(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
not a byler fan and i don’t apologise for that cause my baby El doesn’t deserve all that
love, love, love and what is it good for? Absolutely nothing | shuntaro chishiya
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.
two: the interview
Press week had been chaotic.
You’d rotated through couches and junket rooms with almost everyone—Sadie and Millie, Caleb, Gaten, Finn and Noah, Natalia. You knew the rhythm by now: smile, answer, repeat.
But today was Jamie.
“Hello, I’m Jamie Campbell Bower,” he said, sitting a little straighter than usual, voice carefully neutral.
“And I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you replied, turning toward the camera, “and today we’re going to interview each other with the power of acting.”
You smiled—small, controlled.
“Oh, I love how you said that,” Jamie chuckled. “The power of acting.”
“I feel like you’re mocking me,” you said, dry, but your eyes flicked to his anyway.
“Never,” he replied easily. “I admire the commitment.”
You hummed, unconvinced. “That didn’t sound like admiration.”
He tilted his head, studying you for a second too long. “You always assume the worst.”
You roll your eyes “let’s get started”
you look down at the card in your hand “what was your worst experience on the stranger things set? And your emotion is fear” you tell him
Jamie blinked. Once.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
He sat back in his chair, shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly. When he looked up again, his eyes were wider—not exaggerated, just alert, like he was bracing for something.
“The chair,” he said.
You smiled slightly “the chair?”
“Yes,” he continued, voice lower now. “The makeup chair.”
He clasped his hands together, fingers pressing too tightly. “Seven hours,” he said, as if the number itself unsettled him. “Not moving. Not scratching. Just… sitting there.”
“There’s a point,” he went on, gaze unfocused, “where you stop feeling like a person and start feeling like a project. And you’re thinking—what if I need to sneeze?”
That did it. you laughed and Jamie chuckled as well “now you” he says
You drew in a slow breath. “Okay. Imagine… Watergate in Season Four.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Oh no.”
“Yeah,” you said, voice steady but eyes widening slightly. “Forty-five hours in wet clothes. Every time they started to dry me off, someone sprayed me with water again. Over and over.” You let the pause hang. “You’re cold. Miserable. And you’re supposed to act like it’s… normal. Like nothing is happening.”
He leaned back, grinning eyes trained on you “That sounds awful.”
You shrug, glancing down at your hands for a moment, biting your acrylic nails a little harder than necessary. “It was,” you admit, voice flat but with just enough edge to make him grin.
Jamie leans back slightly, still watching you, eyes gleaming. “I mean… you look horrified.”
You laugh folding your legs “moving on”
“okay” Jamie looks down at his card “who was your favorite person to do scenes with this season? And it’s annoyed”
You raised an annoyed brow “what even is that question?”
Jamie chuckled “well i didn’t write it”
You scoff “it’s literally so nosy”
You glare at him. “Fine. Sadie Sink. There. Happy?”
He blinks, mock-offended. “That was fast.”
“Because it’s obvious,” you snap, folding your arms. “She’s brilliant.”
Jamie nods “oh she is”
“Who’s yours then?”
“oh you’re asking me?” Jamie asks also acting annoyed now “what you expect me to say you?” He scoffs
You scoff “yes actually”
“Well good because you are”
You gasp dropping the act “is it actually?”
“Kick your feet about that at home will ya?”
You grin “oh I will, I feel kinda bad for saying Sadie now”
He chuckles, waving it off. “Don’t. Sadie’s great. I’ll just… quietly spiral about it later. No big deal.”
You laugh, nudging his knee with yours. “I’ll send you a sympathy card.”
You look at the card again “okay, what do you like most about the other?”
Jamie laughs “is that actually there or are you just fishing for compliments?”
You chuckle “no it’s here alright, and the emotion is—“ you look down at the card again “sadness, you first” you tell him
You gesture toward him. “You first.”
He shifts in his seat, suddenly quieter, eyes fixed on the floor. “Alright.”
He clears his throat, then glances at you—once, quickly—before looking away again. “What I like most about you is… you’re kind. Like, actually kind. Not the performative, smile-for-the-camera kind. The real kind. Even when people don’t deserve it.”
You blink, caught off guard.
Jamie keeps going, voice softer now, like he’s trying not to let it sound too sincere. “I’ve seen people be short with you. Rude. Passive-aggressive. And you never snap back. You just… absorb it. Stay calm. Stay decent. And I don’t know how you do that.”
