#maybach exelero | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yuzukult · 2 years ago

Text

yours, but not yours 05 || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 05 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 8.0k summary: when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend. warnings: profanity a/n: ello it’s me do you remember me... anyways, hope you all enjoy!!

You never thought you’d find yourself in this position: in between Kim Yubin and Choi Seungcheol.

He stands there, outside of your bedroom door with his arms by his sides, sleeves still rolled up to his elbows from washing the dishes earlier. If you could see the enmity now, the steam whistling out of his ears would be visible. Heat radiates from his cheeks, fueled with all the things he’s been holding back since he’s learned about the Kim siblings, and he’s ready to combust.

“You’re fucking joking,” he practically spits.

“S-Seungcheol,” Yubin stutters; the palm of her hand pressing down against the cushion of your loveseat couch as she forces herself to stand straight. She swallows, throat bobbing up and down as her eyes grow wide, alcohol flushing out of her system the moment she sees Seungcheol walk out. There’s resemblance between her and a child cowering in fear at the sight of a strict parent as she holds her hands in front of herself, observing every move he takes. “You’re—You’re here,” she lets out a nervous laugh. “I…I thought nobody else was home.”

She states the obvious, and the evident expression wiped across Seungcheol’s face is enough without interrogating his feelings. Everything stills and grows silent—you could almost hear your neighbors talking to their families next door and the cars driving by on the main road from how quiet it gets.

“You… You know, I thought you looked familiar,” he begins leerily before shutting his lids with a heavy sigh that releases from his chest. Then his eyes—those chocolate colored irises are suddenly dark when they open, filled with vexation and fury when they land on Yubin. You’ve never seen him angry like this before. Disappointed, yeah, but this is a totally different side of him that he unravels. “After all the things I’ve heard about you—from your best friend, too—it makes sense. Fits together like a missing piece of the puzzle. Especially with Namjoon too, everything clicks,” his jaw tenses. “You’re Mrs. Kim’s kid. The bitch who owns the country club.”

“My mother isn’t a bitch,” Yubin says through her gritted teeth. Smoothing out her skirt with the warmth of her hands, she clears her throat and pushes the strand of hair behind her ear as if the messy rat’s nest would be resolved from the mere action. Even when he says harsh words about her own mother, she hides behind that sheer facade because she’s trying to sway him with her mellifluous tone. Was your best friend really that two-faced the entire time? “But I-I am. I see that you finally recognize me after all this time.”

“It’s a little hard to remember you without the flamboyant pink tutu and the pounds of makeup on your face. Your stylist team was just hired for the night, weren’t they?”

Mouth agape, she scoffs in disbelief.

Why does that attire sound familiar?

Then the memory comes back like a storm. It was years ago—you’d find out that Yubin’s parents were elitists. Their wealth was the explanation for her and Namjoon’s capability to afford such exorbitant things; from her red bottom heels to her Hermés Birken bag and Namjoon’s array of Aston Martins, Maybach Exeleros, and Bugattis, when she told you what her parents did for a living, it answered all your open questions. She and her family were part of a society back at home–her explanation glorified, you simply narrowed it down to her lifestyle consisting of a bunch of rich people trying to kiss each other’s asses over some golf clubs and banquets.

Although you couldn’t relate to any of Yubin’s upbringing and her current lifestyle, her personality was enough for you to stay as a friend. She was lonely; no amount of money in the world could pay for friendship that was pure and genuine so you stuck around. Yubin always said that the people who followed her around only remained because of her money, guilt and sympathy sinking in the pits of your stomach, becoming the main reason that you decided that you’d be her best friend. Everyone needs a friend–even your worst enemy.

You’d be a loyal friend to Yubin, despite all the times you desperately needed help financially and she wouldn’t even bat a lash. It wasn’t her money, so to speak, therefore asking Yubin to lend a hand was disrespectful if it meant digging into her parents’ wallets to fund for your necessities. Living in the basement of your uncle’s house, she came to visit you in the late hours of the night while knocking obnoxiously on the back door that led downstairs to your makeshift apartment. No headboard, sharing a bathroom with six other people who resided in that home, never having any privacy since the laundry room was your bedroom, having Yubin seated on the edge of your bed while dressed in head to toe designer was juxtaposing.

Honestly, at first, you were a bit taken aback from the sight of her.

Usually, she wouldn’t get dolled up like this. Her makeup was smeared, just as it was now, black mascara streaked down her cheeks that was brushed with a blush that didn’t fit her skin tone. The lipstick was a hot pink to match her dress, layers of tulle stacked atop each other that made her seem like she was a contestant for a pageant and left you wondering how something like that could include so many zeros behind the first number. She needed a new stylist – whomever hired her definitely had a personal vendetta against Yubin.

