Helena

(I eat cheese but only on pizza please, and sometimes on a homemade quesadilla)

jailuncle: I also write on wattpad!

fandoms i like writing for the most: stranger things, hunger games, hotd, got, f1, Harry Potter, Narnia, mitm

Ravenclaw! Cabin 6!

fav people to write for: anything Finn wolfhard, Jamie Campbell bower or Oscar piastri related

things I love writing: ex’s to lovers, enemies to lovers, angst in general

Mike wheeler defender 4 life

Max Verstappen fan (I’m Dutch)

Do i take requests? Yes! But i don’t owe you anything! If i don’t respond to your request i didn’t like it or didn’t feel like writing it and I’m allowed that!

I loveeee reading the little social media thingy’s

fav music artists: hozier, role model, radiohead, nirvana, Laufey

pairing: chishiya x reader

summary: you meet Chishiya in the hospital you lose him in borderland, established relationship, no use of y/n

warnings: mentions of death, passing out, idk Alice in borderland stuff

love. In Chishiya’s head it was stupid. Not quite useless but not something he needed to live. And that was that survival was what mattered and the rest was an after thought. Then he met you. The first thing he noticed was that you were most definitely not under eighteen, and as a pediatric surgeon, that wasn’t something he encountered often. The second thing he noticed was your chart. No surgery required. Fractured tibia. Casting and observation. He looked up. You smiled at him. “Hi,” you greeted cheerfully. He didn’t answer. “Are you the orthopaedic doctor?” you asked. One of his brows lifted. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” he said, voice lined with sarcasm. You frowned. “I’m a surgeon,” he added. Your eyes widened. “Do I need surgery?” The question came out in a rush. He blinked once, almost surprised by your panic. Then he shook his head. “No. I’m here to cast your leg.” You let out a breath. “Oh.” Silence. Then—“Shouldn’t you be performing surgery?” you asked. He glanced up from your chart. “Shouldn’t you be resting instead of questioning your doctor?”

“I’m just curious.”

“That’s unfortunate.” You couldn’t speak before he did again “how old are you?” You didn’t hesitate “Twenty three, why” Chishiya shook his head “i am a pediatric doctor” you frowned “oh, so why are you here?” Chishiya sighed “i don’t know” he walked over taking your leg in hand “can you bend your toes?” He asked, you nodded “I can but I’d rather not” “Fine put pressure against my hand” you did as told his hand cool against the sole off your foot “on a scale of one to ten how much does this hurt?” He asked “and ten being what? Eaten by a tiger?” You joked, he didn’t laugh just looked up from your foot waiting on your answer “tough crowd” you muttered “please answer the question” Chishiya said “I’d say maybe six”

He nodded once and released your foot. “Six while moving and at rest?”

“Oh, no. At rest it’s more like…” You thought about it. “Three? Maybe four?”

“Three or four?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” You frowned at him. “Then… three and a half?” He rolled his eyes “okay do you need to be so pissy about this?” You finally snapped “I get that you’re a surgeon and this is the last thing you want to be doing but i didn’t put you here and I’m hurting okay” Chishiya looked up from the chart, his expression flattening. Then he gave a short, humorless scoff.

“You’re hurting?” he repeated. “I just came from a boy whose heart transplant has been taken away by some rich bastard for the third time. Third. Time.” His voice had sharpened without him noticing. “That kid is dying while people with money and connections keep pushing him down the list.” Silence. The words hung heavily between you. Chishiya stared at you, waiting. He expected your face to harden, expected you to argue, to tell him your pain mattered too, to yell at him for minimizing it. Most people did. But instead, your shoulders seemed to sink. “You’re right,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry.” You lowered your gaze to your lap, and the room fell silent. For a moment, Chishiya simply stood there, almost thrown off balance by your response. He had been ready for a fight. Ready for anger. Not this. He cleared his throat and moved toward your injured leg. “I need to put a cast on this.” You only nodded. No sarcastic remark. No complaint. You held your leg as still as you could while he began wrapping it, his movements efficient and practiced. Usually, patients asked questions. They complained about the discomfort or winced dramatically whenever he adjusted their injury. You didn’t. The only indication you were in pain was the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the bed and how your breathing occasionally hitched. He frowned slightly. “You can tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. He could tell from the tension in your jaw. He continued wrapping the cast in silence. The room suddenly felt uncomfortably quiet. He almost felt guilty. He made his way toward the staff lunch room, already stripping the situation of unnecessary detail in his mind. Fracture. Stabilized. Healing prognosis acceptable. Patient emotionally resistant but manageable. “Chishiya.” He didn’t look up immediately. He already recognized the voice—Himari. One of the nurses. Persistent. Over-familiar. The kind of person who thought they could pry meaning out of anything if they asked enough questions.“What?” he replied flatly, stepping into the room. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him like she was waiting for a performance review instead of a medical update. “And?”

