a/n: idk how i feel about this but it was so fun writing this also the smut is short but it felt fitting somehow + i didn’t tag my taglist cause i didn’t know who wanted this
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The apartment feels like it’s holding its breath.
It’s barely more than a rectangle – one long room pretending to be a home, funded by my sister. The bed is shoved against the wall because there’s nowhere else for it to go, the foot of it facing the kitchen like they’re meant to coexist. A couch sits uselessly beside it, half buried in a pile of clothes that never quite get folded. The bathroom is tucked behind a crooked door, so close you can hear the toilet tank refill if the room’s quiet enough.
Right now, it is.
I’m standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in hot water that’s starting to sting because I didn’t bother adjusting the temperature. The window above the sink is fogged, city light bleeding in through it, distorted and dull. I’ve already washed everything once, but I keep going anyway because you’re too quiet, scrubbing the same pan like it owes me something.
Behind me, you’re sitting at the foot of the bed.
I don’t turn around, but I know the shape of you there – the way your legs are pulled in, the way your shoulders are tense. Your phone flows in your hands, lighting your face just enough that I can sense your focus without seeing it. You’re not scrolling. You’re reading. Re-reading.
The silence stretches until it feels intentional. “What?” I ask, glancing back over my shoulder.
You don't answer right away. Your phone locks with a soft click, and you rest it against your thigh like it suddenly weighs too much. “My friend texted me,” you say.
I nod, drying my hands on a dish towel that smells faintly like detergent and old coffee. “Okay.”
“She knows about you.”
That makes my chest tighten before my brain can catch up. I turn the water off, slower than necessary, and my words are already defensive. “Knows what about me?”
You stand up, moving the few steps it takes to cross the room, stopping right at the invisible line where the kitchen ends and the bedroom begins. “About before. About how you were with girls.”
I let out a breath through my nose. “Jesus.” I mutter, already knowing where this is going. I also know how you will talk about anything uncomfortable.
“She sent me things,” you continued, voice steady, almost practiced. “Messages, stories, screenshots. It's not just one person, Jake. It's the same story told by different mouths.”
I lean back against the counter, arms crossed, defensive again before I mean to be. “So now I’m being judged by people who don't even know me anymore?”
“Sit down,” you say. And I’ve always been weak around you. You’re not loud, not angry, just very certain.
I hesitate for half a second, then drop into the chair by the table, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it might offer a version of this where I don’t lose. The chair creaks under my weight, and it’s loud in the room.
You start pacing – two steps towards the sink, two back toward the bed. There isn't room for more than that, but you make it work. You don't stop talking.
“She said you disappear when things get uncomfortable,” you say. “That you always have a reason, always have an explanation, always know how to sound convincing when someone’s already exhausted. Vanessa told me this shit.”
“I was younger.” I say automatically.
“You always say that,” you reply without missing a beat. “Like time alone did the work for you. You know you hurt people while you’re learning, so why aren't you fucking acting like it?”
I look up at you then, jaw tight. “You think I don’t know I fucked up? You think I’m proud of it?”
“I think you’re good at being remorseful,” you say, stopping in front of me. “And bad at being consistent.”
God, I hate how brutally honest you always are. But something’s tying me down. The words land hard. I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms, posture closing in on itself. “So what, you believe her over me?”
“I believe patterns,” you say. “And I believe how familiar this feels.” I also hate how pretty you look right now. How pretty you always look. Even when you’re throwing all this shit in my face.
You’re standing between my knees now, close enough that I can see the tension in your face, the way your fingers flex like you’re resisting the urge to throw something. The apartment feels smaller with you this close, like the walls are leaning in to listen. I know my neighbours can hear us.
“I’m not calling you a villain,” you continue. “I’m saying you hurt people, then talk about growth like it erases the damage. And I don’t want to wake up one day realizing I stayed just long enough to become another cautionary tale.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know,” you say immediately, softer but also somehow sharper. “That’s what scares me. You don’t do it on purpose. You just… do it.”
You turn, grab your phone from the bed, scroll once, then let your arm drop back to your side. You don’t even show me the screen. You don’t need to. I already know the version of myself they’re describing. I've met him in my friends and I’ve been him.
“I just want to love you,” you say, voice quieter now, more tied than angry. “And I keep feeling like I have to brace for impact.”
I stand up without thinking, the chair scraping against the floor. The sound makes us both flinch. I’m too close now – close enough to see the shine in your eyes, the tight line of your mouth.
“I’m trying,” I say, and for once it doesn’t feel like a defense so much as a confession. “I don’t know how to undo who I was, but I’m not pretending it didn’t happen.”
“You don't contradict it either,” you say. “You just ask me to trust that it won’t happen again.”
We stand there like that for a second – too close, breathing the same air, the argument suspended between us like something fragile and alive.
