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ennergetics · 7 years ago

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FILLED REQUEST: down with love, a fuckboi! seongwu au

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pairing: ong seongwu x reader genre: fluff, angst wordcount: 3023 summary: Ong Seongwu is the campus’s resident type-A fuckboy. when you, an unknown writer, attempt to steal his spotlight, he tries to get revenge by making you fall in love with him. warnings: provocative situations, but nothing too steamy (inspired by the movie of the same name! same verse as the sungwoon prince au, but with a different reader + earlier time period. cross-posted on ao3.)

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Each term, Ong Seongwu beats three of his own personal records: the number of features editors who’ve quit at the campus publication he heads; the amount of attention its social media has garnered under his editorship; and the size of his contacts list, the names of interviewees mingling with those of all the people he’s slept with.

Everybody on campus knows Ong Seongwu, and he wants to keep it that way. A consummate professional, he entered university knowing exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get there. After all, one doesn’t become an excellent reporter and social media influencer overnight; Seongwu built his brand through hard work, god-given good looks, and a knack for making people laugh. He flirts with all of them and fucks them without batting an eyelash, and none of them can say they didn’t know what they signed up for.

Yes, it’s easy to fall for Seongwu, with a story like his: a talented boy on scholarship with big dreams, eager to find someone to share his life with. The best lies are half-truths, after all. Seongwu does work hard, but he doesn’t think there’s a place in his life for love. Still, that doesn’t mean he can’t have fun, and he’s broken the many hearts of people who’ve wanted more.

PRODUCE, the publication he helped found as a freshman, is his current project and only love. He can’t help it if all the features editors up to this point have fallen hopelessly in love with him, tried to change him, and quit their jobs after failing. They were then banned from ever returning to PD101, the fond nickname for the publication’s office on campus. It’s been Seongwu’s home for his entire stay at college, and no simple flings would be able to drive him out of there.

Seongwu is at his usual spot in PD101, alternating between scrolling through PRODUCE’s social media accounts and editing the article queued for publishing within the week, when someone clears their throat.

“Boss, I’ve got an interesting piece you might want to look at.” The current features editor is a deceptively quiet boy with a knack for finding the best stories. Park Woojin quite easily turned down Seongwu’s early attempts at banter, and Seongwu’s glad to find an editor who might actually last till the end of the year and beyond. Woojin is clever enough that Seongwu might bring him onto the team when he expands PRODUCE beyond the campus, but that’s not important right now. If Woojin says a story’s got promise, Seongwu’s willing to bet on it.

He takes the tablet from Woojin and skims the article someone sent in to their submissions email. The sender, one L/N Y/N, doesn’t even have a picture up on their profile, which is a red flag for Seongwu. He gives it a cursory read-through, his expression souring as he gets further. It’s well-written, sure, but the article hinges on a tip for those lost in love: take control of their romantic lives ‘by not fucking scrubs more than once.’

He vaguely remembers what the word means: it’s a gender-neutral word for “fuckboy” that was popular in the ‘90s. Seongwu snorts. “Of course we’re not publishing this. It’s barely worth the minute I gave it my attention.” He doesn’t really think that, but PRODUCE is his magazine and he’s not going to publish anything so contrary to his own lifestyle. There’s something about this piece that feels like a personal attack, though Seongwu can’t quite place his finger on it. Before texting his next hook-up for the week, he gives Woojin a look; Woojin shrugs; and that’s the end of that.

Two days later, everyone on campus is talking about an explosive blog post promoted through the school’s online billboard system, titled “DOWN WITH LOVE.” Seongwu checks out the link and finds a more polished version of what had been sent in, complete with properly sourced memes and gifs. That annoys Seongwu enough, but now none of his regular fuck buddies will pick up his calls or reply to his texts—that is, except for the three who sent him a link to the blog post.

Seongwu looks you up and discovers you’re quite attractive, your photos tastefully shot and social media clean. He’s scrolling through your twitter when he sees a question about whom you think ‘the worst scrubs on campus’ are. There’s only one name there: his. “Never met him, but everybody tells me he’s an ass,” your answer says.

That’s the moment he decides he’s going to get his revenge. Ong Seongwu doesn’t lose, and it should be easy enough to make you fall in love with a self-proclaimed fuckboy like himself. You’ve never met him—in fact, you refuse to meet with him or any of the PRODUCE staffers—and his carefully curated social media means he can control his image perfectly. Seongwu puts on glasses, parts his hair in the middle, and borrows from his friend Jisung’s wardrobe, making himself practically unrecognizable, then sets himself up as a new student in your project management class.

Adopting a Busan accent that’s a passable approximation of Woojin’s way of speaking, Seongwu strikes up conversation with you. “Hey,” he says softly, “have you got a copy of the syllabus? I just shifted into this class.”

“I do,” you say, your tone oddly hopeful. “You don’t know who I am?” You look surprised that he’s talking to you. He imagines you must not be popular; infamous, yes, but you probably didn’t make many friends publishing and promoting your post like that. Your campus is filled with easily identified scrubs who probably didn’t take too kindly to having their beds suddenly empty.

