how dennis and elementary!school teacher!reader met
main masterlist this series masterlist
pairing: Dennis Whitaker x fem!reader
summary: When decorating your classroom you accidentally fall and land on your wrist, causing a trip to the E.R and meeting the cutest doctor youβve ever seen.
warnings: use of y/n, fluff, both dennis and y/n are kinda awkward one more than the other, inaccurate medical talk, takes place before season 2 so dennis is still a student doctor, short
notes: i made this series after i seen someoneβs post about the idea of dennis dating a teacher and i just fell in love, ty for the idea @pastapixie6 , im gonna write a separate one of him offering to come down to her school
(takes place a couple months after season one, November 2025
You didn't have to come to work today, the school had a three day weekend. You had originally planned to go check out this new indie bookstore that opened a couple of weeks ago. You were gonna get some coffee and go there early and just spend the morning looking at books. Maybe if you find a good book, take it and go to the park.Β
Since there was no school on Friday your class had asked if they could do their weekly art project on Thursday instead. You told them if they got everything done that they needed to do for the week then yes. And of course they did, they were all very determined to get to do their project. So at the end of the day on Thursday when it was usually time for the math workshop, you guys made pet jellyfish, and they all loved it.Β
They were all so cute and different. Some were all one color, some were multiple, some had googly eyes or faces they drew themselves.
You had told the children that on monday when they got back all their jellyfish would be hanging from the ceiling.Β
The next day after you had gone to the bookstore, instead of going to the park you decided to head to the school to hang up the jellyfish since you were already out.
You had hung up on almost half of them by now. When you got here you couldnβt find a ladder, so you put one of the students' chairs on a desk and used that.
You balanced carefully on the chair, which hummed with a slight wobble on the desk. On your tippy toes, you gripped the string attached to the head of the paper jellyfish, its ribbon tentacles brushing your arm. βJust a little furtherβ you said out loud to yourself. You were leaning your weight towards the next space on the ceiling where the jellyfish would be evenly spaced with the others.Β
You shifted your foot, reaching for that perfect spaceΒ
-then, the chair skittered.Β
Smack.
You met the floor faster than you could let out a breath of air.
As you went down, you threw your right arm out to try to break your fall. Your palm slammed into the floor, and a sharp, sickening snap echoed through the empty classroom. For a moment, you only felt a weird cold numbnessβthen the burning sensation hit you faster than you fell.Β
Thatβs how you ended up lying in a bed at the E.R., cradling your arm against your chest like a wounded animal.Β
You had already been checked by the nurse, who was an older blond woman named Dana, and now you were just waiting for a doctor. She had already set you up with an IV and some ice, telling you that you were gonna need an X-ray soon, before leaving the room. Well if you consider a bed surrounded by curtains a room.
You were hoping that when the doctor came they would have pain meds for you, because the burning sensation in your wrist was not getting any better.
You closed your eyes and started taking in some deep breaths trying to ignore the pain in your wrist, which was slowly making its way throughout the rest of your arm. When you opened your eyes again you saw a man pulling back the curtain enough for him to walk through before pulling it shut.
βHello, I'm Dr- student Dr. Whitakerβ he introduced himself while stuttering a bit.
He was wearing black scrubs and had short blond hair with beautiful blue eyes.
You smiled at him as you introduced yourself, taking note that your doctor was extremely cute.
When you did Dennis felt his heart flutter, he stood there admiring you. You were absolutely beautiful, he almost forgot why he was here in the first place, before his eyes drifted down and noticed your arm against your chest when he was reminded and brought back into reality.
He cleared his throat and quickly looked down at the clipboard in his hands with your chart.
βBroken wrist right?β he asked you timidly.Β
βThink so, arenβt you supposed to tell me, you're the doctorβ you responded playfully.
Β βRight yeah umm,β Dr. Whitaker chuckled nervously, βy-yeah, i-it looks like you probably broke your wrist o-or at the least twisted it. Weβre gonna have to wait for the x-ray uh to make sure, but in the meantime I can give you something for the painβ he sputtered out as his eyes glanced between you and his clipboard.
