Rookie Mistake ; one practice session with wooyoung suddenly gives you the confidence of a man-eater, but some lessons are harder to forget than others.
♪ idol!wooyoung x idol!reader (fem) | series, part 3/? ~9k
Static: something that is stationary, unchanging, or fixed in one place; lack of progress.
♪ MDNI, reader is a rookie idol, using wooyoung’s notorious seduction skills to get closer to her crush. Vulgar language, mentions of sex, making out (who else cheered!!), both woo and reader are freaky bruh, someone tame them. also a tiny bit of text screenshots, i’m experimenting.
♪ “He can’t fuck you like I can.” — Teeth (interlude), xxxtentacion.
Wooyoung has never had an issue with his confidence. He has plenty of other problems, obviously. An inability to mind his business. A mouth that moves significantly faster than his brain. A deeply concerning tendency to make bad decisions simply because they seem funny at the time.
Confidence, though? Never been one of them.
Wooyoung knows he’s attractive, and he treats that fact like a weapon. He acts first, says whatever possible inappropriate thing crosses his mind and deals with the consequences later. His entire existence is built around that exact kind of momentum. No pauses. No second-guessing.
If you want something, ask for it. If you don't like something, say so. If you want to fuck someone, for God's sake, don't spend three weeks staring at them from across a room and just hope it’ll happen one day.
Wooyoung doesn't mind being alone. What he hates is having nothing to do. Silence gives a person’s brain too much room to wander, and his brain has always been better at creating problems rather than solving them. That's precisely why he keeps his schedule packed tight: Practice, drinking, going out, people, sex, whatever works to keep the momentum. As long as there's something happening, he doesn't have to sit around wondering what the hell he's doing with his life.
He liked people best in small doses. Enough to have good conversations, share a nice drink, or hook up for the night, but he hated getting close to the point where he felt obligated to sit there and listen to their problems.
And yet, somehow, he’s found himself playing teacher to the world’s most anxious girl.
His phone buzzes against his thigh, cutting through the silence of the empty hallway. He pulls it out to see a string of texts lighting up the screen.
Rookie: where are u
Rookie: im ready
Rookie: unfortunately
He stares down at the messages, his thumbs moving over the glass to type back a quick response before he starts heading up the concrete stairs.
You had both agreed to meet up tonight to actually work things out, keeping it under wraps because neither of you wanted to deal with everyone else knowing about your little "arrangement." Deep down, he knows it’s harmless, and it honestly wouldn't even matter if his members found out. But avoiding it saves him the headache of their endless questions and suspicious glares.
They considered going out to eat, but that would’ve been too public. They also considered getting a hotel room, but those are either for hook ups or going on tour, no in between. That left the next best option: sneaking into the company practice room late at night. Right around the time when the building is a ghost town, especially on a weekend.
He pushes the glass door open, stepping past the wall of floor to ceiling mirrors and into the empty space.
You are sitting cross-legged right in the center of the wooden floor, already looking up at him with a deep scowl carved into your face.
He could have ignored your texts entirely. He could have easily stuck to his own schedule and gone home instead of making time to let you work your way into his week like this. But alas, even he doesn't have a solid answer for why the fuck he’s standing here. He’s probably just bored and needs a fresh distraction, and he always seeks entertainment where it’s due. Having to sit down and tutor you through your panic is just an annoying side effect he has to tolerate to get to the good part.
“What took you so long? Sit down.” you snap, breaking the silence and motioning toward the floor right next to you, where you’ve dropped a stray foam cushion.
“I was with a friend,” he says smoothly, rolling his shoulders back before sauntering over and casually dropping his weight onto the floor right beside you.
You narrow your eyes at his painfully obvious excuse, staring at him like you know for a fact he is full of shit. But you give up on pressing it, letting out a heavy sigh. You reach into the plastic grocery bag sitting between your knees, pulling out two cold glass bottles of beer and shoving one directly into his hand.
“For the nerves,” you mutter, pressing your lips into a tight line as you pop the cap off your own.
He knows for a damn fact that you are the only nervous one in this room right now, but he decides to keep that to himself. He pops his bottle open, lifts it toward you in a mocking little toast, and takes a long, slow sip of the cold liquid.
you both stay silent for a beat, mutually deciding to relax for a second and let the buzz kick in.
“Okay,” Wooyoung speaks suddenly, breaking the quiet hum of the room and causing you to nearly choke on your fresh sip of beer. “Come closer.”
He doesn’t even wait for a verbal response, reaching out and grabbing the edge of the foam cushion you’re sitting on, pulling you across the wooden floor until you are practically pressed right against his side.
Your brows furrow, your expression twisting as you shove lightly at his arm. “Why? I thought you were going to teach me how to flirt.”
“I am teaching you,” he replies, a smug grin spreading across his face. “A huge part of flirting is body language. If you’re interested in a guy, you start by closing the distance and seeing how he reacts.”
You huff out a breath, fidgeting with your fingers. “Okay, but how am I supposed to tell if he’s interested?”
“It’ll be obvious, guys make it easy.”
“How so?” you press, narrowing your eyes at him.
He lets out a heavy sigh, shifting his weight so he’s fully facing you. “Fine. Let's do a practice run. Pretend we’re sitting at a bar right now. Try to flirt with me, and I’ll show you how a guy reacts when he's hooked.”
“But–”
“Just do it, stop overthinking.”
You suck in a sharp breath, bracing yourself before hitching your hip and inching closer into his personal space. “You drinking alone tonight, handsome?” you ask, tilting your head up at him with an intense gaze.
A dark thrill rolls through his chest at the attempt, and he doesn't even have to fake the reaction. He leans in close, letting a slow, wicked smile take over his face.
“Hopefully not anymore, now that you’re here,” he murmurs smoothly, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes lock onto yours, loving the way you instantly tense up under the heat of it.
There it is. That little freeze. Wooyoung has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing in your face.
You were trying so hard to look confident just a second ago, sitting there with your chin tilted up and that breathy attempt at a seductive voice. And now, a single smooth sentence from him has completely knocked the wind right out of your lungs.
