady.

And he's been complimented before, hell, he's had multiple women try and sweet-talk their way into his bedroom, but none of their words made him feel the way yours did. And never once did you make an advancement towards him, it's always been something simple, so small that most people wouldn't notice. But he did, always did. He tries to tell himself that his feelings are just from your proximity to him, if none of the guys feel this way towards you then he shouldn't either. But it's hard when he feels an overwhelming jealousy building up whenever Wooyoung makes a stupid excuse of a pass at you, or when Mingi laughs at one of your jokes, playfully slapping your shoulder when he does so.

You don’t make dumb jokes with him like you do with Mingi. You don’t spend ten minutes talking about your favorite shows or hobbies like you do with Yunho. And you don’t toss flirty little comments his way like you do with Wooyoung. With him, you’re different. Focused. Professional. Sometimes quiet. Like you’re holding back.

Why?

Maybe it’s his face. Or his hair. Or the way he dresses. Maybe he comes across too cold, too sharp-edged for you to approach the same way you do the others. He doesn’t know. But what he does know, what he’s certain of, is that he’s going to figure it out.

You're leaning over the desk, organizing your products for the third time today, color-coding your eyeshadow pallets like you'll die if one pallet is out of place. But it's always the same when it's time for the job, they're walking into the room, some of them yawning or loudly announcing their arrival. It's a routine for you, make sure they don't look like they've walked through a tornado and they're off to whatever they need to do that day.

It's been six months but there's already a rhythm between you and the men, it's predictable now. Someone cracks a joke in the hall. San wanders in to complain about how long it’s taking. Wooyoung pops his head in just to annoy you. Sometimes Mingi sings. It’s chaos, but it’s familiar chaos.

But, today just feels different. Everyone walks with a purpose, their shoes snapping when they make contact with the ground, no one's lingering in the doorway and no one's draped on top of the couches that sit in the corner of the room.

Mingi’s dropping himself into the chair, “don't make me look too pretty” he's grinning up at you, “don't wanna distract the boss.”

You give him a small laugh, tilting his chin up so you can see all of him in the light, “trust me, no one's getting distracted by you.”

He gives you a dramatic scoff, rolling his eyes and he's smiling. It's still quieter than usual, and he knows it too. There’s a distant hum of voices from the hallway, it's low and serious. You’ve learned not to try and make out the words. That part of the job isn’t yours, and you’re not about to start sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Your world is foundation shades, eyeshadow palettes, and making sure nobody’s busted lip gives away what they’ve been up to.

Yeosang passes by the doorway once, he has his phone in his hand and he's calmly speaking to someone on the other end. He doesn't stop in the doorway, doesn't look in, but you catch the smallest flick of his eyes landing on you just before he disappears down the hallway.

You ignore it, well, you try to at least.

By the time you finish with Mingi, Wooyoung is standing in the doorway, he has his hands in his pockets and he's sporting a sly smile. He's waiting for his turn, waiting to tease you and just make your life the slightest bit harder. You scowl at him, giving him a look, and he grins wider, because of course he does.

He's walking towards you when Mingi stands up, “You can't move around so much this time.” he's smiling when you say that, “No promises.”

Halfway through, he's leaning towards, moving around your pallets and looking at all of the pretty colors, you're pushing him back with a hand on his forehead and he's pouting up at you when you smack his hand.

“I have other people waiting for me, and the faster I get you done the faster you can go bother someone else.” you sigh

He doesn't respond to that, just crossing his arms and looking forward to seeing himself in the mirror. Then, he asks you something that makes you pause.

“Are you scared of Yeosang?” He's serious, not teasing in his voice.

Your hand stops the application of blush, and you're thinking about what you're going to say before it comes out wrong, “No, he's not scary. Just..different.”

And you're being truthful, because honestly? In the beginning, he was, one look from and you'd think you had just done something wrong by just standing in the middle of the dining hall. But now, he's not as scary.

“Different how?” his eyebrow is arched when he speaks.

You swirl the brush once in the pan before touching it lightly to his cheek. “I don’t know. He doesn’t talk much. And when he does, it’s like, like there’s a lot he’s not saying. Makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.”

Wooyoung hums, not in agreement or disagreement, just filing it away in his brain like he always does. “You pay attention to him a lot.”

You laugh softly at that, tapping the brush against the edge of your palette. “I pay attention to all of you.” he's raising both of his eyebrows now at this.

When you finish, you're stepping back and letting him look at himself in the mirror, he's giving you a wide smile, and winking when he thanks you. He's beginning to walk away, but before he's out the door, he's speaking up, “I don't think he's scary either, but that's only because I know him.” and then he's gone. You’re left alone for a moment, the hum of the overhead light the only sound in the room.

It’s not long before Yeosang appears in the doorway, silent as usual. You don’t notice him at first, rearranging your palettes, cleaning your brushes, keeping busy because the room feels oddly still without someone sitting in the chair. When you finally glance up, he’s already inside, standing just far enough that you have to turn to face him.

“Need something?” you ask.

He shakes his head once. His eyes flick briefly to the chair Wooyoung just vacated, then back to you. “I’m next.”

You blink. “I thought you weren’t going out with them tonight.”

“I am now.” He sits, posture straight, hands resting loosely on the armrest. He doesn’t look at you when you start working, his gaze is fixed on the mirror in front of him, like he’s thinking about a thousand other things.

You're first to break the silence, "How'd you meet them?”

That gets his attention, he's looking around the room while he thinks and his Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows.

“Well, I initially took over after my father retired, and I was still in college. It was hard, and I didn't get along with the people my father employed, so I fired them all.” His voice is softening as he speaks, “Wooyoung was studying computer science and computer engineering, so I thought it was appropriate to ask him to work for me. San came after he did, Wooyoung told me he had a friend who needed a job, and so I hired him too. We ended up getting along quickly and he offered to be my right-hand man and I couldn't resist it.“

You're listening to his every word, this was the first time he had spoken to you for longer than ten seconds and you're not about to waste it, especially when you initiated the conversation.

“Yunho came to me, he needed the money and I guess Mingi did too because when Yunho first got here, he made me promise to take his friend as well as him. We had another member, Honjoong, who's out and about now, but he brought Seonghwa with him. They were good together.” You don't think he notices it himself but he's smiling softly when he recounts the memory.

“And Jongho?” you ask, stalling the brush.

