#acrehearts

synopsis: you tease vi with a new outfit during the championship. what could go wrong?

tags: mma fighter vi , ring girl reader , fingering , tease!reader , dildo referred to as cock/dick , overstimulation , size kink<3 , thong on while fucking because i'm a degenerate and i love it , mentions of squirting , not proofread imzorry , men and minors dni wc: 1,840

it was supposed to be fun, exciting, even, teasing vi with those low rise pants and thong. the championship was on, people were pumped and the money was pooling. fast. you were earning more bucks by the hour now after you renewed contract for another three years as a ring girl.

the host's voice bled through the large speakers surrounding the arena and the cheers drowned out the rest of the noise from the music. sweat pumped like blood through the seats, wafting until it reached the front where the ring girls sat with the banners on the table, lined up for them. you were going to open the first round in a bikini top and low rise jeans.

the management simply told you to look bold, going for a more mature look than when you first started. what they didn't suggest was the lace thong, that was an added specialty just for your girlfriend who was fighting in the octagon for the championship, bringing home half a million, not to mention violet lanes' sponsors over the years in her mma career.

the crowd roared as soon as violet lanes entered through the red corner, the stage flaring led lights and fire spewed from a safe distance as she walked over to her corner inside the ring. her cog machine tattoo rolling across her broad back and you could already feel a heat stirring in your gut, just imagining her mouth fall when she sees you.

it's not like she hasn't seen you in skimpier outfits, but vi's always been a sucker for anything you wear, but this one?

the way you walked up there, raising the banner over your head as you smiled at the flashing lights before turning to vi and giving her a cursory glance while one hand drifted to the thong peeking over the low waist. vi knew that look. trouble, that's what. you were looking for trouble, giving all these little signals, sending looks that bordered rude, and obvious bedroom fuck me eyes during time outs it was a shock the cameras didn't detect anything.

vi's coach patted her cheek several times during several times out. "hey, you're spacing out. come on, keep up your a-game, yeah? championship, violet. don't fuck this up."

she'd nod, sure. she practically trains herself to react mechanically to whatever her coach tells her. but her mind started to drift even while landing hits and managing to graze her oponent's forehead with an mean counter.

yeah, vi didn't even flinch much when she bled during the sixth round. didn't react much when she received the full cash price and stood next to you for the optics. you just had to tease her while it's the fucking championships like the minx you were.

oh, and you were going to be treated like one.

she had you bent over the desk, your ass perked for her view, that tantalizing lace thong that's been tempting her since the match earlier was finally in vi's reach. her free hand slithered to tug at at the lace, watching it slap against your skin while her other hand pressed your nape down so you could move.

"look at you, baby," she cooed, teasing the rim of your ass through the thong with the pad of her thumb. "all this for view. only i get to touch you like this, right?"

your babbled response earned a chuckle before vi's palm landed square on one ass cheek. a startled whine left your lips as you raised your head from the desk's surface as you slurred out your response, "yes. yes. only you, please."

"good girl."

her tongue ran down the lobe of your right ear before she was pulled up to stand on your heels once more while vi sank back down on the chair. she shed off her shorts, revealing that hot pink dildo standing perk between her thighs. you swallowed at the sheer size. that wasn't what you usually took… vi must have planned for this to happen.

your eyes lifted back to vi's smug smirk then down at the dildo. "i can't take that."

"you haven't even tried, gorgeous. come here."

with shifty steps, you stood between her legs, watching the silicone taunt you before vi grabbed your waist and pulled you all the way to her lap where the dildo settled cold between your ass. you gasp, feeling its insistent press on your back before you slittered away like an unwilling pet.

vi clicked her tongue before wrapping both hands around your waist, giving it a tiny squeeze. she clicked your tongue as you tried to push yourself off by placing both palms flat on her chest. such a whiny thing, you were. always saying you can't when you both know you're going to be drooling on her cock anyway.

vi quirked an amused brow before she reached further down to tug at your panties again. didn't even pull it down or push it aside, literally just dipped her middle down your core and rubbed slow circles around your clothed cunt like she couldn't be bothered doing it right. it earned her another frustrated whimper, a sound which vi had come to love. she longed to shut your mouth with her tongue, and she did.

sliding two fingers down, vi rubbed your pussy through the lace while her mouth captured yours, successfully silencing the needy noises leaving your lips and swallowing that nectar down her own throat.

"vi, stop teasing." you broke away from the kiss, panting in soft huffs while gazing at vi through soft lidded eyes.

if there was anything vi was weak to, it was definitely your pleas. she folds like weed to the strong breeze and instantly wrapped her arms around you, kissing down your cheeks to your jaw to soothe your frustrations while finally pushing aside the fabric to circle your sopping wet entrance.

"you're so wet," she laughed against your mouth like she wasn't the reason why. "so good for me, aren't you, pretty girl? think you can take me?"

you hum against her lips, the gentle noise turning into a keen moan as she finally sank two fingers. "fuck-"

"shh…" vi whispered, pecking the corner of your mouth as she pressed her fingers in, knuckles deep into your cunt. "you're gripping me tight, baby. you wanted me that bad, huh? 's alright, i'll give it to you."

you nod eagerly against vi's shoulders as she worked you open, scissoring you while mumbling sweet nothings into your skin.

