ttllynotmyshyt

[ttllynotmyshyt]

if u thought i was dead I'm not i just need to wrap up school rn lmao but I'll post when the time comes

[ttllynotmyshyt]

Gumball and Penny - part one

warnings: mention of porn existing, swearing?

yourusername

❤️ 206K 💬 2,213

yourusername fcuk it!!! u are a FISH. act like it. 😂😂

---

thatmartinkid ❤️ liked by creator okay so cool so if I'm a fish then I'm nature and nature is beautiful and so you just called me beautiful

hamzahthefantastic ❤️ liked by creator when are we getting the summer vlog

→ yourusername when you get me epic freaking taco bell 😂😂

mandys_iphone ❤️ liked by creator cutest girl princess

→ yourusername girl i think your screen brightness was too low and u saw ur reflection 😛😉😘

ludwigahgren wow you left home? maybe now that you've seen one country you can finally win one game with me at geoguessr?

→ yourusername i think i dislike you

y/nscumsock yasss queen posted 😍

→ yourusername baby what's your username supposed to mean 😟

user1 are we ever getting the lego the incredibles video we were promised woman

→ yourusername woahh with that tone never ho

user2 call me the friend that's too woke but she and hamzah could be lovers

→ user3 nah i definitely think they're more like siblings

user4 my favs uniting i haven't felt this feeling since 2NE1 coachella incident

user5 when are you gonna stream again?

→ yourusername soon, i spilled soda over my mic so i need toget a new one but this month for sure <3

a summer vacation, discombobulation (check out the link)

A/N: YALL FW THIS??

[ttllynotmyshyt]

a summer vacation, discombobulation

A closeup of Martin's face, a serious tone.

"hello guys. welcome to the fricking... vlog. we are going on summer vacation with my beautiful girlfriend Mandy. And i guess also Hamzah is here and Y/n is also here. welcome." (applause sound effect)

Hamzah filming a sleepy Y/n in her plane seat.

"little miss vacation, obviously asleep" camera turns to face him, uncomfortably close up before she takes it from him. "obviously guys you can see who's the real influencer here and it's me. it's me and Martin. the girls are just... embarrassing, truly. Mandy's reading a book already and Y/n is fighting sleep, not gamerlike. I know girls have it different and... different hormones, i guess they turn on airplane mode like you do in your phon-"

the clip gets cut off, interrupted by a video of the view through the airplane window and a laughter sound effect.

A quiet drive to the destination, Y/n recording, showing everyone except her (and the uber driver) asleep, the camera points to Hamzah before back to her. "who's sleeping like an embarrassing little hoe now? not much gamerlike" she whispers.

A different part of the car ride, showing Hamzah and Martin entertaining a conversation with the uber driver in the most abstract way possible.

“So what’s the best beach out here?” Martin asked, leaning forward like he was on a travel show.

"All of them" the driver shrugged "just not the touristy ones. those are.... how you say- hella lame." he laughed.

From the back, Hamzah snorted. “Boi, not hella lame.”

Martin grinned. “You heard the man. We want the local experience. Point us to the least Instagrammed coastline.”

The driver smiled in the mirror. “You people are funny.”

“We get that a lot,” Hamzah deadpanned. “But only in France.”

Y/n turned her head to the window, trying not to laugh as Martin launched into a story about the time he “accidentally” got locked out of a hostel in Lisbon. By the time they pulled up to the Airbnb, the driver was offering them a discount for “being so unserious.”

Martin showing off the Airbnb once they arrived

"MTV Cribs: but if we were broke and we were in the foreign vacation edition" He said with a dumb smirk as Y/n followed him with a camera, asking questions.

"What's your favorite french dish?"

"I'm gonna have to say... mug" he smirked, referencing Demi Lovato.

during the tour suddenly hamzah could be heard yelling:

“Boi what the hell?—y’all gotta come see this.”

Everyone rushes in expecting a bug or a broken AC, but instead they find him standing in front of a massive canvas painting of a goat wearing sunglasses and a striped shirt, posed like it’s the Mona Lisa.

He points dramatically. “Why he lowkey look like Martin tho.”

Martin walks in, squints at it, then nods. “Damn. That goat got my side profile.”

Hamzah starts filming it up close like it’s a documentary. “This right here is Goatmar. Protector of the house. Protector of the vibes.'

"hey, but check this out because I'm a goat. this means I'm the goat, that i'm the greatest of all time" he smirked and tilted his head sideways with an eyebrow raise.

going evening grocery shopping with Martin getting distracted and wanting to buy a fugly amongus themed shirt, Y/n and Hamzah fighting over what drinks to get and Mandy being the responsible adult person, actually making sure they get the stuff they need.

A montage of the first day at the beach and everyone struggling with sunscreen. Mandy reading a book and tanning, Hamzah trying to catch her off guard and throw Y/n in the water. mixed with shots recorded by martin of himself buying drinks for everyone.

Y/n on her sunbed complaining about getting life-changing sunburn, covering herself with a towel and threatening to never go on vacation like this ever again.

early evening on the Airbnb's balcony. crickets acting as white noise for hamzah's secret recording of y/n he's taking sneakily with his phone. she's on her chair, eyes closed and tank top straps off her shoulders as she hits her weed pen.

