Stupid [NSFW] - Wooyoung x Reader (ATEEZ)

Stupid

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

☀️ = Reader, 🦊 = Wooyoung, 🐯 = San

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

~*~*~

The only sound you could hear was your own aggressive keypresses. You had paused your music to go to the bathroom and didn't bother hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blurred and refocused, and you blinked, trying to force your eyes not to blur. Sighing, you pushed back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you got back up. It was really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts were racing. And the thoughts had nothing to do with your job. The last thing you needed the day before a project was due was to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thumbed on the wood floor of your hallway as you went down it. Your sister's door was propped open, so you quietly opened the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls cast a faint glow over the room. She was starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Huffing, you stepped out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen. Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exited the hallway and went into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment included the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room was in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sat across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you knew it was just full of boxes of old things. Someday you would have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio for an office or something, but...

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shut, and your eyes focused on the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture was of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covered the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yanked the photograph from the magnet clip and slapped the picture down on the counter. The pitcher followed and as you grabbed a glass, you plucked the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grabbed the photo. Holding it up, you realized it would make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood to see better, but you continued in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halted. The little line split the man's pants from the shoulder of the little girl's white sundress; she was no more than four. She was sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It was weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handed scissors clattered onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drank the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it was gone like it was some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanked into the sink, and you left the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reentered, you yanked the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and went back to your computer. Your chair let out a puff of air when you plopped down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flipped your phone over, so the screen faced up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble showed itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you opened your message app and you sniffed at the message in annoyance.