"that's it, baby."

"fuck, you're so prety, huh?"

"give me a kiss, sweetheart. mhm, just like that."

vi slowly guided you above her waiting cock, watching the silicone glisten before coating it in a generous amount of lube. "come on, baby. you can do it."

you bite your lip, glancing down at vi with anxious eyes before finally looking down between your thighs to focus on the dildo. it seemed to taunt you, the pink length glistening with unabashed goo dripping down to vi's thighs like it couldn't wait for your tight heat to wrap around its exquisite girth.

bracing both hands on vi's shoulders, you slowly lean over to ease yourself down the silicone cock, head buried in the juncture of vi's neck and shoulders.

vi groaned into your ear, spread your ass cheeks while looking over your shoulder to watch the bulbous tip being swallowed by your pussy. her face became flushed like she could actually feel the way your inner walls clamped around her cock before lifting both hands to settle on your waist and guide you gently, offering support after seeing you struggle the first few seconds.

as you bottomed out, a sharp gasp of pure ecstasy left your lips, cut off by a deep kiss from vi who couldn't really stay still even when she knew she should let you adjust to its length first. she just wanted to slam you down into her dick like all the seconds in the world counted for this moment.

"i just need to-" vi gasped into your lips as she lifted you off by the hips, only the tip catching onto your cunt, before she slammed you back down.

"vi!" you cried off into her shoulder, back arching and legs stuttering where you pressed your knees against her thighs. the position was going to burn after the initial burn of pleasure, you just knew it.

"shh," vi hushed your broken moans with a kiss to your forehead while one hand drifted down between your legs to find your little nub, drawing circles against it as she praised sweet nothings into your damp shoulder again.

the dual pleasure was making you lose your fucking mind; vi's hands, her cock, hell, even her praises were probably making you wetter than you imagined. everything was just an onslaught to your senses and you were one weak woman against vi's advances. you curled into your girlfriend's chest, weakly pumping up and down her lap as the wet slapping of skin echoed in the room along with your cracked whimpers.

your toes curled with imminent pleasure as your vision swam, hot white sparking down your spine, licking up a cruel flame to your head as your head lolled to vi's shoulder, trying to steady yourself to her labored breathing, easing your hips up to a short break.

then vi chuckled.

"fucking hell."

slam.

"goddamnit, be gentler!" you barely managed to pant out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your nails raked down her arms and shoulders, tugging on her shirt. "i'm going to kill you later."

"sorry, just couldn't help myself…" she gave your damp temple an apologetic kiss before rocking your hips gently while her hands drew out your orgasm even faster.

it was a time ticking bomb and you were sure you weren't going to last at this point. toes curled, back arching, and your eyes closed shut as a torrent washed over you. clear liquid gushed down your trembling legs, breathing unsteady as vi watched the scene with unabashed reverence like she's witnessing the ascension of the mother of god.

"baby," she gasped out, gathering you into her arms, snug in her lap. "you gorgeous thing."

vi couldn't help but marvel the way you swallowed her cock so well, watching your folds flutter around it, the thong pushed to one side, damp, no doubt. the sight just makes her want to drag out a second orgasm out of you right then, but one look at your blissed out expression, and vi knew that was enough.

"come on, what do you say i take my favorite girl out shopping tomorrow?" she purred against your jaw, peppering kisses down your neck, feeling your pulse jump despite how sated you were in her arms. "get you those brandy melvilles, yeah?"

"you're so full of shit."

੭﹕﹒ headcanons of kento nanami as your husband where your little family of four is situated in the countryside. two children (unnamed, the reader may make up names for them), and your very devoted husband.

੭﹕﹒ fluff , established relationship , married au , family au , countryside au , children , growing old together , NOT proofread pls bear with the grammarical errors 😭

note: the setting will be heavily inspired by the ph countryside, so please bear with me</3 i've never traveled anywhere further than my own country.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤyou've been together for almost two decades, and it shows in the way you move around the house. you're by the stove, he's chopping up fruits while your kids go down to feed the ducks by the lake. his hands find your waist like clockwork, and nanami presses a kiss to your shoulder as he grabs something from the cupboards.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤyou've all decided to buy a house in the countryside (a two-hour drive to the main city) because it was cheaper, and also, your frail parents are closer to you that way. nanami also finds the countryside peaceful after spending an entire eight hours in the hectic office.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤnanami has an apartment rented in the city, a few minutes down his office building. he's had it since he became a regular and the owner knows him well enough to keep the lease as it was way before you guys met. then, he got promoted to department head, and his income was high enough to keep both the apartment and your house in the countryside.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤwhen you heard of nanami's promotion to department head, nanami instantly suggested traveling to malaysia. just the two of you. the kids got to stay with their grandparents. honestly, it was the best trip you've had since your honeymoon and love was rekindled for the entire year.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤtwo kids. the first one was conceived when you two were still living in the city, and the second one was during your first year in the countryside. they love herding the ducks (it keeps the awful insects from infesting the lake). the ducks are actually raised by the compound, but they love coming over to your house specifically because nanami feeds them these pedigree feeds everytime he comes home from work.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤthe kids are enrolled in the city's local elementary school along with the rest of their childhood friends. however, once they reached secondary education, nanami suggested they study in the main city. it got a little lonely for a while with both your kids away every week with their dad, but the house has never been quieter and more well-kept.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤyour house is a humble bungalow built on top of the hill, just a slope above the lake. nanami wanted to build a house on a flatter field (ahem, he got sulky when a foreigner bought the lot across the lake, which was a beautiful green meadow surrounded by pine trees). he's grown to like the house on the hill, and it was hilarious seeing the kids roll down the slope with the other children in the compound.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤall the old ladies adore your husband. he's polite, mild-mannered, and financially stable! he also brings them that ginseng tea from his favorite shop in the urban district, and the aroma just makes people weak on the knees. nanami is an old soul; he relates to them.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤplays those old ass songs on the radio like some 60-year-old uncle. it's basically your children's sunday alarm. they're up and about the moment they hear the slow ballad coming from the patio. sometimes, they'd whine to you, telling you that their dad is way too loud at seven in the morning.