"caught in 4k" Hamzah teased

"I'm vibing, let me live" she responded without even looking at him.

"that's what they all say... right before they start talking to trees" he zoomed in on her face. she lifted a lazy middle finger to the camera "ohhh helll nahhh.... girl. see guys?" he turned the camera to face him. "that's family friendly youtubers for you. friendly for the family when there making money off it. but well? not really. really great, Y/n. what's next? swearing?" her snicker could be heard.

Martin joins them through the sliding door, proudly holding up a portable Bluetooth speaker. "guys, you'll never believe where it was"

"where was it?" Mandy asked "MarTin i swear, if you say the fridg-"

"it was in the fridge! i forgot i put it there."

"why did you put a speaker in the fridge?" Hamzah asked

"to cool it off, that's how it works, right? cause it was hot from the sun. tell me that's not how it works" he sat down next to Mandy. "why wouldn't it work like that?"

Hamzah panned the camera from Martin to the setting sun before back to Y/n who just took another hit of her pen.

"ayy, she do be vibin tho."

A dinner, Hamzah and Martin Insisted on making "the real gigi hadidi pasta". they laugh around while vlogging the whole thing on Y/n's camera.

A late night barefoot walk on the beach, taking cute photos, having a deeper conversation, waves crashing and adding a soft ambiance. Y/n walks behind to record them candidly, quickly shut down by Hamzah noticing her staying at the end, a glimmer of worry in his eye before he realizes she's recording and yells at her to "stop acting emo" which they both laugh off.

Y/n sneakily recording Hamzah and Martin doing a tiktok dance together, incredibly locked in despite it being the fifth try already.

Mandy opening an online blind box, crashing out when she gets an incredibly ugly one she didn't want.

A montage of everyone packing, including Hamzah throwing Y/n's bikini at her in the background of one clip.

Mandy and Y/n giving sincere vacation recap thoughts while getting ready together

A clip of them getting a group selfie taken by a stranger who didn't speak English and laughing every next sentence off.

the outro

"Alright, that's it. that's the vlog. see you next week orr- month, or year-" Y/n said, cut off by Hamzah pushing his head against hers to fit in the frame.

"And don't forget to leave a like and subscription and comment- comment if you think Slushy Noobz is the better channel or comment if you think Yourusername is, but hey. i think we already know what the answer's gonna be."

a glitched out freeze frame of Martin sneezing ending the video off.

[ttllynotmyshyt]

just posted some stuff wow it's very raw but I'll polish it up a little once I post first part but i need to feel pressure to motivate myself to finish writing part one

[ttllynotmyshyt]

Gumball and Penny

A hamzah x influencer!reader fic.

SMAU, fem reader, y/n.

MASTERLIST:

⋋⁠✿⁠ ⁠⁰⁰ - reader core

⋋⁠✿⁠ ⁠⁰¹ - part one

⋋⁠✿⁠ ⁠⁰² - part two COMING SOON

[ttllynotmyshyt]

!Influencer reader x hamzah

fem reader, friends to lovers, smau.

｡⁠.ﾟ!Influencer reader core *⁠･↝

Y/n , Yourusername.

★ 2002 ★ YouTube ★ Twitch ★ Minecraft ★ Vlogs ★ Canadian ★ pet person ★ thrifting ★ underconsumption ★ lwk a stoner ★ diy ★ 600k on YouTube

[ttllynotmyshyt]

i am that one person ☝️

just for u I'm in the process of writing it 💋

[ttllynotmyshyt]

i wanna write a influencer reader x hamzah thing like a smau would just one person here be interested in that or nah?

[ttllynotmyshyt]

The Three-Meeting theory: MEETING THREE

word count: 2,5k

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: After being ghosted for a month Y/n finds herself entertaining the conversation with the last client at closing time on a Friday. A client who just happens to be Hamzah.

1 / 2

Working the closing shift on a Friday night wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of fun—and it sure as hell wasn’t Y/n's.

The sun had long dipped past the skyline, and the door hadn’t chimed in a while. Most people were probably out getting drinks or curled up at home by now. She’d be doing the same soon enough.

Some chill music played low over the store speakers, helping her mind drift to somewhere quieter.

Hopefully not to her ex.

It didn’t, though. Not this time. Her thoughts slid toward dinner instead—maybe a salad, one of those half-hearted ones she’d make once a month to feel good about her eating habits. There were still some bell peppers in the fridge. Maybe even feta cheese. Expired, probably. But still.

Thoughts of her last relationship visited less often now, anyway. She’d never admit it, but she was actually glad Olivia had dragged her to that house party. That porch conversation with Hamzah had reminded her of something she'd forgotten she could feel. That light, floaty warmth in her chest—she’d chalked it up as something that died quietly in her teens. But there it was. Back again. Even if he never ended up calling or texting her, she was weirdly okay with it.

There was comfort in the fact that someone had cared enough to ask for her number. Maybe it just made her feel a little less like a lost cause.

She was somewhere between mentally counting bell peppers and debating the risk of expired feta when she felt it—

someone watching her.

Her gaze shot toward the door.

The bell hadn’t rung. She checked the clock. Then she saw him.