Dennis didnβt quite know why he was acting this way, heβd been working in the ER for about two months now, and this is a simple case, so why canβt he fucking think or talk straight?Β
You nodded your head in response, before lolling it to the side.
βDo you have any allergies to medication?β
βNopeβ
βGood, um does anything else hurt?β he asked you as he set the clipboard down and rolled the little stool over for him to sit on. βMy leg is a bit sore, but that's itβ
He nodded, βMay I take a look at your wrist?β he held out his hand.Β
You gave him your right wrist and he gently took it. Although his touch was gentle it still caused you to hiss in pain. He muttered out a few sorrys as he examined your wrist.Β
βOn a scale from one to ten, with ten being the worst, how bad is the pain?βΒ
βAbout a 7β
Dennis nodded thoughtfully when you answered.Β
βOkay yeah ill definitely get you something stronger than iceβ he said
He carefully placed your writs back down before standing up and moving back over to the computer. βI'm putting in an order for an x-rayβ he explained while typing. βOnce we see exactly what's going on we can decide if it needs a cast or just a braceβ
You let out a soft groan, "Please tell me it's just a braceβ
He glanced at you with a sympathetic smile, "I wish I could promise that, but judging by the swellingβ¦β
You sighed dramatically, βi guess that's what i get for using a chair on a table instead of a ladderβ
Dennis looked at you confused, βWhat were you doing standing on a chair on top of a table?βΒ
You chuckled, βI was hanging jellyfish for my classβ
Dennis stared at you, still slightly confused, βYou're a teacher?β
You nodded, βMy class made paper jellyfish yesterday and I told them I would hang them up for them before they came back onΒ mondayβ
Dennis let out a slight chuckle, βThat's cute, uh ya maybe next time use a ladderβ
βWill do,β you nodded.
Dennis watched how your hair moved when you did, a stray piece falling in front of your face.Β
He smiled.
βLet me go get those pain meds for youβ Dennis said and grabbed the clipboard again. You watched him as he disappeared back behind the curtain.Β
If a broken arm is the price you have to pay to have a cute guy treating you, maybe it was worth it?
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summary: You run a Spider-Man blog where you post sightings and photos of New Yorkβs favorite hero, but lately your content has been nothing but blurry misses and bad timing. Feeling guilty for being the reason for this Peter comes up with an idea to help you out.
warrings: use of y/n, slight cursing, fluff, itβs not directly said by peter has a small crush on reader, readers gender is never specified (i donβt think) and thatβs really it
notes: i absolutely loved how this turnt out i hope you all enjoy, i already have an idea for another fic for him that would work as a part 2 or a standalone
The glow of your laptop was the only light in your room, casting a soft blue hue across your walls as you refreshed the page for what had to be the tenth time in the last five minutes.
Nothing.
No new comments.
No new likes.
No new followers.
Nothing.
You let out a low groan as you leaned back in your chair, dragging a hand down your face before leaning forward again.Β
βCome onβ¦β You whine out under your breath as you continue to stare at your screen.Β
You hit refresh once more, maybe your internet was slow, maybe your computer was just glitching.
You let out another groan, louder this time, more frustrated. It was all still the same, nothing.
Your blog sat there staring back at you, mocking you.Β
TheSpiderWeb.
Your pride and joy.
Your child.
Your biggest headache.
Well, biggest headache after Peter.
Usually by now your most recent post would be blowing up, people liking, commenting, reblogging, arguing in the comments about whether or not Spider-Man waved at a kid or was adjusting his web shooter.
But today?
Absolutely nothing.
Because the picture you posted was complete garbage.Β
It was blurry and crooked. Half of Spider-Man was cut out, if it wasnβt for him being mid-air you wouldnβt even be able to tell that it was actually him.Β
It was truly just a red and blue blur.Β
βThis is so bad,β you groaned as you shut your laptop and let your head fall forward against it.Β
βThis is like career-ending badβ
βYou say that every time you donβt get at least 100 likes in the first minute of postingβ You hear the sound of Peter's voice behind you.Β
You could hear him shut the door to your bedroom, and could tell he turned on the light.