“He came in himself, he's the youngest but he's one of the more mature people here. He's strong, I trust him with my life.”

There’s weight in that sentence, but you don’t press. You’ve learned when to push and when to let silence fill in the gaps. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the faint sweep of bristles against his skin. When you reach for another brush, his gaze follows the movement, lingering on your hands. You don’t notice, but he’s noting everything, the way your fingers wrap around the handle, the slight furrow in your brow when you focus, the faint warmth radiating from you when you lean closer.

You’re used to people fidgeting in the chair, but Yeosang is still. Too still. Like he’s forcing himself not to shift or breathe too deeply.

“You’ve known each other a long time then,” you murmur eventually, though you’re not sure if you’re asking or just filling the space.

“Long enough to trust them with my life.” There’s something underneath his tone when he says it, like the words are weighed down.

You nod, more to yourself than him, and keep blending. You don’t push for more, he’s not the kind of man who needs questions to fill the gaps. He sits in silence like he was built for it. When you lean closer to fix a patch of uneven tone near his temple, your sleeve brushes the edge of his neck. The faint scent of his cologne rises, its clean, soft, but edged with something darker. It makes your heart stutter for a second before you remind yourself to focus.

He doesn’t shift away from the contact. If anything, he stills further, like any movement might make you step back. It takes longer than it needs to, but you keep your pace measured, checking your work from different angles, smoothing, blending, and evening out shadows. You tell yourself it’s about precision, not the quiet pull in your chest that makes you want to stay in this moment a little longer.

When you finally step back, you tilt your head, scanning your work critically. The soft sweep of color makes his features look even sharper, his eyes darker. It’s subtle, but enough to make him look more dangerous if he wants to.

“You look” You search for the right phrasing, settling on, “ you look good”

The smallest curve touches his mouth, gone before it can settle into anything more. He stands, adjusting the line of his jacket without looking at you directly.

“Thank you,” he says simply. The words are soft, but there’s a weight to them you can’t quite name. You watch him leave, he's quiet, the door clicking shut behind him. For a moment, you just stand there, hands resting on the edge of the table, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Then you start rearranging brushes again, the fifth time now, anything to keep from thinking too much about why your chest feels lighter and heavier at the same time.

Outside the door, the building carries on. But in there, the faint trace of his cologne lingers in the air, refusing to let you forget.

masterlist

[doolet]

STRAYKIDS when they have a crush on you!

pairings: ot8 members x f!reader

summary: how they act when they like you

warning(s) : none

wc: 2k (roughly)

Not read through

˚｡𖦹 bangchan

Being a leader, Chan is someone who's forced to crawl out of his comfort zone and lead the group, however, when it comes to you— he's quiet. He finds himself relaxing whenever you're nearby. Checking on Hans makeup? He's looking at you. Attempting (and failing) to blow dry Changbin's hair as he's falling asleep? Chans smiling as he watches you bend at awkward angles to dry the man's hair. You're the group's stylist, so you take care of their outfits, their hairstyles, and their makeup. No, you don't do it for them all but you're there when they need you.

When Chan's in the chair, he's impossibly still, keeping his eyes forward and open when you apply eyeliner to his inner corner. If you asked him to do a handstand he'd probably try to do one for you, that's how much he trusts and admires you. You noticed when he'd bring an extra latte from across the street, vanilla, light ice and strawberry coldfoam. It's your exact order.

He's sitting in your chair when you come to do his hair, he's on his phone but when he notices you behind him he drops his phone into his lap. “I got you a drink, thought you'd like it.” he's smiling at you, it's shy and small but it makes your heart flutter nonetheless.

You don't reject the drink, it's your favorite, anyway. But you also don't miss the way his eyes follow you in the mirror, and how his eyes fall to his lap when you catch him looking at you. He'll write songs about you in his head, writing lyrics as you paint his face with colorful eyeshadows. You're just so close he could reach out and kiss you, he hopes you'd like that. But for now he'll just stick to stealing small glances.

How could you blame him? You're beautiful.

˚｡𖦹 leeknow

Being Leeknow's manager wasn't hard per say, it was… challenging. The man isn't mean, or demanding, but he sure does know how to get on someone's nerves— whether it be yours or his fellow members’.

“Oh, I meant Mocha, not Matcha”

“Are you sure that's purple? It looks blue to me.”

“Can you ask what the difference is between grilled and fried chicken, please?”

You think your hair is becoming grey.

When Leeknow begins to soften around you, you immediately notice. His voice softens when he calls you by your first name, not your last name like normal— your first name. He doesn't tense up when you fix something on his outfit or when his microphone pack is busted and you need to replace it before he goes out on stage. He just stands there for you, still and quiet. Not complaining or whining like usual. He begins to include you in inside jokes and conversations he has with the other members, and suddenly it's not awkward to be in the same room with the group. Instead of giving you a blank stare when you pass by him sitting on the couch, he'll give you a small smile and wave, “hey”.

You think it's different, cute.. Maybe. And it definitely makes your heart beat when he comes up from behind you when you're on your phone texting colleagues and he takes your phone out of your hands— looking at the contact name. “Karl? Who's that? That's a weird name for a guy. Is he your boyfriend?”

You sigh, “no, he's my colleague back at the agency” grabbing the phone back from out of his hands.

He doesn't say anything, just nods and goes to turn back around, “oh, good.”

Good? What the hell does that mean??

˚｡𖦹 changbin

Changbin's crush on you is obvious. You two met at a mutual friends party, music blasting and people dancing. You're a model and he's a rapper. From two totally different worlds but that didn't stop him from pursuing you and your friendship. It started with him inviting you to hangouts with the members, which slowly and slowly became smaller hangouts until it was just you and him at a dinner reservation.

It's quiet in the restaurant, there is a hum of conversation in the background but the clanking of silverware is louder than the voices. The restaurant isn't over the top expensive, maybe $60-$70 dollars for two people tops? But changing goes out of the way to order the most expensive red wine, hints of mixed berry in the wine.

“I wanted you to have the best wine, you deserve it” he tells you, a smile on his face when he pours you another glass.

“I deserve it? What did I do to deserve this?” your smile is just as big as his, and you can feel the butterflies in your stomach as he hands you back your glass, his fingers slightly grazing yours.

“Just being you is enough.” your heart flutters inside of your chest and you bashfully take another sip of the wine.