Cute. Not that he would ever admit that.
“You’re supposed to respond,” he reminds you, tilting his head.
Your expression twists into something painfully shy. “I know,” you mutter, your eyes squinting as you desperately search for words.
“Uh…” Your gaze drops briefly down to his collarbone before shooting right back up. “Do you… come here often?”
Wooyoung’s mouth twitches. A genuine laugh slips past his lips before he can stop it, and you instantly lash out, shoving hard against his shoulder. “Shut up! Don't laugh at me!”
“That was terrible,” he fires back, grinning wider at your reaction.
You roll your eyes but a stubborn little smile is already fighting its way onto your mouth.
“You’re too damn stiff. Relax. Again,” Wooyoung commands, shifting his weight.
You take a sharp breath, visibly forcing your shoulders to drop and your posture to loosen up. This time, when you look back at him, something stubborn and genuinely mischievous flashes through your eyes.
You shift even closer, crawling forward on your knees until your legs press flush against his thighs. You slide one hand up to plant it firmly on the floor right beside his hip, leaning in.
Wooyoung’s eyes drop instantly, tracking every single movement with heavy focus, before dragging back up to lock onto yours.
“What do you think now, sunbaenim?” you ask, your voice dropping into something teasing, a nasty little glint of pride dancing in your eyes.
He holds your gaze for a long, heavy beat, letting the tension stretch out between you before he finally answers. “I think you’re getting a lot braver.”
Your cocky expression falters for a split second, a crack in your armor showing. “Is that all?”
“No,” he murmurs, his dark eyes dropping like a stone straight to your mouth. “I think you’re fucking terrified.”
Your lips part slightly in surprise. Wooyoung deliberately lets the heavy silence sit there between you for another second, completely savoring the anticipation radiating off you. “You’re sitting there waiting for me to flirt back, aren't you?”
Your face flushes bright red immediately, the heat blooming across your skin as you pull back, trying to put some space between you. “I am not!”
“Liar.”
You let out a dramatic scoff, tossing your head back and deliberately looking away toward the wall of mirrors to avoid his gaze.
Wooyoung sits back, watching you closely for a long moment. Honestly, his brain is running in circles trying to figure out if this stupid little "lesson" is actually teaching you anything useful, or if it's just making things worse. Either way, he is having way too much fun to even think about stopping now. He softens his posture just a fraction, the sharp edges of his teasing dropping into something slightly more steady.
“Tell me what to do,” your voice slips out, sounding genuinely defeated, that tiny crack of surrender shoots straight to his filthy brain like a shot of adrenaline.
He slides across the wooden floor and brings the two of you right back into each other's space. “Tell me what you would say if you actually liked me, if I was Sunghoon,” he prompts, his tone dropping lower, keeping you focused.
Your expression shifts, the playful defiance melting into something a lot more hesitant. “...I’d probably ask if you wanted another drink.”
A genuine, pleased smile spreads across his face. “See? You’re learning something, rookie.”
“What next?” you ask, turning your head back to look right at him, your eyes catching the studio lights with a devastating, unguarded look that hits him a little harder than he expected.
“Then, if I was him, I’d ask why you keep looking at me like that,” he fires back smoothly.
You immediately snap your head away, breaking eye contact again like you’ve just been burned, and a soft laugh escapes his throat at the predictability of it. “Why’d you look away?” he asks, leaning over to track your face.
“Because you’re making me nervous.”
The words slip straight past your lips before you seem to realize you’ve said them.
Wooyoung goes still, all the playful teasing vanishing from his posture as his dark gaze drifts slowly across your face, searching every micro-expression for whatever the hell is going on inside your head. “Because I’m flirting with you?”
You give a tiny, almost faint nod, your jaw tight as you refuse to look at him.
The blunt confirmation does something unpleasantly satisfying to his ego. A slow smile curves his mouth, dripping with pure cockiness. “Then I must be doing something right.”
You let out a harsh scoff, throwing your hands up in a desperate attempt to claw back an ounce of your dignity and confidence. “You’re just acting.”
“Am I?”
Wooyoung watches the wave of confusion wash entirely over your face, something tight and unfamiliar twisting in his chest at the sight of you being cornered.
He lowers his voice into a raspy hum that vibrates right against your skin. “You’re supposed to be pretending I’m Sunghoon, remember?”
“I know,” you whisper, your voice losing its edge.
“Then stop looking at me like I’m Wooyoung.”
He tests the waters, his patience wearing thin in the best possible way, and leans closer. He slides his hand up, planting his palm warm and heavy right over your knee.
“Woo, stop.”
Your voice makes him freeze dead in his tracks, his fingers curling slightly against your skin.
“I know I’m the one that came to you asking for help and… fuck, I really am grateful,” you mutter, your gaze dropping to the floor between you. “But, a part of me knows this is a waste of your time.”
His eyes stay locked onto yours, completely unblinking, his thumb tracing a slow circle over your kneecap to silently tell you to keep talking.
“It doesn’t matter how much we work on silly flirting tactics, the fact that I'm inexperienced is always going to be there, holding me back,” you suck in a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “I’ve kissed two guys, Woo. That’s it. And one of them I drunkenly lost my virginity with. I don’t even know if I’m a good kisser or not.”
Your voice drops low, turning breathy and frustrated, the absolute vulnerability of it making something sharp spike behind his ribs.
“And it’s driving me insane because I want to know what it feels like to actually command a room, to not feel like an absolute fraud every time some guy looks at me twice,” you finish, your chest rising and falling as you finally look back up at him.
“Woo?” you test, your voice dropping into a nervous whisper when he stays silent for too long.
He doesn’t break eye contact. Instead, he slowly slides his hand further up your knee and over your thigh, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes as he studies you carefully. “It’s easy enough to find out.”
Your brows snap together, your eyes widening in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Let me kiss you.”
You jerk backward instantly. “What? No! Are you out of your fucking mind?”
