⤷ 𝐣𝐡𝐚𝐲 ··· she / them ··· pansexual ··· minor ··· filipino — bmf !! discord - airbuds - instagram ◎ ✧ jjk ✧ dandadan ✧ house md • requests are open !! ~ 🍉, 🌻, 🌲 anon.
The ordinance of the penholder
✦ Do not repost, steal, or claim as your own. ✦ Respect the tone and themes within each tale. ✦ Constructive words are welcome; cruelty is not. ✦ Every story bears weight — mind the warnings before reading. ✦ This is a sanctuary of feelings; no explicit works reside here. ✦ No male reader inserts — these tales are written through a different lens.
The Bibliothèque Noire
A collection of tales spun from ink and intention — where passion, guilt, and devotion bleed into every page.
With these words, the Bibliothèque Noire closes its doors — until the next tale demands to be told.
What is your favorite animated movie or series? (multiple answers are valid)
What is a fandom that people might not know you are part of?
Do you like reading comics? What type and what genre? (manga, webtoon, manhua, marvel, dc, etc)
Me :
°˖➴ What is your favorite animated movie or series? (multiple answers are valid)
In favorite animated move, my top 3 are Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, and Isle of Dogs !! I love the pacing and the storyline of these three, not to mention they have unique and pretty animation styles, nd also a great music soundtrack!!
In series tho, I LOVEE ARCANE !! It influenced me to play League and TFT, and also Arcane is filled with incredible action scenes, and also gorgeously animated !! like in my top 3 movies, Arcane's music track is #GOATED. I also like how they portray jinx, the main character, to be it's completely own unique person and they were not afraid to show mental health issues through her !!
°˖➴ What is a fandom that people might not know you are part of?
I don't think people know enough that I'm OBSESSED with teamfight tactics, LOL. I don't really have oomfs who play it too, and one thing too is I love webtoons and mangas !! I've been reading Lookism, Orv, and Windbreaker. Mangas tho, I've been gushing abt Nana, Jujutsu Kaisen, nd Chainsaw man !! :p
I'm also lowkenuinely also obsessed with House MD, AND WUTHERING WAVES !! I've been playing wuthering waves since beta, and it's mi goat !! It's similar to genshin impact nd honkai, so i hope i befriend moots that play the same games as me :3
°˖➴ Do you like reading comics? What type and what genre? (manga, webtoon, manhua, marvel, dc, etc)
YES YES YES !! Like what I mentioned in the previous question, I like reading webtoons, mangas, but also manhuas !! But back in my early days, I used to have a collection of marvel and dc comics, though when I grew up I decided to donate it to people who appreciate it more. :p
Now it's your turn:
Each team member should make a similar post with questions or something they would like the rest of the team to know about them. You can also make a tag game <3 Of course, this is optional and its simple goal is for us to get to know each other better.
⋆.˚ Synopsis - Six months of silence end the moment you walk into a reunion you weren’t sure you’d attend. Megan is there — the same magnetic, untouchable presence you once couldn’t define, yet couldn’t ignore — and every casual laugh, every passing glance, reminds you of what was left unsaid. Words slip, confessions stumble, and before you know it, the night pushes you both onto a porch where honesty cuts sharper than any argument, and the weight of love, regret, and longing hangs between you.
⋆.˚ Theme - ANGSTTT, inspired by merry christmas please dont call, reader nd megan got some unresolved feelings, chaewon mentioned !! my christmas gift for you guys :3
⋆.˚ w.c - 5.5k
There was never a word for what existed between you and Megan. Not friendship, not romance, but something that lingered in the spaces where words failed.
You remembered the way her laughter would stretch longer than the room allowed, how it would curl around the edges of your chest and refuse to leave.
You remembered late-night talks that ended too soon, when the city outside had gone quiet but your heart refused to, and the way her voice softened when she spoke about dreams she wasn’t ready to chase with anyone yet.
The moments you shared were stitched with almosts — a brush of hands here, a glance there — and the absence of a label never made it feel less real.
The truth was, everyone could see it but no one dared to name it, and perhaps the two of you were too afraid, or too stubborn, to do it yourselves.
Six months before this reunion, you had confronted her. You hadn’t planned it; it wasn’t dramatic, and you hadn’t rehearsed your words. You just needed to know what she was, what you were, and whether the thread connecting you was meant to hold or to break.
Sitting across from her, under the dim glow of a café lamp that had witnessed countless confessions, you asked quietly, almost too quietly;
“What are we doing?”
She had paused, her gaze flickering somewhere between hesitation and carefulness, and in that pause you felt the sting of everything unsaid.