When you two aren't alone, he gains more confidence just by being around the members, so, he'll compliment you when you pass by or he'll go out of his way to mention you in a conversation while you're in earshot.

“Your hair is beautiful”

“Do you have makeup on? No? God, you're gorgeous without even trying”

You're cooked beyond belief.

˚｡𖦹 hyunjin

Hyunjin didn't act differently than he did with the members, he treated you equally.. Except for the times when he wouldn't. You're sitting on the couch in the practice room, he's lying down on you, full dead weight, covered in sweat— and when you try to pry him off of you all you get in return are his whines “why don't you love me?”

Whenever you're in the same vicinity as him, he's there next to you, watching tik toks on your phone? He's right behind you looking over your shoulder, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. Making the group dinner? He's sitting on the countertop next to the stove, just watching you cook. And mind you, not watching to see what you're cooking, he's looking at you, watching the small beads of sweat accumulate on your hairline and the way your eyebrows are knitted together when you concentrate really hard. He thinks you're pretty, no sorry, beautiful. You're not just his ideal type, you check all of the boxes. But, he's not gonna say that to you. Maybe you'll get the hint one day, he thinks.

You just chalked it all up to him being extremely affectionate, but it shocked you to find you he wasn't the biggest fan of skinship in the group. He wasn't doing all of this with any of the other members, so why was it different with you? You're considered family to them all, I mean, you're literally Seungmin's older sister. So why is he showing you this side of him to you?

˚｡𖦹 han

You're an employee at a small corner store. I mean, it's your parents who own the damn thing so they dragged you into the business. There's hardly anyone coming in during the day, so you make most of your sales late in the night. You started to notice when the same man would come in, never at the same time but he'd always grab the same things. Matcha pocky and a caramel pudding milk tea. Sometimes he'd throw in some ramen here and there but it was obvious what he was after most days. You're ringing him up, same price everytime, $5.35. He'll give you a ten and you give him the same amount of change—It's a routine. But what shocks you is that this time, he hands you a white slip of paper before walking away, white plastic bag swaying in his grasp:

Hey, I'm usually really good at making conversation but I can't help but get extremely nervous when I come here. I would like to be your friend :)

-han

xxx-xxx-xxx

‘Cute’ you think. A bit creepy, but you can't blame a man for trying. You pocket the paper, putting his number into your phone but not saying anything. When the next day comes, he's there around midnight, and he's accompanied by another man. He's taller than him, with a pointy nose and brown hair. You smile at them both, and the familiar customer comes up to you while his friend walks around the store.

“Hi, err, you got my note?” he's rubbing the back of his neck with his hand before he's wiping his palms on his sweats. He's obviously nervous but you don't pay much mind to that.

You're nodding to him, ripping off a random receipt, writing your number down and handing it to the man. Now that he's closer, you're able to gauge his appearance a bit better. He has rounder cheeks, soft eyes, and wavy hair. He's cute, definitely something you like.

“I did, I thought it was cute, heroes mine so you're not waiting on me to text you.” His shaky hands grabs the paper from you and his mysterious friend comes up next to him with a basket full of snacks, “Han, move out of the way man. I have things to buy.”

You're checking the snacks out and putting them into bags, catching him, Han, taking glances at you when he thinks you don't notice. You're handing his friend his change, giving Han one last good look before they leave,

“Bye Han.” His smile is wide when your warm voice reaches his ears. He gives you a small wave goodbye before following his friend out of the door.

Yeah, he's cute.

˚｡𖦹 felix

Being friends with an idol has its pros and cons, especially when that idol was your childhood friend from birth. Felix is stacked with money, and you're well off too. You're a doctor, making enough money to keep yourself happy, way more money than you need. But, Felix is Felix, he's kind and he loves giving gifts so when packages arrive on your doorstep filled with new designer Coach and Louis Vuitton bags, you have no one else to blame but him.

You two Face time every night before bed, you live in the same area but your busy schedules prevent the both of you from seeing each other when you want to. When he answers the phone, he's lying on his bed, a soft blue glow emanating from the front of his room. He has a sly smile on his face when he sees you with a scowl.

“Whyd you buy me so many bags? There's at least 10 in each box and that cannot be under 500 dollars.” his smile breaks out into a bigger one, and he's laughing at your whines.

“Cant a guy buy his girl expensive things anymore? Speaking of that, I bought you that perfume you said you were running out of. Oh, I also bought some other random ones you said you liked back in Paris.” your eyes are literally bulging out of your sockets when he says this, he's so nonchalant about the whole ordeal it makes you feel crazy.

“More perfumes? There's still 50 more sitting on my shelf from you! Are you telling me I need to buy more shelves?” He nodded, “and more closet space.”

You face palm, rubbing your eyes in faux annoyance, “you can't keep buying me designer things lix, I feel like I'm giving you a run for your money” you're pouting at him through the screen, he hums pretending to think for a second, “right, well, you're not asking me to buy you anything but I'm doing it anyway so technically you're not doing anything wrong!”

You can still hear his laugh even after you throw your phone down onto your bed, “What'd you mean by “my girl”?”

Now he's quiet, sucking in a breath, “well, it means my girl, you're my girl aren't you?”

You don't say anything, silently nodding like he could see you, “yea, I guess I am.”

˚｡𖦹 seungmin

You met Seungmin through Chan, the first time you met the younger man, he was quiet— only giving you a small wave before walking to the other side of the room.

Now that it's been more than a few years, he's more comfortable with you, silently sitting next to you on the couch or slipping you a banana smoothie he bought from the market under the table and into your grasp.

He's quiet but he notices, when you're cold he'll drape his jacket over your shoulders and when you're hot he'll pull out a small electronic fan and point it in your direction for however long you need it for. His small gestures speak loudly enough. He doesn't need to say it out loud for anyone to know that he cares for you.

When it comes to group hangouts, he's there by your side, refilling your ice water when it becomes even slightly low, and he's the one cheering you on during game night when you get Uno, “wow, you're smart. You got this” he’ll whisper, just loud enough for you to hear him.

Chan notices the way he looks at you, and he notices when seungmin follows you around like the puppy he is, so when he pulls him aside to ask about his small crush, Seungmin is quick to dismiss the older man, “what are you talking about? I don't know anything about that.” he speaks a little too low and a little bit too fast to be believable. Chan just smiles at the man as he walks away. It's obvious he likes you.