You stare at him, lips parting slightly.
He shrugs, still not meeting your eyes. “You’re more mature than me. You handle things with this grace I don’t think I’ll ever have.”
“wow” you say caught of guard
Jamie grins pleased with himself “yea try and do better than that”
You laugh “well I was gonna go with your hair but that seems a little shallow now”
“Too late, you said it”
“Okay let me give a fair shot at this yea?” You clear your throat and crack your knuckles “let me get ready” Jamie laughs loudly “you’re ridiculous”
You roll your eyes, then go quiet for a second. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the card, and when you speak again, your voice is softer.
“I really—uh…” You glance down, not quite meeting his eyes. “I really like how you listen to everyone. Even if it’s complete nonsense. You never make people feel small for talking. You just… let them be heard.”
Jamie smiles “that’s nice but fuck you for pulling out the crocodile tears” he says wiping one away from your chin
You grin “top that loser”
He scoffs “next” he looks down at his card “who’s you celebrity crush? Emotion—“ he chuckles “flirty”
You immediately put one of your nails between your teeth “well I can’t tell you, because you know him”
“Oh do I now?”
“Yes very well”
Jamie narrows his eyes, playing along. “Is it someone I’ve worked with?”
You stared up at him with big seductive eyes “i think you know”
Jamie laughs “you’re quite good at that actually, but you’re a very naturally flirty person” he says pointing the card towards you
“I’m really not” you say
“You always flirt with everyone”
You grin “well no need to get jealous honey” you tease
three: coffee run
You didn’t bother knocking. The trailer door opened with a quick push, and you leaned inside, already mid-thought. “I’m going on a coffee run—does anyone—”
You stopped.
Jamie was sitting at the small table, script in front of him, pen in hand. He looked up, eyes steady, like he’d clocked you the second the door opened.
“…want coffee,” you finished, a little slower.
There was a brief pause. “Huh, i kinda expected more people to be here” you said. Jamie looked up “I want coffee” he said. You nodded “what ya want?” He raised to his feet ”I’ll come with” “I’ll come with.” You let out a small breath through your nose, a smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t trust me to handle a coffee order?” Jamie glanced at you briefly. “You walked in here and forgot what you were saying.”
“That was different.”
“How?” You shrugged, leaning lightly against the doorframe. “You were distracting.” That earned you a look—quick, but direct. Not surprised. Not flustered. Just… noted. “Right,” he said, like he wasn’t going to engage with that.
Four: edits
The interview set was dressed to look casual, but everything about it was still very Stranger Things—dim practical lamps, a couch that was slightly too perfect, and a camera that definitely wasn’t pretending not to exist.
You were sitting close enough to Jamie that your knees almost brushed when you shifted. “So today,” the interviewer said brightly, “we’re going to show you both some fan edits.” You immediately frowned. “That’s a threat.” Jamie nodded once. “That does sound like a warning.”
A laptop was turned toward you both. The first video started. It was you—soft edits from interviews, set moments, slow-motion clips of you laughing layered over a dreamy song. Someone had clearly decided you were the emotional core of the universe. You covered your face “oh that’s horrible! I should never laugh again” Jamie scoffed “you looked great” another two edits of you were shown and then your laugh echoed on the background of the music “I’ll projectile vomit turn this off” you warned, the man behind the camera laughed “we’ll show you the Jamie edits” you grinned “finally, this should be good” “Okay i didn’t bully you when it was your turn” Jamie muttered. The first edit started playing “yes, I’d hit, smack it from the back. Actually can you send that to me?” You asked the guy deeply serious
Jamie leaned back into the sofa, rubbing a hand over his mouth like he was trying not to smile too openly. “You can’t just say things like that in an interview setting.”
“I can,” you said. “And I did.”
The interviewer—trying very hard not to lose control of the segment—cleared their throat. “So… Jamie edits are a hit, then?”
“Don’t take her too seriously she’s like a drug addict i think” Jamie mumbled trying to make it a joke
You grinned “an addict i am”
Five: texts
Einsider posted on instagram!
Einsider: texts and pictures between Jamie Campbell bower and y/n y/l/n just leaked! Click here to vieuw!