Seongwu cocks his head in a way he knows makes hearts flutter, blinking at you. “No, should I?”

“No, no, not at all!” you say, a grin lighting up your face. “Here, I’ve got it on my phone.” You hand him your phone, and Seongwu makes sure your fingers touch his. He exaggerates his reaction, looking down with a sheepish smile, but he feels his cheeks turn warm. Seongwu shakes his head. It’s been a while, he tells himself, and that’s all it is.

The class starts and he has no chance to return your phone. You’re engrossed in the professor’s explanation—something about the various management frameworks, and Seongwu realizes he’s in over his head here as a communications major—but you glance at him occasionally, worrying your lower lip with your teeth.

Within ten minutes, the class is over, the first day a simple explanation of the syllabus. Seongwu doesn’t need to graduate with Latin honours, but he wants to. This class is beginning to look like an obstacle, and he curses how foolhardy he was with this plot. It spoke volumes about how much you’d shaken up his routine. Still, there was a way for him to kill two birds with one stone.

“Um, thank you for lending me your phone,” he says, scratching at the back of his head. “It’d be great if we could be study buddies?” Seongwu says, letting his hair fall over his forehead just so. “I’m Hong Sungwoon, but my friends call me Ong. They say I’m too much of an old man,” he says, chuckling. This way, you’ll use a name he’ll recognize, but won’t know it’s him.

You’re smiling up at him, then he sees a spark in your eyes. Bullseye. “Maybe I should get your number, Ong-sshi,” you say. “It wouldn’t be hard to study with a cute face like yours beside me.”

Seongwu covers his mouth with his hand. “Gosh,” he says, “I’ve never had anyone be this forward with me before, especially not someone as attractive as you.” Your eyes soften, and Seongwu admits it’s a look that makes him feel warm inside. He almost feels bad about how he’s going to break your heart.

“Then we’ll both be lucky,” you say, handing him your phone. Your fingers linger at his arm, tracing a light pattern on his bicep as Seongwu inputs his number. He ignores the shiver up his spine at your lazy smile, keeping the act up and trembling slightly when he hands your phone back.

Your first study session is in the following week, right before a quantitative quiz Seongwu has no idea how to answer. Hong Sungwoon is a man afraid of crowds, so the two of you study at the roof of the old biology building, a spot you’ve apparently been keeping to yourself since you got to university. It’s conveniently near PD101, so everything works out for Seongwu.

He’s sitting with his side flushed against yours, watching you push up your glasses every few moments while explaining the necessary diagrams to him. When he feels you shiver at the chill, he places an arm around you as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You shouldn’t be cold,” he says, wide-eyed.

You grin up at him, snuggling closer and leaning your head on his shoulder. The hand with the papers you’re scribbling on falls onto his upper thigh, and when you show how the items flow from one department to another, he feels the pressure of your finger against his skin.

The rest of the session continues like this, with Seongwu finding excuses for innocent touches here and there, with you escalating each one. Your breathing becomes shallow, a cute flush beginning to show on your skin. Seongwu resists the urge to pull you into a kiss, internally reminding himself of the part he has to play. It’s when you’re done explaining the whole lesson, practically sitting in his lap, when you turn to him and place your hand on his chest.

You draw your face close to his and whisper against his mouth. “Ong,” you say, looking into his eyes, “how would you feel about lessons of a different kind?” And Seongwu springs away as if burned, sputtering while trying to hide his laugh at how corny your line had been.

“I couldn’t possibly do that, Y/N-sshi!” he says. “I mean, I’ve never really done that kind of thing before, and I want to save myself for someone special, you know?” But before you can say anything else, he adds, “I would certainly be honoured to take you out on a date, though. You seem swell, and I’d love to get to know you better.”

Seongwu sees you considering it, and for a moment he’s worried you won’t take the bait. “I mean,” he says, pressing his hand into the small of your back, as if he doesn’t feel you shuddering under his touch, “it’s hard for me to control myself when you’re so pretty, but you could be...”His fingers curl up, scratching lightly against your shirt in a way he knows you’ll feel. “…you could be my first.”

He’s got you there, and right after a grueling, fifty-point quiz, he takes you out to a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant. The auntie running the kitchen waves at him when he ushers you in, flashing both of you a big smile. “I’m not the most well-off,” he says, milking your sympathy. As you look around with wide eyes, though, he feels his throat itch with apprehension. In a way, this is an honest side of himself, one no one, especially not his hook-ups, ever get to see.

“I love it,” you say solemnly. He orders for the both of you, and you dig into the home-cooked meals with gusto. Seongwu makes sure to feed you once or twice, ignoring how your tongue slips out to lick the rich sauces off your lips. The whole time, you both talk about how you ended up at the university, Seongwu giving you a sanitized version of his history, omitting how cutthroat he’d been throughout the years while building his virtual empire. He finds out that you’re just as driven as he is, with a mind skilled at data visualization and a minor in publication management.