He refuses to let you crawl away, his strong hands shooting out to hook right under your knees before he yanks you right back into his space, trapping you between his legs.
“C’mon, rook,” he murmurs, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. “We are two grown ass adults. I think we can handle a little experimental kiss without freaking out. I’m just trying to help you.”
Your eyes blow wide, darting up to meet his. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
Your gaze immediately drops down to his mouth, tracking the movement of his lips like you’re trying to memorize it. “Now?”
“Now.”
Slightly trembling, you take the bait. You shift forward, hiking your knees up and straddling his hips, planting your legs on either side of him. Your hands come up, shaking a little as you press them flat against his chest, your weight settling down onto him while your eyes stay locked greedily on his mouth.
“Calm down,” he mumbles softly, his hands resting easily on your waist.
Taking his advice, you suck in a sharp breath. You lean in and press your quivering lips directly to his. His body goes rigid for a second, urging you to take the lead. He wants to see what you’ve got. Once you realize that you actually have to do the work, you press closer, your tongue swiping timidly across the seam of his closed lips.
His mouth parts instantly, letting you in. You flick your tongue against his, and suddenly, you aren’t in this alone anymore. He shifts his lips against yours, taking control of the rhythm, gently sucking at your tongue until his senses are entirely flooded with the taste of beer, sugar, and you.
A low groan rips straight from the back of his throat, vibrating against your mouth. That sound acts like an absolute switch being flipped. Your hands instantly slide from his chest all the way up, your fingers curling hard into the dark strands of his hair, gripping tight.
His hands tighten like vices around your waist, his grip bruising as he hoists you up and yanks you completely flush against his chest.
God, you can kiss. A flash of pure disbelief hits him. Did you lie to him just now? Were you just spinning some sob story to trick him into making out with you? Because if this is what you call inexperienced, half the people he’s hooked up with need to go back to kindergarten. The dirty, intrusive thought of what else that mouth of yours could do, of where else you could use your hands, throws massive amounts of fuel onto a fire that was already burning way too hot.
You push your body closer, shifting your hips and accidentally grinding down against him out of pure instinct, no doubt trying to chase away the friction and the pressure building up between your own legs.
A harsh growl tears out of him, his patience snapping completely. He slightly pushes you back by the shoulders, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp of air.
You stare at him wide-eyed, chest heaving and lips swollen. “Was… was that okay?” you ask, your voice a breathless rasp.
His hand moves, wrapping around your wrist, uncurling your trembling fingers from his hair, and dragging your arm down until he places your palm flat against his thigh. He stares straight into your dilated eyes, forcing you to look at the undeniable evidence of what you just did to him.
You pliantly let him guide your hand further up his leg, entirely frozen in shock as he slides your palm right over the hard erection straining heavily against the thick denim of his jeans.
“What do you think, rook?”
The problem with actively trying to not think about something is that your brain apparently takes it as a personal challenge, turning every single memory into a neon sign flashing right in front of your face.
You do not like Wooyoung. That’s the first thing you have to establish to yourself. The second is that whatever the fuck happened last night, the beer, the stupid acting drills, the way your hand ended up pressed against his jeans, was entirely circumstantial. A fluke. A lab experiment gone wrong. The third is that you are absolutely, one thousand percent not going to think about it anymore.
“—and then he has the nerve to look at me like I’m the one being weird,” you finish, throwing your hands up into the air. “Like, excuse me? He’s the one that barged in on me and started all that stupid teasing out of nowhere.”
Ningning sits beside you on the couch, calmly chewing as she inhales a fistful of popcorn. She has been listening to your breakdown about the night at the bar and the bathroom stall for way too long now. And yes, you deliberately chose to rant exclusively about the public humiliation because there is no way in hell you are admitting to her that you swapped spit and touched an idol's crotch last night.
You spin around on the cushions to glare at her. “And don’t even get me started on the way he talks.”
She arches a single eyebrow, swallowing her bite. “You’ve been talking about the way he talks for fifteen minutes straight. What do you mean ‘don’t get me started’?”
“Because it’s annoying!”
“Uh-huh.”
“He has this stupid little tone.” You immediately drop your voice an octave, slouching your shoulders and doing a painfully accurate imitation of him. “Relax, rookie. Stop overthinking.”
Ningning snorts right into her popcorn bowl, a kernel flying across the coffee table.
You point a finger directly at her face. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” You flop backward dramatically against the cushions, letting out a loud, miserable groan. “I don’t like him.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
Your head picks up, looking at her intently. “But you’re thinking it, right?”
“I think you talk about him a lot for someone who supposedly can’t stand him,” she says dryly, reaching back into the bowl.
You groan louder, grabbing one of the couch pillows and yanking it into your lap like a shield. “Anyone put in that kind of close proximity is bound to feel some type of way. It’s called being uncomfortable.”
“Not unless you like them.”
A petty, devious thought sparks straight through your brain as you accept the ‘challenge.’ You shove yourself off the couch, crawling across the cushions before planting yourself right on her lap, straddling her legs. You place your hands down on her shoulders, deliberately recreating the exact same invasive posture that made your stomach flip inside out with Wooyoung not even 24 hours ago.
You reach out, taking her chin between your thumb and fingers to tilt her face up toward yours. Ningning’s lips twitch, a smirk breaking through. You lean in slowly, narrowing your eyes to mock a seductive glare, trying to squeeze out any kind of tension, and... nothing. Absolutely zero electricity. Just two friends looking at each other like idiots over a bowl of popcorn.
You let out a flat sigh and slump forward, your forehead dropping onto her shoulder while you stay sprawled across her lap.
“I told you,” she deadpans, giving your thighs a couple of casual, dismissive pats.
You shove yourself off her, rolling your eyes as you scramble back over to your side of the couch and cross your arms over your chest. You stare blankly at the TV screen, but your mind betrays you, dragging back to the memory of the studio, to the heavy drag of his hands, to how easily he completely ruined your peace of mind.
To the kiss. The burning desire wrapped up in a harmless favor, something that was supposed to help you gain a little baseline confidence but instead left your brain completely spiraling.