“He’s the one,” you vaguely recalled her hopelessly declaring, eyes sparkling under the shoddy lights in your room. The one bulb in the corner was flickering, and you made a mental note to yourself that you would ask your handyman neighbor if you could bum one off of him instead of noticing how blindly in love Yubin was. “He basically told me that he’d wait for me–that he never met a girl like me before. He made me feel like a princess, like I was worth something. He didn’t even care about the money! His family has enough on their own.”

And quite frankly, if you’d been paying attention, you would’ve remembered this and construed it differently. But your priority wasn’t your friend who claimed to have met her soulmate–the homework assignment due in 13 minutes–no wait, 12 minutes, was your main concern.

“Mmm, wow, that’s crazy,” you responded, and thinking back on it, you should’ve been more engaged and probed for more because now you’re paying for the consequences of your actions. It was terrible on your part because you’d been a bad friend by not listening but also missing all the red flags that she was practically waving in front of your face.

This angle of Seungcheol is peculiar; usually he’d throw a couple sordid jokes here and there then attempt to use pick up lines paired with a wink. He’s normally kind, in spite of the label fuckboy he tends to walk around with, in semblance to the ‘A’ in the Scarlet Letter. Seungcheol would wear this identity with pride, but he never failed to still remain respectful of everyone’s boundaries–even now he doesn’t change that, and that’s without the trademark.

Yet, as he stands here before Yubin, he’s like an entirely different person. He’s cold–easily mistaken for a draft, but your place was warm with the heat on blast. Your thick layer of clothes, locked windows and space heater in the middle of the apartment didn’t warrant the frosty air but that unopened invitation didn’t matter to his attitude.

Seungcheol narrows his gaze. “Not usually something a guy who’s in love with you would say, would it?”

“Seungcheol,” you call his name out sternly but he doesn’t give you an ounce of attention–a new move on his part, considering he claims to kiss the ground you walk on. “What’s going on?”

“I’m baffled,” he begins, shaking his head. “This whole time, you pretended to not know me, then you come and tell my girlfriend that I’m in love with you. What gives? Did your brother implant that in your head? Because it’s fucking seeming like the Kim siblings just love to lie to get things their way. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

“Seungcheol,” you reiterate, hand on his protruding chest to ease him. The touch soothes him just barely, and he takes a step back. “I asked a question—what's going on?”

When he diverts his attention to you, his gaze softens. Shoulders loosening, breathing unlabored, he becomes like putty underneath your fingertips. Even though this thing between you both isn’t clear, one thing you know for sure is that you have an impact on him, whether he likes it or not. “Your friend here,” the way he labels Yubin your friend leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, “… is making shit up. I just wanna make it clear, I’un lead on chicks like her.”

“Chicks like her? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” he doesn’t want to flat out say it but he knows you won’t let this go without a straightforward response. It’s the old version of himself, the one he’s been so desperately trying to get you to forget and see that that isn’t who he is anymore. Seungcheol sucks in his cheeks, running his fingers through his hair frustratedly. “We met before you. My lifestyle was different then—which meant I wasn’t gon’ go chase a girl with the intention of wanting anything more than somethin’ temporary.”

The words don’t leave your mouth, but he knows what you’re thinking. “I’m not like that anymore, if that’s what’s going through your head.”

“Fine,” you step aside and look over at Yubin. “Explain yourselves. You don’t get to come into my house, drunk off your shits, and you,” pointing at Seungcheol, you click your tongue, “... you don’t get to leave without explaining her accusations. Start over, and don’t leave any details out.”

Seungcheol raises a brow at Yubin. “Should I be explainin’, or should you?”

She doesn’t respond, instead she opts for crossing her arms over her chest aggravatedly.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Seungcheol sighs. There’s a reason why he doesn’t tell you anything about his family, and truthfully, he feels that it’s justified. Some things are enough to lure in people with impure intentions and some are enough to push them away. With you, he’s afraid of both outcomes. “My parents are a lot… more well off then I’ve led you to believe. My father owns a tech company and my mom owns her own fashion company,” and when he says the name of the brand, you can’t even hide when your hand covers your mouth in shock. “... And, I’m pretty sure you know that Yubin’s family associates with those in that tax bracket. So, of course, my mom wants to leave quite an impression on those in that… community,” Seungcheol says through his gritted teeth, the concept bitter in his mouth, “hence the constant tea parties, gatherings, fundraisers and galas. I can’t say that I share the same concerns as my parents, but… that’s my mom. So I attend them for her, despite the fact that I don’t really care about what they say about me–I care about how they view her.”

You roll your lips. “And how do they see her?”

“The woman with two sons who seem to let their dick speak instead of their heads.”

And… that’s where it hits.