There.

Leaning against the counter. Watching her.

Hamzah.

His curls were longer than they’d been a month ago, and he wore a black jacket over a t-shirt with a cat on it. He looked… relaxed. A little more confident than she’d thought he could even pull off. There was a new ease in the way he stood there, waiting. Calm, patient, almost smug.

And she—

She stared for a beat too long, blinking like she had to reboot.

Not just because she hadn’t expected anyone to walk in this late.

But because the last person she expected was him.

“Wait—did you sneak in? I didn’t even hear the bell.”

Hamzah gave a small shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe it likes me better.”

She let out a quiet laugh and leaned her hands on the counter. “Or maybe you’re just quiet as hell for someone who ghosts people.”

That made him smile wider—small, crooked, guilty-but-not-really. He tilted his head.

“I didn’t ghost you,” he said. “Ghosting implies I had any intention of vanishing.”

“Oh, so you just… didn’t text because it was a long, thoughtful silence?”

“Exactly,” he said, tapping the counter once. “A meditative pause. Very profound.”

She raised a brow. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

Hamzah laughed under his breath. “No, but it was the most honest way to lie.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped back, fighting the upward pull of her mouth. “You’re lucky I’m on the clock.”

“I came after hours,” he said. “Figured I’d increase my odds.”

Her look softened a little, despite herself. “Of what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a moment—really looked. Like he was studying her face for changes, or maybe just letting himself look a little longer this time.

“Conversation,” he said finally. “Maybe whatever came after that, too.”

She giggled. “And what could that be?” she switched her weight to the other leg, leaning on her hip.

Hamzah shrugged, unbothered. “Moral support. Expert opinion. Maybe even forgiveness.”

“For what?” she asked, a little more amused than she wanted to admit.

He gave her a look—tilted head, slight smirk. “For ghosting you.”

She scoffed. “Oh, so you are admitting it.”

“I was gonna say my parents grounded me and took my phone, but figured that only works when you’re sixteen.”

“Yeah, no one’s buying that,” she said, grinning.

“I figured. Thought maybe showing up in person might earn me a couple points.”

“You’re lucky you remembered where I work. And that I didn’t switch career paths.”

“I could’ve always just asked Olivia.”

“Well? Did you?”

“Nah, boooriiing.”

She tilted her head at him, amused. “Wait, so you went into this blind, just hoping I’d be in?”

“Helen Keller, baby.” He grinned, shameless.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s not even—God. You’re an idiot.”

“But a hopeful idiot,” he pointed out. “Which has to count for something.”

I like to see everything in neon

Drink lime green, stay up 'til dawn...

The next song started playing overhead.

“Track four?” Hamzah asked, gesturing casually toward the speakers.

“Huh?” She looked up, brows knitting.

“It’s off the album you recommended, isn’t it?”

Her expression shifted—surprise giving way to something warmer. “Norman Fucking Rockwell.”

He nodded. “No skips, right?”

She gave him a slow, teasing smile. “What, trying to impress me now?”

“Nah, you said it’s no skips and when a lady speaks – I listen” he smirked playfully, making her laugh softly again.

“You remembered.”

“I tend to remember the important stuff.”

She looked at the clock again. “Are you buying anything or do I close up the register?”

Hamzah glanced at the empty store, then back at her. “What if I said I came for something that’s not on the shelves?”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “That sounds like a line.”

“Well, is it working?”

“Not this one, nah. Not really.”

He winced, hands up in surrender. “Alright, tough crowd.”

She smirked and moved toward the register. “Gotta keep you humble somehow.”

He leaned against the counter, watching her with a faint smile. “You always this hard to impress?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Depends on who’s trying.”

That earned him a real grin—soft, just a little crooked.

“I could help you close up,” he offered, suddenly less performative. “If you want.”

She hesitated, then nodded once, slow. “Sure. You know how to lock up a record store?”

“No clue,” he said, already slipping off his jacket. “But I’m a fast learner.”

She handed him the keys and gestured toward the light switches behind the counter. “Alright, prodigy. Lights first, then gate.”

He moved behind the counter without hesitation. “You trust me with this?”

“Not even a little,” she said, and shook her head with a soft chuckle.

They moved around the shop in sync, almost without thinking. She flipped the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED” while he dimmed the front lights. She started zipping up record crates while he double-checked that the back door was bolted. There was a kind of rhythm to it—a quiet, shared task that didn’t need much talking. Just motion. Just nearness.

At one point, she caught him restacking a display she’d already straightened. “You’re being weirdly helpful.”

“I’ve got range,” he said. “Also, I’m trying to keep my ‘don’t get her fired’ streak alive.”

She smiled, almost despite herself.

“I could probably get fired for this,” she said a moment later, quieter.

He glanced over at her. “Then I’ll keep it between us.”

She looked at him, half a second longer than she meant to. “You always this chill?”

“Not really.” He paused, then added, “Just with you, I guess.”

She didn’t respond to that right away. Just kept organizing. Kept breathing.

After a few more minutes, the store was quiet and locked down. She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely.

“So you really didn’t text me because your parents took your phone?” she asked, voice light but eyes watching him carefully.