˚｡𖦹 i.n

You're in an idol group similar to his own, you're the main vocalist and visual. I.N admires you greatly and thinks you're one of the most beautiful people to grace this planet—So, when your groups are brought together to collaborate on an album, he thinks he might just die. You're in the studio with all of the members, you're sitting next to Chan as he writes a song. The two of you are hard at work as everyone else is engaged in conversation. I.N’s watching you with such an intensity you'd be a fool not to notice.. And you do. You feel eyes on the back of your head, and when you turn you meet his fox-like eyes. He immediately turns away, his dignity is barely hanging on by a thread.

When you finally turn around, his eyes are back on you, and this time you're whispering into chans ear. The two of you are smiling and gigging together and he can't help but be curious as to what the two of you are talking about.

“I.N, how would you feel if you shared a verse with her?” chans smiling at the youngest member, and his finger is pointed straight at you. He feels his heart soar, he's looking back at you and you have a wide smile on your face, “I think your voice is enchanting and I'd like to sing with you. I think we'd make a good match.” Your voice is like honey when you talk to him, and he thinks he's dreaming for a second.

He'd kill to share anything with you, whether that be feelings or a verse in a song.

masterlist

[doolet]

MRS MAGIC - P.SH

pairing: childhoodbestfriend! p.sh x f!reader

summary : summers ending and the future is creeping closer. You and your best friend decide to have one last day at the beach, just like when you were little.

warning(s): fluff, nonidol au, highschool/college aged, slightly suggestive (not read through)

wc: 2.5k

🎧: mrs magic(strings version)

It's 5:30am when you wake up, the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon—it’s warm light peeking through the sheer laced curtains covering the windowsill of your childhood vacation home. It’s quiet, the window is slightly open and you can hear the soft crashing of the waves outside the house, there are no footsteps outside the room, and he’s still asleep.

Seonghwa, he’s the boy you met the day you moved in next door back in Seattle. He was a quiet boy, but he was always respectful and kind. It wasn’t common at that age, especially for boys, so you’ve always counted yourself lucky he decided to stick by your side. You’re both freshly 18, just graduated from high school. It’s the summer before you both part ways, different colleges, different parts of the world. You haven’t given it much thought because you know if you think about it more you might just keel over and die.

Your feet meet the cold wooden flooring, pushing yourself off the bed and up to stand. Rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, your riddled up sweats fall from your upper calf and back down to fully encase your leg. You take a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of the ocean mixed with the faint aroma of your vanilla wallflower. It's a comforting feeling, like a warm hug. You glance over at Seonghwa, still peacefully asleep, his tousled hair catching the first rays of sunlight. A soft smile spreads across your face; the memories of countless summers spent together flood your mind. He looks the same as he did when you two first started this tradition. Sure, to others it would be weird for two 12-year-olds of the opposite gender to sleep in the same bed— especially not being related. But, that was something you and Seonghwa never paid mind to. Especially now that you both were 18, it still wasn’t weird, just normal.

Deciding to let him rest a little longer, you tiptoe out of the room and into the small kitchen, the floor creaking slightly beneath your feet. There's coffee brewing, a chocolate raspberry blend, the rich aroma filling the cold air. You pull out a few pastries from the fridge, leaving the strawberry scones, a little treat for when he wakes up. Waiting for the coffee, you find yourself gazing out the window, watching the sun rise higher, casting golden light over the waves. You can’t help but think about the years ahead—the people you get to meet, the memories you know you’ll make, without him.

Suddenly, you hear a soft voice behind you. “Making coffee?" Seonghwa stands in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, a sleepy smile on his face. The sight of him at that moment makes your heart flutter unexpectedly.

“Yeah, there are some strawberry scones for you in the fridge,” you reply, a smile spreading onto your face. He lazily nods, his lips mirroring your own. He's opening the fridge, hunching over slightly just to find the scones you left him.

He steps closer to you when he finds the pastries, and the space between you feels charged with something unspoken. “You always know how to make the mornings better,” he says, his voice still raspy from sleep. You laugh lightly, “Well, I know you love them. You always get them when we come over.”

He sits next to you at the island, his knee knocking against yours. “What do you want to do today?” Seonghwa asks, breaking the silence as he takes a bite of the scone.

You think for a moment. “ Wanna go swimming? It's only us today”

He nods, his expression soft. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

The coffee pot is empty after 30 minutes, the sun is up now and there's a golden glow covering the earth. You glance at Seonghwa, who’s leaning against the counter, a relaxed smile playing on his lips as he watches the sunlight on the water through the window.

“Waters gonna be cold if we head out now, but it'll be refreshing,” you tell him, your voice warm and soft as you admire how he looks with the sun rays on his milky skin.

He turns to you, his expression thoughtful. “I’m up for that”. You can’t help but smile at his playful confidence. “Always up for a challenge, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” He winks, and you feel your heart soar. But he's joking, you tell yourself. So when you laugh it off and shake your head the atmosphere shifts back to light and playful. “Meet you out there, hwa.”

The air is cold when you step out of the house, and you take a deep breath— it's salty. The beach stretches out in front of you, and you shudder when Seonghwa comes up from behind you, his long arms finding your shoulders to hug you close to him. “It's always prettier in the mornings” he nods, humming softly in your ear when you speak to him.

Once you reach the shoreline, Seonghwa hesitates for just a moment, glancing back at you with a playful grin. “Ready?”

“Of course” you respond, heart racing as you both dash into the water. The cold hits you instantly, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the sun above, but it’s enticing. You laugh, splashing him as he tries to catch up.

“Hey! Not the face!” he shouts, you can see the joy in his eyes as he chases after you, the water splashing beneath him. You scream, fighting against the waves to get away from him. You squeal when he grabs you by the waist, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. “Hwa! Put me down. It's not fair”

He doesn't answer you, instead, he throws you down into the turquoise water. You can taste some of the water when it seeps into your mouth, and you come back up to the surface, pushing your hair back and taking a deep breath. You both laugh.

As you both play in the waves, the chill of the water becomes a backdrop to the warmth growing between you. The day stretches on, filled with laughter and shared moments that feel like they’re both fleeting and eternal. Each splash, each shared glance, deepens the connection you’ve always had.

Eventually, you both sit in the water, the water low, staring up at the clear blue sky, the sun warming your faces. “You know,” Seonghwa begins, his voice breaking the comfortable silence, “I’m going to miss this.”

