PLAY
pairing: wonho/reader word count: 579 note: I used Wonho’s stage name because that’s how I think of him. Hoseok feels too strange to me. *shrugs* summary: Wonho likes to play.
Wonho likes to play.
He has two different sides—more than two, ten, twenty, it would take you years to uncover everything about him and even then he’d still surprise you. His facets have facets, you tell him, and he laughs.
“What does that even mean?” he asks.
You don’t know how to explain. If you tried, it would sound something like this:
Wonho is playful. But his playfulness has two sides. The first is the one he shows most often. I’m harmless is tucked in the corner of his wide smile. His laugh gets loud, a staccato tempo that usually follows Minhyuk or Jooheon as he abuses his hyung status. His games get competitive because he hates to lose, which most recently has meant that he’ll smear the frosting from his cake all over your face and in your hair while trying to force you to take the last bite.
The second side is the side that everyone else only sees hints of.
“Hold still,” he says, demands, really, but when Wonho gets like this, everything he says comes out like a demand.
Ten minutes ago you were sitting on the couch together, watching whatever was on TV, and then he’d started poking you. Poking had turned into tickling, which—a half second ago—had turned into this: you flat on your back, one foot touching the floor in an aborted attempt to slide out from under him, Wonho crouched over you with that something else sparking in his eyes.
You swallow.
“Hold still,” he says again. His elbow is planted by your shoulder, his hand pressing ever so slightly on your forehead to underscore his instructions. His other hand is at your throat, just resting, the lightest weight compared to the way the rest of him is holding you down. Then his thumb nudges your jaw, pushing it up so your chin is lifted to the ceiling, and you can feel him shift above you, feel his breath brush your neck in a soft exhale before—
The sharp press of teeth.
You suck in air but your gasp is caught in your throat, exactly where that smooth grin of his is pressing. You can feel him smile wider. Then the pressure is gone, replaced by moist heat—tongue, you think—and cool air as he rolls off of you onto the floor with a grunt and a pout.
Five minutes ago you would have rolled your eyes. You’re not sure you can even do that at this point.
“What?” His eyebrows lift as you sit up and feel with one hand at your throat.
“You bit me.”
He laughs and makes his eyes big. “I would never.”
“Wonho.”
“Biting means I would do this.” He snaps his teeth together. “All I did was—” He grabs your arm before you can snatch it back and presses the edge of his teeth into the skin. Two seconds, then gone. They don’t even leave a mark. (Part of you is disappointed.)
He reaches up toward the couch again and for a second you think he’s going for your arm again, but then his fingers close around the remote and he starts flipping channels on the TV. Completely nonchalant. Only you can catch the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile he’s trying to hide.
Like this whole thing is just a game.
If there’s one thing to know about Wonho, it’s that he never gets tired of playing.