He chuckled, low. “I wish I had a cooler excuse. But nah. I was just... overthinking it. And then too much time passed and it got weird.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Still,” he said, moving a little closer, “I should’ve called.”

“Well,” she said, almost smiling, “you’re here now.”

“I am.”

A beat.

She tilted her head. “What were you hoping to find, showing up like this?”

He met her eyes. “You.”

Simple. Honest.

For a second, she didn’t say anything. Then she turned to the final light switch by the door. “Well, you found me.”

He stepped beside her, their shoulders almost brushing. “Lucky me.”

As she reached out to flick off the lights, his hand hovered near hers. Not quite touching. Just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. When she hesitated, he didn’t move.

And when her fingers finally did brush his—light, barely there—he didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

Instead, he turned his palm up, just a little, enough for her hand to fall into place if she wanted it to.

She didn’t take it.

But she didn’t move away either.

They stood like that for a breath or two—close enough to feel the tension loosen, like an inhale finally let go.

“I was starting to think I made you up,” she said, voice barely above the city hush.

Hamzah huffed a laugh, low and surprised. “Same.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it had edges, sure, but it held something honest between them.

“Guess we’re both real, then,” she added, glancing up at him.

They stepped outside into the night. The street was calm in the way only late-night neighborhoods could be—lit by scattered shop signs and the soft hum of lamps glowing in the windows above. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once and went quiet. A car rumbled past, its headlights briefly casting long shadows along the sidewalk.

She leaned back against the brick wall of the shop and pulled her water bottle from her bag. After taking a sip, she held it out toward him.

Hamzah raised an eyebrow but took it anyway. “Wow. Sharing water bottles? Big trust.”

She smirked. “Don’t make it weird.”

He handed it back. “Too late.”

They fell into a light silence—comfortably so. The kind that let the moment breathe a little.

Hamzah rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “So… was that technically your first criminal offense?”

She gave him a sidelong glance, pretending to consider. “If I get fired for this, you owe me a job.”

“I’ll write your reference letter personally,” he offered. “Make up a bunch of fake skills. Tell ‘em you’re proficient in, like, forklift operation.”

“Finally, a chance to live out my warehouse fantasy.”

He chuckled, then let the sound trail off naturally.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The stillness between them wasn’t awkward—it just felt like a pause between chapters.

Eventually, she spoke. “You really didn’t have to come back.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

He looked at her then—really looked. “Yeah.”

The word landed softly, but it carried weight. Like he wasn’t just agreeing, but answering a question she hadn’t asked out loud.

She didn’t push for more. Didn’t need to.

Instead, she nudged his arm with her elbow. “Still not forgiven for ghosting me, though.”

He smiled at that. “I figured. But like I said, was hoping showing up in person would earn me some points.”

She considered it, eyes narrowing slightly. “Mm. Maybe half a point.”

“I’ll take it.”

Comfortable silence hung around for the next few seconds before she spoke.

“What’s the plan next time—carrier pigeon? Smoke signals?”

He smiled, but didn’t answer right away. Just watched the condensation bead on the bottle in his hand. “I thought about it, you know. Texting.”

“And yet,” she said, arching a brow.

Hamzah looked over at her. “I didn’t want to show up in your phone like some… random guy who vanished and remembered you outta boredom.”

She blinked. That wasn’t what she expected.

He went on, voice a little steadier now. “You felt… real, that night. Like not just the party, or the timing, or even the conversation. You were just—there. And I didn’t wanna mess with that.”

She looked at him, quiet now.

“So I figured I’d wait until it made sense,” he finished. “And then I realized maybe I was just scared.”

A beat.

“You know,” she said softly, “for a guy who ghosted me, you’re real good at saying the right thing.”

He gave her a half-smile. “Maybe I remembered the important stuff.”

Her gaze flicked down, then up. “Like what?”

“Like you love Lana,” he said.

She burst out laughing. “You wanna know a secret?”

He knitted his brows in amusement “What’s up?”

“I don’t even… listen to her” her laugh faded naturally. “just something that popped into my head that day.”

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

She nodded, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “I just said it 'cause it sounded... poetic or whatever. Felt like the kind of thing a cooler version of me would say.”

Hamzah tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “So you were lying to impress me?”

“More like... lying to convince myself I was someone worth talking to.”

That quiet landed between them—weighty, but not uncomfortable.

Hamzah looked at her for a long moment, then nudged her shoulder gently with his. “Well, joke’s on you. I listened to the whole album. Twice.”

She laughed, but it was softer this time. “And?”

“Not bad,” he said. “Kinda dramatic. Kinda dreamy. Kinda like you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow. Corny.”

“Accurate,” he countered.

A few cars passed in the distance. The night stretched quiet again.

Then she said, “I’ve felt like I’ve been blending into the background for a while. That night on the porch... it was the first time in months someone looked at me and didn’t just see, like, a placeholder.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just let it settle.

Then: “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been there.”

Her eyes flicked to him, remembering that exact phrase—“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been there.”—and how it had struck something deep that night.

“You meant it,” she said.

Hamzah looked at her, steady. “Still do.”

And this time, when their fingers brushed again, it wasn’t by accident.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

“Y’know Sing?” she asked and looked up at his face. Properly looked.