βWell I'm serious this time,β you groaned, pushing yourself upright and spinning your chair to face your best friend, who was plopping himself down on your bed.
βThis time is different, this is an actual crisis.β
Peter only lets out a chuckle in response.Β
βDo not laugh, canβt you see Iβm really fucking stressedβ you barked out at him.
Peter raised his hands in surrender, though the small smile tugging at his lips didnβt disappear.
βOkay, okay I'm sorry, whatβs wrong this time?β
You quickly grab your computer and rush over to your bed to sit beside Peter. You open it up and shove it into his lap.
βLook at thatβ
Peter peered down at the screen in front of him. ββ¦.Itβs a picture,β he said carefully, his voice lifting at the end as if he were asking a question rather than stating a fact.
He squinted, leaning in as if a different angle might suddenly reveal a masterpiece within the blur.
βItβs a bad pictureβ you corrected.Β
βIt is the worst thing I've ever taken, and itβs all I haveβ
Peter gives you a look of pity, βHey, itβs not that bad,β he starts but you cut him off.
βHave you seen my other photos?!β
βThat right there is trashβ you point at the photo on the screen. Peter does have to admit your other photos were fucking amazing, and this latest oneβ¦. while letβs just say it wasnβt exactly your best work.
But he wasnβt gonna tell you that, especially now while you were clearly extremely upset.
Peter opens his mouth to speak to try and comfort you but you beat him to it.
βI posted that 2 days ago, and it barely has a measly 36 likes Peter, 36 LIKES!β
You drop your head back against your wall, groaning.
βI havenβt been able to get a good photo of Spider-Man in weeks, I'm gonna start losing followers if I don't post something actually good soon,β you complained to the boy.
Peter rubbed your lower leg as you did.
Unbeknownst to you, Peter was feeling a bit guilty for being the reason you were coming up empty-handed.
Itβs not like he was purposely avoiding where he knew you would be, while he was swinging around the city.
He canβt say that one of the reasons you havenβt gotten any pictures of Spider-Man is because heβs been right next to you each time you go out looking for him.Β
But itβs also not his fault that the other reason is that heβs been doing a lot of stuff on the other side of the city recently. He canβt control where crime happens.
βHave you seen the stupid pictures that βTheWebGalleryβ has posted?β You say snatching the computer back and going to the other blog.
βLook how good these are,β Peter looks over at the screen, studying all the pictures as you scroll through them.
Peter hates to admit it, but they werenβt just good.
They were amazing.
Clear, almost perfectly timed, Spider-Man mid swing, mid landing, even one where he was looking almost directly at the camera like he knew exactly where it was.
Peter swallowed.
βYeahβ¦.thoseβ¦I mean those a-are pretty uh, pretty impressiveβ he stuttered out, not quite sure what he was supposed to say about them.
βImpressive?β you echoed, shooting him a look. βPeter, these are insane. Look at this one, how do you even get that angle?β
You leaned closer to the screen, zooming in slightly like that would somehow reveal the secret.
βItβs like heβs justβ¦ there. Every time. Like Spider-Manβs following him around or something.β
Peter didnβt really know what to say so he just gave that same look of awkward pitty once more.
You huffed, leaning back against your wall.Β
βI donβt get it,β you muttered, crossing your arms. βIβm out just as much as him, probably more and yet heβs the one with all the good shots?β
Peter could hear the frustration building up in your voice. His eyes flicked down at the screen then back to you.
To the way your shoulders had dropped slightly, the way you were staring at the pictures like they personally offended you.
Which in a way they did.
Peter shifted slightly where he sat, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at the screen.
You let out a small, annoyed breath, clicking out of one post only to open another.
βLike, I donβt understand how heβs even finding him consistently,β you muttered. βSpider-Manβs not exactly easy to track.β
βWell ya, he just shows up wherever the crime is,β Peter responds.