"he's at it again!" your oldest would whine, suctioning themselves to your back like an unwilling octopus. "please make him stop."

"he literally takes you out to buy your stupid games," the youngest muttered by the island while you ready breakfast. "besides, the ballads aren't bad. my friend's dad plays those annoying mixes that goes on and on and on!!"

"doesn't count."

you sigh from your place by the sink, washing the fresh mangoes you got from the new neighbors across the street. "you two, stop it. go help your dad with the ducks."

"can i just help with the rice?" your youngest clung to your other arm as you tried to slice the tomatoes into smaller cubes. "please? it's hot outside."

"what a baby." the other scoffed, already heading out with a pail in hand while still wearing their clover pajamas on the way out.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤnanami is silent with his affection. you're usually the one to initiate it but that doesn't mean he won't receive it equally. as the years go by, he's immune to the embarrassment that comes with PDA. you both openly cuddle by the couch in the living room after a long day. doesn't really matter if your children's friends are over, they always end up hanging out by the floating raft anyway.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤsilently cried during your eldest's high school graduation. proud dad. really. he's always encouraged his little ones to do their best in their academics, to not worry about the financial aspects of their life because their dad has it covered, and seeing them succeed brings him to tears.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤplans to retire after both your children become regulars in their office/workplace. let that man retire early, please. he wants to focus on horticulture and maybe raise more ducks for the community lake. also, a quiet life with you in the countryside is all that flashes in nanami's mind when asked about the future.

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤif your kids ever plan to apply for nanami's company, it's instant. expect nothing less than pure nepotism during the screening and interviews. especially if nanami hasn't retired by then; your husband's reputation is squeaky clean in the office, doesn't have a rap sheet in the HR's accounts except for a few jealous cowards. the conversation would go like:

the moment your child got home to the apartment, they called you. a little surprised, maybe excited, and just the smallest hint of suspicion in their tone. "the interview ended in three minutes."

"really?" you tried to act surprised but you barely stifled a laugh beside your husband as you chewed through sunflower seeds in the porch, overlooking the setting sun. you started to miss the rambunctious laughter that would ring across the house when your little ones were still... little.

"mn." came the soft reply. a soft shuffle of their feet as they probably plopped down on the couch. "the other seven minutes, they spent singing praises of papa. seriously?" there was incredulity laced there. ever the complainer, despite being almost as tall as their dad. some things never changed. "am i there to get a job or to listen to how many investors papa managed to convince?"

✿ ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤfor your anniversary trips, nanami never repeats the same place twice. this time, it's a trip to indonesia, next, you guys are visiting some shrine to offer your prayers and sake. the next, you're in shibuya, enjoying the bustling streets and filtering crowds. but, there's also one constant rule: it's always just you two. your kids are either with your parents or nanami's family for a week or two. they love it, tells you two that it's suffocating having to see you be so lovey-dovey all the time.

"thank god," your youngest would groan once nanami tells them over dinner that you two have already booked tickets to head to vietnam for the week. "papa, can you increase our allowance this time? we're planning to go to the festival with our cousins."

"mn." was the curt reply of your husband as he picked up his chopsticks and dug to his bowl of rice. "how much?"

"like..."

"multiply it by two!" your eldest called out from where they were grabbing juice from the fridge. they scooted to the chair at the edge of the table before saying, "itadakimasu." under their breath.

you could only sigh, giving your kids that silent but amused look. they know it too well now. "stop making things hard for your papa and i."

"what?" they both groan out at the same time, flopping their arms around each other like twin devils.

"you guys literally get to eat pho while i'm stuck with this moron!" your youngest would whine, a pout on their lips while their sibling pushed their face away.

"if it weren't for me, you'd have run out of allowance a week ago. if i'm a moron, you're an ungrateful obstinate fool."

nanami could only sigh, drinking the juice his eldest poured for the family while your kids' voice rang throughout the block. embarrassing, yes, but everyone knows how much of a handful those two could be. as they say, it takes a village to raise a child. and an entire city to handle two.

g!p caitlyn , drabble.