“And what?” Himari’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb. The patient. The one you’ve been holed up with.” Chishiya reached for a cup of water, completely unbothered. “She’ll be walking in a month. Maybe two if she’s unlucky.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He took a sip. Himari stepped closer. “Did you think she was cute?” For the first time, there was the faintest pause in his movements. Aha. So that was what this was. He set the cup down slowly. “You shouldn’t mess with charts I am a surgeon not an orthopaedic next time I’ll report you” she rolled her eyes “that’s not denial” he didn’t hesitate “is it important for her recovery?” He asked “well no—“ she tried to”then it shouldn’t be apart of this conversation” Chishiya said “still not denial Chishiya” he left without another word. On his way back toward his department, the corridor was quieter. Less sterile noise, more distant footsteps and muffled voices behind closed doors.

That was when he saw you again. You were by the vending machine, clearly in the middle of a small battle with your crutches—one angled slightly wrong, your weight not fully where it should be. You shifted awkwardly, trying to steady yourself without drawing too much attention. It wasn’t working. Chishiya stopped. Not because he was concerned. Just because it was inefficient to ignore a problem that was visibly going to fall over in the next thirty seconds.

“Don’t you have anyone to help you with this?” he asked.

You startled so sharply you nearly dropped one of the crutches. “Gosh—you scared me!” He didn’t react to that. Just watched you recover your balance with a small frown of irritation. Not at you. At the instability. He remained silent waiting for an answer on his question, you chuckled “no I do not” you said “parents?” He asked “dead” you answered moving to the soda machine, now normal people would have gone quiet said something about that even “siblings?” Chishiya did not “don’t have any” you said “boyfriend?” He finally asked, you turned “are you checking if I’m single?” He ignored that “how will you get home? You know you can’t drive” now it was your turn to roll your eyes “I’ll take the bus”

A drink dropped down with a loud thunk. He watched you bend slightly to retrieve it—careful, slow, controlled in a way that still clearly hurt. Then, after a moment, he spoke again. “That’s inefficient.” You chuckled “yes well i can’t exactly walk” for a split second the corners off his mouth lifted. A pause. For a second, something unreadable crossed his expression—not emotion, not quite. More like calculation shifting shape. Then, as if deciding something trivial, he stepped closer. “I’ll take you.” You blinked. “To the bus stop?”

“home,” he corrected. That made you stare at him properly now, like you were trying to figure out where the catch was. “…Why?” Chishiya adjusted his coat slightly, already turning away as if the decision had been made long before either of you spoke. “Because you’re slow,” he said simply. “And I’m on my lunch break. Consider it an apology for me being—what did you call it?” You shook your head “i didn’t call you anything i wouldn’t dare” again his lips lifted “pissy I think was the word” It didn’t take long for you to start dating, you asked Chishiya out because Chishiya would never not because he was shy but because He didn’t believe in relationships in the way other people described them. Not really. People attached meaning to things that were mostly habit, chemistry, convenience. Labels came later to organize chaos, not to explain it. Chishiya didn’t answer immediately when you asked. Not because he was surprised. Because he was considering the most efficient outcome. Dating would change very little in terms of daily logistics. You were already in his orbit. Already a variable he accounted for. The label would only formalize something that was… already happening in practice. Then he said, “Fine.” Just that. One word. No softness to it. No elaboration. No unnecessary weight. You stared at him. “Fine?”

“Yes.”