βExactly! And yet he never shows up when we go looking for him.β
Peter pressed his lips together slightly, glancing down at his lap for a second before looking back up at you.
βMaybe weβre justβ¦ looking in the wrong places,β he said, a little unsure.
You shook your head almost immediately.
βNo, weβre not,β you said, sitting up a little straighter. βIβve tried everywhere. Iβve gone all over the city, some of the places with the highest crime rates and heβs still not there.β
Peter didnβt respond right away. He just sat there, watching you.
He could tell you werenβt just mad.
You were actually upset.
You let out a quiet sigh, leaning back again, your arms crossing over your chest.
βI just donβt get it,β you muttered again.
Peterβs gaze flicked up at that, something in your words catching his attention.
Neither one of you said anything after that, you both just sat there in the silence.Β
Itβs been another two days and you still havenβt gotten anything better than the sorry excuse you posted before.
Peter still felt guilty every time he saw you open your laptop or when you would rant to him.
Peter sighed quietly to himself as he sat on his bed that night, staring up at the ceiling.
It wasnβt like he didnβt want to help.
He justβ¦ couldnβt exactly tell you why the problem was happening in the first place.
He truly wishes there was something he could doβ¦
Then it hit him.
There WAS something he could do.
He is Spider-Man.
His eyes quickly landed on his suit half-hidden in the corner of his room.
There wasnβt exactly a rule that said he had to only be Spider-Man when something went wrong.
Spider-Man was meant to be there for the people to help them, why canβt that include him making sure you get some decent photos of him?
So the next day when you had asked him if he wanted to go out with you to try and get some pictures, he declined saying he had to help Aunt May with something.
You didnβt think anything of it, why would you? Heβs always helping Aunt May with stuff that's not out of the ordinary.
You had already been out looking for about an hour now. And you havenβt seen him yet.
You let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the strap of your camera as you glanced down the street, scanning every rooftop like you always did.
Nothing.
Again.
You were just about to give up and move on to look somewhere else when something caught your eye.
Just barely in your peripheral vision, you see something in the air, something swinging by.
It was quick, you barely saw it, but it didnβt matter you knew what it was.
Who it was.
Your hands move on instinct, grabbing your camera from where it dangles around your neck, bringing it up, getting it ready for when he comes back into your vision.
You look around for a second before seeing the hero perched on the top of the building in front of you across the street.
You snapped a picture, then another, not wanting to miss this chance.
You angle your camera differently to get another shot, you took a couple more, before he moved again, swinging over to another building across the street to where you were.
He moved more slowly, like he wasnβt in such a rush for once, and your camera never left him as he did.Β
Fingers pressing the shutter over and over again.
This was it.
This was what you've been waiting for for weeks.
You can't believe after weeks of blurry garage you hit the fucking holy grail.Β
You didn't pay attention to anything else around you, just him, that's all that matters in the moment, that he was right here in front of you.
Swinging, doing a little trick, landing, pausing just long enough for you to catch it.Β
It was almost like he was doing it just for you.
Every shot you got was better than the last.
About 40 minutes later you were back home, your camera already plugged in as you practically hovered over your laptop.
βCome onβ¦β You muttered, bouncing your leg and biting your nail as you impatiently waited for the photos to load.
And then,
One by one, you clicked through them.
Clear.
Sharp.
Perfect.
You let out a loud squeal. You couldnβt believe it, these shots were fucking amazing, they might be better than anything you've ever taken before.
βOh my goddd!!β You giggled as you admired your work.
Once they were all done loading and you looked through them all you wasted no more time and got to editing.Β
You barely even noticed how much time had passed. You were just too engrossed in your work. One picture turned into five, then ten, adjusting lighting, fixing contrast, and cropping just slightly.
They needed to be perfect, good thing they didnβt need much work.
That was the best part.
Even without your tweaks they were amazing, you could probably post them as they were and they would still get thousands of likes.