⠀*ੈ ⠀⊹ ࣪󠀠󠀠 󠀠󠀠⠀ ꕀ󠀠󠀠ꕀ󠀠󠀠⠀ ⠀g!p caitlyn , masturbation , pussy worshipping , underwear kink , cunnilingus , edging , size kink if you squint

she's a fucking pervert. hoarding your used underwear, smelling it while she's thrusting into your pillow. whining your name as she's fisting her cock and imagining it was your mouth instead. caitlyn wants your throat raw and sore for her.

oh, and she loves it when you spread yourself open. legs parted, and if you try to cover your pretty cunt? she's dragging those naughty hands away, clicking her tongue like some disappointed officer. you're her little wife, just waiting to be bred and stretched.

doesn't instantly slide herself up, no, that's where she differs from small-minded men.

caitlyn takes two fingers, spreads your pussy and watches it CLENCH around absolutely nothing, like it's swallowing a phantom cock in. that little nub? yeah, she wants it trembling and peeking so she can run her thumb around it, soothing that ache that irritatingly posh accent. it's the closest you'll see to her approving your reactions.

"you can take it for me, won't you, darling?"

"yes, just like that, my love. you look delectable."

caitlyn eases out your pleasure until your hole is drooling on her sheets. she'll eat you out if she's feeling like it, stuffs her face with your pussy and touch herself to your smell.

just good ol' caitlyn.

pairing: caitlyn kiramman x reader tags: fluff , sfw hcs , gf caitlyn , established relationship , meet cute , insanely rich caitlyn , middleclass!reader note: I'm bored out of my mind right now, the power is out, it's five minutes to nine PM and Thinking Of You is blasting on my right ear. Let's write some modern AU Caitlyn headcanons.

An absolute gentlewoman when it comes to your preferences. Everything is probably color coded on her phone, maybe an Excel if she's really pumped up about it—she is, most of the time, really. ‎‎From your favorite scent down to the best shoe size that fits you snuggly, she has that jotted down and sent to her assistant.

Don't forget the fact she probably remembers every little thing you tell her. Oh, you're craving for seafood boil? You forgot about that passing thought in a few hours, suddenly Caitlyn is dragging you out and guess where you're going? To eat seafood boil and grease up your faces.

‎‎Caitlyn knows your schedule inside out. And even if it isn't her schedule, when you deviate from your usual hours, she goes crazy.

‎‎"Darling, I thought we said to meet here by five." ‎‎

"I know, I know, something came up, I'm sorry, Cait. I'll make it up to you." ‎‎

She may have some control issues, but we're learning, aren't we?

‎‎Her idea of cheap is completely... out of touch. We can't really blame the Kiramman heir; she grew up with a golden spoon, for God's sake! You can't expect a frog to know what it feels like to be a mosquito or vice versa.

It's just... she's born differently, she processes things differently which may make it sound like she's numb and insensitive to the struggles of the common people. ‎‎

You trying to curb "spending" is just another walk in the park for Caitlyn's finances. It would have broken your bank account if that much money gets sliced off every time you go out of the house. ‎‎But she tries. God, she's such a cutie when she tries.

‎‎Caitlyn tried hard to fit into your lifestyle even when she cannot control her reactions sometimes. Even that stellar poker face breaks when you start lifting the fish's head in the wet market to check the eyes without any gloves or the time you bought vegetables off the side of the path walk. ‎

Those little things get under Caitlyn's skin and she tries her hardest to keep her mouth shut because again, different cultures. Even if it's completely unsanitary in her eyes and nose.

God, her nose felt like it was getting assaulted the first time she stepped into the wet market.

‎‎Ever since the first time Caitlyn came with you, she learned to wear a mask. The same white mask that unknowingly made her known across the market for tipping so generously—it's her spare change. ‎She's known as the "Masked Miss." ‎

They don't bother asking questions from her, the gossipy ladies always end up learning about her embarrassing stories from you. Thankfully, she's got a mask on and no one noticed the blush creeping up the apples of her cheeks.

You told the ladies of how you two met. Some symposium where Caitlyn stood out—as she always does—and saw you across the room, bright and absolutely stunning, like a flower blessed by the sun and she's a drunk bee.

Wanting to talk to you, Caitlyn started an unnecessary spiel about beekeeping (the only topic that came to mind after listening to the speaker drone about his bee farm for two hours). You found her adorable and decided to befriend the Bee Miss.

‎‎That's what you named Caitlyn's contact during the first few months. You changed it when she finally saw it on your screen.

cw ⨾ established relationship ◞ human!rainbow dash ◞ high school setting ◞ jock!rainbow dash ◞ lesbian rainbow dash ◞ just some tooth-decaying fluff because i just finished rewatching rainbow rocks<3

rainbow dash who, the moment sees you, loses all cool. rainbow dash. rainbow crash. more like rainbow crush! it's not a good look to her at all.

rainbow dash who's absolutely smitten with everything you do, hanging onto your every word like you're her 21st century Aspasia.