It’s like eating a meal and still feeling hungry because you didn’t satisfy your cravings.
Do you regret it? Yes, absolutely. Fucking obviously. Will you do it again?... You’ll have to come back to that question later.
Obviously, the smart answer should be a hard no, that it will definitely never, ever happen again. But you would be lying if you said it didn’t help. Seeing the shock hit his face and feeling the hard evidence of arousal in his pants just from you kissing him? You. Something you did had that effect on a guy like him. It made you proud. It made you feel like you could walk right up to Sunghoon, french the hell out of him, and then walk him like a dog just because you felt like it.
You can only imagine how many more things you could drag out of Wooyoung if you played your cards right. How many more secret lessons or skills he could teach you. And the best part is that you can practice your moves on him and it doesn’t even matter, because at the end of the day, he doesn’t matter. He’s just a tool for your training camp.
Fuck. That thought is way too dangerous.
“You know what, I need a distraction,” you announce loudly, sitting straight up on the couch and clapping your hands together. A major dih-straction. “I’m ready to finally ask Sunghoon out.”
Ningning barks out a sharp laugh, aggressively setting the popcorn bowl down on the coffee table and snapping upright right beside you. “What? Where did that come from?”
You pull your phone out of your pocket, the bright screen glaring in your face as you tap your thumb against the glass to open your messages.
Ningning’s eyebrows pinch together, her eyes darting from your face down to the phone. “Wait, you’re actually serious? Babe, I was only half-joking about the whole ‘liking Wooyoung’ thing. You don’t have to force yourself to hit on Sunghoon just to prove a point to me.”
You immediately lock your posture, pulling your shoulders back and lifting your chin with stubborn, unyielding pride, refusing to let her see you crack. “This has nothing to do with Wooyoung. It’s about me finally going after the guy I’ve wanted for over a year now.” You turn your head to glare at her, narrowing your eyes and dropping your voice into an annoying tone. “You’re the one who told me I need to put myself out there, remember?”
Ningning slumps dramatically against the couch cushions, completely defeated by her own words. She lets out a heavy sigh. You completely ignore her obvious disappointment, your thumb swiping across the screen until you find Sunghoon’s contact name.
You exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, staring blankly down at the glowing text thread with Sunghoon.
“Well, that was way easier than I thought,” you mutter out loud, watching the little typing bubble flash before he mentions setting up a reservation to a restaurant.
Instantly, a cold, sickening wave of nausea blooms hard in your stomach. Fuck. Maybe this was a stupid idea. The frantic practice sessions with wooyoung last night were supposed to teach you basic flirting skills, but instead, they somehow trained you in an entirely different, highly inappropriate set of physical skills. And now you realize you are completely unequipped for a real date. You need actual strategies. You need backup. You need to study like this is the most important exam of your life. And sadly, since YouTube doesn't offer step-by-step tutorials on how to seduce a guy, you are forced to crawl directly to your next best option.
You shoot Ningning one final, defensive glare as she watches you from the couch, then make a hard beeline for the bathroom and slam the door shut.
You mentally curse yourself, calling yourself every idiot name in the book for doing this, but your traitorous fingers are already moving on autopilot to pull up his contact and hit call.
It rings twice before the line picks up. Faint, breathy giggles from some random girl echo in the background through the speaker, and a sharp, bitter pinch of irritation hits your chest. You hate the pathetic way that sound makes your stomach drop even more than it already is.
“Hello?” his rough, annoyed voice calls out over the phone.
“Can I come over real quick? It’s an emergency.” you blurt out, your voice tighter than you intended.
You hear a heavy, exaggerated sigh blow through the mic on his end. “I’m not doing this bullshit right now, rookie. I’m busy.”
“Woo, I need you.”
There is a long, heavy pause that stretches out for way too many seconds, agonizingly slow for how desperate you feel right now.
“Okay… fine, yea come over.” he says flatly, before the line immediately goes dead with a final, sharp click.
If there is one thing Wooyoung cares about outside of his members and being an idol, it’s his sexual reputation. He knows he’s damn good at what he does and he loves hearing the rumors and feedback that comes with it. Knowing he can completely scramble someone's brain and make them feel good feeds right into his ego.
However, his track record is about to take a massive hit thanks to the gorgeous girl he just kicked out of his bed. He lets out a loud, miserable groan, rubbing his face as he thinks about how hot she was. He didn't even get to finish before she scoffed right in his face, pulled away, and packed her clothes just because he answered his phone mid-thrust.
He refuses to acknowledge the underlying reason for why he answered the phone, shoving that thought deep down so future Wooyoung can deal with it later. Too much thinking hurts his brain, and he doesn't want to unpack why a phone call from your bratty ass made him abandon a very promising hookup.
Honestly, considering the way you practically stormed out of the studio after that kiss last night, he figured you would be giving him the silent treatment for at least a week out of pure embarrassment. The fact that you tracked him down instead proves you are a lot tougher than he initially gave you credit for. It piques his curiosity. You aren't nearly as innocent or incapable as you constantly pretend to be.
His bedroom door swings open without a warning, and you strut right inside with a heavy tote bag slung over your shoulder.
“Still haven't learned how to knock, have you?” he calls out, leaning back against his headboard with a smirk.
You immediately slap a hand over your nose in sheer disgust, using your other hand to slam the door shut behind you. “Jesus Christ, it smells like dick and cheap body spray in here.”
He rolls his eyes, pulling a loose sheet up over his exposed waist. “Yeah, well, if you must know, I had to cut a very good session short because of your needy ass.”
You don't even blink. You just strut straight over to his desk, drop your tote bag with a heavy thud, and pull two different dresses out of it. You spin around to face him, a sharp, triumphant smile spread across your face.
“Well, whatever you were doing doesn't matter, because this is way more important,” you announce proudly. “I finally have a date with Sunghoon tonight.”
His expression remains flat and you let out a disappointed pout at his lack of a reaction. He stretches his long arms straight up over his head, letting out a slow, dramatic sigh.