You leaned back slightly, staring at the screen, a grin slowly spreading across your face as you clicked through them again.Β
You giggled loudly, extremely proud of your work. You canβt wait to post them- OMG you need to tell Peter.
You reached over for your phone, to call him.
Your finger hovered over his contact for a moment, before shutting your phone off.
This was something you had to tell him now in person.Β
You grabbed all your stuff, putting everything in your bag before speeding out of your room and down the stairs.
You knocked on the front door of the Parker household, impatiently waiting to be let in.
Aunt May walked to the door with a smile quickly making its way on her face when she saw you.
βWell, hi sweetheart,β she said, stepping aside to let you in. βYou look quite excited.β
βI am-β you laughed a little breathlessly as you stepped inside. βIs Peter here?β
She smiled, βHeβs upstairs,β she chuckled, amused. βGo on.β
βThank you!β you said quickly, already heading towards the stairs before she could say anything else.
You took them two at a time barely even thinking as you made your way to his room.
βPeter,β you called as you pushed his door open, not even bothering to knock.
He looked up from where he sat at his desk, clearly working on something important, but you couldn't care less. This was way more important than whatever he was doing.
You ignored him as he greeted you, and instead started rambling on as fast as you could, you put your bag on his bed and pulled out your laptop.
As you open it in your arms you're still rambling on to him, βhey, hey, y/n!β he shouts out a bit with a laugh, once he does, your words quickly stop as your head lifts up to stare at him, with a confused look.Β
βTake a deep breath, and at a normal pace, repeat everythingβ
You nodded as you took a deep breath, calming yourself a bit.
A bit.
You let the breath out slowly, trying to contain the grin that was still threatening to take over your face.
βOkay,β you said, nodding to yourself more than him. βSo, I went out right? And I was literally about to leave because there was nothing, like nothing happening, but then-β
You quickly placed your laptop in front of him on top of his notebook.
βHe just showed up, out of nowhere!β You smiled.
Peter leaned in, eyes flicking across the screen as you clicked through the photos.
βIt was amazing Pete,β your voice picking up with excitement again despite your attempt to stay calm, βhe stayed. Like long enough for me to actually get shots. Good ones.β
βAmazing ones,β he corrected in response, looking up at you with a smile on his face as well.
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head a little. βI know, right? Like, look at this one-β you leaned in closer to him, clicking to the next picture, your shoulder brushing against his without you even realizing.
Peterβs eyes flicked to the screen again, but only for a second.
Because then they were back on you.
On the way, you couldnβt stop smiling.
The way you were practically glowing next to him.
He swallowed slightly, the smile on his face softening just a bit.
βYeahβ¦ you got him good,β he said quietly.
βI swear, it was like he wasnβt even trying to leave,β you continued. βLike he was there specifically for pictures to be taken of him, for me to take pictures,β you laughed again, shaking your head, an even bigger smile on your face if that was even possible.
Peter huffed out a quiet breath, glancing back at the screen for a moment before looking at you again.
βYeah,β he murmured, a small grin tugging at his lips. βGuess he didnβt want you to miss him this time.β
You paused for half a second at that, glancing over at him before brushing it off with a small smile.
βYeahβ¦ maybe.β
You turned your attention back to your laptop, already talking about which ones you were gonna post first.
Peter leaned back slightly, still watching you for a moment longer.
And he couldnβt help it, the small, fond smile that stayed on his face.
summary: Stiles new girlfriend looks nothing like youβ¦. sheβs the complete opposite
warnings: use of y/n, slight angst?, ex!stiles, smallest amount of cursing, lwk jealous y/n, reader is described to have dark brown curls and brown eyes, pretty short
notes: based on sabrina carpenters song βoppositeβ from emails i canβt send, this was my first time writing a fic based/inspired by a song
βOh, so you do have a type? And itβs not meβ
The first time I saw the two of them together, I almost didn't recognize him.Β
Technically almost everything about him was still the same. He was wearing his old red t-shirt with some stupid Star Wars reference on it and his favorite red flannel. The same one he would always let me where, the one he would give me when it got chilly, the one i always used to steal from him. The same one that he always said I wore better than him.