This reputation he created for himself that began early in his youth precedes him. A player, a fuckboy, a guy who can’t seem to hold onto a girl—not because he’s unable to but it’s just what he wanted. Girls weren’t his problem, he was his own problem, and at the time, it didn’t feel like an issue either. He liked how fast paced his lifestyle was. There was no commitment required or expected, unlike everything else at home, but he never… made it clear to you that it’s why he chose that route. The only thing he’s ever explained was that he chose you to be the reason to quit that mentality.

“The pink tutu,” you roll your lips, tilting your head to the side before glancing over at Yubin. “Was that… was that the night of one of your mom’s fundraisers? Your mom… she mentioned something about how you didn’t have options for a date. Well, I could’ve sworn that’s what she said until you came to my apartment that night, talking about… how there’s this boy…”

Your shoulders drop when you put two and two together. “She meant you. Yubin went on about how there was this boy who basically professed his love to her, but there was something about him that he couldn’t change and swore she’d be able to.”

He scoffs. “And does that sound like me?”

It… doesn’t.

When you look at the person who you claim is your best friend, the epithet “best” and the identification “friend” doesn’t quite fit her anymore. She’s an adaptation of herself that you can’t get behind; the old Yubin who was shy, timid, and oftentimes needed your support suddenly… vanishes.

The key word you should’ve listened for was “basically.” He basically professed his love, he basically says that he’d wait for her, and he basically told her that he’s waiting for the right time to come back and be with her. As she was bawling her eyes out from her mother’s harsh words that evening, you realize it was a distraction from the assumptions she made with indirect descriptions that you missed so easily because you trusted her.

The silence is thick in the air. Both Yubin and Seungcheol anxiously wait to hear from you, hoping that you’d pick them to side with but you’re left with confusing thoughts.

“I’ll um… I’ll get you an Uber,” you finally say as you pull your phone out of your pocket, and Yubin’s face contorts to a baffled one. “You need to get home–it’s late, and I don’t think you’re in the right mindset to have this conversation.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she snaps, but you’re already clicking the fast checkout option on the screen. “I can have this conversation. If everything he said to me was a lie, then what makes you think he won’t lie to you?”

You sigh. “I’m not having this conversation until you go home, drink some water, and get sober.”

And suddenly, that light that normally radiates from behind Yubin’s head fades.

In your eyes, despite all the things she’s done, Yubin has remained your best friend. Even with the issues you’ve had with her and Namjoon–you justified her actions, tried your best to understand what it’s like to be in her shoes, and without saying, you forgave her. It’s like an instinct, muscle memory–something you did unconsciously because how and why would Yubin, your best friend Yubin, the one who had your back for as long as you remember–how can Kim Yubin be the constant toxicity in your life? She was never like this before.

Or… has she always been and you’ve been too blinded by friendship to even realize?

“I appreciated you,” she begins, stepping in closer. The mascara that smears underneath the eyes isn’t the reason her gaze grows dark, it was her own doing. Her true colors are showing now, a gloom cloud casts over her as she finally says everything she’s been holding back until this very moment. “I admired you. I valued our friendship–I told you that I thought Namjoon was more fitting for you, and for good reason, too. I thought that we’d have that like–typical movie friendship where you’d end up with my brother, I’d be your maid of honor, and you’d be walking down the aisle in our parents’ backyard with Namjoon standing at the end of it.”

A look of incredulity appears on your face. “And what happens if I just… never end up with Namjoon? Have you ever thought about that?”

Yubin rolls her eyes. “It’s not that hard to convince you. You have a soft spot for me–I’m your best friend, the only one at that. Those other girls are just people you hang with, not people you trust. Even so, they all have the same opinion as I do–Namjoon is yours. You just need to get out of that head of yours and just listen.”

“Are you even listening to me?” you exasperate. You feel the heat burning through your skin, the tips of your ears warm from the anger boiling within. “I keep fucking telling you that I’m not interested in Namjoon–”

“You will,” she emphasizes. Your phone buzzes in your hand but your eyes don’t pull away from hers. “If you stop denying it, maybe you can stop this whole enemies to lovers mentality and finally let him love you. You’re always talking about self worth, but it feels like you don’t even recognize your own.”

Your phone vibrates again. Sneaking a glance at the screen, the timing of the Uber couldn’t be better. “Your ride is here. Get out.”

“I’m not done–”

“Go home, Yubin,” you state sternly through your gritted teeth. A wave of deja vu hits, almost like you’ve done this exact scenario before but with someone else. “I’ve–I’ve had enough.”

Right. You said the same words to Namjoon.

When she finally concedes and shuts the door behind her, your body releases the tension and you free the held breath from your lungs. Being in your twenties and lost in life was enough – having to figure out where you fit in the world, deciding whether or not someone is right for you, and if you want to spend the rest of your life with them (or… do you even want that for yourself?) was more than you needed on your plate, but dealing with your best friend trying to dictate every choice you make was only adding to the pressure. She’s supposed to make things easier, not harder.