Her answer was thin, fragile, wrapped in polite ambiguity: she cared, she wasn’t ready, she didn’t know how to name it. And then she left, not with a slam of the door, not with an argument, but with the quiet absence of someone who had chosen to walk away without goodbye.
You were left alone with the echo of her voice and the hollow ache of a question that would never be answered.
The months that followed were spent learning how to breathe again without her presence threading through every thought.
You stopped replaying conversations that had no conclusion, stopped checking the spaces where her name might appear, stopped imagining what could have been if she had chosen differently.
You rebuilt yourself in silence, piece by piece, learning that survival didn’t require her understanding or her approval, only your own resilience. And yet, just as the ache began to dull into memory, the invitation arrived.
A reunion of the childhood friend group, everyone you had grown up with, everyone who had watched you and Megan orbit each other like distant planets but never collide.
Your heart thumped against your ribs when you saw her name on the list, a reminder that some presences never truly leave.
For a moment, you considered not going. You could fabricate a reason, retreat into the safety of absence and leave the past untouched.
But something inside you, a stubborn curiosity or the desperate need to face what was left unresolved, refused to let you hide.
You told yourself you wouldn’t let her, or anyone, undo the work you had done to reclaim your own heart. When you finally stepped through the doors of the reunion, the warmth of laughter and familiarity washed over you, a stark contrast to the cold knot of tension that tightened in your chest.
The room was alive with memories and faces you hadn’t seen in years, but the moment your eyes found hers across the crowd, the air seemed to shrink.
She looked startled, perhaps not expecting you to be here, and there was a carefulness in the way she straightened, an unspoken acknowledgment that whatever had passed between you was neither gone nor forgotten.
No one mentioned it, of course, but you felt it in every glance, every pause in the conversations that flowed around you. The night had begun, and already the weight of everything left unsaid pressed against your chest like snow on an unheated rooftop.
The room smelled like warm cider, faintly spiced, and the faint tang of pine from the decorations someone had dragged in from outside. Laughter bounced off the walls in uneven rhythms, old jokes resurfacing, voices mingling in layers of nostalgia and familiarity.
You moved slowly through the crowd, taking it all in — the faces of people who had once been your world compressed into a few hundred square feet.
It was meant to be comfortable, but every laugh that echoed past you carried the weight of six months spent waiting for a resolution that never came.
You clutched your drink a little tighter, aware that every step you took brought you closer to the space she occupied without actually crossing the distance yet.
“Hey! You made it!” The voice startled you out of your spiral.
Lara, smiling like she always did, stepped forward with open arms, warm and familiar in a way that almost made you forget the tension coiling in your chest. She gave you a quick, tight hug, the kind that said everything was fine even when nothing was.
“We were starting to think you’d bail,” she added lightly, but there was an undertone you could read if you looked too closely — she knew, she always knew, and somehow she didn’t need to say it aloud.
You forced a smile and let the warmth of her greeting wash over you for just a second, careful not to let it seep too deep. “Of course I’d come,” you said, keeping your voice steady, even as your eyes darted past her, toward the corner of the room where Megan had settled herself.
You felt it immediately. Even without moving, just from the weight of her presence, the space around her seemed to constrict.
She was talking to someone else, leaning casually on the edge of the counter, but her posture carried the subtle precision of someone trying not to be noticed.
You remembered all the little things — the tilt of her head when she listened, the way her laugh would start soft and then crescendo without warning, the way she looked at people when she was holding herself back.
And now, after six months of absence, every familiar tic, every memory-laden gesture, felt magnified, sharper, almost cruel in its quiet perfection.
Lara kept talking, but you barely heard her words. The way your chest tightened when Megan laughed softly at a comment, the almost imperceptible glance she threw in your direction when she thought no one was looking, made your stomach twist.
You wanted to look away, to lose yourself in another conversation, to disappear into the wall of voices that filled the room, but some invisible force kept your gaze returning to her. It wasn’t curiosity, it wasn’t hope — it was recognition of a wound that hadn’t healed and perhaps never would.
The irony that everyone in the room could feel it, that the unspoken history between you two was heavier than any of the laughter around, pressed against you in ways you hadn’t expected.
“Don’t worry,” Lara continued, snapping her fingers lightly as though to break the spell she knew you were under. “We’re all just catching up. Nothing serious.”
She smiled again, this one quieter, more knowing, and you realized she was keeping an eye on both of you at the same time — silently orchestrating the room so the tension didn’t explode before anyone was ready.