You turn your head to look at him, the weight of his words settling in. “Me too,” you admit, feeling a lump in your throat. “But we still have time, right?” He stares at the water, not saying anything for a moment. He lets out a soft sigh when he looks at you, his eyes are soft. “Yeah, let's make the most of it?” you nod slowly, the two of you holding contact for a while until you manage to break away first— looking back at the ocean.

In that moment, you feel the atmosphere change, you can't quite pinpoint the feeling but it's obvious there's a change. It's quiet again, just the two of you next to each other. It's a comforting feeling. You can smell the shampoo in his hair from this morning, it's floral, comforting.

Seonghwa turns his head to look at you, admiring the slope of your nose and the way your eyelashes perfectly complement your pretty eyes. His expression turns more serious, “You know,” he begins, hesitating slightly, “I’ve been thinking a lot about... us.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The way he looks at you, the intensity in his eyes, sends a thrill through you. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. He takes a moment, as if gathering courage. “I just… this summer means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.” The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, and you can feel your heart beating in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it.

You swallow hard, your feelings bubbling to the surface. “You mean, because we’re going to be apart?” He's nodding and swallowing hard. He takes his fingers through his damp hair, “Yeah, but it’s more than that,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “Being here.. with you. I don't want anything to change.”

You don't say anything, not yet. Just nodding your head as he speaks, “I'm scared of where life will take us, what decisions we'll make in life, and how it'll affect us” he pauses, looking at you, really looking at you. “I love you.”

You let out a small breath

Your heart races, a mix of joy and fear flooding you. “I feel the same,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” Seonghwa shifts closer, the water rippling around both of you. “I don't think it'll change anything, I believe in both of us.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you feel a rush of emotions take over you. “So, what do we do now?” you ask, searching his eyes for answers. “Whatever we want,” he replies softly, a small smile breaking through the tension. “Let’s just enjoy this summer together. We can figure it out as we go.”

You nod gently and smile when you feel a wet hand on the side of your face. He's rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone and he's looking at you so softly you could melt. But, neither of you moves closer to each other— you want to, but something is keeping you in place.

11:53pm, it's dark outside now, the windows are closed and the curtains are drawn. The bedside lamp is the only light source in the room, its warm light cascading along the walls. You're lying in bed and Seonghwa is sitting on the floor, his back resting against the bed.

“Are you still thinking about earlier?” he's breaking the comfortable silence between you both, his voice just above a whisper.

You nod, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, just trying to fully digest it.”

He shifts against the bed, turning his head to rest against the mattress. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Like a weight has been lifted.”

“Definitely,” you reply, feeling the warmth of his presence near you. “But it also makes me nervous, what if this changes once we leave for college?” You're gesturing between the two of you as you speak, and he notices. He's smiling, staring at you through the mirror in front of him.

Seonghwa’s expression softens. “I know I'll always feel the same way towards you. It's been like this since I was 15, I don't think a little bit of distance will ruin us. I want to take a chance, because chance is better than nothing.” You meet his eyes in the mirror, the sincerity in them making your heart race. “Okay.. I trust you.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “We’ve always been good at figuring things out together. I think we can handle this.”

That makes you smile wider, recalling the tiny fights the two of you would have over whose sandcastle is the best, and who beat who when you'd race each other down the shore. You're staring back at the ceiling, lost in thought when you see him stand up, he's turning around, and looking down at you. There's an expression on his face that you can't quite gauge, maybe determination? Hesitation? You're both holding your breath, and no one says anything, not daring to make a sound in fear of the other pulling away.

Then suddenly he moves, you can feel your heart swell in your chest when he's on top of you, between your thighs and his hands are resting on the side of your face.

“You're so beautiful” he whispers, his voice low and sweet, “please, let me kiss you?”

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you. “Yes,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

With that simple word, everything shifts. He leans in slowly, giving you a moment to pull away if you want to. But you don’t want to, that's the last thing you want to do. You’re drawn to him, to the feeling of everything you’ve shared and everything that’s yet to come.

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft and hesitant at first, as if he’s testing the waters. But the moment he feels you kissing him back, he deepens the kiss— you find yourself melting into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. The warmth of his body against yours fuels a fire inside of you. It's exciting.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes finding yours before he smiles big. He goes to say something, but that goes out the window the moment you pull him back down into another kiss. It's not gentle this time, instead, it's heavy and longing. He responds eagerly, his hands falling from your face and finding purchase on your waist. He's holding you like you might disappear from him. The moment you break from the kiss to take a breath, he's back on you— his teeth nipping at your lips causing you let out a gasp into his mouthWen he licks your bottom lip, you all low your mouth to fall open, giving him an opening to lick into your mouth, and you're reciprocating the actions. His hands are palming up your body, from your waist to your hip, and then to your ribs.

His lips leave your own, and you finally take a breath of air. You gasp when you feel his warm lips leaving open kisses on your neck. He's swiping his tongue along the scale of your neck, and he's smiling when he feels you shudder beneath him. Seonghwa smirks against your skin, feeling your pulse quicken under his touch. He revels in the way you shudder beneath him, your breath hitching at the sensation of his tongue tracing patterns on your sensitive skin. His hands roam freely over your body, slipping under your shirt and skimming over the curve of your waist, wanting more of your skin against his own.He's pulling back, dilated pupils looking down at you. He's leaning in closer, leaving a small kiss on your swollen lips.

“Beautiful..” he whispers. You smile, fingers finding their way back into his hair. “I love you.” The words flow so naturally from your lips, a promise. His expression shifts, surprise and joy are obvious. “I've waited so long to hear that.”

He leans in again, capturing your lips with his in a tender kiss, full of promise and longing. You can feel the sincerity in his touch, a reflection of everything you both feel. It’s a moment you’ll both hold onto, a turning point in your relationship. As you pull back, your foreheads resting against each other, you take a deep breath, savoring the moment. “Whatever happens next, I’m glad we’re doing this together,” you say, your voice steady.

“Me too,” he replies, a smile breaking across his face. “This summer is unforgettable.”

masterlist

[doolet]

*ೃ༄ R E C S

༊*·˚ none of these fics are mine— all are from other writers

A T E E Z

i. Frankenstein - frankenstein! s.mg x mortician! fem reader @riboism

ii. Tidal waves - bestfriend! s.mg x fem reader @maho6any

S T R A Y K I D S

out at sea

B T S

i. Family matters - brotherinlaw! m.yg x fem reader @explicit-tae

navi masterlist

[doolet]

ATEEZ when another idol likes you!

pairings: ot8 members x idol! reader

summary: when your best friend finds out another idol also has a crush on you

warning(s): none ( not read through )

wc: 2k (roughly)

✧.* hongjoong

Heartbreak. That's all he can feel for a minute before he gathers himself together and pumps himself up. Because you know what? Huening Kai MAY be an insanely gorgeous man but who's known you longer? Him, your hongjoong. That's who.