You insist on splitting the bill, but the auntie surprises you both by telling you the meal is free. “This young man is a regular customer, and I’m happy to see him finally out on a date,” she says, and Seongwu thanks the stars for having her back up the alibi he’s given.

He walks you home, and at your doorstep, you give him a kiss that tastes like auntie’s best tteokbokki, and Seongwu deepens the kiss for a moment before remembering the long-term plan. You’re breathing hard when he pulls away, your pupils dilated and your grip on his neck tight. “Come in,” you say breathily, your hand moving to stroke at his jaw.

“I-I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Seongwu says, though every bone in his body—as well as all the blood that rushed south at the feel of your hips against his—disagrees. “I’ll see you in class next week.” He kisses you on the cheek before extracting himself from your grasp.

Numerous dates and study sessions go by, with your hands wandering his body more and more desperately and his famous self-control slowly but surely being eroded by your touch. One night he gives in and you make out on your couch, his grip around your waist tight as you grind against each other. He waits till you come and leaves with a terrible case of blue balls, insisting on being a gentleman all the while. Never mind how dirty his groans are when he jacks off later in the shower, your name on his lips. As he leans his head against the shower stall, his heavy pants fogging up the glass, Seongwu thinks something has to be done.

You’re at one of the smaller study halls, one rarely frequented by students, when Seongwu decides it’s time to enact the final phase of his plan. He ignores the uneasy feeling at the back of his mind, willing himself not to feel anything when you thread your fingers between his. For once, the two of you aren’t caught up studying, and he pulls you to a rarely visited section of the hall, where you crowd him against the bookshelf and pull his lips to your own.

Your lips are puffy and his hair’s a mess when he pulls away, stilling the gentle grind of your hips with one steady hand. “I’m not sure,” he says, putting all the confusion and turmoil he’s feeling into his next words. “I think—I think you’re the one for me, but I don’t know how you feel.”

Seongwu’s set up a hidden camera on the top shelf, ready to record your confession for posting at prime-time. Everything’s in place for him to succeed, but he can’t deny the apprehension he feels. He wants you to confess because it means he wins, that you’re a hypocrite who doesn’t walk your talk. But part of him wants you to confess because he wants to know how you’ve felt about these last three months you’ve spent together.

You sigh once. Seongwu holds his breath. “I’m in love with you. I wrote an article decrying love and its associated pains, but it all feels like a lifetime ago. You’ve made me so happy these past three months. It was impossible for me not to fall for you.” And Seongwu smiles, having won both your heart and the competition you hadn’t even known about.

“That is, if I hadn’t fallen for you already, Ong Seongwu.”

You stand on your tiptoes and reach for the camera, switching it off. Seongwu’s jaw hangs open, and while he’s staring at you wordlessly, you begin to speak. “A year ago, an impressionable junior applied for the features editor opening at PRODUCE magazine. I needed some experience for minor credits, and yours was one of the most-talked-about and better-run among the accessible publications. I was starstruck by you then, so smooth and suave and skilled. You knew precisely what you wanted and how to get it.

“I told myself that I wouldn’t sleep with you, even as your flirting got more intense. It’s easy enough to fall in lust with you, Seongwu, but the sides you showed during the magazine’s times of trouble, the rare moments you bared your heart—in the end, I fell hard. You took me to bed during the Christmas party and never talked to me again.”

Seongwu’s brows furrow. “So you wanted revenge by getting me to date you?”

“No, you silly boy,” you say, reaching out to touch Seongwu’s face. “I just wanted you to like me. I knew it’d be irresistible to you, the idea of making someone crack, to the point that you’d let down your cool exterior and be the you no one else gets to see.”

He’s floored. There it is, that feeling again, of being bested by someone else—the same someone, no less—but it’s overshadowed by the realization that everything you’re saying is true. Maybe he hasn’t fallen in love with you just yet, but he’s certainly getting there. Ironically enough, words aren’t always easy for him, and he hasn’t verbalized the meaning behind his enthusiasm as he checks for your messages in the morning; the energy he feels after laughing in class with you; the tenderness of your interlinked arms as he walks you home.

“I do like you,” he says, “more than I knew. More than I should. But we can be happy now, can’t we? I’ll release this cover story, we’ll go on dates for real, I’ll ask you to go steady, and we’ll live a good life, or whatever it is always comes at the end of romantic comedies.”

You look troubled for the first time, and Seongwu feels the seed of worry grow. “I can’t. So many people here on campus are better off because of me. No more awful ghosting, no more one-night stands that they expected more from, and no more silly attachments.” You shrug before pulling him close. “I’ll miss you.”

Taking the camera with you, you smile sadly, giving Seongwu one last chaste kiss. “I guess I’m a down-with-love kid, after all.”

#wanna one #ong seongwoo #ong seongwoo imagines #wanna one imagines #wanna one scenarios #para fic #mine #seongwu #seongwu fic #s: down with love #w1 #mywriting

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