“Why do you need me for this? I feel like we got plenty of good practice in last night,” he says, his dark gaze dropping down and dragging lazily up the length of your body with blatant appreciation.
Your floral perfume is floating through the air like a cloud. It doesn’t just hit his nose, it wraps around his taste buds, leaving this sweet trace on the back of his tongue that makes his mouth dry out.
His jaw hardens into a tight line. He wants to find its origin on your body. He wants to back you up against his wall and lick and suck and kiss your skin until you are groaning underneath him.
Wooyoung violently snaps his head back, his eyes flashing wide open as his brain trips all over itself.
Jesus, where the fuck did that come from?
“Okay, sure, but I’m definitely not prepared for an actual date, plus I need you to help me pick a dress. I need a guy's opinion,” you say, he shakes his thoughts away as you hold up two different hangers like a pair of flags. The first is a short white dress, and the second is a loosely fitted black one.
“Hmm,” he squints as he looks back and forth between the two options. “I don’t know, I’m gonna have to see them on you to decide.” he says, letting a smug smirk slide across his face.
You let out an exasperated sigh, looking around his bedroom before your eyes land back on him, your gaze unapologetically dragging down his body just to return the favor. “Hey. You aren’t naked under there again, right?”
His smirk deepens, turning into something entirely wicked. He lifts a leg up and dramatically kicks the blanket back, revealing his lower half. You jump back with a startled squeak, instantly raising your hands to cover your eyes, only to drop them when you realize he’s already wearing a pair of thick gray sweats.
“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” you snap, rolling your eyes before dropping the white dress down onto his cluttered desk. “Cover your eyes.”
His brows furrow. “What?”
“I need to change into the dress.”
“In here?”
“I barely made it through that front door and into your room without getting spotted by one of your members, so yes, in here. I am not going back and forth to the bathroom down the hall.”
“Fine by me, put on a show,” he smiles, leaning his head back against the headboard.
“I’m dead serious, no peeking. I do not consent.”
“Alright, chill the fuck out, I’m not gonna look,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender before deliberately rolling over onto his stomach, turning his back to you.
Even with his back turned, a sharp spike of adrenaline hits his chest. He can already hear the faint crinkle of fabric behind him.
Maybe he should’ve talked that girl into finishing the round before letting her go, because now he can feel that exact same frustrated, denied rush trickling straight down his body and settling heavy in his pants.
He sits there staring at the blank wall, but his brain is entirely occupied by the rustle of clothes happening just a few feet behind him. He imagines what you look like right now, standing half-naked in the middle of his bedroom. He pictures the exact type of underwear you're wearing, wondering if it's basic cotton or something you actually put thought into wearing today.
He lets his mind chew on the thought of what it would take to completely strip away every last shred of your stubborn attitude, to see you standing there entirely bare, stripped of your clothes and dignity, completely exposed and kneeling just for him. He wants to know how long you'd try to keep up that arrogant attitude before you were begging him to touch you, completely unraveling the second his hands mapped out your skin.
“Okay,” your voice suddenly rips him out of his filthy thoughts, cutting through the thick air of the room. “You can look now.”
He turns around slowly, pushing himself up so he's sitting fully upright against the headboard.
You make a show of turning around, doing a slow little spin for him to judge. It is a basic black halter-top dress. It hugs your hips nicely, but the loose cut at the top completely swallows up your waist, hiding your shape.
“Mm, it’s nice. But it’s not doing it for me,” he answers, tilting his head with a critical look.
You nod, turning on your heel to grab the white dress off his desk, giving him a hard, pointed look that clearly demands he turn back around. He lets out an exaggerated sigh but complies anyway, shifting his weight and facing the headboard again.
Behind him, he listens to the frantic shuffling of clothes, the snap of a zipper, and the quiet huff of your breath.
When you announce you're done, he turns back around, and his breath nearly catches in his throat.
The white dress destroys the black one. It clings to your frame, hugging every single curve and contrasting sharply against your skin.
You lean into it, striking a dramatic pose just to mess with him, spinning around and looking back over your shoulder with a wicked grin before jokingly hooking a finger under the strap and sliding it halfway down your shoulder. “Think he’ll like it?”
He huffs out a sharp breath through a wide, disbelieving smile, his eyes locked onto your frame. “Enough with the striptease, are you trying to make me hard?”
You gasp, raising a hand to take a vicious swing at his shoulder. “Pervert.”
He easily catches your wrist mid-air before you can land the hit, pulling your arm just an inch closer while a wicked smirk spreads across his face. “How are you going to survive when Sunghoon flirts with you if you can’t even handle it from me?” he teases, his dark eyes glinting with pure amusement.
“That’s completely different and you know it,” you snap back, trying to yank your arm out of his grip. “You’re only flirting with me because you’re bored and want to get a rise out of me. If Sunghoon flirts with me, it’s because he actually wants me. Hopefully.”
“Fair enough,” he concedes smoothly, letting go of your wrist and dropping his hands back against the mattress.
He watches you huff out a breath and turn away to check your reflection in the small vanity mirror across the room, your fingers smoothing down the front of the white dress. His gaze tracks the sharp line of your back and the way the fabric clings to your hips, a slow heat settling back into his chest.
Hearing a sharp laugh escape your lips snaps his attention back to your face, and he sees you standing there with your eyes locked on the top of his dresser.
“Did you seriously buy personalized condoms?” you ask, pointing a finger at the box with pure disbelief.
Shit. He completely forgot to put those back into the drawer before you barged into his room. Still, a laugh pulls from his lips as he shrugs. “Mingi got them for me. They have his face printed on the wrappers.”
Your expression instantly twists from amusement to deep confusion, which makes another genuine laugh rip out of his throat. “Uh, why would you own those?”
He pushes himself up off the bed, crossing the floor to snatch up the box before tossing it out of sight into his bottom drawer. “He bought them as a gag gift. Told me that every time I use one, I have to look my partner dead in the eye and say ‘Mingi’s protecting us tonight’” he chuckles, shaking his head at the memory. “Hell, one time it worked so well it ending with him joining in on the fun.”