As you lock the handle, you’re left with the next issue to tackle on your list.

Choi Seungcheol.

Where does this… leave the two of you? The situation was between him and Yubin, after all, but why did it feel like the indignation he’s radiating is toward you, too?

“I… I think Imma sleep in the garage,” he announces, walking over to the coat hook to grab his jacket. “I appreciate your offer of lettin’ me crash here–”

“— But what?” you interrupt, perplexed. You didn’t do anything wrong, so why are you paying the consequences of someone who did? “You’re–you’re pushing me away again. Did I do something?”

“I’m just —” he pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. When he speaks this time around, his voice is gentler and calmed. Folding the jacket over his arm, he lets out a sigh. “Do you know why I fell for you?”

You blink blankly. It’s the question you ask constantly but Seungcheol never gives a straightforward answer, of course you’re curious and have no idea how. “Why?”

“Because you’re simple,” Seungcheol begins, hands slipping into the front pockets of his sweatpants. “Not in a bad way, but in a good way. Simple as in — you’re not living the type of life that my parents live and want me to. Every action I make is judged — from what I decide to do after high school, what girls I date, and what I just want to do generally. You? The simplicity goes down to the point where you’re craving a corn dog in the middle of the night so you pop a frozen one into the air fryer. Even when I poke fun at how much ketchup you pour, all you do is give me the side eye and continue.”

Rolling your lips, you’re left clueless. Where’s he going with this?

“I wanna love someone I admire,” and somehow, with just a few words, there’s a twinge in your chest. “I admire you. I admire the way you live your life — in spite of some drama—you live it in simplicity. You drive a car that could be replaced, but you choose not to. ‘It works’ is your mentality, not that it’s out of date and you want the newest and prettiest toy at the dealership. You’re just unapologetically you.”

“That doesn’t make me special,” you interject, and Seungcheol lets out a laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“It doesn’t,” he clarifies. It’s a bit offensive, but the reality of things. What makes you so different from all the other girls he’s met–how is it that you stick out the most from the plethora of women he’s encountered? “That’s just a portion of what makes up you. You’re not special because you’re simple – you’re special to me because… you make me feel comfortable. Like I don’t gotta flaunt my money around you, and you could say that about anyone, ‘cause you’re right, you can. But I’un feel that way about them. I feel that ‘bout you.”

“But you… you don’t want to be with me right now. You said so yourself – you need space because you can’t tell if my feelings are real.”

“Because I really can’t,” he admits solemnly, eyes trailing elsewhere as he licks his lips. “This whole thing with Yubin – fine, whatever. I’ll deal with her and Namjoon for you, but that’s ‘cause I like you. I wanted to be with you in the beginning because I thought you’d give me an ounce of a chance and you were just unsure since Namjoon kept putting things into your head. But I know now that it was your decision, and when you ignored my feelings toward you, that was your choice. Not Namjoon’s doing, not Yubin’s. You refuse to accept anything I’ve said, and it makes it hard to believe that you woke up one day and embraced me. You didn’t – you just feel guilty. You thought you lost me for a moment, and now you’re wondering if you’re missing out.”

The silence between the two of you is loud. It lasts for a couple minutes before you finally break it, words shaky and uncertain.

“What does this mean for us?”

As much as you hate to admit it, you sort of miss him. His cologne, the scent of the gel in his hair, the smug look on his face, and his fatuous pick up lines were just a few things to name off the top of your head, but the reality of it all is that you miss him. He used to just be some contemptible guy in your life that wouldn’t fuck off, but now, you’re suddenly wishing that he’d be by your side, chasing for your attention. You never know what you have until it’s gone, right?

You haven’t seen Seungcheol in over a week.

And blaming Yubin for him disappearing from your life in minutes is easy, but the real answer would be that you drove him away.

The garage door is closed, but you can hear the clanging of his tools from inside and the fluorescent lights beaming through the cracks of the framing gives it away that he’s here. Rent was due yesterday, and instead of calling you up with a tacky line to meet up with him so that he could transfer the money to you online (it was totally unnecessary, but he claims he wanted to see your pretty face), he just… sent you money. Nothing more, nothing less. Seungcheol wants space—he made that very clear.

At work, your mind works overtime.

The glass walls of your office look out into the workspace shared among your coworkers – the promotion was great in terms of what’s now written on your paycheck, but the position change came with an isolated office and your Outlook inbox incessantly ringing with notifications of new emails. The clacking against the keyboards, clicking of mouses, soft murmurs of those who visit another’s cubicle to stir up a conversation and the gossip that occurs by the water cooler isn’t audible anymore. The peacefulness is hostile – the heavy sounds of traffic, honking, and bystanders on the street below are usually a distraction, but today, Seungcheol causes the commotion in your mind.