You nodded, forced yourself to breathe, and moved to another cluster of people, laughing at a joke that didn’t quite land, all the while sensing the subtle gravitational pull that Megan still had over the room, over the conversation, over you.
Hours seemed to pass in uneven beats. Drinks were refilled, stories told and retold with minor embellishments, but the current running through the room never faltered.
Every time someone turned, you caught a flicker of her movement, a shift of her posture, the soft exhale of someone who had been carrying something for far too long.
You found yourself counting seconds, imagining how the confrontation could start, and yet you forced your body to relax, to laugh, to engage — to exist in the same air as her without letting it consume you. It was a delicate balance, one that felt impossible and necessary all at once.
By the time the first hints of frost crept along the windowpanes and the night deepened into quiet murmurs of music, the tension had settled into a simmering, taut silence.
Not a word had been exchanged between you and Megan yet, but the air was thick with everything unsaid. And somehow, even in this bustling reunion, you knew that when it finally came — whenever it did — the weight of six months of absence, of almosts, of unspoken truths, would hit harder than any laughter, louder than any song, and sharper than any memory.
The room had settled into that familiar hum — voices overlapping, laughter rising and falling in uneven waves — when the door opened again. You barely noticed at first, too busy pretending not to track Megan’s movements from the corner of your eye. But then you heard it: a sharp inhale, followed by a voice that carried excitement like it always had.
“Wait—no way. I’m late, aren’t I?”
Chaewon.
She stepped inside with a rush of cold air clinging to her jacket, cheeks flushed from the night outside, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. Her face lit up instantly, unfiltered and warm, and before you could even prepare yourself, she was already moving toward you.
“There you are!” she said, pulling you into a hug that was too quick to refuse. “I thought I missed you. I swear, every time I’m late, something important already happened.”
You laughed softly, more out of reflex than humor, returning the hug with careful arms. Over her shoulder, you saw Megan stiffen.
Not dramatically — just enough for you to notice the subtle shift in her posture, the way her shoulders squared like she was bracing herself for something she hadn’t planned on facing tonight.
Chaewon stepped back, eyes lighting up as she glanced between the two of you. “Wait—Megan’s here too?” she said, grinning. “God, it’s like the universe is trying to reunite everyone tonight.”
She reached out without hesitation, looping an arm through Megan’s, completely unaware of the history she was dragging into the open. “You guys seriously still doing that thing where you pretend you’re not inseparable?”
The air changed.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough that it felt heavier in your lungs.
Megan’s smile faltered for half a second before she smoothed it back into place, fingers tightening briefly around the sleeve of her coat. Her laugh came out softer than usual, a little delayed. “Yeah,” she said, carefully. “Something like that.”
You felt your chest tighten. The word inseparable echoed louder than it should have, reverberating against six months of silence, unanswered messages, and conversations that never happened.
You forced a small smile, nodding along as if the word didn’t split something open inside you. “We’ve just… been busy,” you added, keeping your tone light, casual — practiced.
Chaewon didn’t notice the strain. She never did. She launched into a story about a memory from years ago, laughing as she spoke, tugging Megan closer as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Remember when you two got lost after that party and ended up calling me at, like, two in the morning? I swear, I thought you’d both disappeared forever.”
Megan laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. You caught the flicker of something there — guilt, maybe, or restraint — before she looked away. Her body remained angled toward Chaewon, but her attention kept slipping back to you, like she was checking to see how much damage each word was doing.
You nodded at the right moments, smiled when expected, but every sentence felt like a quiet test of endurance. You could feel the room tightening around the three of you, every unspoken truth pressing closer.
The way Megan’s fingers tapped anxiously against her glass. The way her gaze kept darting to you and then away, as if eye contact might say too much. The way Chaewon kept unknowingly weaving the past into the present, pulling threads that neither of you were ready to touch.
At one point, Chaewon laughed and said, “Honestly, I don’t know how you two ever functioned separately. You’re like—” she gestured between you, searching for the word, “—a matched set.”
You felt your chest constrict.
Megan’s jaw tightened. Her shoulders stiffened. For just a second, she looked like she might speak — might finally correct the assumption, might finally say something real — but then she swallowed it down. Her eyes flicked to you, searching, hesitant.
You didn’t give her the opening.
Instead, you smiled faintly and said, “Yeah. We used to be.”
The words hung there, quiet but heavy.
Chaewon laughed again, oblivious, already pivoting to another story, but something had shifted. The air felt charged now, electric and unstable. Megan’s gaze lingered on you longer this time, unreadable, almost wounded. You could feel the unspoken conversation pressing in on both of you, demanding to be acknowledged.
And still — neither of you moved.