You, on the other hand, notice the way Hongjoong clings to your side JUST a tad more when you two hang out together, and the way he texts you out of the blue every day “just to check up”. He won't say it to your face, god forbid he even says it out loud, but you notice, you can just feel the jealousy radiating off of Hongjoon whenever Kai is near you during award ceremonies. Or when clips of Kai singing along to one of your songs during a concert came out to the public and Hongjoong was the first to call you, to complain about the other man. Of course.

✧.* seonghwa

Indifferent. When clips of StrayKids' Hyunjin came out admitting to admiring you and your visuals on stage, Seonghwa couldn't do anything but agree with the younger man. Of course, he was jealous at first but c’mon, you're a beast on stage, when you first became a trainee, hundreds of agencies crawled to your doorstep begging you for just one chance to have you dance for the world on their stage under their name.

Seonghwa wasn't one to admit when he was jealous, he was rarely EVER jealous—he wanted to keep any atmosphere light and happy, so when he brought up Hyunjin and his crush on you during your “bestie” movie night, you couldn't help but be a little surprised.

“Y’know, I'm a bit shocked Hyunjin admitted something like that to the public.. I mean who you're attracted to should be private to yourself—You get what I mean? He's not wrong to have a crush on you though, I mean, you're so beautiful and talented—I'm not surprised he likes you, but why him? Do you like him too?”

You just blink at him, A Dead Poets’ Society playing softly in the back, “uh, no. I've never even spoken to him..”

He gives a curt nod, “That's good, you're too good for him anyway.”

✧.* yunho

Possessive. Honestly, he had no idea at first. It took two whole months of Keeho texting you for Yunho to notice how the other man felt for you. It wasn't that Yunho didn't care, he was just a little oblivious because you both didn't talk about things like that.

However, the moment Yunho clocked keeho’s feelings, was the time to really turn on the jealousy. You're on a call? “Tell keehoI said hi” texting someone? “I bet its keeho— whats he saying now?”

You'd been pulling your hair out ever since the first snarky remark, it was more than obvious Yunho was jealous, at first it was cute, up until he started to loudly comment on the other man's looks and dancing skills, “He looks like he had ants in his pants” "What's with his hair? Did he get electrocuted?”

“Christ sake, Yunho, I don't like keeho, I like you, and it's obvious you like me too so just shut up.” you snap, he wins.

✧.* yeosang

Yeosang is sweet, quiet, and observant. He's never been one to be jealous, so when Soonbin said you were his ideal type? Yea buddy its wraps for you. He decides just to see how you feel—not direct, but make little hints.. Y’know?

You're both sitting at the table, steaming bowls of your dinner sitting in front of you. You're stabbing at it with your fork and he's just staring down into the bowl.

It's not awkward, just quiet. He likes to watch you before asking you anything, just to gauge your mood because the last thing he'd ever want to do is make you upset. You're his everything, why do that?

He breaks the silence first, “so, I've been recently listening to txt, their music is good. Do you like them?” His question makes you stop to think for a second, biting your lower lip, “Oh, yeah. They're pretty good, not really my thing but there are a few songs here and there I'll listen to.” you tell him, a slight smile on your face when you take a bite of your pasta. He just nods, still looking at you, “Do you have a bias?” that stops you, and you hesitate with your fork, “uhh, I don't know, maybe Kai? I haven't paid attention to them like that.” Thank god, he thinks.

He picks his fork up, “that’s good, I’d rather you listen to us anyway.” His admission makes you smile, and you notice the small curl of his lips. “Yea, I like your music. You’re my bias.” That makes a smile break out onto his face, “I’m glad..”

✧.* San

Just pure confusion and the urge to fight for your love. No but seriously, when he first saw the articles detailing Changbin's massive crush on you and your rapping skills, San couldn't believe his eyes. He feels a little awkward at first, not knowing how to feel about the entire situation since you were his best friends since debut, but once the reality set in, he became THE most competitive man on earth.

You need to go to the supermarket? Everything on your list has already been bought and put away before you can even step out of the door. Hungry? Yea, takeouts on its way. Tired? Just lay your pretty little head on my lap before practice, it's no biggie.

“When did you become this attentive, Sannie? It's like you've been possessed..” you joke around, sipping on the matcha latte he had just bought you after you had mentioned it 10 minutes before. “Oh, I've always been like this..” he says, ears red and hands rubbing the back of his neck. “Anything for you..”

✧.* mingi

His heart just shattered into a million pieces. Han from StrayKids thinks you're beautiful? You two might as well just get married now.

Mingi always wore his heart out on his sleeve, but his feelings for you were especially evident as time went on, and he thought he was doing a swell job at hiding them. He was simply awkward when you were around— he always had been, even since when you two first met in 4th grade on the playground.

He’d go out of his way to buy you your favorite snacks, and he'd push you to the side furthest from the road when you two were out on your nightly walk. And you for sure didn't miss the way he'd look, no, stare at you in a crowded setting just to gauge how you felt and if you wanted to leave at any time. Because, it’s mingi, if you asked him to leap off a cliff he would do it before you even asked.

It's 10 at night, the both of you are laying on the couch while some random ads play on the tv for background noise. It's not everyday you get a day off, in fact it happens rarely— but when you two do, you spend it rotting at either apartment. You're watching a tik tok before a large hand takes your phone from your grasp, you sit up in faux annoyance and see Mingi on your phone.

“Hey, give it” and he laughs when you whine out your plea, “just wanted to see if you were watching any edits of your new boyfriend..” that makes you pause slightly, “boyfriend?” you ask. He doesn't say anything, just tosses your phone back onto your stomach and lays back down onto his back, “y’know, Han? He said he had a crush on you.” and you don't miss the way he huffs out that last part.

“Oh, that. I don't like him back, he probably meant that in a friendly way anyway. Plus, I have a crush on someone else.” that gets him up, he sits up and turns to face you, his hair semi blocking his vision. Your face is slightly flushed but you don't think he notices. “Yea? Who? One of the guys?” he's breathless.