"guys, my girlfriend said eating a lot before bed causes bloating." or maybe, "she knows a lot 'cause she's an egghead. she's my awesome egghead--not as awesome as me though."

rainbow dash never loses her competitive streak. she lives for the thrill and thrives on being the coolest. but this is also the rainbow dash who's more sensitive whenever you feel a little off during your playful banters. the same rainbow dash who gathers you into her arms and lets the silence blanket over you two because sometimes, being cool is knowing when to stay quiet. that's her form of an apology for being too much sometimes.

rainbow dash who runs to you after every game she wins. forget the trophy, your smile was a victory worth conquering. she hands you her trophy, tells you to take extra good care of it, and in some sick metaphor she concocts, it's like handing a piece of her soul over to you.

rainbow dash is terrible with words, often fumbling and messing up, but trust her to show up for when it's necessary. prestige and glory was nothing to when you're there in the bleachers, watching her be sick as hell in her soccer uniform. then she hides that fluttery feeling with another cocky smirk, telling you:

"falling for me? i know, i'm so cool."

caitlyn k. ⠀╋━󠁝󠀠󠁝‍󠁝󠀠󠁝‍ㅤghost!cait x new tenant!femr ;; a modern au

ㅤ݁ᛪ༙ㅤnew place, the rent's cheap, close downtown, and you've got a ghost neighbor. what would possibly go wrong?

ㅤ݁ᛪ༙ㅤmodern au , ghost!cait , conservative caitlyn if you squint (old ass prejudice) , caitlyn might be old but she died young so let's not mention the questionable age gap , fem!reader , terrible landlord and amazing neighbors , SFW

prologue ::ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤarcane m. list | gen. m. list

The new tenant in Caitlyn’s house—yes, it’s still hers, thank you very much—was strange, if not the most amusing so far.

Trace back to a few eighty or so years, you’ll find her name in the land title: Countess Kiramman. One thing Caitlyn didn’t account for was dying. Okay, maybe she did expect that much, but what she didn’t least expect was the fact that her entire fucking life was a lie.

Paradise? Heaven? Yeah, a load of bullshit. She’s been in the same hell since 1933.

She’s had all kinds of tenants—good ones, weird ones, kinky ones, religious ones, and definitely illegal ones. She’s also seen all kinds of renovations that were minor up until 1995 when the owner decided that a Victorian house didn’t fit the suburban vibes, so they took the entire house, yes, the entire freaking house, and built a cute picket fence around it, along with a two-story house with blue trimmings and a wrap-around porch. Oh, isn’t that cute?

Except the grandmother of the woman died while walking down the stairs, and everyone’s been blaming it on Caitlyn, the lot ghost, ever since!

Bunch of assholes, really.

Then they started calling priests, shamans, spiritual gurus, monks, and whatever fucking entity sweet Sophia with the tarot cards and pretty crystals worshipped.

Caitlyn wished she could evaporate from embarrassment whenever these people started mouthing absolute nonsense. Since she realized that ghosts were real, and that she was a ghost, and that there was no infinite heaven or hell, she stopped believing in those Tri-body thingamajig that her parents oh-so drilled into her after catching her kiss their new maid.

Okay, so what if a Countess dabbles in a little sapphic magic? Even Susan from church says “Jesus is inside me” with a straight face.

Moving to several decades later, that picket fence didn’t stand a chance against capitalism and shitty urban planning, and the large front yard was transformed into a concrete jungle with the two-story suddenly multiplying itself.

It’s a busy day for Caitlyn; she’s walking through walls, checking in on the couple on 12B, and seeing if they got over the husband’s hemorrhoid excuse when it’s obvious that he’s been shagging the Thursday mail boy in a motel three blocks down. Then, she overhears these three ladies gossiping by the flight of stairs that there’s a new tenant for 6C.

“Heard it’s a lady, a young one!” Lestrange says, pocketing some of her husband’s earnings into her pocket to shop God knows what in Chinatown again. Their laogonma collection has been steadily rising, and so will Mr. Kim’s UTI if he doesn’t stop his wife from adding laogonma to every side dish.

“Can’t blame her, really,” the shortest of the three snorted and shook her head while chewing on some sunflower seeds. Merredith’s her name, and she’s got a nasty collection of dildos for a 40-year-old widow. “This place? Cheaper than the ones closer downtown. It’s quiet here too.”

“Yeah, if you can ignore the ghosts at night.” Petunia huffed, elbowing the stout lady beside her, who rolled her eyes. “My son was throwing out the trash last night, and guess what we saw? A man in white! Just standing there by the hedges! Gives me the shivers thinking about it.”

“He’s just using his phone too much,” Merredith snorted and waved a seed at Petunia. “You too, you old hag, I can hear your Facebook reels two flights down!”

“Hah! Look who’s talking,” Petunia grabbed the seed and tossed it out the window.

Caitlyn didn’t stick around long enough to hear the rest of their bickering. New tenant? Seems interesting enough, but not really that interesting. There’s always a new room vacant every now and then. People can feel Caitlyn—and she’s not trying to scare anyone, geez, with the current economy? Caitlyn’s lot is basically a paradise for the working class. Cheap, a little haunted (there’s only one ghost, Caitlyn doesn’t know what Petunia’s spouting about), and it’s situated awkwardly between the landfill and the very old MRT that’s still working miraculously with sheer will and thirty-year-old graffiti.

Case in point, living people can feel ghosts, especially those overly sensitive ones, people call it third-eyes or whatever jargon there was for spiritual gimmicks. Caitlyn’s never met another ghost wandering about; she can’t get too far from the lot she died in. Just several meters down the parking lot, far enough to reach the curb, but that’s about it. Some strange power pulls her back, keeping her from leaving the place. It’s like they want to make a point that Caitlyn hasn’t understood for eighty years and counting.