Heβs leaning against his locker talking to some of his friends like he usually does after 4th period. Laughing at something Scott said, head tilting forward the same way it always does when he laughs too hard, his eyes shut and shoulders shaking slightly. Itβs almost the same sight as always.
The only difference now was the girl standing with him.Β
The girl whoβs tucked under his arm, instead of me. Like she belongs there. Like it's been her place since the beginning of time, like it wasn't me just a few months ago in that very spot.
Since then I have seen them everywhere. It's like the universe is trying to play some cruel joke on me. No matter where I am, I can't escape them, I can't escape her. It didnβt matter if they were truly there or not. That's what sucks about life: you can never get away from the things that haunt you.
When I'm at home, she's there. I look in the mirror and I see what he didn't want. What wasn't good enough for him. I see all the features he once said he lovedβ¦ I see the opposite of what he has now.Β
βOh so you can reply? Just to not meβ
I watch him as he texts her in the middle of class, hiding his phone behind his english textbook. Heβs a few seats in front of me to the left, her to the right.Β
They glance at each other watching the others' reaction to their message.
I wonder if they're planning to watch a movie this friday like we always did, has he convinced her to watch Star Wars with him yet? Or are they making fun of the way Mrs. Clemons voice squeaks when she raises it, we used to always text about that during class.
But that was before he stopped replying to me. That was before he said he should focus more on class since that's why we were at school. At first I understood, I mean that was reasonable, but then not wanting to text in class turned into him not replying to me completely.
The end of our relationship was just unanswered texts and missed calls.Β
It started with late replies and different excuses on why he didn't answer, as it went on it slowly became complete radio silence.Β
I began to wonder if what he's always wanted was the opposite of me. Did he always prefer blue eyes over brown, βFuck if i wouldβve known that I wouldβve got contactsβ I joked to Kira once.Β
I laughed, she didnβt.Β
Instead she just stared at me with the look people get when they feel bad for you but donβt know what to say.
A part of me wonders if things would've been different if i looked like that, if i looked like her. If instead of the deep brown eyes, the kind that disappear in the dark, I had bright blue ones, the ones that people notice the second they look at you.
I wanted to throw my phone across my room when I saw the post. Stiles had posted a picture of the two of them on his close friend's story on Instagram. They were cuddled up on his couch, his arm around her shoulders, sharing a blanket, there was a bowl of popcorn in her lap, the two of them were smiling at the camera, the text on the screen said movie night with the film and red heart emoji.Β
We never unfollowed each other, he never removed me from his close friends, so he knew I would see it, and yet he still posted it. He knew that I would notice how they were doing the same thing we used to do, I probably have an almost identical picture of us somewhere on my phone. The only major difference being the girl that looks nothing like me.Β
I don't understand any of this. Why her?Β
She didnβt have the same dark curls I spent half my life learning how to take care of. She didn't have the same brown eyes that Stiles used to swear were his favorite color in the world. Her skin wasnβt the same rich brown as mine, the kind people compare to honey. Hers was pale and smooth, the kind people compare to milk.
Maybe I should take this as a compliment. Maybe the reason she looks nothing like me is because there isnβt anyone like me. Maybe he couldn't find someone with the same curls, the same brown eyes, the same everything, so he just didnβt try.
But that doesn't seem right, because that's not true.Β
There's so many girls at our school with dark curls that bounce when they walk. Girls with deep brown eyes that look almost black in the wrong lighting and girls with warm brown skin in every shade you could imagine.Β
She looks nothing like me and yet he still looks so happy. He could've found someone like me if he wanted to. He just didn't.Β
This whole time he was holding out to find the opposite.
He never wanted someone like me, he wanted someone like her.
And maybe the difference between us wasn't just the way we looked, but everything else too.
She seems soft, quiet, easy. The kind of girl who doesn't roll her eyes when Stiles rambles for too long. The kind of girl who doesn't argue with him about random topics or interrupt him just to prove she's right.