“The animated movie with the animals’ singing competition?” he asked.

She nodded. “Bingo. You know Buster Moon? the Koala? you know his line? ‘When you’ve hit rock bottom, there’s only one way to go, and that’s up.’”

Hamzah let out a quiet laugh—fond, not mocking. “Man really said that with his whole chest in a glittery theater coat.”

“He meant it, though.” she nodded her head with a serious expression.

“Nah, he did,” Hamzah agreed, a little more softly now. “Lowkey corny, but kinda profound.”

She smiled, brushing her thumb over the edge of her water bottle. “Maybe I needed to hear it again.”

“Maybe I did too.” He paused, then glanced at her. “It’s been a weird couple months.”

“Yeah.”

Silence lingered between them, not heavy but full. Streetlights buzzed faintly overhead.

He nudged her hand with his. “So… up from here?”

She nodded once. “Up from here.”

a/n: ayyy, series done. also check out the playlist i made for it, link in the title here.

hope y'all don't mind it being this open of an ending lmao i fw it and I'm the one who writes

[ttllynotmyshyt]

“The Three-Meeting theory” is genuinely so good and very different ur suck a good writer

thank you so much this means a lot to me ❤️ also this message reads just like if i tried to compliment myself and wrote it anonymously, made me giggle a little ❤️😭 lovelovelove u

[ttllynotmyshyt]

The Three-Meeting theory: MEETING TWO

word count: 1,7k

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Trying to clear her head after a breakup by going to a friend's party leads to an unexpected reunion.

1 / 3

Y/n fixed her hair in the mirror. Her throat tightened and her face warmed the second her eyes met her reflection. She couldn’t believe it. Just two weeks ago, she’d been lying in her boyfriend’s arms, rewatching School of Rock and sipping hot cocoa. And now she was trying not to fall apart thinking about how all of that was just a memory.

How could she put on the same lipstick he used to love kissing off the second she finished her makeup? How could she fix her breasts in the dress he always complimented? And how dare she fix the hair he used to play with while holding her when she felt sad?

Deep down, she knew this was coming. They hadn’t been getting along half as well as they used to. She didn’t even feel bad anymore when he cancelled dates. She barely noticed when the compliments stopped. She knew the spark had faded, but with everything else on her mind, she never had the space to seriously think about it. So when the breakup finally happened, it hit like a dam breaking.

She knew it wasn’t the end of the world. But it was a door closing — a door she’d walked through every day for the past year. Even if the love was gone, it was still hard to figure out how to live in the absence of a chapter that long.

Her friend Olivia convinced her to come to a house party. They didn’t have many mutual friends, which meant Y/n wouldn’t have to explain anything or be babied the whole night. It was supposed to be a night of alcohol, conversation, and new faces — enough distraction to help her forget. And it had been, right up until the song she first kissed him to started playing. Olivia skipped it the second she saw Y/n’s face fall, but the damage was done.

After unkindly rummaging through the bathroom cabinets without asking, she found some deodorant and hairspray. She freshened up, took a few deep breaths, washed her hands with cold water, and fanned her face until she felt steady enough to leave the bathroom.

She headed straight for a drink — gripping the margarita made by some guy she couldn’t remember the name of like it was going to vanish. It was gone in a blink, earning a small chuckle from the self-appointed bartender who topped her off again without a trace of judgment.

She smoothed out her dress with her hands, half-listening to the kitchen conversation. Something about the NBA playoffs. She tried to follow along when familiar names came up, but eventually settled for nodding and offering the occasional quiet “right.”

A few more drinks in, she actually started to enjoy herself. She ended up in the office room with Olivia and a few others. A girl named Mandy, sweet and warm, was talking about her job as a vet and some questions Olivia had about her old pets.

Something about Mandy stuck with Y/n. She was so naturally kind that just being near her felt comforting. She spoke like she already knew what you needed to hear.

When the music from the living room got too loud, the girls decided to move to another room — but not before making a quick kitchen stop for snacks.

“There you are!” a guy said as soon as they entered. Tall, skinny, short hair — vaguely familiar. “I thought I’d lost you by now,” he said to Mandy, playfully.

“Well, you didn’t have to worry. I was just in the office — we were talking,” she replied.

“Oh, okay. Was it fun?”

“Yeah. I met this girl, Y/n. She’s really nice,” she said, gesturing.

He looked at Y/n, visibly searching his memory. “Wait, have we met before?”

“I was just wondering the same thing. What was it… Matt? Mike? Mason?” she said, crunching on pretzels.

“Martin. Close. See? We must’ve met.”

“Or maybe you just have strong ‘M’ vibes,” she joked before she could stop herself. Corny, she thought. Cringe, even — if she wasn’t buzzed.

“Or maybe you’re like, a really good witch. What’s up?”

“Nah, you’re probably right. We must’ve met before. You know Liv?”

“Olivia? Yeah, she’s Mandy’s friend. We’ve met a couple of times. What about you?”

“We’re close. That what brought you here?”

“Yeah, came for a good time, to chill. You?”

“Same. Been a tough week, needed to unwind.”

Martin squinted. “God, sorry — I can’t stop thinking about it. Where do I know you from? Are you like… on social media or something?”