Maybe this was God’s Truman Show, or just the entire collective metaphysical playing a fun game on the dead.

Caitlyn wants to rest, okay? She’s been here for almost a century; it’s about damn time she finally closes her eyes and leaves the living plane. Any more than this and she’ll act out the fears of these tenants about their malevolent ghost. Caitlyn should start choosing who to scare first. Scaredy cat Theodore, or Mr. Otto, who keeps crop-dusting everyone down the stairs on Monday mornings.

Everyone seemed to buzz with excitement, or maybe that’s just Caitlyn. She’s been searching for people who can see her ever since the last tenant, some kid named Maddie looked at her dead in the eye and screamed.

Irish, that girl was. Full.

Caitlyn could barely understand her; it’s worse than her cousin’s cockney accent, really. And that’s saying something because Cassandra was an honest-to-God elitist who never allowed Caitlyn to mingle with the commonfolk, but this was the twenty-first century. Unless you had the last name Rothschild, you were common folk as far as this new century was concerned.

“What is it you're doing here?” Maddie gasped, clutching her blow dryer as she flailed it around. If Caitlyn were any less ghost, she’d have sported a bruise as large as Mr. Kim’s ass mole. “Who are you at all!”

Caitlyn sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. This one could see her. That’s wonderful! Awfully amazing, in fact! Someone, after eighty bloody years, could see Caitlyn Kiramman, the ghost.

And it was an Irish kid. Her mother would have had a fit if she were here. An Irish with rights? Totally abhorrent.

The thing is, whenever Caitlyn tried to speak, Maddie's dramatic screeching kept overlapping, so they never really talked. Instead of a proper two-way conversation, the living girl would just hysterically whip out whatever item lay closest to her dominant hand and wave it at a ghost.

Right. Because Caitlyn was a ghost, and ghosts can’t talk, apparently.

Caitlyn doesn’t visit Maddie that often after that incident. She’d also like to not burst her eardrums, thank you very much. Maddie was ridiculously dramatic about it, too. Went to file a complaint to the landlord, some pudgy forty-year-old something who’s having an affair with a student from the community college downtown. Crazy stuff, throwing happened when the missus found out. Caitlyn thought she was going to get blasted in flames on the spot when the missus started threatening to burn down the entire building.

The ghost-seeing abilities didn’t last long because Maddie ended up moving elsewhere. Some lousy excuse of wanting to be closer downtown and that she actually found a cheaper place. Now, if Maddie only said the first part, even Caitlyn would have bitten, but then she tattled in that nasally accent that she found a cheaper place and Caitlyn mouthed bullshit behind the landlord.

Maddie spat her tea, glaring at the landlord’s majestic baldness where Caitlyn was three seconds ago before disappearing behind Maddie’s eyelids. Gone. Poof.

She must have been drinking too much caffeine.

“Nolen?” The man raised an eyebrow, leaning forward so quickly Maddie was sure the chair was going to topple with the seal. “You hear me, young lady? I said you still have t’pay for this month’s rent if you wanna move.”

“Yeah, that's grand,” Maddie flashed him an uneasy smile.

Whatever it takes just to stop seeing that pretty ghost, she guessed.

The landlord chuckled, leaning back with his entire weight the chair cried. He gave Maddie a toothy grin, shrugging with his neck. “Normally, I wouldn’t just… Y’know, give up the place but er… Someone’s been eyein’ on the cheap lease for months! Couldn’t pass it up, yeah? Anyway, you can drop by the office this Tuesday to leave your keys, sweetie pie lost the last spare.”

Come Tuesday, Caitlyn wanted to bid farewell to the only one who could see her for eighty long years and decided to make herself known to Maddie while she was conveniently trying to dry her bob—it looked terrible, Caitlyn has been trying to tell Maddie but the Irish was a little too into the ginger lion look to really listen to someone who used to dominate the social circles with her clean, elegant coiffure. Maddie’s loss, anyway.

She popped just right behind Maddie, peering over the lady’s shoulder to check what she was doing with the blow dryer. Maddie was still conveniently blowing her hair dry, dragging her fingers through the short locks while humming something by Adele. Typical.

Then, Maddie turned around too quickly than Caitlyn anticipated and was face-to-face with the fucking ghost. A scream so guttural tore throughout the bathroom that Caitlyn’s corporeal form shimmered until it disappeared entirely.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Maddie shrieked, dropping the dryer with a clatter. “I’m losing my life here! I’m gone, that’s it, I am absolutely gone!”

“Not a hope. Not a chance in hell am I staying another minute.” Maddie was spewing curses as she hastily packed her bags, fingers trembling, and not from the current shock when she pulled out the blow dryer too close to the outlet and stuffed that inside her suitcase.

The poor lady ran down the hall and to the stairs where she disappeared, never to be seen again. With the keys to 6C.

caitlyn k. ⠀╋━󠁝󠀠󠁝‍󠁝󠀠󠁝‍ㅤghost!cait x new tenant!femr ;; a modern au

ㅤ݁ᛪ༙ㅤnew place, the rent's cheap, close downtown, and you've got a ghost neighbor. what would possibly go wrong?