“…That’s it?” He looked at you again, expression unreadable. “Did you want a speech?” You laughed under your breath. “No. I just thought you’d overthink it more.”

“I did,” he said simply.

Love Chishiya concluded was everything he expected it to be. It was holding hands in the park and sleeping in the same bed and quickly making out before you left for work. It was voicing observations he would have otherwise swallowed. The way you pushed yourself too far on days you thought he wouldn’t notice. The way you smiled a fraction too brightly when you were tired. The way you said “I’m fine” with the same stubborn rhythm every time, as if repetition could make it more convincing.

It didn’t feel like anything dramatic. It didn’t feel like a turning point. Just two people occupying shared space with increasing familiarity, like gravity slowly deciding the terms. Not quite useless not quite necessary. And this was true for the first four months it wasn’t when you told him you loved him that he realised he needed you it was when weeks later he told you he loved you too. Suddenly you went from ‘not useless’ to ‘necessary’ Suddenly, “not useless” was no longer a polite assessment. It was a gross understatement of dependence. It came into focus one ordinary evening when you weren’t there yet. Nothing was wrong. That was the point. Nothing was wrong, and still the absence created distortion. The apartment was exactly as it should have been. And still incorrect. “should we grab dinner?” you asked folding Chishiya’s doctor’s coat in one hand he looked up from where he sat on the bed phone in hand shirtless “if you’re hungry” he said turning off his phone “are you not?” you asked sitting on the bed next to him he grabbed your hand in his “I am, just tired” your eyes met his “we could order in” then he shook his head “no let’s go out” he hadn’t wanted to go out, but he could tell you did so you did.

Later, on the walk, you adjusted your pace slightly to match his. “We could just grab a quick bite. Pizza?”

Chishiya glanced at you sideways. “That would be the second time this week,” he said. “Are we aiming for diabetes?” You let out a long sigh immediately, like you had been personally attacked by medical accuracy. Then, without any warning, you dropped your head onto his shoulder. “Humor me please?” He didn’t stop walking. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t move away. But his steps slowed—just slightly, almost imperceptibly—adjusting without acknowledgment so you wouldn’t have to correct your balance. He looked down at you. Your weight resting against him. Casual. Certain. Completely unbothered by the fact that you were using him as furniture in public. “Miso?” He then asked finally you lifted your head “yes! can we go to that place we went last time with that nice man?” Chishiya nodded “if that’s what you want” Then your hands went straight for his hood. “Also,” you added, tugging it off his head, “this has to go.” The fabric slipped back, ruffling his hair slightly. You didn’t even pretend not to fix it immediately, fingers smoothing it down with annoying confidence. He blinked once. “What are you doing.”

“Improving public perception.”

“My public perception is fine.” You stepped back, squinting at him. “You look like an annoyed teenager.”

“I’m twenty-five”

“Exactly,” you said. “That’s worse. It’s like a veteran teenager.” His mouth twitched faintly. Not quite a smile. Almost. “Fine, I’ll keep it off” you grinned at the victory “thank you” you gasped at the stuffed animal at the window of a shop “I’m going to get that” before you could run in Chishiya grabbed you but the loop of your jeans pulling you back “you don’t need it” You leaned back slightly against the pull of his hand, looking up at him with exaggerated betrayal.

“Come on, Shiya,” you said, dragging his name out like it was a weapon. “Look at how cute it is!” Chishiya didn’t even glance at the window again. “I don’t care,” he said flatly. “I don’t want it in the bed.” That made you freeze. Then you slowly turned your head toward him like you were re-evaluating everything you thought you knew about him. “…Excuse me?” He finally looked at you. Calm. Unbothered. After another full minute off debating whether you should have it or not you went into the shop. Chishiya of course said no “You’re going in anyway?” he called after you. You looked over your shoulder, smiling. “I’m just looking.”

“You’re buying it.”

“Maybe.” You grinned wider and disappeared through the door. Chishiya stayed outside. He could already predict exactly how this would end. Ten minutes from now, you’d emerge holding the stuffed cat like it was a long-lost friend, ask him to carry your bag because your hands were full, and by tomorrow evening it would have a name. He sighed. Then there was a loud crack in the sky. Fireworks. Inside the shop, you paused. “Huh,” you muttered. That was strange. It was still daylight. You frowned and glanced around. Only then did you realise you were alone. There wasn’t anyone at the counter.