All you do is laugh and give a slight sigh because sometimes he's just so oblivious, “jeez Mingi, sometimes you just have to take a hint. It's you, I like you.”

He thinks he's dreaming.

✧.* wooyoung

Who the hell is Heesung and why is he so close to you on that stage? It's award season, which means more performances from other groups before awards are given out. He's seated with the group just in front of the stage, and they all watch as you deliver a collab between your group and ENHYPEN. And he sure as hell doesn't miss the way Heesung grabs you when it comes to the choreo.

You don't see it now, but he's wearing the meanest scowl on his face. He's trying to just watch you, not you and heesung. After the performance he's the first one at your side, hugging you and kissing your temple as he's always done. “You did great, don't know what that guy was doing but either way it was a great show.”

“What guy? Heesung?” you ask, he gives a curt nod, not even looking at you. “Yea, the way he was touching you up there? Not something I'm fond of, really.” and you can't help but find his fists clenched as he's telling you. It's kind of cute to be honest, Wooyoung was always a loving person who made his feelings obvious to the outside world. So when he outright started to diss another idol for being in your presence— it made you smile. He tried to act nonchalant for once, but the way his jaw was clenched and his eye brows were knitted just told a different story. He is downright whipped for you.

✧.* jongho

You can’t even gauge his emotions most of the time. You’ve known Choi Jongho since you moved into the house next to his when you both were children. It’s been the same since then, he’ll take out to get coffee (his disgusting ice americano) and you both will sit and talk for hours until one of you becomes hungry enough to walk down to your ramen shop. Today feels different, he’s dressed, nicer? Maybe his hair is done differently, or maybe it’s his cologne. You can’t pinpoint it, but something’s different about him.

You swirl around your caramel latte, the soft golden drink frothing up just slightly. “What’s new with you? Something’s different”. He just hums, fingers tapping on the plastic lid of his drink, “I haven’t done anything different.. maybe you’re crazy” his voice is just above a whisper. You don’t respond to that, just observing. His eyebrows are slightly knitted and his jaw is clenched? He’s fiddling with his fingers, something he does when he’s upset.

“Okay, you’re upset. What is it?”

That gets him, this time he’s looking at you and sighs. “Wooyoung may have asked me to give your number to him. He thinks you're “gorgeously talented” and he wants to get to know you.” He palms his face, neck flushed but not because he’s flustered. “Oh, what’d you tell him?”. Jongho just shakes his head, taking a small sip of his drink before dropping his arms into the table, “I told him no, that would be something he’d have to ask you specifically but I don’t want him to do that.” Your head turns in interest, he doesn’t want him too? “You don’t want wooyoung to ask for my number?” Your voice is laced with curiosity. He nods so slightly you barely catch it, “you’re too good for him. Way out of his league. I’m sure you two aren’t even compatible.” He’s quick to say this, it all comes out so fast and he’s not even looking you in the eye when he says it. It makes you smile, because this is one of the first times he’s even made his emotions so obvious that you don’t even need to guess how he feels. He’s jealous, it’s practically oozing out of his pores.

You laugh, pushing your latte aside and taking his hands into yours. This makes him tense up but you don’t give him the opportunity to pull away because your grip is strong. “You don’t need to worry about Wooyoung, he’s not my type anyway. I have my heart set on someone else.” Your voice is warm, sweet— a replica of your latte. He’s just looking at you, a quirked eyebrow, “who?”

“You, Jongho. I’ve liked you since highschool”. The smile he gives you is bigger than the ones he’s given you throughout the years he’s known you. It’s cute, a little gummy, and it 100% makes your heart soar. “I like you too.” He admits.

Different isn’t so bad when it’s with Jongho

masterlist

[doolet]

*ೃ༄ M A S T E R L I S T

✮⋆˙ this blog may contain nsfw content so be advised!

P. SEONGHWA 박성화

i. mrs. magic (2.5k)

K. HONGJOONG 김홍중

out at sea

J. YUNHO 정윤호

out at sea

K. YEOSANG 강여상

i. black & blue (16.9k)

C. SAN 최산

i. Studious (1.6k)

S. MINGI 송민기

out at sea

J. WOOYOUNG 정우영

out at sea

C. JONGHO 최종호

out at sea

ot8

i. ateez when another idol likes you (2k)

B. CHAN 방찬

i. everybody here wants you (750)

L. MINHO 이민호

out at sea

S. CHANGBIN 서창빈

out at sea

H. HYUNJIN 황현진

out at sea

H. JISUNG 한지성

out at sea

L. FELIX 이 필릭스

out at sea

K. SEUNGMIN 김승민

out at sea

Y. JEONGIN 양정인

out at sea

ot8

i. straykids when they have a crush on you (2k)

[doolet]

STUDIOUS - C.S

pairing: studybuddy!c.sn x f!reader

summary: when your study night with your best friend, San, turns into something unexpected

warning(s): nonidol au, college aged students, fluff, mutual pining (not read through)

wc: 1.6k

2 years ago

Choi San had always been someone you could rely on, whether it be academically, or emotionally. You met San on a rainy day in your small hometown, running to meet a friend at a cafe and you had so stupidly forgotten your umbrella at home so the bright idea of running through the watery streets of downtown to get to the cafe faster seemed like something logical to you.

However, logic is something you lack most times, so of course, you slipped and fell straight onto your ass right in front of the little book shop on the corner of Magnolia Ave. Dignity hanging on by a thread and water soaking your jeans, you get up, an ache in the side of your hip as you do so.

“Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.”

You turn, a tall man who looked your age stood behind you, a small book in hand and a navy blue blazer resting on his shoulders. He looked bewildered at your state, wet hair plastered on your forehead and clothes wet with the rain.. and the puddle you had just fallen on top of.

“Just peachy, I slipped” you mutter, picking up your navy tote bag off of the floor and checking the time on your phone. “Im late to meeting a friend for coffee, thought it'd be a good idea to run while the pavement is wet”

He simply nods at you, “ah, okay.”

You nodded, a small awkward smile on your face as you slowly began to walk off, a flush of embarrassment on your face. You literally wanted to crawl into a hole and die to get away from this situation. But of course the universe decides to give you the biggest fuck you ever because that's just your luck.His voice stops you. “Sorry, you forgot this”

He hands you a small white box, it's your headphones. “Oh crap, I didn't even notice, thank you..?” you blink at him for a few seconds, your voice low enough for him to hear.