ㅤ݁ᛪ༙ㅤmodern au , ghost!cait , conservative caitlyn if you squint (old ass prejudice) , caitlyn might be old but she died young so let's not mention the questionable age gap , fem!reader , terrible landlord and amazing neighbors , SFW

chapter 1 ::ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤarcane m. list | gen. m. list

So, there was a new apartment, and you couldn’t risk anyone else grabbing that opportunity before you! So, what if it was a little haunted, according to the past tenants? So, what if the last tenant of 6C actually saw the ghost and stood face-to-face with a vengeful entity that wasn’t entirely from their world?  

It wasn’t like possessions were common these days, with every city slowly urbanizing, and city planning had the population rise from a few thousand to almost a million in a single city.  

Ghosts? Psh. They even made some games out of it these days. Hot guys with scary masks, drop-dead gorgeous bodies, oiled-up abs. Whole shebang.  

You arrived at exactly eight in the evening, a little later than you’d like, but everyone back home almost seemed hesitant to even send you out the fence. They kept telling you that you’ll always have space with them and that they’ll visit every now and then. The entire block even threw an intimate get-together just for the occasion. 

Exchanging the valleys and paddy fields for traffic and noise pollution was the best decision you could have ever made for yourself as a fresh graduate. The lease was insanely cheap, and the questionable MRT still worked better than those drivers who ripped you off back in your hometown despite being a local for twenty-three years.  

Besides, it wasn’t like it was your first time seeing the big city. You lived in cramped dorms back in college, sharing cup noodles with your roomies during finals and starving yourself just to get those new jeans from Hot Topic. Low-rise, stitched with cute cherries on the back pockets, everyone looked at you with envy come summer.  

However, this time around? You were here to actually work and do something meaningful to society (i.e., the corporate bosses). 

Your phone rang just as soon as you got off the bus and hauled your luggage to the corner where passersby wouldn’t mindlessly kick it off the sidewalk. The mean ones always find their way around your space, orbiting you like bees to pollen. Shifting from one foot to the other, you finally placed your duffel on top of your suitcase and fumbled with your phone, hands a little clammy from holding onto the pole for too long because you gave up your seat for an old lady about a quarter of a kilometer away from your destination.  

An unknown number.  

“Hello?” You brought it up to your ear as you shuffled close to the flower bed to sit at the edge to rest your aching knees. An almost inaudible sigh escaped your lips, the relief flooding your entire body once you finally got to sit.  

“Hello, good evening, is this the new tenant for 6C?” 

You nodded against the phone. “Yes.” 

“Hi, I’m Jane, my husband’s the landlord. Has my husband said anything about a key when he called last time?” 

“Ah, yes, I was told to pick it up from the office.” 

“Of course, of course. The office is on the ground floor, sweetheart. There’s a lady there by the name Margaret, you can grab it from her.” 

“Right, okay…” You were already standing up again, barely a minute since you sat down and headed inside the building to look for this office. “Uhm, okay, so which door exactly?” 

“The pink one.” 

“Sure.” 

The call ended before you could ask when the cut-off for the employees was because that hall certainly didn’t seem… visitor-friendly with how quiet and dark it was. Lights flickered above your head; walls seemed to stretch your shadow like a rubber gum whenever you take another step forward just to reach the end of the corridor where the pink door was.  

Just as you had suspected it since you arrived at exactly 8:13 PM, there was no one inside when you twisted the knob open.  

Great.  

Just… amazing. 

You quickly let go of your suitcase and fumbled for your phone again to call the unknown number. It rang. Once. Twice. 

The lights flickered before it went dark for a few eerie seconds.  

Buzz.  

Something ahead seemed to flicker, and it definitely wasn’t a bulb, but you turned around and paid no mind, too focused on the ringing of your phone than anything else. There was no Margaret inside, no Mr. Landlord to give you the keys, and Mrs. Landlord wasn’t answering her phone.  

Isn’t this great? 

Pocketing your phone, you turned around to head outside because frankly? The flickering lights were giving you the creeps, and you were pretty sure that you saw a figure just down the hall somewhere.  

Maybe it’s just nerves. 

Anyone would go crazy after being fed so much mac and lasagna, stuffed to the brim with soda strong enough to knock a horse’s kidney out.  

It. 

Was. 

Just. 

Nerves. 

A pair of eyes stared right into you from the corner wall, peeking over the shadows like twin moons. Gray. Everything about her was gray. Down from the clothes she wore to her flowing hair was gray, and she was walking fast. 

Her feet barely dragged through the linoleum before it finally reached a few feet away from you.  

Ghosts were real. 

“Fuck!” Your scream echoed so loud the bulbs buzzed back to life, and you didn’t look back to see if the figure was still there before you were dashing faster than a burglar through a suburban lawn and out of the building. 

So maybe those rumors weren’t entirely a lie, and that ghosts did haunt the apartment. So maybe that’s why Margaret, the key holder, doesn’t stay long because ghosts freaking haunt the apartment.  

“Shit, shit, shit…” You managed to take a breather before closing your eyes, just trying to count to ten and use the exercises you learned from Youtube when you were having panic attacks because you couldn’t find your dad in a crowd and your phone was down. “Oh my God,” you groaned, tears almost falling from the corner of your eyes because that certainly wasn’t a figment of your imagination.  

