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diamonddaze01 · 17 hours ago

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38 “I am not losing to you again!” + Seungcheol (naturally lol) ☺️

game over!

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader | wc: 929 words prompt: "I am not losing to you again!" | warnings: none

The neon lights of the arcade bar pulsed in rhythm with the bass-heavy music, painting streaks of pink and blue across the glossy black floor. Seungcheol leaned against the bar, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass, when his attention was pulled toward the growing crowd near the DDR machine. Cheers erupted as someone nailed another perfect combo, her movements sharp and fluid, like she was born to do this.

“Who’s that?” Seungcheol asked, tilting his head toward the commotion.

Joshua followed his gaze, then smirked. “Oh, that’s Y/N. Umji’s friend. We graduated together.”

“You know her?” Seungcheol narrowed his eyes, his competitive streak already buzzing to life.

Joshua shrugged lazily. “Kinda. We’ve hung out a couple times. Didn’t know she was, like, a DDR god, though.”

Jeonghan, propping himself up on the bar beside them, chuckled. “Cheol, isn’t DDR your thing? You’ve been bragging about being unbeatable since freshman year.”

“I am unbeatable,” Seungcheol muttered, straightening his posture. He set his drink down and adjusted his sleeves, eyes locked on the DDR machine like it was a battlefield. “Guess I’ll have to remind everyone.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow as a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “She’s been going for thirty minutes straight, man. You sure about this?”

“I’m not losing to anyone tonight,” Seungcheol declared, his jaw set.

The closer he got to the DDR machine, the clearer you became—a whirlwind of movement that barely seemed human. Your feet moved like they were magnetized to the arrows, hitting every beat perfectly as your eyes remained glued to the screen. Sweat glistened faintly on your forehead, but your breathing was even, steady, like this wasn’t even a challenge.

As the final song came to an end, the crowd burst into applause. You stepped back from the platform, brushing stray strands of hair from your face, and laughed as Umji handed you a water bottle. “Easy,” you said with a grin, wiping your forehead.

Umji nudged you suddenly, her gaze darting to Seungcheol. “Heads up. Challenger approaching.”

You turned to see him: tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a quiet confidence that teetered on cocky. His dark eyes met yours, and his lips curved into a small smirk. “Mind if I take you on?” he asked, his tone casual but competitive.

You cocked an eyebrow, unable to hold back a grin. “You think you can keep up?”

“I don’t think. I know,” he shot back, stepping onto the machine with the kind of swagger that made Umji stifle a laugh beside you.

Five minutes later, that swagger was gone.

Seungcheol was bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air as you hopped off the platform without a single misstep. The crowd’s cheers blended with laughter as Jeonghan slapped the bar in delight.

“That was fast,” you teased, offering Seungcheol a sip from your water bottle. “Not bad, though. For a beginner.”

Seungcheol straightened, his pride taking a visible hit. His hair stuck to his forehead, and he looked up at you with a mix of disbelief and begrudging admiration. “Beginner? I’ve been playing since middle school.”

“Really?” You feigned surprise, lips quirking. “Well, you’re doing great. For someone who just started.”

A new song began to blare from the machine as the crowd egged him on for another round. “One more,” Seungcheol said, stepping back onto the platform. “This time, I’m winning.”

He didn’t.

Five games later, the scoreboard was a massacre. Your name dominated the rankings, while his sat embarrassingly low. By the seventh game, his foot slipped mid-song, and he barely caught himself from face-planting.

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” he finally groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. He staggered off the platform and leaned against a nearby table, panting. “You’re not human. I’m convinced.”

The crowd, now thinning, clapped you on the back and murmured their farewells as you stepped off the machine. “You’re not bad,” you told him, an amused glint in your eyes. “Just… not good.”

Seungcheol looked at you, red-faced but grinning. “You’re brutal.”

“And you’re dramatic,” you shot back with a shrug, your tone light.

Jeonghan and Joshua approached then, Joshua slinging an arm over Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Man, I thought you’d last longer than that. Seven games, and you didn’t win a single round?”

“Shut up, Josh,” Seungcheol grumbled, but his smile lingered as he wiped his brow.

He glanced at you again, and this time his confidence wavered. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was working up the courage to say something. “So,” he began awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Can I, uh… maybe get your number? For a rematch. Or something.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “A rematch? After that?”

“Well,” he said, his tone softening. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be DDR. We could just… I don’t know. Talk sometime?”

Umji elbowed you in the ribs, her grin practically splitting her face. You rolled your eyes at her, but a smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed a napkin from the table. Scribbling your number down, you handed it to him. “Next time, try to keep up.”

Seungcheol stared at the napkin like it was the key to redemption, his cheeks tinged pink. Jeonghan laughed so hard he had to steady himself on Joshua’s shoulder.

“You’re done for,” Jeonghan said, clapping Seungcheol on the back. “Completely wrecked.”

Seungcheol didn’t care. He folded the napkin carefully, tucking it into his pocket. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking at where you disappeared into the crowd with Umji. A sheepish grin spread across his face. “But it’s worth it.”

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