Your jaw drops open, the color draining slightly from your face. “Joining in, as in… having sex with you?”
“Well, me, another girl, and him, yes.” he replies casually, leaning back against the edge of his desk.
Your jaw drops even further down, your eyes bulging out. “Wooyoung, do you like guys?”
A slow, shameless smile spreads across his face. “I like anyone who knows what they’re doing. The more the merrier. At the end of the day, a hole is a hole, right?”
“God, that is so fucking degrading,” you snap, crossing your arms defensively over the white dress.
“You’re lucky I didn’t decide to snatch Sunghoon up myself before you ever got the chance,” he fires back, enjoying the way your eyes flash with sudden hostility.
You glare daggers at him, your nostrils flaring.
“Relax, he’s not my type. Too vanilla.” he scoffs.
“Ugh, he’s not vanilla!”
“Then tell me the truth, why didn’t you guys fuck that day at the bar? You both had the opportunity and every excuse in the book, so why didn't it happen?” He steps forward, closing the distance between you and backing you up a single step until your calves hit the edge of the mattress. “And don’t sit there and lie to my face saying you were the one who turned him down, because I could practically smell the desperation and arousal coming off you just from watching the way you looked at him.”
He towers over you, completely boxing you in against the bed. He tracks the uneven rise and fall of your chest beneath the tight white fabric, watching you swallow hard as you try to think of a comeback that won't give you away. The panic written all over your face is better than any drug, and he leans in just an inch closer, letting the suffocating heat of his body press right against yours while he waits to see you crack entirely under the pressure.
You let out a defeated breath, your shoulders collapsing forward as all the fight drains right out of you. “He rejected me.”
Wooyoung freezes dead in his tracks, his entire body going rigid before he instinctively steps back an inch to give you some breathing room. His thick eyebrows knit together in disbelief. “He what?”
You look him dead in the eye. “He told me he likes to take things slow.”
“Do you like to take things slow?” he fires back immediately, leaning his weight toward you just a fraction.
“No. Yes? I don’t fucking know!” you snap, letting out a dramatic sigh before dropping your weight and sitting down heavily on the edge of the mattress. You rub your palms over your face. “But I know I like him. And I know I’m excited to go on this date.”
He watches you for a second, a strange shift rolling through his chest before he shoves it down. He pushes off the floor, moves over, and drops down onto the mattress right beside you, the bed frame groaning under his weight. He tilts his head all the way back, staring up at the ceiling with a blank look on his face. “I’m sure it’ll go great,” he says, his voice entirely devoid of the usual bite or teasing inflection. No sarcasm. No biting retort to rile you up. Just a completely straightforward, genuine statement.
“Thanks.”
The idea of some vanilla guy taking things slow with a girl like you makes his jaw clench in pure irritation. Taking things slow sounds boring as hell. It sounds like a total waste of the way you look in that dress.
He knows damn well how this date is going to end. Sunghoon is going to play it safe, say all the predictable, polite shit, and send you home early with a boring peck on the cheek, leaving you right back here in his bedroom asking him for more. Let the guy have his little practice round tonight. Wooyoung knows he's going to be the one you come running back to when you realize how painfully boring Sunghoon really is.
It doesn't take long before you finally check your phone screen, curse under your breath at the glowing numbers, and scramble off the mattress to gather your scattered things. You snatch your tote bag off the desk, shove your discarded black dress inside, and start checking yourself out in the vanity mirror one last time.
“You’re gonna be late for Mr. Slow-and-Steady,” he calls out, his voice dripping with a mocking tease as he tracks your frantic movements across the room.
You whip around, pointing a threatening finger right at him from across the space. “Shut up. I’m leaving right now.”
You pause at the doors threshold for a split second, turning back to glare at him one last time before stepping out into the hallway and letting the door click shut behind you.
The second the lock engages and the room goes dead quiet, the playful smirk slides right off his face, replaced by a restless, heavy edge. He stays sitting on the edge of the mattress for a long moment, staring at the empty space where you were just standing, listening to the faint sound of your footsteps fading down the hall.
He stands up, shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair, already calculating how long it’s going to take before you text him complaining about how boring your date is.
The sudden knock echoes hard against the wood. He strides across the room, yanks the door wide open with a sharp snap, and cocks a single brow. “Back so soon?”
He cuts himself off, the words dying instantly in his throat.
His eyes sweep over the doorway, and a bitter wave of disappointment hits his chest. It’s San, standing there with his shoulder casually leaned against the door frame, looking way too smug.
San takes one look at Wooyoung’s annoyed expression and raises an eyebrow, his gaze dropping to the empty hallway before tracking back. “You like playing teacher, huh?”
“Ah,” Wooyoung breathes out, smoothing his face back into an effortless mask as he tilts his head and smiles lazily at San. “No. I just like to play in general.”
San scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. “What do you even gain out of this? You’ve never put in this much effort to fuck someone before. You usually just blink and they’re already on their knees, and if not, you move on to the next.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Wooyoung says, leaning his shoulder against the door frame to match San’s posture. “It’s just a friend helping out a friend.”
“You aren’t friends with girls, Woo,” San fires back, his tone sharp and deadpan. “You’re telling me there isn’t a single part of you that wants to fuck her?”
Wooyoung looks away, rolling his eyes and staring down the hall for a second, pretending like he’s never thought about it. “Maybe. I’m a man of desire, would that really be so surprising?”
“With the way you act around her, yeah, it would be,” San mutters, uncrossing his arms and shaking his head. “Do you really think she would even hook up with you after all your bullshit?”
Wooyoung's jaw tightens just a fraction before a smile pulls on his lips. “Is there anything I want that I don’t get?”
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of your kitten heel aggressively tapping against the restaurant floor is the only thing you can focus your hearing on right now. The rest of the room is just a chaotic blur of silverware clinking, plates clattering, and muffled conversations blending into white noise while you frantically bounce your right leg up and down out of pure anxiety.