As the night wore on, the energy in the room shifted in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. The earlier brightness dulled into something softer, heavier, as though the laughter had grown tired of performing.
Conversations lost their sharp edges and began to blur into background noise, voices melting together in low hums that filled the space without demanding attention.
The lights felt warmer now, casting long shadows across the walls, catching on glass and jewelry and the edges of familiar faces. It was the kind of hour where people leaned closer when they spoke, where time stretched thin and moments lingered longer than they should.
You drifted through it all like a ghost of yourself, present but untethered. You nodded when someone spoke to you, smiled when it was expected, laughed when the cadence suggested you should.
But your awareness was elsewhere — anchored to a presence you refused to acknowledge outright.
Megan moved through the room like a quiet gravity, never approaching, never fully retreating, always just close enough to remind you that she was there.
Every time you thought you’d lost sight of her, you felt it instead: the subtle shift in air, the way your chest tightened without warning, the inexplicable pull drawing your attention sideways.
At one point, your eyes met across the room again — accidental, unplanned, devastating. The look she gave you was unreadable, something caught between longing and restraint. Not an invitation, not a dismissal.
Just a question she wasn’t brave enough to ask. You felt your throat tighten as your gaze held for a beat too long, and then she looked away, as if afraid of what might happen if she didn’t. The space between you pulsed with everything unsaid.
You told yourself to breathe. To stay grounded. To remember why you’d survived the last six months without her. You focused on the weight of your glass in your hand, the condensation slick against your palm, the distant murmur of conversation that reminded you this was still a room full of people. Still, your attention kept drifting back to her, like a muscle memory you hadn’t been able to unlearn.
She laughed at something someone said — a soft sound, quieter than it used to be — and the familiarity of it struck you unexpectedly. It wasn’t the laugh itself that hurt, but the way it carried the ghost of old nights, shared jokes, the way she used to tilt her head toward you when something genuinely amused her.
You caught yourself watching the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, a nervous habit she’d never quite broken. It made your chest ache in a way that felt unfair.
You shifted positions, needing space, and found yourself near the edge of the room where the noise dulled slightly.
From here, you could see her more clearly — the way she hovered at the margins of conversations, how her eyes occasionally searched the room until they landed on you, then quickly darted away. Each time, it felt like a near collision, like standing too close to a flame and pretending you couldn’t feel the heat.
At one point, she moved toward the kitchen, perhaps in search of a drink or an excuse to step away. You followed without quite realizing you were doing it, drawn by instinct rather than intention.
Halfway there, you hesitated, slowing your steps, giving her space — and she did the same. It was almost absurd, the careful choreography of avoidance, two people orbiting the same center without daring to step into it.
When you finally reached the counter, she was already there, fingers resting on the edge as though grounding herself. You stood a few feet away, close enough to feel the warmth of her presence but far enough to pretend there was distance.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you felt deliberate, fragile, as if even a single word might shatter it.
She turned slightly, not fully facing you, and inhaled as though preparing herself. Her lips parted — then pressed together again.
You watched the conflict flicker across her face: the urge to speak warring with the fear of what might follow. Your own chest tightened in response, your body leaning forward almost imperceptibly before you caught yourself and stilled.
The room seemed to recede around you, sounds dulling, lights blurring at the edges. It felt like standing at the edge of something irreversible, a moment suspended in fragile balance. You could sense how close she was to saying something — an apology, a question, a confession — and how close you were to stopping her or inviting it all at once.
Then someone laughed too loudly behind you, a sharp burst of sound that cut through the tension like a blade. The spell cracked.
Megan flinched, stepping back instinctively, her expression shuttering as she turned toward the voice calling her name. “Yeah— I’m coming,” she said quickly, the softness gone from her tone, replaced with something carefully neutral.
She moved past you, close enough that her shoulder nearly brushed yours. The air shifted in her wake, warm and familiar and unbearably fleeting. You stayed where you were, heart pounding, staring at the space she’d just left behind as if it might explain what neither of you could say.
The night pressed on around you, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in its center. Laughter resumed. Glasses clinked. Conversations picked up their rhythm again. But something fundamental had changed. The tension no longer hovered — it coiled, waiting.
You knew then that you couldn’t last much longer.
The conversation shifts without warning, as conversations always do — drifting from light teasing to something more personal, more loaded. Someone mentions relationships in passing, half-joking about how everyone here seems to be tangled in something unfinished.
Laughter follows, easy and careless, but beneath it hums a current that makes your shoulders tense. You lean back slightly, trying to stay detached, trying not to listen too closely.
Then Megan speaks.
