Oneshot | All Mine - My Phone My Win

All Mine - My Phone, My Win

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'Wait, what is this--? Bob?!'

You glanced up at Hoseok fiddling with your phone, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. You loved to watch him, the stern lines of his face and the rare peek of a tongue - only showing itself in deep thought.

Why he had your phone in the first place was simple, you had poked at his competitive streak to best you in a stupid, silly game you loved.

Which he never declined.

But there was a point to it.

Usually, whenever he touched you phone, you found his contact name as Your Brightest Sunshine or something enough to make you cringe. Sweet as cotton candy dipped in Nutella - a recipe enough to make you gag but gorge on it the same.

Not that you'd ever tell him.

Well, maybe one day...

The TV left to entertain itself, you turned to him with a tease your lips. 'It makes sense, listen-, Hoseok-, Hobi-hobs-bobs-bob.'

'But really, a Bob?' he gawked, his frown perplexed, and your fingertips itched to soothe the crease between his brows.

Instead you pushed your fingers into your messy bun, fixing it before it fell all over your face. There was a point in your plan which you counted on - once he had your phone, he'd never give it back without some sort of a payback.

So when your reached for it, he was up and gone before you could blink. Only a gust of wind proof he'd moved.

You whined only for the show when he stood outside of your arm's reach, his eyes following your every move. Waiting for you to charge, but that wasn't the plan.

'You better change it.' A hint of disbelief in his voice, tainted by a threat of melted chocolate with a solid edge. He'd taken the bait.

Good.

Crossing your arms with a humph, you leaned into the cushions. But the invitation lingered in the air as the sweetest temptation, and it was hard to resist.

How complex, needing to resist when you'd started it.

'You don't like it? I think Bob sounds sexy.'

A short gasp as his nostrils flared. As if what you said was out of this world. So unheard of that it should be illegal.

But you knew something he hadn't yet realised - one itty-bitty fact deciding everything.

Your phone, your win. Bob stayed.

Not that it tickled your fancy either, to be fair. Not when his own beautiful name tasted of rich honey on the tip of your tongue, rolling off your lips with ease.

Or sometimes in a breathy whisper, when he did bad, bad things.

But your mind was set on the golden medal. You knew he'd sulk for a bit, but it'd be fine.

It'd only be for mere minutes, you assured yourself, before a pair of arms would snake around your waist. Almost a tradition. Its hold strong and secure, as if touching you was never enough.

It never was.

And when his thumb unconsciously would trace circles under the hem of your shirt, you'd be a goner, somewhere up in the clouds, sitting on the softest one that tasted of marshmallows.

You trusted this man with your whole heart.

Pulled back from a daydream, you saw his eyes clouding over - he'd come to a decision.