Sunghoon still isn’t here. It’s been fifteen fucking minutes past the agreed-upon time, and he is nowhere in sight. To be entirely fair, yes, you did show up a little bit early, but that tiny detail does nothing to stop your brain from reeling.
Mr. Slow-and-Steady.
Wooyoung's smug voice echoes loud and clear right in the middle of your thoughts. You roll your eyes, lifting your cocktail glass off the table and taking a massive gulp of the overpriced liquor. You ordered it the second you sat down, telling yourself it would take the edge off your nerves, but all it’s doing is making your stomach burn.
You quickly lock your phone screen and then turn it right back on, pretending with all your might to be doing something important. It’s a pathetic performance, mostly meant to convince the rest of the restaurant that you aren't sitting in a corner booth by yourself. You can practically feel everyone at the surrounding tables staring at you, judging the sad fact that you've been nursing a single drink alone for ages.
You take a sharp, ragged breath through your nose. You need to focus on literally anything else before you meltdown or do something stupid. Without wasting another second, your thumb hits speed dial, calling Karina’s number.
She answers the call almost immediately, her voice bright and cheerful. “Babyyy!”
Just hearing her normal, upbeat tone instantly does half the work of calming your nervous system down. You drop your shoulders an inch and grip the phone tighter.
“Rina, guess where I’m at right now?” you say, trying your absolute best to keep your voice steady and not sound entirely broken.
“Where?” she asks, the sound of a microwave in the background telling you she’s probably raiding her fridge at home.
“On a date with Hoonie.”
“What?!” Her voice blasts through the speaker at a volume that causes you to slightly pull the phone away from your ear and wince.
“Yeah, except I’m currently freaking the fuck out, and he isn’t even here yet, and this place is way too fucking fancy, and I don’t know which fork to kill myself with,” you blurt out all in one breath, your fingers nervously picking at the paper napkin on the table.
“Woah, okay, slow down, babe. Calm down,” Karina laughs softly, her tone soothing. “It’s normal to be nervous.”
You listen to her words, rolling your eyes at the ceiling before forcing yourself to take a deep, shaky breath.
“This is a good thing, okay?” she continues, her voice firming up with encouragement. “You’ve wanted this guy for so long, it’s going to be fine. Just play it cool.”
“Play it cool? Right, totally, I can do that. I’m the coolest.” you whisper to yourself, slapping your own cheeks lightly to get the blood flowing back into your face.
Sudden movement catches your eye in your peripheral vision near the front host stand. You snap your head toward the entrance, and Sunghoon walks in.
“Oh my… oh my god,” you gasp, all the air instantly evacuating your lungs in a single pathetic wheeze. “He’s here, fuck, I gotta go.”
Before Karina can even answer on the other end, you slam your thumb down to hang up the phone and drop it right into your lap, straightening your posture and trying your absolute best to pretend you aren’t on the verge of an anxiety attack.
He looks ridiculously good. He’s wearing a crisp, tailored dark grey blazer over a fitted white t-shirt that outlines his broad shoulders, his dark hair styled perfectly out of his face with just a few soft strands falling across his forehead, and silver earrings catching the restaurant lighting every time he moves. He scans the room, spots your corner booth, and immediately locks eyes with you.
A slow, gorgeous smile spreads across his face.
Your eyes immediately zero in on his mouth. Right there in the corner, those slightly prominent, subtle vampire fangs catch the light. You find yourself wondering what kind of jagged, bruising marks those canines could leave carved into your skin.
He’s too vanilla. okay, wooyoung seriously needs to get the fuck out of your head.
You shove the intrusive thought away, plastering a wide welcoming smile across your face and forcing your shoulders to drop as he walks up to the table. You are totally cool. You've got this.
He slides smoothly into the plush leather booth across from you, the faint scent of cologne hitting your senses as he gets settled. Both of you instantly open your mouths to speak at the exact same time, stumbling over your words before awkwardly laughing as you both accidentally end up complimenting each other's outfits at the same time.
You let out a breathy giggle, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Okay, maybe you were overreacting. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.
He leans back against the leather, his gaze dropping down to the half-empty glass sitting in front of you. He raises an amused brow. “Starting without me, huh?”
A slight flush creeps up your neck. “Don’t judge me,“
“I would never.”
You trace the damp condensation ring on the wooden table with the tip of your fingernail, suddenly hyper-aware of how loud your own pulse is ringing in your ears. You shift your weight against the cushions, your eyes darting back up to meet his as a wave of impulsivity hits you. You are terrible at playing subtle guessing games, and you refuse to spend the next two hours sitting here wondering if he thinks you're just a buddy getting a casual bite to eat.
“Is this a date?” you blurt out suddenly, your voice cutting straight through the ambient noise of the restaurant. “This is a date, right?”
He doesn’t even blink. Instead, a warm, genuine smile spreads across his face, clearly amused by your total lack of a filter and obvious nervousness.
“This is whatever you want it to be,” he answers smoothly, leaning his forearms against the edge of the table as he looks right at you. “But yes, I would prefer if it was a date.”
A sudden swarm of butterflies flap their wings in your stomach, and your breath catches short in your throat.
The clear confirmation immediately irons out the jagged edges of your anxiety, smoothing out your pulse until you can actually breathe again. Okay. Good. At least you and him are sort of on the same page.
Before you can spiral into another thought, a waiter appears at the edge of the booth with a polite smile, snapping you both back to reality. You quickly rattle off your order without even pretending to look at the menu again, choosing the cheesiest thing on the page because you are definitely taking advantage of these fancy dishes. Sunghoon orders a heavy rye whiskey alongside an entree of his own, and watching him smoothly order without hesitating makes a stupid little thrill run down your spine.
Once the waiter vanishes back into the crowd, the table goes quiet for a second, and your brain immediately starts racing to fill the empty space.
If you’re interested in a guy, close the distance and see how he reacts.
The advice echoes in your head, and instead of overthinking it, your body just moves. You slide your weight across the plush leather of the curved booth, hitching your hips up and scooting right around the corner until you are sitting beside him instead of across the empty table space.