What did this mean for you? For you and Seungcheol? Are you supposed to apologize? Do you… start chasing him?

But that would make you seem soft and like every other girl… right?

You scratch your head.

Guys are always confusing—you’ve yet to find a guy that’s straightforward and honest… that is until you met Seungcheol. He tells you exactly how it is; from his endeavors in his past life up until his feelings for you presently, he doesn’t hide anything from you besides the extent of his parents’ wealth. But he had his reasons for that, right? Were they even justifiable?

Even so, that didn’t matter to you.

But why are you having a hard time reading an uncomplicated yet complicated guy?

Before your thoughts could spiral further, one of your managers knocks on the door with an anxious smile. When you gesture him to come in, he eases his steps toward you slowly.

“Heyyy,” he begins, dragging his greeting. You spot a twitch in his jaw; it tightens and loosens with the occasional gulp. Dokyeom is a great boss — what you thought was impossible, separating management and friendship, he made it work. “Listen, remember that client we had a couple months ago? The software company – the one where –”

“Yeah,” you interrupt with a raised brow. Whenever Dokyeom gets nervous, he tends to add information into the conversation that may be necessary for someone who hadn’t been involved in anything earlier and needs context, but you weren’t one of those people this time. “I remember them. What’s up?”

“This… this may be a lot to ask from you but they’re asking us to attend their banquet this weekend. We helped increase their numbers, and they want us to celebrate with them.”

“I… don’t really want to go,” you confess, and Dokyeom plops into the seat across from your desk. “I haven’t been in the mood to… socialize.”

He puffs his cheeks. “Well, what if I told you that this isn’t something I’m asking from you, but demanding that you do?”

Well, this is different.

“If you’re making me, do I even have room for objection?”

He responds with a ‘no,’ a smile stretching on his face from ear to ear. “But you can at least go with Rowoon from business development. He said he’d be more than happy to accompany you.”

Truthfully, that doesn’t persuade you.

When Dokyeom leaves, not taking ‘no’ for an answer, the thought still doesn’t excite you. Why would you want to go to a banquet to celebrate the success of your project with a coworker while you’re occupied with barely making it to work? The drag marks from the bed to the front door says it all.

And when you’re at the water cooler, attempting to refill the 64oz Hydroflask (which you regret buying now, mostly because you’re stuck standing there for a solid 5 minutes because of the slow flow of the stream), your coworker, Hani, stops by. Despite the amount of people you dislike having small talk, Hani is one of the few you don’t despise.

“So,” she begins, popping her lips. “I heard you got roped into attending that party for the Choi project.”

You groan, a hand on your waist as you stare at the brutally lethargic current. “Yeah, tell me about it. Dokyeom insists I go — he said he can’t because his wife won’t let him. Something about finding a rich girl there and leaving her. So I’m left with the option of going alone or going with Rowoon.”

Instead of seeing it from your perspective, Hani sees the glass half full. With a raised brow, she taps your shoulder in a joking manner. “You do realize what Rowoon looks like, right?”

In all honesty, you haven’t. With the hybrid workplace being the new thing, you can’t quite say you can identify all the workers in your office, especially when turning on your webcams is optional. “Um… not really. Seen him a couple times on Teams, but I think his camera was broken whenever we were on a call together.”

Hani is quick to pull her phone out of her back pocket; tapping in her passcode at the speed of light, you recall the last time you mentioned a guy you were seeing was found within seconds of her instantaneous instagram searches. “Internet stalking is a skill that can’t always be taught. You need to feel the vibes,” she said last time, and now she showcases the talent once again. Within mere seconds, she pulls up Rowoon’s Instagram account and shoves her phone in your face.

Oh. He is cute.

He’s got the sweet gentleman look to him; the gelled hair, soft smile, and most of the pictures on his feed consisted of him, food, or a pretty skyline behind his equally attractive silhouette. In one of the photos, you swear you almost heard a ding! sound at the sight of his pearly white teeth. Why does he look like a model for someone who works a corporate job?

“You’re going with him,” she states. “He’s hot. He’s sweet. Smart. Available,” Hani practically sings. “You’re single, too. Please don’t pass up on this opportunity because of some boy.”

You blink blankly in shock. “How–What makes you think I’m turning down Rowoon’s company because of a guy?”

“You got them dejected eyes. Those dejected eyes with hints of love in it. Almost like you got your heart broken or something. I’ll find him on Instagram later–first, we need to get you to go to that banquet with Rowoon.”

Puffing up your cheeks, you pull out the bottle when the water nears the brim. Hani has good intentions but you don’t know if you should be appreciative or find it overbearing. Nonetheless, the one thing Hani doesn’t have in common with your other friends is that she doesn’t probe about Seungcheol–even if she already speculated what could’ve happened. Instead, she offers you another option that’ll keep your mind busy.