I’m just looking into your eyes while you look back at your phone and I can’t take it. My hands come up to grip your hips automatically, thumbs digging in like I need proof you’re still here. You’re leaning in and the kiss isn’t careful. It’s familiar, charged with frustration and history and the kind of wanting that doesn’t wait for permission. You kiss me like you’re trying to quiet your own thoughts.
You pull back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against mine. “This doesn’t fix it.”
“I know,” I say.
Your mouth finds mine again anyway, and I’ve always been a sucker for your lips. You. God, all of you. It’s slower this time, heavier. I back you toward the bed until the edge presses against the backs of your legs. This has always been our solution to every fight. I don’t know if it's healthy or not anymore.
You don't resist. Your hands slide up my arms, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer like proximity might solve something logic can’t. Like you’re trying to get me to prove I won’t fuck *us* up. And only the moonlight shines through the window.
The fight isn’t over. It’s just gone quiet.
“This is the last time,” you murmur, breath warm against my mouth. I don’t answer.
I kiss you again, deeper, letting my hands move with more intention now – like we both know exactly where this is heading, even if neither of us is brave enough to say it out loud. I can’t hide from you like I hide from myself.
I’m still going to be the same asshole you met, who puts in little effort sometimes and too much effort other times. And when you don’t stop me, when you pull me with you onto the bed, the rest of the night opens up in front of us – unspoken, unresolved, inevitable.
I kiss you like I’m trying to say something I don’t have language for.
Your back hits the mattress, the bed giving that familiar creak beneath us, springs complaining like they always do the second we’re on this bed together. The room is dim, lit by the lamp I forgot you turned on earlier in the kitchen bleeding in from behind me, casting everything in a soft, yellow blur. I hover over you for a second, searching your face like I might find permission there – like I might find absolution.
Your hands slide under my shirt instead.
That’s all it takes. You have a fucking way with your hands. Fuck.
I’m already breathing heavier, already too aware of every place we’re touching, every place we aren’t yet. My mouth drags down your jaw, along your neck, slow and deliberate, like if I rush I’ll lose you. You tilt your head back, fingers threading into my hair, tugging just enough to remind me you’re still here, still choosing this.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not mad,” you murmur.
I smile against your skin. “I know.” I say against your skin.
But you pull me closer anyway, legs shifting, bodies lining up in a way that makes thinking impossible. My hands roam with more confidence now, memorizing you like I’m afraid this version of us might not exist tomorrow. The argument lingers in the air – unresolved, unsolved – but it’s drowned out by the way you breathe when I kiss you like *this*.
Clothes start to feel like obstacles. I help you shrug out of them, slow and reverent, like I’m undressing something fragile. The bed dips as I settle between your knees, the world narrowing down to heat and proximity and the quiet sounds we’re trying not to make too loud.
Your mouth finds mine again, open and desperate, and when my hands – rough from playing guitar – slide over bare skin, you gasp softly, like surprise, like relief.
“I hate you,” you whisper against my lips which just causes me to grin against your own. My hand slides down your body, finding the opening of your legs, your skin already bare against my clothed body because my hands were too impatient.
My other hand finds your jaw as my elbow props me up above you, my thumb practically entering your mouth as we devour each other. I’m too far gone to even pretend like I want to take this slow.
You moan softly as my hand between your legs moves to take control of your hips, grinding you on my clothed crotch. You don’t take another second to pull away from the kiss – leaving me completely breathless – to unbutton my jeans and push them down along with my boxers, working on taking my shirt off right after.
I smile down at you but you interrupt my awaiting words by kissing me again. I pull back *again* just to tease you, and just far enough to watch you – *really* watch you. The way your hips are arching up without the barrier, the little sounds spilling from your mouth – quiet enough that my neighbours won’t hear but loud enough where I can hear them – when I drag my fingers over where you’re already wet for me.
“You hate me?” I repeat against your lips, voice rough as my thumb circles slow and taunting. “Funny way of showing it.”
I don’t let you answer – just kiss the smirk right off your face as I finally push inside with a groan that’s all *yours*. I swallow the sound that tears from your throat and my head swims at how easily we fit together like that. Everything fades away except the way your body feels against mine, the little sounds you make against my mouth.
I can’t go slow. I don’t want to.
I need you so much it *hurts*.
I press your head back into the pillows, words lost in a string of *please* and *want*, and I swear under my breath that I swear, it’s like I’ve never had anything that’s just mine before. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, you know that?”
I’m losing it completely.
Your words are muffled against my skin but I hear them loud and clear. My hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as I chase the feeling of you coming undone so quickly for me.
“You–fuck–” My voice cracks when you clench around me like that.
I bury myself deep with a groan that sounds more pained than anything else, forehead pressed to yours as we both ride it out. Your friend would kill us if she ever finds out what we do in this room. Whether it takes a few minutes or a few hours.