“Choi San, it's nice to meet you.” he smiles, it's a cute smile, his dimples are prominent, and the wrinkle of his eyes just top it off— it's something that would stop you in your tracks if you saw it while passing by. You take his hand that he had extended out to you, “nice to meet you too, I'm sure I made quite the impression” He laughs, its breathy, “yea, but it's something I'm sure to remember.” he drops your hand, placing the book inside of his own tote bag. Your hands cover your face and your face just seems to grow more hot, “god, that's embarrassing.” you giggle. You can just feel your heart pounding through your chest and you fear he could hear it, you tap on your phone, the screen coming back to life,

12:37

Jess

Girl

Where the hell are you?

“Oh, crap. Sorry, I gotta go, San.” you put your phone back into your pocket, ready to speed walk your way to the coffee shop, “maybe I'll see you ‘round?” you sighed.

He smiles, and you smile too.

present

Funnily enough, you and San had been going to the same university, both being in your sophomore year when you two first met, now you're both seniors and stressed out of your minds trying to get through midterms. You're lying on his bed, the lights are off except for an old lamp in the corner and three bath and body works candles you had gifted him throughout your friendship.

San is scribbling notes on a random, crumpled piece of paper he pulled out of his back pack thirty minutes ago, going through the motions of writing, erasing, writing, and then pulling at his hair. “I don't know why I ever signed up for her class, I didn't even bother to read her reviews until the night before the first lecture and now I'm halfway through the year wanting to just drop dead” he cries out, smacking his head into the desk and sniffling in defeat.

You shake your head, smiling softly, you have been writing notes of your own, the pretty colored gel pens glittering under the warm lamp light as you write down facts gathered from your textbook. “I told you, Jess had her last year and she would always complain that the professor didn't know what she was talking about.” You can see San out of the corner of your eye giving you the hardest stink ever before he reaches for his half empty iced latte.

“Did she pass?” he sighs. And he facepalms when you don't answer him. “I warned you Sannie” a smile on your face. He gets up from his desk, closing his laptop halfway and putting his drink onto his nightstand.

The bed creaks from under his weight when he slumps forward, his shoulder grazing your thigh, “I'm going to die before I graduate” his lips are pursed. You laugh, running your hand through his hair just to soothe him, “nah, you'll be fine. You're smart”

A hand grabs at your index cards, forcing them out of your grasp and onto his grey duvet, right next to your glitter pens, a small gasp falls from your lips “hey, I was working on that, dude” San doesn't say anything, only he pushes himself back up from his position to push you up the bed and onto your back. It's quiet, no one speaks and you don't dare to make noise because you're genuinely curious as to what the hell he could be doing.

However, you groan when he lays on top of you, full dead weight. “Christ, I'm gonna suffocate” your voice is hushed and strained, “why are you lying on me?” His head finds the crook of your neck, his cheek pressing against your warm skin and his arms wrap around your waist. Your arms wrap around his impossibly wide shoulders, “just needed a break, thought you did too.” His voice is soft and warm, like the vanilla sugar candle on his nightstand.

You huff in exasperation, but the annoyance quickly fades as you feel his fingers tracing small shapes onto the revealed skin of your waist, and you can’t help but smile despite the initial annoyance. “A break, huh? I didn’t realize you meant a cuddle session,” you tease, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his back. You can feel him smile on your neck, “Maybe I just wanted to be close to you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel your heart race as his words sink in. He shifts slightly, his cheek now resting more firmly against you, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “Well, you definitely picked an interesting way to ask for it.”

It's quiet for a moment, it's just the two of you and your tangled limbs on his bed at some weird hour of the night. Your fingers find their way to his hair like they always do, something that's become a habit after he lets you attempt at braiding his hair a few months into being friends. It's not weird for San to be so affectionate, he's been like that forever, at least that's what he told you— and you can't really go against that since every time you see each other he's bringing you in for a big hug and planting a small kiss on your temple. He breaks the silence, “you make me calm” he's so quiet you almost didn't hear him.

Your fingers hesitate in his hair for a second, “Calm?” you repeat, curiosity piqued. His admission hangs in the air, making the room feel even more intimate. You wonder how someone so effortlessly charming can admit something like that while lying on top of you.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m with you, everything else just—fades away. It’s like I can finally breathe.” your heart swells with an unexpected warmth. You can feel a blush creeping onto your face, your emotions on full display and for once you're glad he is preoccupied enough to not look at you.

You squeeze his shoulders gently, trying to convey the comfort you feel in return. “I feel the same way,” you confess, your voice softening. The sincerity in your words hangs between you, you jolt slightly when he presses a warm kiss to the side of your neck.

“You make me unbelievably happy..” the small confession makes your heart skip a beat. You don't say anything back, but your hand leaves his hair and finds the side of his face. You push back slightly, and you're finally face to face with San. He's looking at you with an expression you can't describe with words, it's something you can just feel. It's something that just friends don't feel. “You make me happy too, San” your lips curving into a shy smile, he mirrors you, his dimples on display for you to stare at. All of him, just for you.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

You freeze for a second, your heart feels like it's moving a million miles an hour. But, you nod, learning forward just the slightest and your eyes are focused on his pillowy lips.

“Please”

That's all he needs before he meets you the rest of the way, his mouth perfectly slotting with your own and you can feel how confident he is. There's no ounce of hesitation or regret in the way he kisses you. You can feel his fingers tighten on your waist, and his hands move under your shirt just the slightest— of course not in lust, but for foundation. Your thumb is still on his cheek, moving back from his cheek bones to under his jaw as he kisses you. He pulls away just for a moment, and he looks at you with warmth in his eyes,

“I really like you, y’know?”

A breathy laugh falls out of your mouth, “I do too.”

masterlist

[doolet]

*ೃ༄ N A V I

⋆.˚ mexican ⋆.˚ 07 ⋆.˚ she/her⋆.˚

✮⋆˙ masterlist ── ✮⋆˙ recs ── ✮⋆˙

ೃ open to all and any requests!! i’m new on tumblr so I still have some growth to be doing

ೃ if i make spelling errors when it comes to names or the spelling of a foreign word pls send me a lil dm and ill fix it

ೃ i dont write y/n or oc stories but the gender I'm writing for is fem unless I'm asked for a male pov