No employee rearranging displays. No customers. No voices. The shop was simply… empty. You blinked. You looked toward the windows. Through the glass, you could still see Chishiya outside, hands in his pockets, looking exactly as unimpressed as he’d been thirty seconds ago. You smiled faintly. You’d bring the cat out and he’d complain for exactly five minutes before carrying it for you. Another bang. You wandered over to the display and picked up the stuffed cat. It was absurdly soft. “You’re coming home with me,” you informed it. Then—The lights went out. Not dimmed. Not flickered. Off. The shop plunged into shadow. Your head snapped up. “…What?” You looked outside. The digital signs across the street were dark. The traffic lights. The shop signs. Everything. You pushed open the door stuffed animal still in your arms “Chishiya!” You called panic rising. Where did everyone go? How come that one second there’s people all around and the next everyone is gone. You looked around hoping to find someone anything then finally one off the billboards lit up ‘this way to game arena’ it said you frowned deciding to follow it it guided you to this big building three other people inside “thank god!” You said “what is this? where is everyone?” They didn’t answer just stared then they picked up phones from the table and left the hall. Then footsteps and finally another guy and girl entered it took a second but you realised where you recgonised the boy from “arisu?” You spoke aloud, He had always been the smartest guy in your class. Everyone knew it. Teachers loved him. Students copied his notes. He was the sort of person people pointed to when they talked about potential, about brilliance, about someone who would undoubtedly go somewhere incredible. Then his mother died. And afterward…He’d changed. Stopped showing up. Stopped trying. Eventually, he’d flunked out entirely. You and he had stayed in touch for a long time, though. Mostly because of Karube. You’d dated Karube back in eleventh grade. It hadn’t lasted very long—two teenagers who liked each other but wanted different things. The breakup had been surprisingly painless. You and Karube had remained friends, and by extension, so had Arisu and Chota. The four of you had spent entire summers together once. Late-night convenience store runs. Arcades.

Movies. Sitting around doing absolutely nothing and somehow enjoying it. Then high school ended. People got busy. Texts became occasional. Calls became rare. And one day, without either of you noticing, years had passed. Now, standing on this strange bus in an empty city, Arisu looked terrible. Not physically. There was just…Less of him. Like someone had reached into his head and blown out his candle. The boy who used to talk too fast whenever he got excited about something seemed dimmed somehow. His eyes looked tired. His shoulders looked heavy.

A flicker of recognition finally crossed his face. He said your name softly, almost disbelievingly. You swallowed. “Arisu…” Your voice sounded small even to yourself. “What is this? Where are we?” For a second, he simply looked at you. Then he stepped forward. And wrapped his arms around you. You froze. Arisu had never been particularly affectionate. Awkward? Yes. Friendly? Absolutely. But this? This felt different. “Are you okay?” You asked him he nodded “yes, yes.“

You frowned. “Arisu…”

“They’re games,” he said suddenly. You blinked. “What?”

“They’re games,” he repeated, his voice rushed now, urgent. “You play games.” A small, uneasy laugh escaped you.“Okay… what does that mean?” He didn’t laugh back. “You win, you live.”

“You lose…” He swallowed. “You die.” You stared at him. A beat passed. Then another. “…That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

“Arisu—”

“I know.” He looked almost desperate for you to understand. You searched his face. For a joke. For the awkward grin that usually followed him saying something ridiculous. There was nothing. Only fear. Real fear. The colour slowly drained from your face. “No…” you whispered. He nodded once anyway. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” he said quickly. “Just stick with me.” You looked terrified. Arisu couldn’t blame you. A few minutes ago, you’d been arguing over a stuffed animal. Now one of your oldest friends was telling you that people died playing games in an empty city. You looked like the ground had vanished beneath you. Instinctively, your fingers closed around his sleeve.“Arisu…” He covered your hand with his. “I’ll explain everything. Just—just stay with me.”

“You can’t promise her that.” The woman arisu knew as Ann said. Arisu ignored her picking up a phone “arisu, what about karube? or Chota? Are they here?” Again arisu did not answer.