Her voice is calm, almost casual, like she hasn’t rehearsed the sentence a thousand times in her head. She talks about honesty, about not waiting around when feelings are involved, about how if she likes someone, she’d rather be upfront than let things rot in silence. It’s said without malice, without emphasis — just a truth dropped into the room like it’s nothing at all.
But it lands heavy.
The words settle somewhere deep in your chest, pressing down until your breathing shifts. Your mind latches onto them, replaying each phrase, each implication.
You can feel the past six months tightening around your ribs — the unanswered messages, the half-hopeful glances, the careful distance you convinced yourself was mutual. You realize, with a dull ache, that her version of courage looks nothing like what you lived through.
You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. The room keeps moving without you, laughter continuing as if nothing has shifted, but something inside you has already stepped away. You push yourself upright slowly, not trusting your legs to move too fast. No one notices when you slip from the circle, when you trade noise for quiet and warmth for cool air.
The hallway feels like a relief and a punishment all at once. The noise dulls behind you, replaced by the soft hum of the house settling, the faint echo of music bleeding through walls.
You rest a hand against the wall, grounding yourself, trying to slow the rush in your chest. You tell yourself this is fine. That you expected this. That closure doesn’t always come gently.
Footsteps approach — hesitant, measured. You don’t turn, but you know who it is before she speaks. The air changes in that subtle way it always does when she’s near, charged and familiar and dangerous all at once.
She stops a few steps behind you. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be felt.
There’s a pause — the kind that stretches because neither of you knows where to place the truth without breaking something. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before, stripped of performance, of certainty. You don’t look at her yet. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll lose the fragile composure you’ve built.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
The sound of her voice still does that thing to you — settles somewhere in your chest before you can stop it. You close your eyes for half a second, not because you need time to think, but because you need to steady yourself. When you turn around, you make sure your face is composed, even if everything inside you feels unsteady.
“You meant that?” you ask, keeping your voice level despite the tightness creeping into it. “What you said back there?”
She blinks, caught off guard. “What—?”
“That you’d go after someone if you liked them,” you clarify. “That you wouldn’t wait.”
Understanding flickers across her face in slow motion. Confusion softens into recognition, and then into something heavier — something that looks a lot like guilt. She opens her mouth as if to take it back, as if she could rewind the moment entirely.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did,” you interrupt gently, exhaustion threading through your words. “You said it so easily.”
She exhales, fingers lifting to rake through her hair in a familiar, nervous motion. “I wasn’t talking about—”
“Me?” You let out a small, humorless laugh that surprises even you. “I know.”
She freezes. Completely still, like the truth has finally caught up to her and she doesn’t know where to put it. For a second, she just looks at you — really looks — and you see it then. The realization. The weight of everything she’s been avoiding settling behind her eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d take it like that,” she says quietly.
You tilt your head, studying her, searching for something solid to hold onto. “How did you think I’d take it, Megan?”
The silence that follows is thick and unkind. It stretches between you, pressing against your ribs, filling the narrow hallway with everything neither of you wants to say out loud. Her gaze drops to the floor, and when she finally speaks, her voice is smaller.
“I thought… maybe you’d moved on.”
You shake your head slowly, the motion deliberate, tired. “You don’t get to assume that after disappearing.”
Her breath catches — you hear it, see it — a sharp little hitch she can’t hide. “I didn’t disappear,” she says again, but this time there’s no strength behind it. No defense. Just habit.
“You did,” you answer softly. “You just did it politely.”
The words land, and she flinches. Not dramatically, not enough for anyone else to notice — just enough for you to know they hit exactly where you meant them to. Her shoulders tense, her jaw tightens, and when she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper.
“I was scared. I didn’t want to mess things up.”
Your chest tightens at that, something aching and familiar blooming beneath your ribs. “You already did,” you say quietly, without anger, without accusation — just honesty laid bare.
The words hang there, suspended between you. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just true.
She looks up at you then, really looks, her eyes glossy as if she’s trying to memorize your face in case this is the last time she gets the chance. “I didn’t think you still cared,” she admits.
You let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking in the middle. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”
For a moment, neither of you moves. The hallway feels too narrow, the air too thick. Somewhere behind you, laughter drifts from the other room, distant and wrong, a reminder that the world is still turning even as this moment threatens to swallow you whole.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says.
“I know,” you reply. “But you did.”
She swallows, her throat working as she nods once. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
You meet her gaze, steady despite the ache spreading through your chest. “Neither do I.”
And that’s the truth — raw, exposed, sitting between you like an open wound neither of you knows how to close. You wipe your tears quickly on the back of your hand, taking a steadying breath before turning to walk away.