———————————————————————-
you: can you send me that pic
Jamie:
you: no the pretty one
Jamie: 📎 63 images attached
——————————————————
you: we should stop doing this flirting thing
Jamie: What flirting thing
you: exactly
Jamie: Right
you: it’s getting out of hand
Jamie: Agreed
you: anyway you looked good today
Jamie: You already said that
you: i know i’m consistent
————————————————————————
Jamie: stop taking pictures on my
phone
you: what are you even yapping about
Jamie:
you: that’s obviously spider man and not
me
————————————————————————
you: can you pick me up??
Jamie: yes where are you
you: my car broke down
Jamie: we’ll take it to the shop
where are you
you: i lost a shoe bcs i was trying to catch a ladybug
Jamie: send your location
you: I’m dying of thirst rn
Jamie: LOCATION
————————————————————————
you: what do you think our kids would look like
Jamie: do you look in the mirror?
Jamie: you pop out a kid it’ll split you in two
you: you’re right if it’s yours the head would be HUGE
————————————————————————
Jamie: wth is that
you: is what
you: ????
Jamie: are you in a nightgown rn
you: are we talking about my 800€
dress
Jamie: did it actually cost that
you: 765 actually
Jamie: it’s like a single piece of fabric
Jamie: I feel like I could make that
you: no need to be so
rude abt my dress wth
Jamie: I’m not
you: you are tho
Jamie: don’t pout
Jamie: stop pouting I feel guilty
you: you should I love this dress
jamie: you look good in it
you: are you per chance bipolar?
————————————————————————
Jamie: why are people asking me if you’re my ‘controversially young girlfriend’
You: hahaha that’s so insane
Jamie: what did you do
You: not speaking without a lawyer
I have rights!
————————————————————————
Jamie: I’m going to be a little late
You: okay!
10 min ago
You: what position are you in rn
You: whore
Jamie: look up from your phone you
dramatic fuck.
————————————————————————
you: i think i’m funny in interviews
Jamie: You are stop
Reading instagram comments
you: thank you
Jamie: coffee?
six: the bar
“Jesus, Jamie—” At the sound of his name, Jamie finally dragged his eyes away from across the bar, though not without hesitation. “Mhm?” he hummed, like he hadn’t been very obviously staring for the past ten minutes.
Maya snorted under her breath, leaning her elbow onto the sticky counter. “You know she’s only flirting with him because the bartender won’t serve her anymore.”
Across the room, you laughed a little too loudly at something the poor guy said, leaning closer like you actually cared. In reality, you were just trying to angle yourself into his next drink order.
It was true—painfully obvious, really. You’d been working the same conversation for the last forty minutes, all because the bartender had cut you off after you climbed onto the pool table, attempted some kind of spin, and promptly knocked your head against a hanging lamp.
“I know,” Jamie replied, but his voice had that edge to it now—tight, controlled. “Just think there are easier ways to get a drink, is all.”
Maya turned her head slowly, grin spreading. “Oh? What, like through you?”
Before he could answer, Natalia let out a sharp gasp, grabbing onto Maya’s arm like she’d just witnessed something scandalous. “Jamie Campbell Bower, are you jealous right now?”Jamie scoffed immediately—too fast. “What? No.” Maya raised an eyebrow. “That was a very quick ‘no.’”
“I’m not jealous,” he repeated, dragging a hand through his hair, though his gaze had already flicked back over to you. “She can do whatever she wants.”
“Right,” Natalia said, nodding slowly, clearly not buying it for a second. “Including batting her eyelashes at that guy who—by the way—is definitely about to buy her another drink.” As if on cue, the guy beside you waved the bartender down. Jamie’s jaw tightened. Maya caught it instantly. “There it is,” she murmured, delighted. “The jaw thing.”
“The—what jaw thing?” Jamie snapped, but it lacked heat.
“The one you do when you’re annoyed but pretending you’re not,” she said sweetly.
“I’m not annoyed.”
“Mm-hm.”
Natalia leaned in, lowering her voice like she was narrating a nature documentary. “Observe the subject as he grows increasingly agitated—”
“I am not agitated.”
Maya tilted her head. “That’s concern.”
“—watch how his eyes keep darting back to the same location—”
Jamie pushed himself off the bar slightly, exhaling sharply through his nose. “She literally hit her head ten minutes ago. Maybe I just don’t think she should be drinking more.”
“That’s common sense.”