“Not really, no. Sorry.”

“Work? Where do you work?”

“Oh! Sonic Boom — the record store,” she said. And then it clicked. “Wait — you’re the YouTuber guy, right? With your friend? Hamzah?”

“Dude, yes! That’s it! And yeah, Hamzah. How’d you remember?”

“I don’t know,” she smiled. “Not a common name, is it? You guys were cool. Made my day that day. Is the video up yet?”

“What are the odds!” Mandy said.

“Right? That’s what I said!” Martin grinned. “Yeah, it’s up. Did pretty well — like 900k views now. You should check it out.”

“Holy shit, that’s so many!” Y/n laughed.

“Right? And Hamzah’s here too! He’s gonna freak when he sees you.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, her interest piqued.

“Pretty sure he’s playing Secret Hitler in the living room.”

“bet I’ll see him around,” she nodded.

Later, after the music shifted from upbeat to mellow, Y/n found herself out on the porch with a handful of people smoking and chatting in blankets.

Then a familiar face stepped out. This time, she knew exactly who it was — and he looked even better than she remembered.

“Hamzah,” she called, her voice softer than expected.

He turned. Their eyes met, and he smiled. “Record store girl.”

She grinned. “Guilty.”

“Martin said you were here. He was like, ‘Bro, remember that girl from Sonic Boom?’”

She laughed. “He really said that?”

“Swear on my life. Then he tried to describe you like I didn’t remember.”

“I guess I’m just unforgettable.”

He raised a brow. “You say that like it’s a joke.”

She let out a soft laugh and looked away.

“Been blending into the background lately, I guess.”

His expression shifted—just a little, but enough. “Yeah. I’ve been there.”

She moved slightly aside, away from the crowd. He followed without needing to be asked.

“You come out here for air or just avoiding Secret Hitler?” she asked.

“Both. I was losing and sulking. Thought I’d switch environments before I threw something.”

She laughed. “Good call. Martin hyped that game like it was a religion.”

“Martin hypes everything like it’s a religion.”

They paused. It wasn’t awkward — just aware.

“You here with him?” she asked.

“Kind of. He dragged me out, said I needed to leave the house before I turned into furniture.”

She smiled. “You didn’t want to come?”

“I didn’t not want to. Just had a long-ass week, that’s all.”

“Same,” she said. “Olivia practically bribed me with tequila and girl talk.”

“Hey, solid pitch.” he blinked slowly and raised his eyebrows with a smile.

“Right?” She shrugged. “I needed something. It’s been… a lot lately.”

“Yeah?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. Then nodded. “Breakup.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Not fresh-fresh, but like… still echoing, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said. And she could tell he meant it. “The space they leave takes longer to clean up than the leaving itself.”

She looked at him. That was exactly it.

“That’s a good way to put it,” she said. “I might steal that.”

“Go ahead. I probably stole it from someone else.”

She tucked her hands into her jacket sleeves, gripping the cuffs.

“You ever get that thing where you feel fine all day, and then someone says something kind or looks at you a certain way, and suddenly you're back in it?”

“Absolutely. It’s like your body remembers before your brain does.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I had a drink, heard a stupid song, saw a couple kissing in the hallway. Boom. Instant collapse.”

“You held it together, though.”

“Barely. I did raid the bathroom for deodorant like a gremlin.”

“That’s resourceful.”

“Thanks. I’ll add it to my résumé.”

He chuckled, looking at her a little longer.

“You know,” he said, “you’re really easy to talk to.”

She raised a brow. “Is that your version of flirting?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, smirking. “But I’m not sure if I should let it.”

His smile softened. “Fair. I don’t want to push. I just… like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you too,” she admitted. “That’s kind of the problem.”

“So… we let it be what it is. Just a good conversation on a cold porch.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds right.”

Silence again. But a good one.

After a moment, he looked toward the door. “Want to head back in?”

She looked at her empty cup, then up at the sky.

“I think I’ll stay out here a little longer.”

“Cool. I’ll save you some chips. And maybe the last word in Secret Hitler.”

“Do me proud.”

He gave her a knowing nod before slipping back inside.

She watched him go, her chest just a little lighter than before.

She was rinsing her cup in the kitchen when she heard him come in.

“I was wondering if you ghosted,” Hamzah said lightly.

She looked over her shoulder. He was leaning in the doorway, jacket on, keys in hand.

“I was just… regrouping,” she said. “Had a moment.”

“Yeah. You seemed a little off at the end there.”

She half-laughed. “I think the tequila caught up with the breakup.”

His smile faded slightly, but didn’t disappear. “That’s fair.”

They stood in silence. The fridge hummed softly.

“I liked talking to you tonight,” he said. “Didn’t expect to. You were kind of a surprise.”

She smiled. “Yeah. Same. You’re not what I expected either.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you’d be louder. Like Martin,” she said with a teasing look.

Hamzah chuckled. “Nah. I let him do the shouting. I do the editing.”

Pause.

“I hope it helped, by the way,” he added. “Even just a little.”

“It did,” she said.

He looked at her for a second, then handed her his phone.

“If you ever want to talk again. Or, like… argue about music or something dumb.”

