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[nvutellaz]

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You were lying on Hamzah’s bed, curled up in his oversized t-shirt and your favorite black shorts, the fabric soft against your skin as you scrolled aimlessly through TikTok. The glow of your phone screen reflected in your eyes, but your focus kept drifting. No matter how many videos you swiped past, none of them could hold your attention—not when the real thing you wanted was just a few feet away.

Hamzah was sitting at his desk, headphones snug over his messy curls, fingers flying over his keyboard as he played Fortnite. His eyes were locked onto the screen, his face set in pure concentration. You watched the way his jaw tensed slightly, the furrow in his brow, the sharp focus in his dark eyes. He always looked so good when he was in the zone. But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that he hadn’t looked at you all day.

Every so often, he muttered something to his teammates, his deep voice slightly muffled by the mic. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, his posture completely relaxed, like he had all the time in the world.

Meanwhile, you had been lying there for hours.

Waiting.

Sighing, you tossed your phone onto the bed, pushing the covers off as you got up. You padded over to him, slipping behind his chair. Without a word, you leaned down, draping your arms loosely over his shoulders and resting your chin against the curve of his neck. His skin was warm beneath your cheek, and you inhaled his scent—something clean and familiar, like fresh laundry mixed with his cologne.

Hamzah barely reacted, his eyes flicking toward you for a brief second before refocusing on his game.

“What’s up?” he asked casually, reaching up to adjust his headset as he muted his mic.

“I’m bored…” you admitted, though that wasn’t really the whole truth.

He hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t turn away from the screen.

“And,” you continued, voice softer now, “you kinda haven’t paid attention to me all day.”

That finally got a reaction. He tilted his head slightly toward you, but only for a moment.

“Y/N, I’m in the middle of a match,” he said, eyes still locked onto his screen.

You sighed, shifting so that your lips brushed against his ear. “You said that hours ago. Aren’t Fortnite matches supposed to be short?”

“They are,” he said with a small smirk. “But you know I don’t just play one.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling back slightly. “So what, you’re just gonna ignore me all night?”

He finally glanced at you, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. “I promise after this match, I’ll give you a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why not now?”

“Baby…” His voice was low and teasing. “Just wait.”

You groaned, pulling away as you turned on your heel. “Fine.”

Flopping back onto the bed, you grabbed your phone again, scrolling through Twitter this time. But your mind wasn’t on your feed. You couldn’t focus on anything—because no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you were craving his attention more than usual.

Maybe it was the way he looked tonight, effortlessly attractive, completely lost in his own world. Or maybe it was just because you were so used to him being all over you that his absence felt unnatural. Either way, you felt restless, needy.

You shifted slightly, stretching out your legs as your fingers brushed against your thigh. Absentmindedly, you let them trail up and down, brushing over your stomach before sliding back down. A soft sigh left your lips. It wasn’t enough.

You turned your head toward him, watching him from across the room.

“Hamzah…” you murmured, testing to see if he’d respond.

Nothing.

“Hamzahhh…” you called again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

You huffed, flopping back onto the pillows. He was really testing your patience.

Before you could call his name again, a sudden shout filled the room.

“Fuck!”

You jumped, eyes snapping toward him.

“Fuck this stupid game!” he cursed again, hands gripping the edge of his desk. His character must have just died, because a second later, he ripped off his headset, running a frustrated hand down his face.

“I gotta go, guys,” he muttered into the mic before hastily leaving the game and the call. His fingers moved quickly, shutting off his computer completely.

Then, for the first time in hours, his full attention was on you.

His dark eyes flickered over to the bed, his expression unreadable as he took you in—your oversized t-shirt, the way your legs were curled beneath you, the slight pout on your lips. Slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood up, the sudden silence making your heart beat just a little faster.

He walked toward you, his steps slow and deliberate, the weight of his gaze making you shift under the covers.

“Alright, baby,” he murmured, voice deeper now, more serious. “You wanted my attention?”

You swallowed, nodding as he reached the edge of the bed.

He smirked, leaning down until his face was just inches from yours. His fingers brushed against your thigh, featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve got it.”

And with that, he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, teasing kiss.