You make it to the porch before the night air really hits you — cool, sharp, grounding in a way the house never was. The door clicks shut behind you, muting the laughter, the music, the version of the world that keeps pretending everything is fine.
Out here, it’s quieter. Honest. You rest your hands against the railing, breathing in slowly, trying to steady the ache that’s settled deep in your chest.
For a few seconds, you let yourself believe she won’t come after you.
Then the door creaks open again.
Footsteps — hesitant, uneven — cross the threshold. You don’t turn. You don’t need to. You feel her presence like a shift in gravity, like the night itself leaning closer.
“You think I wanted this to happen too?”
Her voice cracks on the last word. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just broken enough to make your chest tighten against your will.
You close your eyes.
“I loved you.”
The words land behind you, heavy and fragile all at once. They don’t echo — they sink. You grip the railing harder, knuckles whitening, breath stuttering as something inside you splinters. For a moment, you almost turn around. Almost let yourself believe that love, spoken too late, could still soften the damage.
But then everything you swallowed comes rushing back — the waiting, the guessing, the way you learned to make yourself smaller just to survive the silence.
You exhale slowly and turn to face her.
Her eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, desperate in a way that would’ve undone you months ago. Now, it just hurts.
“Don’t,” you say quietly. Not angry. Worn. “Don’t say it like that.”
She takes a step toward you. “It’s the truth.”
“You don’t get to give me that now,” you say, your voice steady only because you’re holding it together by force. “Not after leaving me to figure everything out on my own.”
Her breath shakes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“I know,” you cut in gently. “You’ve said that.”
There’s a pause. The night hums around you. Somewhere inside, something finally snaps — not violently, but cleanly, like a cord pulled too tight for too long.
You look at her, really look at her, and the words come out low and final.
“Give me the gift of your absence.”
She stills.
The sentence hangs between you, heavy and irreversible. You see it register — the shock first, then the hurt, then the slow understanding that this isn’t said out of cruelty, but necessity. That you’re not pushing her away out of anger, but out of survival.
Her lips part, like she wants to argue, to beg, to undo everything with one perfect sentence.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she nods once, small and broken, like she’s accepting something she’s known was coming.
“I didn’t mean for it to end like this,” she whispers.
You swallow. “Neither did I.”
She steps back. Then another. Each movement feels heavier than the last, like gravity’s pulling her away inch by inch. When she turns, she doesn’t look back.
The door closes softly behind her.
You stay there long after — chest aching, throat tight — staring out into the dark where her voice still lingers. You don’t feel victorious. You don’t feel relieved.
You feel hollow.
But beneath the ache, beneath the grief, there’s something else beginning to take shape.
Space.
And for the first time in a long time, it feels like something you might finally need.
Then it hits you: you can’t go back inside. Not yet. Not to the same room, not to the same laughter, not to the easy facades everyone wears.
After what just happened, after the words and the weight of her confession and your own, you know the world inside that house will never feel the same — and you’re not ready to pretend it is.
The tires crunch over the gravel as you pull out of the driveway, leaving the house — the party, the noise, the ghosts of everything unsaid — behind. The night air still lingers in the car, carrying a faint chill that seeps through the vents and curls along your arms.
You roll the windows up, shutting out the world, and turn the key. The radio hums for a beat before the opening notes of "Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call" fill the small space, and somehow the music feels like it was made for this exact moment.
You grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw pressing against the skin of your hand. The song drones on — the bittersweet melody, the soft ache of the lyrics — and it matches the rhythm of your heartbeat.
It’s ironic, somehow, that a song about wanting distance, about wrapping up old feelings and leaving them behind, is now the soundtrack to the very thing you can’t leave behind.
Your phone lights up, buzzing insistently on the passenger seat. One, two, three missed calls from Lara, then Chaewon, and others you’ve let pile up, their names blurring together. Each vibration feels like it lands somewhere raw inside you, a reminder that the world has not stopped, that people keep moving, keep expecting, while your chest still carries the weight of her voice.
Then a single message:
Megan: Merry Christmas.
It’s simple. Almost too simple. No punctuation, no apology, no preamble — just her reaching across the distance you thought she had respected. You don’t touch it at first. You don’t swipe. You just stare at it, the screen glowing faintly against the dark interior of the car.
The song continues, every note pressing against your ribs like it’s keeping time with everything you’ve felt tonight. You take a deep breath, one that trembles even as you try to steady it. The car hums beneath you, headlights cutting through the dark, and the world outside seems impossibly large and impossibly small all at once.