She took it, typed in her number.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“Night, Y/n,” he said as he backed out.

“Night, Hamzah.”

Her heart still hurt, but it didn’t feel untouchable anymore. Just… sore, in a way that might get better.

She looked down at her dress and straightened it one last time, then sighed.

a/n: part two, i hope you enjoy it. please give feedback if you have any.

also in the last part there were some "natalie" slips i guess? sorry about that, it's easier for me to write a name and change it to y/n usually, i suppose i didn't notice some instances of its use in part one. Won't happen again.

[ttllynotmyshyt]

is the three meeting theory x reader or x oc? because sometimes it switches between y/n and natalie

god does it 😭😭 didn't mean to I'll actually go and fix that rn sorry

it was easier for me to write using a random name and then to replace it, i guess i just missed some lmao sorry about that

[ttllynotmyshyt]

The Three-Meeting theory

a short series by ttlynotme

Hamzah x fem reader

The Three-Meeting Theory suggests that meaningful connections follow a temporal pattern based on psychological readiness.

The first meeting occurs when the person holds no emotional significance—our minds are unreceptive, and recognition is minimal.

The second occurs when one or both individuals are emotionally unavailable or developmentally unaligned, making connection impossible despite potential.

The third meeting happens when both are ready—mentally, emotionally, and circumstantially—allowing deep recognition and bonding to occur.

This theory emphasizes that timing, not just compatibility, governs relational depth.

[ttllynotmyshyt]

The Three-Meeting theory: MEETING ONE

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,8k

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Y/n, a record store clerk in Toronto, spends a quiet day helping customers, including two YouTubers—one of whom leaves a lasting impression.

2 / 3

It was another long day at the record store — a Tuesday. One of the many that had come before and would come again. Bright sunbeams streamed through the windows, lighting up the sleeves and plastic boxes of records, revealing a thin film of dust on the shelves.

To y/n, a record store was an unusually personal place. Somewhere between the hundreds of clients she’d served, the stories they told, and the memories they shared while choosing their next purchase, she stopped seeing the covers as just artistic representations of a few pleasant-sounding wavelengths. Instead, they became symbols — snapshots of people’s most important moments. The beautiful thing about every record? Each one was someone’s favorite.

She turned to the new arrivals. The delivery, originally scheduled for early morning, had only arrived around midday. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She knew the drill: open the box, check for damage or missing content, enter each disc into the inventory, log the details, confirm pricing with her manager, tag the plastic sleeves, place them in the new arrivals section, update the online store. The most routine, unglamorous part of the job — but it paid the bills, just enough for rent, food, and the occasional treat. Not a dream paycheck, but enough for a twenty-something still finding her footing in Toronto.

The store’s owner, Vincent, was a kind man in his fifties who’d only opened the place after making money off some mysterious investment. No one ever asked what it was, as long as he paid fairly — which he did. One of the things nestled among the records in the delivery box was a thick-cover folder for the CVs that would soon pile up again, especially with summer approaching and teenagers hunting for part-time gigs. Y/n scoffed softly and set the folder aside, returning to the stack of records.

Her mind drifted briefly to the French course she’d taken mostly for fun, after her dad insisted it was essential — a deal-breaker, even — for landing a job in Canada. Surprisingly, he’d been right. Maybe it was her patience or her charisma that made her stand out to Vin, but the French sealed the deal. No one really needed a French speaker to buy vinyl in Toronto, but it sure looked good on paper.

The store was quiet. Typical for a Tuesday afternoon. A soft Miles Davis record drifted through the space, wrapping the regulars in a warm atmosphere that contrasted the cold wind outside, now stirring the falling rain. The soft tapping against the windows grew louder by the minute. Y/n looked up, watched the drops for a moment, then returned to her keyboard, entering details for the new album: a 2LP edition of Pink Floyd at Pompeii – MCMLXXII.

She wondered whose favorite this one was, and why. Maybe it played during a first kiss. Or a final goodbye. A road trip with the kids. A smoke session with a teenage dirtbag lover. Whatever the story, it had to mean something to someone.

While the printer spat out price tags, she took mental note of the doorbell chiming — something she’d check out after confirming there were no errors in the printout. She glanced up: a group of teenage girls entered. Not regulars. Their outfits were dotted with lace trims, pink bows, jean skirts, and leather bags. Laughter floated through the room. One fixed her lip gloss, another adjusted the camera she’d pulled from a tote.

Y/n smiled, bracing herself to make small talk.

Hi? Do you need any help? Nah, maybe… How may I help you today? Do you girls need anything? They probably don’t. …Are you looking for something?

She debated in her head while making her way over from behind the counter, not before placing the box she’d been working on behind it.

“Hello, do you girls need help finding anything?” she asked, her tone soft and practiced.

“Uhm, hello, actually, is it okay if we take photos here?” one of them asked, a little awkwardly — nothing she couldn’t predict.

“Of course. Just try not to include any shoppers who might not wanna be in the frame,” Y/n said, already used to it. “Looking for any albums in particular for the photo or…?”

“Thank you so much! Actually, yes. Do you guys have Lana Del Rey?”

Could’ve guessed from the outfits, Y/n thought.

