ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 : Megan skiendiel x fem!reader
𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕖 : Fluffy, angst a bit suggestive at the end. Based off of "In my room" by Julia wolf
𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 : Megan starts to act a bit off around y/n, which makes y/n confused and concerned, thiking this relationship will eventually come to an end soon, and shes not ready for it.
But in the end they manage to work it out, finding their peace and comfortable places -
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Your room became the first place you felt her absence.
It wasn’t dramatic at first. Just… quiet.
But the kind of quiet that feels like a bruise: dull at the edges, sharp in the middle.
The lamp in the corner flickered it always flickered, but tonight it seemed louder. The shadows on the wall stretched longer. Everything had too much space around it.
Too much air.
Too much room for your thoughts.
And none of that room had Megan in it.
You and Megan had always existed in a kind of soft orbit around each other, brushing fingers while cooking breakfast, dancing barefoot in the kitchen, falling asleep tangled so tightly you couldn't tell where one heartbeat ended and the other began.
Now?
She wouldn’t even meet your eyes.
It started weeks ago.
You noticed how she stopped humming while brushing her teeth. How she stared at her phone a little too long. How she laughed at your jokes with her mouth but not her eyes.
You felt it like a storm rolling in -
subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.
Tonight, when she finally came home , three hours late she didn’t look like your Megan.
She looked like someone carrying something too heavy for her arms.
“Megan?” your voice cracked before you meant it to.
She didn’t answer. She moved through the doorway like she’d trained herself not to make sound. Her hoodie was half-zipped, half-damp from the weather, cheeks flushed from cold or panic. you couldn’t tell.
When you stepped closer, she stepped away.
That was the moment your ribs buckled around your breath.
“Where were you?” You tried to sound steady. You didn’t.
“Out.” Her voice was thin. Frayed. Like she’d spent it all somewhere else. The distance hit you instantly — colder than the rain she carried in with her.
“Talk to me,” you whispered.
Her lips pressed into a line, jaw tightening the way it always did when she was trying not to cry. Or trying not to tell the truth.
“I’m not doing this tonight.” She rubbed her temples, refusing to look at you. “I’m exhausted, Y/n.”
“But from what?” Your voice was soft.
Begging.
Breaking.
Scared, feeling like you already knew hat she whould say.
You reached for her hand the same hand you’d held a hundred times, the same fingers you once traced constellations across and she pulled away like you’d burned her.
It gutted you.
Completely.
“Megan… please.” Your own voice felt foreign — too small, too fragile for this room.
She finally looked at you.
Her eyes were red, rimmed with something rawer than tiredness. “I don’t know how to do this right now,” she said.
“And I don’t want to hurt you more by pretending I can.”
You felt the floor tilt under you.
“I think…” Her throat bobbed, breath hitching. “I think we need space.”
Space.
The word punched a hole straight through your chest.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out except a breath that sounded too much like a sob.
Megan stepped back again. Every inch was a cut.
“I love you,” she whispered. “God, I love you so much it’s killing me. But I’m not myself. And I don’t want to drag you down with me.”
You shook your head, tears you didn’t remember summoning blurring your vision. “You’re not dragging me,” you choked out. “You’re leaving me.”
Her face crumbled — just for a second — before she forced it still again. “I’m sorry.”
And then she walked past you.
Your room felt like a grave after that.
Too quiet.
Too hollow.
Too full of things that used to mean something.
Her hoodie on your chair.
Her ring on your nightstand.
Her warmth still lingering in your sheets like a ghost.
You crawled onto your bed, curled into yourself, and listened to the silence until it hurt.
the echo of someone who wasn’t coming back.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
Weeks of replaying every moment until the memories blurred together into one long ache.
Weeks of waking up reaching for someone who wasn’t there.
Weeks of walking past her ring on your nightstand without the strength to move it.
You didn’t expect her to come back.
It was raining again, of course it was the kind of cold rain that taps against the windows like fingers asking to be let in. You were sitting on your bed, knees drawn up, wrapped in one of her old hoodies like a lifeline.
Soft.
Uncertain.
Hopeful.
When you opened the door, there she was.
Megan stood under the dim hallway light, rain droplets clinging to her hair, her chest rising and falling like she’d run the whole way here. Her eyes met yours, and the world seemed to pause.
“Y/n,” she breathed, voice raw. “Please don’t close the door.”
You didn’t.
You couldn’t.
She stepped inside, dripping onto your floor, eyes roaming your room like she was afraid everything would vanish if she blinked.
“I miss you,” she whispered. Then her voice broke. “I miss you so much it hurts, and I don’t know how I ever convinced myself I needed to be away from you.”
Your throat tightened.
She reached for your hands, slowly, like she thought you might flinch and when your fingers touched, something in her exhaled in relief.
“I wasn’t trying to leave you,” she said. “I was trying to protect you from the mess I was… but all I did was destroy us.”
You swallowed, eyes stinging. “I felt like you shut the door on me.”
“I did,” she admitted. “And it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”
When you touched her cheek, her eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching like she’d been starving for the feeling. “Come here,” you whispered.
Megan melted into you, her arms wrapping tight around your waist, her face buried in your shoulder like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. Her body shook with leftover tears, and you held her like you were trying to stitch her back together. “I love you,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I never stopped."
Your heart cracked open all over again, but this time it wasn’t breaking, it was healing. You cupped her face, lifting her chin.
“Then come back home,” you said softly.
Her expression folded into relief — pure, overwhelming. “Yes,” she breathed.
“God, yes.”
She kissed you gentle at first, then with the soft urgency of someone who’s been living with an ache too long. Your fingers tangled in her damp hair as she stepped closer, pressing her body fully against yours.
You sank onto your bed together, Megan settling into your lap with a soft exhale like your touch was the first warmth she’d felt in weeks.
Her forehead rested against yours, noses brushing, breaths mixing.
“Is this okay?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “More than okay.”
You shifted slightly beneath her, your hips rolling just once — slow, testing — and Megan inhaled sharply against your lips, hands gripping your waist as if to tether herself.
Her voice dropped, warm and breathy.
“Fuck , y/n ...”
You kissed her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth — soft, tender, intimate.
“Mm yeah? ..” you whispered, guiding her closer.
Your hips met hers again, a slow, gentle grind that pulled a tiny, broken sound from her throat, just closeness, warmth, and the electric relief of having each other again.
She buried her face in your neck, fingers curling in your shirt.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
You didn’t. The world blurred into soft heat and quiet breaths, the broken pieces of both of you finally fitting back together.
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A/N - someone teach me how to write smut ....