You finally swipe the phone to silence the buzzing notifications, letting the message sit unread, like a stone in your pocket, heavy and permanent.
Your fingers tighten on the wheel, the night stretching ahead of you — endless, unyielding, and impossibly quiet except for the music and the memory of her standing there on the porch, fists clenched, eyes glossy, knowing this wasn’t over.
The melody loops again. You roll down the windows slightly, letting the cold air hit your face, and drive forward into a night that feels suspended between endings and beginnings, between heartbreak and a truth neither of you can deny.
And somehow, that’s all you can do — keep moving, even when the weight of her words and her presence still lingers, echoing with every note of the song that will not leave you, no matter how far you drive.
how it feels like writing the new fic that you're working on for a holiday special and then randomly got a huge toothache to the point ur family is almost finna take u to the ER.. is this the author's curse
OMG HI NHAK, slr!! (i just realized ur filo HAHAHAH)
~ Okay pause, to clarify are yall dating or BC LIKE THIS WOULD BE A DIFFERENT CASE IF YALL ARE DATING VS NOT though i do agree that its confusing af bc what the helly?? So yeah i get why you would feel jealous.
~ CONGRATS ON THE 500 FOLLOWERSS 🥳🥳 DASERVEEE!!
~ YES YES YES TO THE SIMBANG GABI FICS WITH SOPHIA YES JUST YES!
From ur 🌻 anon who just survived school hell week.
HII 🌻 ANONNN CONGRATS FOR SURVIVING HELL WEEK !! nd also happy holidays :3 and also uhhh talking stage i guess ?? 😅😅😊☝🏻but yeah idk IDK IM STUCK IN THIS TOXIC YURI CYCLE BECAUSE I LIKE HER. ND ALSO THX SM 🌻 ANON COULDN'T HAVE DNE 500 WITHOUT U, hindi makukumplento ang isang milyon kung walang piso. 🤞🏻
Also i lowk attended simbang gabi with the girl i was taking abt so the fic is probably going to be some heavy ass lore abt me 🙂↕️
Project K.A.T.S.E.Y.E, a venture produced by the joint partnership of the companies Hybe and Geffen, was meant to mark the start of a new era.
Humanity had begun declining since long before 2035, driven by their base instinct and unchecked egos.
Through their program, Hybe and Geffen selected 6 unique girls to be unknowing test subjects in their project. These 6 girls, each with their own set of unique genotypes and personalities, would be forced to take on a transformation that would rid them of their shameless humanity, and help them embrace their far more pure, more superior nature.
All was going according to plan.
Until you came along.
You had been hired as their caretaker---meant to take note of how they developed and changed throughout the project. Unfortunately, you had become a dangerous and unaccounted for variable in this delicate project.
Because unbeknownst to everyone, each one of the girls had taken a special interest in you.
And now they weren't keen on letting you out of their sight.
"Just can't help but be drawn to you, baby. It's in my nature."
● 《¤》 ●
PROFILES:
MEGAN MEIYOK SKIENDIEL:
The first subject in this twisted experiment. She had gone in blind, believing she was there for an internship opportunity offered by her university. Once she had entered, however, she was never seen leaving. Multiple missing posters have been left in her wake.
She loves just as blindly as she trusts.
SUBJUCT NO.70X1; Fox-Hybrid
OBSERVATIONS:
Tame, relatively quiet. Subject shows visible signs of distress but is otherwise cooperative. Full privileges have been granted, and there is no need for any form of restrictive devices.
SOPHIA LAFORTEZA:
The second unwilling subject in this scheme. As the daughter of the head scientist, Sophia had believed that she was safe from ever becoming a casualty in the experiments. She was proven wrong when she was betrayed by her own father and tricked into entering the surgery room. No one but those within are aware of her disappearance.
Her heart bleeds with vengeance and love.
SUBJECT NO.1U72; Bleeding Heart-Hybrid
OBSERVATIONS:
Tame but vocal. Tends to keep to her own but isn't afraid to confront security if she feels emboldened to. Tends to get along better with the younger subjects (see: NO.70X1), and assists in subduing them when asked. Not a precieved threat to other individuals, therefore full privileges have been granted.
LARA RAJAGOPALAN:
Third subject. A rising popstar gone rogue---as far as the media knew. Lara had a promising future ahead of her before she was kidnapped for the sake of this experiment. According to the media, she had overdosed in her hotel room and been robbed by opportunistic looters. Everyone outside of the project is unaware of her staged death.
She loves as boldly as she looks.