“Sure. Just over by that wall,” she said, leading them over. “And if you’re taking full-body shots, stand with your back to the window. Lighting’s better from that angle.”

“Oh of course, thank you!” the girl with the camera beamed, adjusting accordingly.

“If you need anything else, I’ll be at the counter,” Y/n added, returning to her price tags. She glanced up now and then, reminding herself she wasn’t afraid of teenagers anymore.

The girls eventually left — presumably with the material for their next Instagram post stored on the SD card of their friend’s Sony.

Y/n's eyes drifted to the Lana Del Rey section. Norman Fucking Rockwell! stood out in front, pulling her back to a warm 2019 day when it came out. She let the memory linger for a few seconds before shaking it off and getting back to work.

Soon, she was done. Task crossed off the mental list. Right on cue, the doorbell chimed again. This time: two guys, roughly her age, deep in conversation. One carried a camera.

Y/n gave them a soft smile, already anticipating the question about to come.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?” she asked.

“Hi, is it okay if we record in here for a video?” one of them said. He wore a T-shirt with a triangle and the words Find X. His short, dark brown hair and slightly worried expression made him look oddly approachable.

“Yeah, of course. Just avoid filming anyone who might mind being in it,” she replied. Both guys visibly relaxed.

“Thank you so much.”

“Anytime. Let me know if you need help with anything else.”

They stepped away and started recording, laughing occasionally. This time around her mind drifted toward the evening — what she'd make for dinner, the feel of her cat brushing up against her leg, a warm cup of tea in her hands, and some movie she’d inevitably fall asleep watching halfway through. She busied herself with a few misplaced records, double-checked the sleeves on the side, and refreshed her mental map of the store just in case someone asked about a record she didn’t know.

When she heard footsteps nearing again, her gaze flicked toward the guys — already prepared for their return.

“Hi, sorry. Can I ask you something?” the other guy said. It was the first time she really looked at him. Dark eyes, curly hair with frosted tips. He had a posture that was both awkward and somehow relaxed.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” she said, noticing the camera slightly tilted to catch her but not her face. “Oh — and I don’t mind being in the video, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

They relaxed more and adjusted the camera toward her.

“Oh, thank you. What’s your name?” the guy with frosted tips asked.

“Y/n” she replied, a little curious now. “And you are?”

“I’m Hamzah, and this is Martin,” he said, gesturing to his friend.

“Cute. Nice to meet you guys,” she smiled. “You had a question?”

“Yes. Do you know Nettspend?” Hamzah asked, totally serious.

“Nettspend?”

“Yes. The rapper?”

“I think so? I’ve heard the name,” she said, brows furrowed. “Pretty sure we’ve got a… uh, CD? Not vinyl tho.”

“Oh, really?” Hamzah’s face lit up more than she expected.

“You know what that means, bro” Martin grinned, turning the camera on himself

“Can I—wait, can we see it?” Hamzah asked.

“Yeah, of course.” Y/n led them to the aisle, skimmed a few cases, and pulled one out. “Here.”

“That’s fire, boiiii,” Hamzah said, holding it to the camera, clearly pleased.

“How much is it?” Martin asked.

“Uhh… t'says twenty Canadian,” Hamzah read from the label, glancing at Y/n. She nodded.

“I’ll hold onto that. Thank you. We’ll keep looking for now,” he said.

Y/n returned to the register while they browsed. Eventually, they came back with a few items (obviously including the Nettspend cd).

“All set?” she asked, smiling.

“Almost. Thanks,” Martin replied. This time, Hamzah held the camera.

“I was actually hoping you could give us a recommendation,” Martin added. “Just… whatever you like listening to.”

Y/n blanked. Thousands of albums lived in her head, and somehow, the only thing she could think of was that that interaction with the girls earlier.

“Uh… Lana Del Rey? Norman Fucking Rockwell, let’s say.”

She cringed slightly at how unconvincing she sounded, like she couldn’t even persuade herself she liked the album.

“Lanaa! Love that. Do you know this one?” Martin burst into off-key singing: “Tell me I’m your national antheeem!”

Y/n laughed, surprised. “Wow. That just brought a tear to my eye. Ever considered singing professionally?” she said softly.

“Yes, actually. I used to sing when I was younger,” he said deadpan.

“Really?”

“No. But thank you,” he grinned. “We’ll just take these.” he laughed softly.

She rang them up, tucked the discs and receipt into a branded bag, and handed it over.

As they slowly headed for the door, she called out, “Wait — what’s your channel called?”

“Slushy Noobz,” they said in sync.

“Slushy Noobs?”

“Noobz. With a Z,” Hamzah corrected.

“Oh, bet. Thanks again. You guys made my day, Slushy Noobz. Hope you love what you bought.”

“I bet we will,” Hamzah said.

“And no, thank you!” Martin added, dragging the last word with a smirk. “Ay, shout out to the…” — he glanced at the sign — “shout out to Sonic freaking Boom. Sonic Boom, Toronto. Amazing. Guys, go show them some love,” he said to the camera

a/n: this is my first time writing since 2019 and back then i wasn't even writing in English so i hope this is actually any bearable. also parts 2 & 3 will be more interesting dw. Do give feedback.