I've never been the βeasyβ type. I'm sarcastic, loud sometimes. The kind of person who calls Stiles out when he's being ridiculous. The one who teases him, argues back, and rolls her eyes when heβs being dramatic.Β
I've thought about what it would be like to be that girl, the one with the straight blonde hair that falls neatly down her back and blue eyes that catch the light every time she looks up at him.Β
Or the one who just laughs at everything he says instead of teasing him for it. The one who listens quietly when he rambles instead of turning it into an argument.Β
If I looked like her, if I acted like her, would we still be together? Would he still be mine?
No.
Even if I tried to change, he would still end up with her anyway.
I know it.Β
Maybe it's because she knows how to be quiet when he talks. Maybe she lets him take up all the space in the conversation. Maybe she lets him be the center of everything. Maybe she's the kind of girl who steps back just enough so he can stand in the spotlight.Β
Maybe she just agrees with everything he says. When he starts going on about something, some theory, some ridiculous idea, she just nods along like it makes perfect sense. Maybe she loves the picture because heβs painting it, even if it's not the one she would've drawn herself.
I was never like that. I've always had my own opinions and was never afraid to let him or anyone else know. Stiles used to tell me that was one of the things he loved about me.
He used to say a lot of things.
He used to tell me how he loved when I argued with him about random topics, how he loved how my curls looked when they were messy, he used to tell me that even though I had brown eyes like most people, mine were special and different from all the rest. That they were even better than the rare eye colors out there, like blue or green. He used to always tell me how beautiful I was, how my beauty was unmatched.Β
Now I just can't help but wonder if when he said all those things, was I being lied to?
Every time he told me, he loved something about me,
Every time he told me he loved my hair, my eyes, my laugh, my stubbornness, when I would wear his clothes, when I laughed too loud or too hard, the way I would sing loudly in the car to the radio when it was just us but under my breath with others. Was he lying when he said he loved me?
Because if any of that was true he wouldnβt be with herβ¦
right?
If he loved any of those things about me he would still be with me, or at least someone like me. He wouldnβt be with the girl who was the total opposite. The girl who is everything I'm not. The version of a girl I could never be.
Maybe it's not the fact that she's nothing like me that bothers me, but the fact that she isn't me.
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(picture reader however you want this is not race specific but her vibe and aesthetic is inspired by janine teagues from abbot elementary)
elementary!school teacher!readerβ¦.
who teaches the 2nd grade, who is very artistic and creative, who is always working on some sort of project for her class or for her personal life, who somehow always has either paint, marker, glue, or glitter on her at the end of the school day, who buys fresh flowers for her classroom every week, who plans an art project for her kids every friday, who loves making homemade gifts, whoβs apartment is covered in art/diy projects and books, who bakes something for her class every two weeks, who helps plans all the events for the school, who is a bundle of organized chaos, whoβs apartment is very maximalistic, who somehow makes everyone a bit happier, whoβs love language is giving and helping, it doesnβt matter what she just loves to give and help people
age: 25
job: 2nd grade teacher
personality: optimistic, soft hearted, creative, caring/nurturing, talkative, can be slightly scatterbrained at times, hardworking, sentimental, emotionally intelligent, gentle but firm with kids, encouraging, very expressive, sheβs the kind of person who gets overly excited about small things, she cares deeply about everyone around her
likes: anything to do with art, animals, nature, reading, thrift stores, scrapbooking, stickers, glitter, old bookstores, vintage anything, music, dancing (literally any form of art), candles, ice coffees, baking, sweets, flea and farmers markets, plants and flowers, anything cute, anything cozy, movie nights, picnics
dislikes: rude parents, kids getting mistreated in any way, messy hand writing but sheβs too nice to say anything, wasting art supplies, loud chewing, bad communication, she hates when adults canβt communicate well sheβs constantly always teaching good communication skills with her students so they donβt grow up to be those types of adults, οΏΌ οΏΌ