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[nvutellaz]

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You and Hamzah had been friends for a long long time. Since 2019, to be exact.

And for just as long, you’d had a problem—a very big, annoying, and undeniably attractive problem.

You had a massive, ridiculous, life-ruining crush on him.

It wasn’t your fault. Not really. Hamzah was stupidly perfect in the worst way possible. Perfect smile, perfect laugh, perfect arms that flexed just enough when he stretched. Perfect personality—when he wasn’t being a complete pain in your ass.

You could never tell him, though. That would be suicidal.

Because Hamzah was a walking contradiction—one second calling you the most gorgeous girl he’s ever met, the next laughing at you for tripping over absolutely nothing. You never knew where you stood with him, and you weren’t about to risk ruining your friendship over feelings you couldn’t control.

So instead, you wrote about him.

Your diary—the one thing that knew the truth.

You had stacks of them, dating all the way back to when you were eight. They weren’t hidden well, but they were hidden enough. And inside those pages, you let yourself be honest—about how much you loved the way he made you laugh, about how obnoxiously pretty he was, about how you could stare at him for hours and never get bored.

Your diary knew everything.

And Hamzah was never supposed to find out.

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It was his idea to have a sleepover.

“It’s been a while, man. Let’s just chill, order some food, maybe watch some trash TV.”

“Fine,” you had said, “but you’re paying for the food.”

Which led you to now—fresh out of the shower, warm towel wrapped around you, music blasting from the bathroom speaker. You didn’t hear a thing outside the bathroom.

Not even the sound of Hamzah in your room.

Not even the pages turning.

You walked out, still toweling your hair, already expecting to find him sprawled on your bed, eating your snacks, making himself at home like he always did.

But he wasn’t there.

Frowning, you stepped further inside—until you saw him.

Hamzah was sitting on the edge of your bed.

Holding your diary.

Your heart stopped.

He had it open, fingers still resting on the pages, dark eyes scanning over your handwriting. He looked so focused—so deep in it that he didn’t even notice you standing there.

Panic slammed into you. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

And then—he read out loud.

“I fucking love you, hm?”

His voice was slow, deliberate, dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

Hamzah looked up, finally noticing you frozen in the doorway. He blinked once, processing, then his lips curled into something between a smirk and pure shock.

“You love me?”

Oh my god.

Your body locked up. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—like your brain just shut the fuck down.

“You—” You swallowed hard, forcing words out. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“No shit.” He turned back to the page, flipping through more of them. “Damn, how long have you been writing about me?”

“Hamzah, put it down.”

”‘God, he’s so perfect. His face, his body, his fucking personality—’”

“HAMZAH.”

He snapped the book shut, but the damage was already done.

The silence was unbearable.

You stood there, towel slipping from your hands, heart in your throat. Hamzah just stared at you—his jaw tight, something dangerous flashing behind his eyes.

You’d never seen him look at you like that before.

“You should’ve told me,” he muttered.

Your stomach twisted. “Told you what? That I have feelings for you? That I—”

“That I feel the same way.”

Your breath hitched.

You blinked, sure you misheard him. “What?”

Hamzah exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Frustrated. Tense. Like he was struggling to hold himself back.

“You think you’re the only one who’s been fighting this?” His voice was low, almost rough. “You think I don’t notice the way I act around you?”

“Hamzah—”

“You’re the only one who makes me feel like this, (Y/N).”

The words hit you like a truck.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Did he just—?

Hamzah suddenly stood, closing the space between you in two steps.

His fingers brushed against yours—hesitant, testing. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

And then—he kissed you.

Soft at first, like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when you grabbed his hoodie and kissed him back, something inside him snapped.

His arms wrapped around you tight, pulling you flush against him. His hands found your waist, your back, everywhere, like he’d been waiting for this forever.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice hoarse. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

You laughed, breathless, dizzy, wrecked. “Because you’re a dumbass.”

“And you’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t want you.”

You smirked. “You did read my diary, after all. I kinda said it first.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

And when he kissed you again—slow, deep, all-consuming—you knew you wouldn’t have to.

Because now, for the first time, he was yours.

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[nvutellaz]

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Hamzah Fics | 19 | Minors DNI

Requests are open—feel free to send one!

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