We pant together, catching our breath. I let my weight lean into you, completely spent and sated and so damn content I don’t want to move. I watch you – this girl who’s more addicting than anything – and try to memorize every detail.
The way your hair splays across the pillow.
The way your face relaxes into pure satisfaction.
The way you’re staring at me like I’m the one who hung the moon.
We lay like that for what feels like forever – legs intertwined, hands roaming, neither one of us quite ready to move at all. And we don’t. I press a kiss to your forehead before moving beside you, the exhaustion of the whole day finally catching up to me. I mean, considering it's 1 A.M., it’s no surprise I fall asleep easily along with you.
The morning light is cruel.
It cuts through the blinds in thin, unforgiving stripes, illuminating the apartment in a way that makes everything look too real. The dishes now dry. The clothes scattered across the floor. The cramped space that felt so intimate last night and now just feels… small.
You’re still asleep beside me.
Your back is to my chest, breathing slow and even, hair still a mess against the pillow. One of my arms is draped over your waist, heavy with sleep, instinctive. For a moment, I don’t move. I just lie there, listening to you breathe, memorizing the weight of you like I might need it later.
I already know this didn’t fix anything.
The texts are still real. The past still exists. I’m still me.
You shift slightly, stirring, and my arm tightens around you before I can stop myself. You make a small sound – half-asleep, not pulling away – and that alone feels like mercy.
When you finally wake up, you don't say anything right away. You just lie there, clinging to my side like you forgot what happened last night. You didn’t. I know that much. You’re choosing to forget what happened.
this was inspired by jake minch's "fucked up" reminding me of grant chapman. oh grant, my favourite fictional fictional character <33
grant chapman - jake minch
songs to listen to: fingers and clothes, fucked up
i know grant isn't even officially a marauders character but he is to me <3
lily evans - jensen mcrae
songs to listen to: let me be wrong, i can change him
i think i added over half of 'i don't know how but they found me!' to my lily evans playlist, its SO lily coded
mary macdonald - maisie peters
songs to listen to: watch, funeral
i've long been a maisie peters is mary coded truther. at one point i nearly wrote a marauders band au and mary was going to be maisie-peters-olivia-rodrigo coded
james potter - mcfly
songs to listen to: just my luck, obviously
james is so boyband-core. scouting for girls would have been my second choice, one direction is my third.
sirius black - conan gray
songs to listen to: vodka cranberry, family line
the obvious choice but it just makes so much sense !!
remus lupin - noah kahan
songs to listen to: homesick, northern attitude
again, kind of obvious but so remus !
peter pettigrew - orla gartland
songs to listen to: more like you, pretending
this is the choice i am least happy with but it was really hard to find something that fit peter well. it'll do ig
marlene mckinnon - renee rapp
songs to listen to: pretty girls, talk too much
renee rapp is also a good marlene fancast!
dorcas meadowes - shallow alcove
songs to listen to: wishes on weeds, music box
could also work for pandora too tbh
regulus black - lizzy mcalpine
songs to listen to: nothing / sad n stuff, to the mountains
similar to peter, i am not 100% happy with this choice but i think it does work !
pandora lovegood - maya hawke
songs to listen to: therese, luna moth
also dodie could work ! but i think maya hawke makes the most sense
I'm a yapper and a fangirl but first and foremost I am a writer and I feel I would be doing you all a disservice if I didn't post a playlist of my favorite hurt/comfort/angst songs to listen to when I'm writing my books or fics (or just thinking about my comfort characters in general)
playlist:
vienna (in memoriam) - the army, the navy
"looks like the cat did a number on you"
fingers and clothes - jake minch
"you think they don't know but we all know"
crack baby - mitski
"you don't know what you want, but you know that you had it once"
at the beach, in every life - gigi perez
"if my dreams come up empty, and i wash up on the shore, you would find me at the beach, in every life, through every door"
i don't smoke - mitski
"so if you need to be mean, be mean to me"
your best american girl - mitski
"you're all i ever wanted, i think i'll regret this"
house song - searows
"you surrounded me and my windows are breaking"
half return - adrianne lenker
"standing in the yard, dressed like a kid, the house is white and the lawn is dead"
moon song - phoebe bridgers
"so i will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door:
right now - gracie abrams
"look at me, i feel homesick, want my dog in the door"
sleeping - gigi perez
"i slipped into that pretty black mess, sold my soul, and yeah, it made less"
i bet on losing dogs - mitski
"i always want you when i'm finally fine"
franklin house - brenn!
"i will survive, but i'll never recover"
two people - gracie abrams
"don't know what to say, two people can change, don't think we're above, might happen to us. oh, isn't it strange? we'll die anyway"
smoke signals - phoebe bridgers
"i buried a hatchet, it's comin' up lavender"