Maybe Rowoon would be a good distraction. It doesn’t hurt to have some eye candy, right? After all, where you stand with Seungcheol is a blur — he doesn’t want to see nor talk to you, and you haven’t given him a good reason to (in his terms, of course). But what’s the point then? Why do you have to try so hard to “win” him over when he insists on being the one who does it? It’s not like he believes you and your feelings anyway. How is it that suddenly the tables have turned? Either way, you’ll regret this decision to see Rowoon a lot less than agreeing to be Seungcheol’s fake girlfriend.

You smooth out the wrinkles of your dress with the warmth of the palm of your hands in front of the full length mirror in your living room. This black slip with an open back is more provocative than you’d like, but after the dresses that had a broken zipper, grass stain (from what?), torn up hemline, and just simply didn’t fit, this was the best option and you weren’t allowed to turn back on the invitation now.

Puffing up your cheeks, you grab your camel trench coat from your closet. Rowoon should be picking you up any minute now, and honestly, even though this isn’t really a date, he’s got you nervous with your heart racing in its beats.

But not in the same way as Seungcheol —

Wait, pause. Why’d you bring up Seungcheol?

Tonight is supposed to be everything but Seungcheol, and the fact you unconsciously brought him up only makes you seethe.

Rowoon doesn’t have the aroma remnants from cigarettes; his cologne wafts underneath your nose, a blend of citrus and sandalwood, he’s the definition of a man, someone independent, emotionally intelligent, and overall full of kind and generosity. He opens the door for you when you exit the car, quickly shuffling out of the front seat just to do it. Rowoon doesn’t recklessly ride a motorcycle, no, instead, he drives a reliable car – granted, it’s BMW and the amount of times you heard Seungcheol shit talk that manu–

Wait, why are you thinking about Seungcheol again?

He haunts you, worse than the ghosts and demons do in the horror movies he’s too afraid to watch (but won’t admit it), and the fact that even when Rowoon is trying to hold a conversation with you and you’re still thinking about Seungcheol is unbelievable. If he doesn’t trust you and your feelings, then why are you even bothering to think about him the slightest?

“I heard you played a big role on this project,” he says, voice thick and sweet as honey. With a hand on the steering wheel, he doesn’t fail to glance over at you every now and then so you can see from his actions that you have the entirety of his attention. “It’s what got you that promotion, right? Congrats on that. They’re a huge client.”

You rub the side of your neck sheepishly. “Haha, yeah. I didn’t really expect it–but I guess all those nights staying in my cubicle with empty boxes of Chinese food instead of partying was worth it. Lost a couple dates, yeah, but at least I’m an independent woman in power!” Although it’s true, you meant it in a cheesy, joking manner.

But it feels more embarrassing than funny with your fist and arm up in the air after that corny comment.

Would it be you if you didn’t make yourself look stupid in front of a hot guy?

“Sorry–not even sure why I did that.” You are definitely mentally smacking yourself up the head. This never happened with Seungcheol before, why are you doing this in front of Rowoon! Is it because you actually see him as a potential candidate? Seungcheol was just a guy that hit on you from time-to-time and rented out your garage. Rowoon works in business development at your office with a charming smile that wins you both jobs and your heart.

Oh. Now you hear yourself.

Maybe that’s why Seungcheol doesn’t believe you.

But none of that matters now. He said it already. Choi Seungcheol doesn’t trust your so-called feelings for him and that’s that.

“It’s cute,” Rowoon chuckles, cheekbones prominent with his wide smile. “You always seemed intimidating at work. I’m glad you’re a lot more loose than that.”

You turn to look at him with a raised brow. “Do I… Do I seem intimidating?”

Rowoon tilts his head a bit, rolling his lips for a moment to gather his thoughts. Hesitant, afraid to offend you, he chooses his words carefully before speaking his mind. “A bit. The whole… isolated office, glass walls, and Dokyeom meeting to talk to you in your office despite his position on the hierarchy, you definitely seem important.”

“And important equates to intimidating?”

He admits to you that your demeanor has always been serious; the last exchange that you had with him (and truthfully, you didn’t even remember this), you accidentally bumped into him after heating up your pasta in the microwave without saying a word. To him, it wasn’t rude (it definitely was), but instead, it was “standing your ground.” You can’t help but laugh at his explanation–you’re a dick to him but he still tries to sweeten it up.

Maybe you should give Rowoon a shot. It’s not like he’s going to be your boyfriend just from a little flirting, right? It’ll be just for fun. Just for the night.

The house is humongous. Well, even the fucking word humongous is an understatement.