“That’s jealousy with a British accent,” Natalia corrected. Jamie rolled his eyes, but it didn’t quite land because at that exact moment, you laughed again, placing a hand on the guy’s arm. That did it. “Okay, that’s enough” he raised to his feet leaving Maya and Natalia chuckling at the table.
Jamie leaned against the bar right behind you—so close you felt his presence before you even saw him, his breath ghosting against your neck.
“Jamie!” you said, turning, half-surprised, half-amused. “Hello, sweetheart,” Jamie Campbell Bower replied smoothly, like he belonged there. His eyes dropped briefly to the drink in front of you. “Should you be drinking?”
You frowned. “What?” He didn’t answer you—just looked past you to the guy beside you. “She’s an alcoholic,” he said, completely deadpan. “Escaped from rehab this morning.”
There was a beat. Then you blinked—and laughed. “Jamie, what the fuck?!” Jake froze, his hand still near the glass, eyes darting between you. “Wait—seriously?”
“I am not,” you said quickly, turning to him. “He’s lying.” Jamie made a small, thoughtful face, like he was reconsidering something. “Early stages of denial,” he added. “Shut up,” you snapped, trying not to smile despite yourself. Jake hesitated… then slowly pulled the drink a couple inches away from you anyway. “Oh my god,” you groaned. “You cannot be serious.”
“I’m extremely serious,” Jamie said, already reaching past you and picking up the glass like it was evidence in a case. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Whose doctor?!”
“Mine.” You stared at him. “You don’t have a doctor.”
“Exactly. Very exclusive.”
Despite yourself, you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “You’re insane.”
“Mm. Been told.” Jake shifted awkwardly. “Uh… should I—like—not get her another one?”
“No,” you said immediately. “Yes,” Jamie said at the exact same time. You shot him a look. “I hate you” Jamie grinned “Anger is another stage” them finally they guy stood and just left “are you kidding me?” You looked to Jamie
Jamie grins “so, serious”
“screw you”
“you need a drink come to me” Jamie says
You gasp “were you jealous just now?”
Jamie rolls his eyes “no, we’re friends I’m trying to protect you”
You hiss “friendzoned? Really Jamie?”
“okay, i’m taking you home”
“No dinner first? Geez”
“Your home sweetheart”
Seven: childish
He’d been smoking a lot.
And you weren’t exactly the most observant person—someone could go through two packs right in front of you and you probably wouldn’t even register it. So for you to notice? It had to be bad. “You okay?” you asked, glancing over at him. You still had about an hour before you had to head back to set. “Yeah.”
You frowned at the short answer. “You sure?” you pressed. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s, like… your ninth cigarette in ten minutes.”Jamie pushed himself up slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “It’s fine.” You let out a small scoff. “For you, maybe. I’ve been sitting here inhaling all of it—I’m pretty sure I’m getting secondhand cancer.”
He rolled his eyes but stubbed the cigarette out in the damp grass beside him anyway.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Delighted,” you shot back. “You know I’m way too young to die.”
“Yeah,” Jamie said, already getting to his feet. “You’re too young for a lot of things.” You blinked, then quickly stood, brushing the grass off your clothes as you followed after him.“What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing, just a fact” “Yea cause that didn’t seem loaded at all” you mutter sarcastically “y/n you once told me you’re a firm believer of soulmates”
Jamie said, you frowned at that “so?” He shrugged “you just have a very childish way of looking at things” you laughed at that “ah, there it is. It always comes back to that doesn’t it?” Jamie frowns “to what?” He asked, you pulled out a cigarette off your own pocket putting it between your lips “to you thinking I’m immature” Jamie shook his head “i didn’t say immature”
“Yea because childish is so different”
His gaze dropped to the cigarette in your hand again. “You gonna light that?” he asked. You followed his eyes, then looked back up at him, something sharper slipping into your tone.
“Maybe. Why?” you said. “You think I’m too childish to smoke?” Jamie shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him despite himself. “You’re too much.” You scoffed, folding your arms loosely, the cigarette still between your fingers. “Wow. You’re being so kind today.”
“It wasn’t supposed to offend you,” he said, a little more serious now.
“Oh, really? Because it’s doing a great job.”
He exhaled, like he was trying to decide whether to explain himself or just leave it. “You’re too much,” he repeated, slower this time. “As in—you’re… a lot. In a good way.” You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Right.”