GAME: LIGHT BULB

DIFFICULTY: FOUR OF DIAMONDS

It wasn’t until you were thigh-deep in freezing water, staring at the electrical wires hanging from the ceiling, that you realised chota and karube were dead. It wasn’t until the girl touched the wire and dropped that you understood. Dead. She’s dead. The thought slammed into you so hard you couldn’t breathe. One second she had been there, talking, moving, alive.

The next—Nothing. The water around her slowly settled.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. You couldn’t stop staring. The wires hanging from the ceiling suddenly looked different. The water felt colder. Everything felt wrong. This place kills people. Your stomach twisted. No. No, this wasn’t happening. You took a step back. Then another. Your heel caught on something beneath the water. A chair. Your balance disappeared. You slipped. For a second, you thought you could catch yourself. Then—Crack. Pain exploded through the back of your head. Your vision flashed white. Then everything went dark.

“this girl passed out during my game” kuina said leaning against the wall candy between her lips. Chishiya scoffed “is she dead?” He asked. Kuina shook her head “no” arisu took her back to the beach “easy way to get through your games” Chishiya said

“Trust me, I don’t think she planned it.” Kuina shifted the candy to the other side of her mouth. “Apparently she smacked her head pretty badly.” He hummed absently. “She looked terrified, apparently. First game.” Silence. “Poor girl.” No response. Kuina sighed dramatically. “You don’t care at all, do you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Right.” She pushed herself off the wall. “Well, I’m going to check if she finally woke up.” Chishiya frowned “that’s not like you” kuina shrugged “I don’t know, there was something about her” Chishiya scoffed “fine, go” Chishiya raised to his feet as well leaving to go to his room. When finally you woke up arisu was beside you “hey” he smiled. Arisu nodded to the girl next to him “this is usagi” you looked towards her “nice to meet you”

Usagi gave a small nod.

“Same.” Before you could say anything else, another voice cut in.“Nice going in the game.” Kuina. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, a faint smirk on her lips. Your face immediately tightened. You looked down. “I’m sorry… I kinda just freaked out.”

Kuina chuckled. “I could tell.” Heat crept up your neck. “I didn’t mean to— I just—” You swallowed. “Someone died right in front of me.” The room went a little quieter at that. Arisu shifted slightly beside you, but didn’t interrupt.

Kuina’s smirk faded just a little. “Yeah,” she said more softly. “That’ll happen here.” You stared at your hands. They were still shaking slightly.“I didn’t even do anything,” you whispered. “I just… fell.” Arisu leaned in a bit. “You survived,” he said simply. That made you look up at him. Because off you” you said “thank you” arisu grinned “yea well I owed you” you frowned “remember in tenth grade and I wanted to ask that girl out? You told me what kind of flowers she liked and she let me go to second base” arisu joked.

laugh slipped out before you could stop it—small, but real. “Gosh, you’re right!” The sound felt strange in your chest after everything. Too normal. Like it didn’t belong here, but you needed it anyway. Arisu leaned back a little, still smiling. “You’ve always been particularly good with that kind of thing.” Your smile lingered as you looked down at the blanket. Then he added, casually: “Last I heard, you had a doctor boyfriend.” The air shifted. Just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice immediately. But enough for you. Your smile faded a little before you could stop it. “…Yeah,” you said. Short. Careful. Arisu didn’t push it at first. His grin softened into something more neutral, more observant. “Oh.” Silence settled between you for a moment.

Kuina, still leaning against the wall, glanced over with mild interest but didn’t interrupt. Usagi stayed quiet, watching you the way she watched everything—like she was noting patterns rather than emotions. You swallowed. “He’s… I don’t know where he is,” you added quietly, almost as an afterthought. Like saying it softly might make it less real. “One moment I was in a shop and then he and everyone else was gone”

“Huh” kuina said out loud, arisu turned to look at her “sorry just—sounds familiar” She left the room quickly, footsteps echoing down the corridor. She didn’t slow down until she reached Chishiya’s door.

Then—knock. knock. knock. Three sharp taps. “What?” came his voice from inside. Kuina didn’t wait. She pushed the door open and stepped in anyway. “Make yourself at home,” Chishiya said flatly, not even looking up. “You have a girlfriend, right?” she asked.