Rowoon is equally in awe, stating something along the lines of, “this is a whole mansion,” but this place isn’t just a mansion either–that’s just a portion of the property. The land extends what feels like 3 acres, housing the mansion, a garage big enough to fit at least ten cars, a tennis court, a fountain in the middle of a garden, a guest house (imagine having two homes on one property), and even the living quarters for the staff (just kidding, make that three). The roundabout at the main entrance should’ve given it away (and the valets that grabbed the cars–apparently, they work at the residence full time. Who has valets full time?)

Rumor has it, they have an underground pool, a hot tub, and two home gyms. Two! Normal people don’t even have one.

Truly, you’ll never fully understand how people could even be this wealthy. To add onto that, you can’t even believe you got invited to be here to witness it all. Is this how Yubin lives? You’ve never been to her childhood home before, but just visiting her apartment alone left you in astonishment. Four of your apartment was enough to fit one floor in her penthouse.

“This is… kinda crazy,” you admit, passing your coat to the clerk. “I can’t imagine growing up here.”

“I went to a private school,” Rowoon says, grabbing the number slip from the employee. “There were quite a handful of students that attended and lived in mansions. It’s pretty much what you expect it to be.”

“What? House parties when the parents are away? Got so rowdy that the cops came.”

“It seems like a movie cliche, but it’s more real than you think.”

Maybe public school in a city suburb didn’t prepare you well enough for this.

You feel out of place here. Adjusting the sides of your dress, it makes you a little conscious of the fact that you got yours from a Target collection rather than a store on the Rue Faubourg Saint-Honoré strip that only sells luxury name brands or from a private appointment with a famous designer that requires a letter of recommendation or invitation just to have you written in their calendar for a fitting.

“Just play it chill,” Rowoon says, hand hovering your lower back to guide you inside. He could feel your nervousness, displaying that warming grin of his in hopes it brings some comfort. “I’m sure we don’t have to socialize that much. Just showing face and greeting Mr. Choi should be enough. He’d be happy we made the effort.”

Although you would much prefer ditching and going back home where being underneath a blanket on your couch while streaming a sitcom, advice from someone in the business development department at work would be the option you have to take if it meant developing good relations with the client for potential future clients. Mr. Choi owned one of the biggest software programs globally, which meant if you got on his good side, the possibilities for connections are endless.

You roll your lips. Maybe alcohol will give you a bit more of a confidence boost–you don’t do well in settings like these, especially since you know nobody else other than Rowoon, and even Rowoon himself, you don’t really know that well.

As a server walks by with a tray of glasses filled with champagne at the perfect timing; snatching one up, Rowoon watches as you down it in one shot.

“Um, impressive. And you don’t have to burp?”

You press your hand against your chest. “Burns a little, but I’m holding it in out of respect.” With a soft chuckle, he shakes his head.

Okay, after the fourth glass of champagne, you’re a bit bold.

The third and fourth ones weren’t planned–initially, you figured that two would be good enough to get you a little buzzed, just enough to hold a conversation with Rowoon but also prepare you with the aftershocks of liquid courage that you desperately need for when you speak to Mr. Choi. It’s different approaching him outside of a conference room, especially in a formal event like this, you’re stepping outside of your comfort zone.

But you’re definitely comfortable after that last glass of champagne.

Rowoon suddenly looks a lot more attractive underneath the lights.

You might have an ulterior motive tonight.

The event is set in the backyard, the stairs leading into the house being the main stage and the tables are scattered across the lawn with white tablecloths. There are a couple highboy tables for casual discussions over a drink, one you’ve been leaning on for the past half hour with your elbows pressed as close together as you can.

The thought itself didn’t present until about… well, half an hour ago. Rowoon has been nothing but a gentleman all night; laughing at your stupid jokes, never judging when you accidentally overshare (something you need to work on is shutting the fuck up when you’ve got a little alcohol in your system), and even managing to separate you from your work. People don’t usually do that – especially when they work with you.

There’s really no reason for you to not shoot your shot with Rowoon. He practically checks off all the boxes on your list of characteristics you want your future boyfriend to have: handsome, kind, stable job, a family person, and he’s even into woodworking! He sweetly offers to make a new set of chairs for you since you mentioned how you broke it that one night. That night with Seungcheol.

Fuck. Seungcheol.

You feel like this thing between Seungcheol is like that leg that cracked on the chair. The constant creaking each time you sat on it were like the red flags that you probably shouldn’t be with him, that it was time to part ways with both the chair and Seungcheol, and the nail that you managed to drill in to temporarily fix it wasn’t really a solution. Maybe you need a new chair–a new guy, really. That guy could be Rowoon.