“No,” he insisted, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth now. “I mean it. You’re great. And then there’s just—” he gestured vaguely, searching for the words, “a little extra on top of that.” You stared at him for a second, trying to figure out if he was joking.
“A little extra?” you echoed.
“Yeah.”
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “That might be the worst compliment I’ve ever received.” Jamie smiled properly this time, like he knew that and didn’t care. “Still a compliment.”
“Look, i didn’t mean to offend you. I just think you look at soulmates and true love and all that stuff in a way I never would”
“I don’t think about it in this enormous way you think I do. I think it’s just… someone who sees you properly,” you said. “Even when you’re being annoying.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth despite himself.
“That’s a low bar.”
“Exactly,” you said immediately. “Which is why it’s so rare.” He looked at you for a moment—long enough that your expression softened without you meaning it to.
Then he nodded once, slowly. Not agreeing. Not disagreeing. Just… considering it.
eight: bit
What had once been a rolling joke—a harmless little “girl crush,” as your mother used to call it when you were younger—now felt like something you couldn’t quite compartmentalize anymore.
And it was starting to show “Cut!” The sound snapped you back immediately.
“Y/n, are you okay? Are you hot?” You blinked, straightening quickly, like you’d been caught doing something you absolutely weren’t supposed to be doing. “Uh—no,” you said quickly. “Why?” Matt Duffer tilted his head slightly, watching you with mild concern. “You just look a little red in the face, that’s all.”
“Oh.” You gave a small, forced laugh and waved a hand like it meant nothing. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just—uh… lights. Warm set. All good.”
“Alright,” he said, still not fully convinced but letting it go. “We’ll reset in a second.” You nodded too fast. “Yeah, perfect.”
“Here” Jamie handed you a bottle of water “hydrate” You took it without thinking, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink like it might reset something in your brain. “You don’t need to be nervous,” he muttered. You paused mid-sip, lowering the bottle slightly. “What?” He rolled his eyes, like it was obvious. “C’mon. You’re practically shaking under my touch”
That made you choke out a laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Oh, fuck off.” Jamie’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t fully smile.“I’m serious,” he said, quieter now. “You’re overthinking it.” You stared at him for a second, then gestured vaguely with the bottle. “I’m not nervous,” you said. “Yeah?” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Look, sweetheart,” he said, tone easy but deliberate, “I know this whole you-flirting-with-me thing is a bit. You don’t need to feel awkward about it.” Your expression shifted immediately. Not angry exactly—just caught. “It’s not that,” you said quickly, pushing yourself off the wall. Jamie watched you.
“I’m just tired” you handed him the bottle back “also” you added lowering your voice “I never said it was a bit”
“Ready!?” Matt’s voice echoed and you simply stuck up your thumb
Jamie spoke first “is this what you wanted?” You scoffed fully in character now “why would you think any of this is what I wanted Henry?” You took a step forward “I had a home, a family, a boyfriend!” You snapped, Jamie’s teeth gritted “you were miserable! You worked three jobs!”
“I loved working!” you cut in, voice rising. “I loved doing anything! All you’ve got me doing here is cleaning windows and pouring tea!”
The air between you both tightened, the scene pulling everyone on set into silence without anyone needing to call it. Jamie stepped closer now, dangerously close, voice low and urgent. “I saved you!” he said. “You hated your life!”
You took a step back, hands pressing to your chest as if the words physically hit you.
“But it was my life,” you said, slower now—more controlled, more devastating. “My life!” A beat. Your eyes locked with his. “You don’t get to take that from me!” Silence. Heavy. Absolute. Even the crew behind the cameras seemed frozen in it, waiting to see if the air would move again. Jamie didn’t break eye contact. Not immediately. Then—“Cut.”
After the scene Jamie followed you “y/n!” He yelled catching up with you “hey” you grinned “hello”
“You ran off,” he said. “I didn’t run,” you corrected lightly. “I walked away with purpose.” That earned a small huff of a laugh from him, but it faded quickly. His expression shifted again—less amused now, more serious. “You were good in there,” he said. You blinked, caught slightly off guard by the honesty. “So were you.”
“Can we—? Do you wanna have dinner?” He asked, you frowned “with you?” Jamie nodded “preferably yes, with me”
“I mean we have dinner all the time no need to be all serious”
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.
He immediately wrapped one arm around you, pulling you closer in that instinctive, possessive, protective way he always did when the argument was finally over but he was still making sure you were real and still there.