That made him pause. Chishiya frowned slightly. “Technically, yes.” Kuina’s eyes narrowed. “Technically?” He turned his head a little more now, attention sharpening just slightly. “Well,” he said, calm as ever, “I don’t know if she’s alive. Is she?” Kuina didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer. “…Didn’t you say she went into a shop?” she asked. “And then you came here?” Chishiya hummed softly. Not confirmation. Not denial. Just thought. His gaze lowered slightly, like he was replaying something only he could see clearly. “Yeah” he looked to kuina “why?” She hesitated “I think she might be here”

pairing: Jamie Campbell bower x younger! fem!actress reader

summary: you never thought you had much of a chance with Jamie due to your age gap so you flirt with him without thinking about it. It’s just a joke. Until it’s not.

—————————————————————

one: first day off shooting

The first scene you shot for season five was with Jamie Campbell bower. It was before Holly was brought to the house and where it was revealed that your character was still alive. That first day on set was always very special to you but now you weren’t sharing it with the people you usually share it with but with Jamie

“Hello darling” he’d greeted you that morning “you ready?” Holy shit. He was wearing black glasses a brown blouse red tie and a slightly darker brown suit, he looked delicious

“No way they put you in this,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He frowned, genuinely uncertain. “You don’t like it? I think it quite suits me.”

“Oh, you look lovely,” you said quickly. “I think wardrobe might actually hate me.”

He frowned slightly, studying your face now instead of his outfit. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “Just—if I forget my lines, it’s on those glasses,” you added, pushing yourself up out of your chair and grabbing your sides like you needed the physical movement to reboot your brain.

“Sorry?”

“You heard me!” you called over your shoulder as you walked toward the set, refusing to look back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your expression.

You could feel his eyes on you anyway.

Behind you, his laughter followed—soft, pleased, and entirely too confident.

Pairing: Lestat de lioncourt x fem!reader

Summary: your husband is jealous and petty and dramatic. But he’s yours.

—————————————————————————-

“Oh please lestat!” Your husband was known for his temper.

That fact had not been hidden from you when you met him—quite the opposite. It had been one of the first things you learned about him, right alongside the far more shocking revelation that the beautiful stranger who had taken such an obsessive interest in you was not a man at all.

He had already been a vampire.

Already immortal. Already centuries old. Already impossibly vain, theatrical, dangerous, and magnificent in equal measure.

And apparently immortality did absolutely nothing to improve one’s patience.

“You expect me to endure this humiliation in silence?” Lestat’s voice rang through the house like a stage actor delivering the final line of a tragedy. “You expect me to stand there like some discarded relic, while you throw your smiles at another man!?” You dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple.

Jealousy. That’s what this was.

Petty. Endless. Exhausting jealousy.

“I did not banish you Lestat, you were welcome to join the conversation”

Lestat scoffed.

“Join the conversation?” he repeated calmly.

“Rejoignez la conversation!?” he shouted a moment later, the calm shattering like glass.

He threw his hands into the air in dramatic disbelief.

“How could I possibly impose,” he demanded, voice dripping with outrage, “when you were eye-fucking the man with the stupid bow tie! Do our vows mean nothing to you?!”

The laugh slipped from your mouth before you could stop it.

It was small. Unfortunate. Fatal.

Because when you watched your husband’s eyes widen — shocked, wounded, and then rapidly igniting with volcanic fury — you knew he was about to really explode now.

“So they do not,” he said very calmly.

Dangerously calmly.

“Give me your ring.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Lestat—”

His palm slammed down on the table with enough force to send the chess set rattling violently before several pieces clattered to the floor.

“Do not mock me!”

You didn’t even flinch.

You just stared at him.

Unimpressed.

This wasn’t the first time he’d asked for your wedding ring back. Hell, this wasn’t even the third time. Lestat was a dramatic creature by nature. Possessive. Territorial. Deeply convinced that emotional theatrics were the highest form of communication.

“Lestat, do not be dramatic. Again.”

“I could hear your heart skip a beat when he spoke to you!” Lestat exploded.

