Lagging Hearts - Megan SMAU: 09 Why Are You So Good?
w/c: 800+
a/n: IM BACK WITH THIS. Here is me faking valorant terms since I only play fortnite and cod! 🥹💔
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By the time they queue their fourth game, Y/N isn’t even pretending this is casual anymore.
She’s leaned back in her chair, mic tilted closer, fingers drumming against her desk while the agent select timer ticks down. Chat’s still flying—emotes, inside jokes, people arguing about whether tonight’s Valorant arc is better than Fortnite ever was.
Megan locks in first. No hesitation.
Y/N clocks it, squinting slightly. “You always instalock?”
“Only when I’m confident,” Megan replies easily.
That, at least, tracks.
The game loads in. Ascent. Defense first.
The round hasn’t even started yet when Megan speaks again, already in problem-solving mode.
“Okay, they’ve been five-stacking A the last two pistol rounds. If they do it again, let’s give site, play retake with util. Save mollies for post.”
Y/N blinks.
“…We’re in unrated.”
“Yeah,” Megan says. “So?”
Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “No, that’s—okay. Sure. Retake, team.”
Chat instantly latches on.
CHAT:
WAIT SHE SAID RETAKE LIKE THAT WAS A GIVEN
who is this woman
that sounded rehearsed
Round starts. Megan jiggle peeks A main, backs up immediately.
“One up A main, shoulder peek. No flash yet.”
Two seconds later—flash.
Y/N exhales sharply. “Okay, nah. That was crazy.”
“I told you,” Megan says, a little smug now. “They flash late.”
She rotates early. Doesn’t overrotate—just enough to pressure mid.
“Careful cat,” Megan adds. “Their Jett likes to dash off contact.”
The Jett dashes. Right on cue.
Y/N’s laugh this time is real, a little breathless. “Chat. Chat. Be serious right now.”
CHAT:
THIS IS NOT LUCK
SHE’S READING THEM
WHY DOES SHE SOUND LIKE A COACH
They win the round clean. No chaos. No scrambling.
That’s when it gets weird.
Because Megan doesn’t celebrate.
She immediately starts talking about the next round.
“They’re gonna force. Probably stingers. Don’t hold tight angles—play range.”
Y/N swivels slightly in her chair. “Do you… keep notes or something?”
“What? No,” Megan says quickly. “I just—uh—watch a lot of high elo gameplay.”
“Uh huh.”
Chat does not buy it.
CHAT:
SHE SAID ECON
NO NORMAL PERSON TRACKS BUY LIKE THAT
Y/N ARE YOU QUEUED WITH A PRO
Megan forces a laugh, louder than she needs to. “Okay, relax, I whiffed last round.”
She immediately proves that wrong by swinging mid, counter-strafing perfectly, and one-tapping someone through smoke timing.
Silence for half a second.
Then—
CHAT:
HELLO???
THE MOVEMENT???
THAT CROSSHAIR PLACEMENT
Y/N stares at her screen. “You said you don’t play ranked.”
“I don’t,” Megan says. Then, softer, without thinking: “Not anymore.”
She freezes.
Y/N hums. “Not anymore?”
Megan clears her throat. “I mean—like—I tried it once. Didn’t like it.”
Y/N lets it go, but she’s smiling now. Not suspicious. Amused. Curious.
The game stretches on. So do Megan’s calls.
“Hold crossfire, don’t peek alone.”
“Play contact, let them walk.”
“Ult economy’s bad right now—bait theirs first.”
Every time she talks, chat reacts faster.
CHAT:
THIS IS SCRIM LANGUAGE
WHO TAUGHT HER THIS
SHE SAID ‘ULT ECON’
Y/N finally says it out loud, laughing. “You realize my chat thinks you’re secretly immortal three hundred RR.”
Megan snorts. “Your chat thinks everyone’s famous.”
That lands too close to something dangerous.
She adjusts, consciously now. Misses a shot on purpose. Laughs when she dies.
“Okay, yeah, no, I’m washed,” she says quickly. “Don’t clip that.”
Chat spams skull emojis. Y/N laughs with them, tension easing—just a bit.
But then the enemy team adapts.
They fake A. Rotate late B.
Before Y/N even reacts, Megan’s already there.
“Rotate now. Now. Trust.”
Y/N trusts. They win the round by seconds.
Y/N exhales, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t trust like this.”
“I won’t let you down,” Megan says automatically.
It slips out softer than everything else she’s said all night.
Y/N pauses. Just a beat.
“…Okay,” she says. “I believe you.”
Megan’s chest tightens.
Chat explodes again.
CHAT:
THE VIBES
WHY IS THIS INTIMATE
STOP WHY DO I CARE
By the time the match ends, Y/N’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Megan’s hands are shaking slightly on her mouse.
They win. Clean. Controlled.
Y/N leans back. “Alright. I’m officially asking.”
Megan braces herself.
“What?”
“How are you this good?”
Megan laughs—but it’s thinner now. “I told you. I hate losing.”
Y/N tilts her head. “Yeah. But this feels… trained.”
The word lands heavy.
Megan’s heart kicks.
She opens her mouth, ready to deflect again—joke, dodge, pivot—
And then Sophia’s voice cuts through the background, faint but unmistakable.
“Megan—hey, are you still on? We have something in like an hour.”
Silence.
Y/N doesn’t say anything at first.
Chat does.
CHAT:
WHO WAS THAT
PHOTOS???
HELLO???
Megan’s mic clicks.
“Oh—uh—yeah. Sorry,” she says quickly. “Roommate stuff.”
Y/N laughs, saving her without even realizing it. “Damn, rich roommate behavior.”
Chat buys it. Somehow.
But Megan’s pulse won’t slow.
She laughs along. Plays dumb. Keeps her voice light.
Inside, though?
Every word feels like it’s tightening the noose.
And somewhere in chat, buried between emotes and jokes, someone types:
guys why does this feel like something