Sunghoon blinks, a surprised, highly pleased flash crossing his features as he realizes you’ve completely invaded his personal bubble.
You casually prop your elbow up on the table, rest your cheek right in the palm of your hand, and turn your head to stare directly into his eyes.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask, your voice dropping just a fraction lower, a cheeky, challenging edge sliding right into your tone.
Sunghoon sets his whiskey glass back down onto the dark wood with a soft click, the ice shifting inside. He turns his head to face you, the close proximity making it impossible to miss the slight crinkle around the corners of his eyes as a genuine, slightly vulnerable smile forms on his lips.
You suddenly feel a weird, familiar twitch of self-consciousness. You instinctively drop your gaze away from his intense stare, letting your lashes sweep down as you bite your lower lip.
“I was thinking about how I’ve been wanting to take you out for a while now,” he says, his voice low and steady in the noisy restaurant.
Your head snaps back up, your eyes widening just a fraction.
“Really?” you whisper, your voice suddenly sounding soft and breathy, letting your shyness do the heavy lifting.
“Yeah, really,” he chuckles, reaching up to casually brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles lightly grazing the skin of your cheek. A warm jolt shoots straight down your spine. “Honestly, I was almost sure I totally scared you off with that whole soft rejection during that stupid seven minutes in heaven dare at the bar. I figured you hated my guts after that.”
A tiny, self-deprecating giggle slips past your lips, and you lean just a fraction closer into the touch of his hand, playing the part of the slightly flustered, blushing girl to perfection. “No, you didn't scare me off. I was just... figuring things out.”
“Well,” he smiles, his thumb lightly stroking your jawline before he drops his hand back to the table, “I’m really glad you decided to reach out.”
“Me too,” you murmur, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
The rest of the night goes shockingly smooth. Turns out, once you drop the panicked act, talking to him is ridiculously easy. You end up trading stupid stories over the table while tearing through some absolute bomb ass food that completely justifies how overpriced the menu was. You make a mental note to take a picture of the receipt later so you can save the name of this restaurant.
By the time the bill arrives and you aggressively fight him over who is paying—losing, obviously, because chivalry isn't completely dead—you’re both laughing as you stumble out the front doors and into the cool night air.
He walks you right up to the curb where your Uber is already waiting with its hazards flashing. You turn to face him under the amber glow of the streetlamp, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the sidewalk is compared to the buzzing restaurant.
An unexpected weight drops into your chest. For all your complaining about anxiety and putting yourself out there, you actually find yourself kind of bummed out that the night is ending right here on a public sidewalk.
“Well,” you say, rocking back slightly on your heels, breaking the quiet. “This is me, not getting kidnapped by a serial killer.”
Sunghoon laughs, a genuine sound that slides right through the night air. He steps just a tiny bit closer, his hands sliding casually into the pockets of his slacks. “Thank god for that. Can’t have you disappearing before our second date.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, a pleased grin breaking right through your shy mask. “Oh, so there’s a second date?”
“Only if you want one,” he teases back, a confident smirk touching his mouth.
You lean against the open door of the car, tilting your head with a sharp, challenging grin. “Well, you’re going to have to work a lot harder to impress me next time. Maybe try kissing me goodbye instead of standing there and looking pretty.”
Sunghoon’s smirk drops off his face instantly, his eyes flashing with sudden realization at the blatant, unapologetic challenge hanging right in the air. Before you can even blink, he steps across the gap, his hand reaching out to catch the edge of the car door and stop you from sliding inside.
“Is that right?” he mutters.
“mhm,” you hum, your sarcastic exterior completely cracking the second he steps into your personal space.
He steps up to you, his hand sliding up from the car door to cup the back of your neck, his warm fingers gently curling into the hair at your nape. He pulls you forward, closing the final inch of distance between you, and presses his lips softly against yours.
It’s tender and completely comforting in a way that makes your entire chest loosen. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving at an easy, unhurried pace that feels entirely natural. You let out a quiet breath against his mouth, your hands instantly coming up to grip the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer as you sink right into the kiss. The accidental scrape of his canines grazing your bottom lip sends a sharp jolt straight down your spine, and you open your mouth just a fraction, letting him deepen the connection.
He tastes like rye whiskey and clean mint. You completely forget about the Uber, forget about the driver watching in the rearview mirror, and forget every single cynical thought you had all evening. It’s warm, it’s grounding, and it’s entirely too good to pull away from.
When he finally draws back a couple of inches, his thumb lightly brushes against your cheekbone, his breath coming out in a slow, uneven hitch.
“Was that impressive enough for you?” he whispers, a smug smile catching the corner of his mouth.
You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, pressing your palm flat against his chest.
“Text me when you get home,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to let you slide into the backseat of the car.
You pull the door shut, rolling the window down to flash him one last smug grin as the car finally pulls away from the curb, your fingers automatically tracing over your own lips while your heart hammers a frantic, excited rhythm against your ribs.
And then, a sudden wave of shock hits you square in the chest.
You sit straight up, your hand flying down against your side. You didn't check your phone. Not once. From the second you hung up on Karina to the exact moment you were making out on a public sidewalk like teenagers, your phone has been completely neglected at the bottom of your purse. That’s a personal record for a chronically online disaster like you.
You dive your hand into your small black shoulder bag, rummaging past your lip gloss and keys until your fingers wrap around the cold glass of your device. You yank it out into the dim light of the passing streetlamps and double-tap the screen to wake it up.
The lock screen instantly floods your eyes with a blinding wall of notifications. Missed calls from Karina, a group chat explosion of at least forty unread texts asking for the gossip because of course they already found out, and an ungodly amount of app alerts. You swipe most of them away with an impatient flick of your thumb, ready to text Karina that you survived and that the kiss was actually a solid experience.
Right as your thumb hovers over the messenger app, a new banner drops down from the top of the screen with a sharp vibration against your palm.
Mistake: Let me know when you’re ready for someone who actually knows what they’re doing.