You paused.

Slowly, calmly, you put a cigarette between your lips, flicked your metal lighter open, and held the flame to the end of it.

“That’s physically impossible,” you said around the cigarette.

“You think I cannot hear it?” he demanded, stalking toward you like a storm wearing silk and gold. “You think I cannot hear the small betrayals of your body? The change in rhythm? The slight acceleration when he leaned closer to you?”

You inhaled slowly.

Then exhaled a stream of smoke directly to the side so you wouldn’t breathe it in his face — because that would just make the argument worse and you were tired. “Lestat,” you said patiently, “you cannot hear my heart skipping beats because the heart is not capable of it” it was silent for a second the only sound lestat’s seething anger.

“fine” Lestat then said “do whatever your want” he added “show your tits to a hobo for all I care!” He yelled angrily “but I will not stand here and have you mock me!”

You watched him very carefully.

He turned sharply on his heel.

“I’m going to sleep.”

He started walking down the long hallway like a wounded, extremely dramatic phantom.

“Keep the ring,” he called without turning around. “You’ll be able to rent a nice apartment for yourself when you pawn it.”

You blinked slowly.

“As you did our love!” he shouted from the next room. You stared at the hallway in silence for a full three seconds. Then you sighed again, poured yourself a martini and started carefully reading your book.

You walked calmly to the bar cart, poured yourself a martini with slow, deliberate precision — three parts patience, one part alcohol, a splash of marital tolerance — then carried it over to the armchair by the window.

You sat down.

Opened your book.

And began reading very carefully, very peacefully, very pointedly ignoring the six-foot-two theatrical disaster currently brooding somewhere down the hall.

From the next room, you heard him.

Stomping.

Not quietly, either. Lestat never did anything quietly when he wanted to make sure you were aware of his emotional state.

You heard a drawer open.

Close.

Open again.

Something metallic clinked loudly, followed by a muttered, offended French curse. And then his voice again now aimed at you “I am alright thank you very much wife!” He called sarcastically. Then within ten minutes it went quiet and that’s when you decided to put down your book and walk to the bedroom. You looked to his closed coffin next to yours “Lestat?” You said softly “are you awake?” He did not answer even though you knew he was definitely awake.

“My sweet, stubborn, petty, and beautiful husband,” you said softly.

You could practically hear him roll his eyes from inside the coffin.

He did not budge.

Did not speak.

Did not open the lid.

Just stayed there in stubborn, theatrical silence like a very old, very dramatic corpse with feelings.

“That I even have to address this,” you continued quietly, “that I have to say out loud that I love you and only you is ridiculous to me.”

Still nothing.

You traced your fingers lightly along the edge of the coffin lid.

“I have spent the last ninety years proving that I love you,” you said. Your voice was softer now, losing some of the teasing edge. “Ninety years of standing beside you. Ninety years of hunting with you. Ninety years of listening to you complain about everything from architecture to bad poetry to men with bow ties.”

A faint, suspiciously quiet sound came from inside the coffin.

Not a response.

Just… awareness.

“And you thinking otherwise,” you said, “plainly said, hurts my feelings.”

That was what finally made the coffin go completely still.

“Then,” you continued softly, “further, I have to admit that I was not laughing at the man or his jokes.”

Inside the coffin, you could feel the shift in attention.

“I mean,” you added, carefully, “someone had a very loud thought about how attractive you are, and that just made me laugh. Knowing that they’ll never have you… because I do.”

It was a lie.

The man with the bow tie had been funny. Short. Cocky. A little too sure of himself. Not nearly blonde enough for your taste. But Lestat would never believe you could find someone funny while not being attracted to them anyway so you lied. A little white lie never hurt anyone.

Then the lid opened

“I forgive you,” Lestat announced immediately, as if he had been practicing the line for several minutes inside the coffin, “but only because I hate going to bed angry.”

You nodded.

Because honestly, that was as close to an apology as you were going to get tonight.

You stepped into the coffin — a move that would have horrified most people but was completely normal in your marriage — and settled carefully beside him.

The interior was cool, dark, and smelled faintly of polished wood, old perfume, and something distinctly Lestat.

You rested your head against his chest.