But what’s embarrassing is that even though you’re here, at this extravagant place with a sultry dress, makeup and hair done, a strand twirling around your finger as you giggle at another one of Rowoon’s attempt to joke, you’re still fucking thinking about Choi Seungcheol. He doesn’t even check anything off that list of yours; he’s… well, yeah, he’s handsome, and… okay, he’s kind too–but he doesn’t have a stable– well, he gets frequent customers at your garage, you’ve seen a handful of people come by. The only thing you could hold against him was that he was sort of a family man… but… he also is? Very confusing.

You’ve never been with a guy who got punched over you. Or someone who complicates things by asking to be your fake boyfriend, or someone who acted so well at being your boyfriend that you almost believed it when he said he harbors these feelings for you when he evidently cares for the list of women he’s slept with.

Then again, those are claims that were made by Namjoon and Yubin, who clearly couldn’t be trusted.

It would be easier to start fresh with Rowoon, or any guy, really. There wouldn’t be this same hesitance that you have with Seungcheol – but the more you continue to think about it, no one… makes you go out of your comfort zone like Seungcheol does. Since when did you sleep with a guy the first night you meet him? And how do you continuously let him into your house, despite the fact that you absolutely hate company? Even Yubin isn’t allowed over. And when did you… cry like that, grow that concerned, and feel that rush of emotions that feared for the potential loss of a boy who isn’t even yours?

Either way, your thoughts get interrupted when Mr. Choi takes the “stage,” microphone in hand as he clears his throat to quiet the crowd. He’s got on the typical black tuxedo and white dress shirt underneath (kinda matches the salt and pepper that is his hair) with his wife beside him that really takes the spotlight with her features. She smiles so brightly, a smile that feels familiar, with high cheekbones and long lashes that brushes against them. Her lavender gown is beautiful, but she is the mean beauty. Apparently, the couple had two sons–one that stands beside Mr. Choi, and the other… is late, but he seems to be making his way up the steps to be next to his mother. His silhouette seems familiar, but you pay no mind to it.

That is, until… he turns around.

You think you’re hallucinating–maybe you’ve had too much alcohol for the night and with all the things that went down with Seungcheol, it would be the reason why you think he’s in front of you. He’s been occupying your mind frequently, after all, so it’s a good explanation.

Right?

Right.

But you spoke too soon.

“I want to thank you all for attending our event,” his father begins, glasses glaring from the light. He doesn’t look like Seungcheol – in fact, Mr. Choi looks like his other son, which means Seungcheol took all his mother’s genes. “We’ve been working hard to improve our business, to keep food on our employees’ tables, and expand as a company in order to keep up with the industry. I’d like to thank our executive team…” Mr. Choi starts to name people that you didn’t know, but you clap along with the crowd, “... and our third party team that assisted us with the changes…” and when he mentions the name of your company, he gestures to you and Rowoon in the crowd before stating your name clearly.

And your eyes meet with Seungcheol.

You don’t know what you expect from him – will he be mad, upset, happy? The furrow of his brows only exhibit confusion, but beyond that, you don’t know how he feels.

When Mr. Choi finishes off his speech, you do your best to avoid Seungcheol. Attention all on Rowoon, you listen to him babble on about his recent woodworking project, but at this point, you’re tuning him out and just nodding. How unlucky are you that you of course would see Seungcheol here! At a fucking work event. With a guy you’re trying to hit on. A hot guy, a matter-of-fact, and the amount of times you have to remind yourself that Seungcheol made it clear that he needed space from you is only reassuring that pressing your chest together for Rowoon to get a better view of the girls is what you need to do to move forward.

“... and I found crotch lumber!” he exclaims, and you have no clue what the fuck he’s talking about but with how he flexes his arm in that tight shirt in excitement, you want to do his–

“Hey,” that voice greets, his hot breath against your shoulder. “Can we talk?”

“Sorry, do I know you?”

Seungcheol licks his teeth in annoyance.

Admittingly, you were so shocked to see him earlier that you barely noticed him in his suit. Why… Why are the sleeves of his blazer so snug? Hair slicked back and even having shaved his five o’clock stache, he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his trousers, sucking in his cheeks in irritation. “Baby, don’t play. What are you doing here?”

Baby. How does he manage to make your heart clench with one word?

“I got invited here,” you turn your body to face him completely. You can only imagine what Rowoon thinks of the two of you, especially with the pet name that Seungcheol throws so casually. “Apparently, I’ve worked for your dad and didn’t even realize it.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw before gesturing at Rowoon with it. “And who’s he?”

“My date slash co-worker.”

Oh, he didn’t like that answer. “Come. Let’s talk.” Seungcheol places his hand on your arm, but seconds after, Rowoon has a grip on Seungcheol’s wrist. Their eyes lock, and you could feel the burning lasers that Seungcheol shoots–it feels like deja vu.

“Who are you?”

← last chapter | next chapter →

#seungcheol smut #seungcheol #scoups #scoups fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt smut

628 notes · View notes