SUBJECT NO.C10UD3; Clouded Leopard-Hybrid
OBSERVATIONS:
Wild. Needs constant supervision and care to ensure that subject has not escaped her holding cell. Known to hide in the rafters for indefinite period of time. Similarly gets along well with younger subjects (see: NO.C4T6), but rather curiously displays hostile reactions to subjects with similar genotypes (see: NO.L10N4). Maintain an ample amount of caution when handling this subject and adhere to any restricted privileges.
DANIELA AVANZINI:
Fourth subject. Previously an F1 driver, Daniela was set to make it to finals by the end of the season. That was until a devastating crash that ultimately cut her career---and seemingly her life---short. Her body was never recovered from the crash sight, however, eyewitnesses report seeing "rescue" personal dragging her unconscious body away from the scene before the real paramedics could arrive. They have since been dismissed as conspiracies.
Her love is as dangerous as it is fierce.
SUBJECT NO.L10N4; Lion-Hybrid
OBSERVATIONS:
Feral. Do not engage unless at least 2 armed members of the security team, ranked a specialist or higher, follow. Has shown no signs of cooperation and regularly attempts escape. Extremely dangerous, therefore everything is restricted. Proceed with the highest level of caution.
MANON BANNERMAN:
Fifth subject. Before being captured, she had been living an extravagant life. Having been born into one of the wealthiest families around the world, Manon had everything handed to her on a silver platter. Her life planned. Her goals curated. Her eventual disappearance had been chalked up to a money kill. After all, one of the rumors surrounding her family was that they had earned their money through underhanded schemes with the mafia. Whether or not this is true is unknown to the public. Rather interestingly, she is quite content with her capture.
Quiet as she is, her love never goes unnoticed.
SUBJECT NO.D33R5; Deer-Hybrid
OBSERVATIONS:
No signs of fear or struggle. Entirely complacent. Full privileges, no danger. Open to visitors on site.
YOONCHAE JEUNG:
Final subject. Yoonchae was a normal student attending school before her difficult capture. It had taken over a week for her to be detained, mostly because she was able to fly under the radar so seamlessly. Unfortunately, this impressive skill led to her disappearance, where authorities were left baffled as to how she vanished without a trace. She ultimately became known as one of the most mysterious cold cases in her area.
She's the only one that has your back.
SUBJECT NO.C4T6; Cat-Hybrid
OBSERVATIONS:
Inconclusive.
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《...end of [LOG.]》
~~~
< @jhayliace >; Your cooperation is appreciated. Research personal have been notified.
diva youre not the only one struggling with yuri✌️
I really like this girl but im too much of a puss to talk to her so ill see if I can gather my courage soon........ (also pretty sure shes straight but let's not assume things!!)
(she looks just like daniela avanzini #needthat)
TWIN YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE #HITHERUP don't assume unless stated cuh, SO TALK TO HER BRO YOU WONT LOSE ANYTHIN !! manifesting yuri yuri yuri
very very late BUT THANK YOU FOR 500 FOLLOWERS HUZZAH !! I've been learning something on the guitar to celebrate this but here's a slight reveal to what the penholder looks like 🤓☝🏻
Pls ignore if im crossing any boundaries(if so im very sorry) but do you perhaps need a voice of reason or a ear that would listen, no one deserves doomed toxic yuri boo😔💔
here for u,🌻
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH 🌻 ANON 😊😊☝🏻☝🏻 but yeah basically I need like a word of advice here LIKE UH SO BASICALLY WE ARE SCHOOLMATES RIGHT...
yesterday was our year end party and both of our friend groups decided to go to the mall and then basically she wore heels (😍😍) and 45 minutes later she was on a bad mood (we were messaging only because I was on the OTHER SIDE OF THE FUCKING MALL) and I offered for her to take my shoes instead even tho that meant I would be barefoot and carrying her heels.
SHE DECLINED 4 DIFFERENT TIMES AND ME ND MY FRIENDS ARE JS THUGGING IT OUT CHASING WHERE THEY WERE GOING TO GIVE MY FUCKING SHOES...
and then when her and her friends decided to go home using the jeep and they were in line for more than an hour SHE WAS TALKING TO ME ABOUT DAMN SHOES SO I GAVE A SOLUTION THAT aight ima order an uber my treat yo SHE DECLINED ONCE AGAIN 💔💔💔
then when i got home she messaged me again that her feet hurt and she was carrying allat (I TOLD HER I WOULD HELP HER WALK TO THEIR HOUSE SHE IGNORED ME ???)
and then wow i looked over to what she posted and I found out SHE BORROWED HER male classmate's shoes LIKE WHAT THE FUCK. be tryna make a nonchalant act jealous like this ain't finna work on me bro