There was a ghost in your new apartment, and you already—stupidly—paid for the fucking 50% down payment.  

Once you gathered your bearings, took three deep breaths and counted to ten each time, you opened your eyes again. 

“Can you see me?”  

“Shit! Fuck!”  

You stumbled back, tripping on the raised platform of the steps and banged your head against the handlebar of the glass doors, ass planted flat on the ground as you stare wide-eyed at the floating woman in front of you. The breathing exercises were torn right out of your gaping mouth as you forgot how to breathe, tears welling the corner of your eyes.  

“Hail Mary full of Grace the Lord is with you, Blessed are you among women and Blessed is the fruit of your womb Jesus, Hail Mary Mother of God—” And then your vision tunneled into darkness. 

Caitlyn stared at the woman in front of her, more flabbergasted than whatever spectacle she just witnessed under five minutes. First, the screaming and the running, and then the sudden Catholic praying before finally collapsing on the doorstep like a sock puppet. 

“Oh, great…” She grunted, rubbing her temples as she crouched down, her form merging with the physical body of the young lady.  

She seemed awfully distressed. But Caitlyn guessed that’s just how it was when you saw a ghost, but she really didn’t expect this kind of reaction. Had never had this kind of reaction before. Sure, there was Maddie who tried to swing a blow dryer at a dead person, but fainting on the spot was unorthodox, to say the least.  

If this was an aversion tactic, it worked splendidly.  

But seeing just how pale the woman was, it probably was a real reaction. 

“This is just amazing—holy!” Caitlyn stepped back, floating up, the moment she saw you rose from unconsciousness. 

You gasp awake, sitting straight up from where you bumped your head against the glass door and looked around your surroundings, squinting through the dimness of your recovering sight. How long have you been out? Did anyone see you just pass out? 

Looking around some more, your heart pumped erratically against your ribs because it’s the only organ that hasn’t forgotten that there was a freaking ghost on your trail just a few seconds ago. Your eyes met with said ghost, hanging right above you. 

“Shit!” You cried out, tumbling off the stairs and barely had time to grab your suitcase before the ghost was yelling too.  

“Wait, wait!” She exclaimed, hands flailing as she floated after you. “Just… wait!”  

You shrieked, taking out your phone and shakily swiped right to your camera. “You can speak!” 

It captured nothing. Which meant that this ghost was real or that you finally lost it. Your knees threatened to buckle, and you ended up leaning against the railing. The cold metal barely soothed your frayed nerves. You just gained fucking consciousness! 

“Will you please calm down!” 

“Calm down?” You yelled, hysterical, and possibly hyperventilated. “Calm down! I-I’m talking to a ghost!  Don’t tell me to calm down. Unless this is a set-up! Which is not funny. Fuck!” 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she lowered herself so that you weren’t craning your head towards her like she Jesus on the third day.  

“Says every man.” 

Caitlyn scoffed, crossing her arms. “Do I look like a man?” 

“PCOS?” 

“PCOS.” 

“You get away from me.” And there it was. The infamous swing of every item in your hand. You were swinging it so hard it was making whooshing sounds like you were holding a katana instead of a battered iPhone. “You hear? I’m going to call the priest and have you exorcised!” 

“Would I even be here if I wanted to possess you?” Caitlyn rolled her eyes; the whites almost made you gag and cry with how scary it looked to see a ghost with this much sass. “I’m telling you, calm down. You’ve caused enough trouble for the neighborhood with your incessant screaming.” 

That was easier said than done. There was a ghost right in front of you—she hadn’t refuted that, so it probably was true. Oh, Jesus, Mary, Joseph. There was a ghost! In front of you, floating, and talking about calming down because clearly, you were doing a very good job at holding your breath instead of gracing the plants their very much needed carbon dioxide.  

“In and out. In and out, like the breathing exercises from earlier.” 

Another choked gasp, cold sweat beading from your temples. “You’ve been watching me?” 

“Hard not to, you make yourself very known to me and…” Caitlyn trailed off, casually gesturing to the darkness that wrapped around the rest of this part of town. Only the occasional whoosh of a passing car could be heard, and even that felt so far away. “All the other entities here.”  

Now, that’s just bullshit! 

“Hah, what have I gotten myself into?” You slump against your suitcase, your palms turning red from how hard you were clutching it since earlier. You’d all but forgotten about the imported glass of wine in your duffel.  

You did this upon yourself; that’s the first thing you tried to calm your erratic heart. Your eyes shutting close again in hopes that it will make the ghost disappear and everything else that happened (e.g., the fainting). Who’d have expected the ghosts to be this intense? This was worse than the Ouija Board and the Conjuring combined. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkk.  

You started wondering if you can really live here for the rest of… oh, God, forever. The idea tore a hole in your stomach and you’re pretty sure most of the contents you had for lunch was going to go back up your throat and out your mouth. The nausea hits and you’re suddenly lightheaded again, just imagining having to deal with this… strange breathing exercise ghost until you retire.  

“I’m not doing this,” you slipped into a crouch in the middle of the parking lot, shaking your head. “No, no, no.” 

“Stand up right now.” The ghost said somewhere to your right, or maybe it was your front. You were clutching your hair, pulling it like a madwoman. “Hey, I said stand up.” 

“And why should I!” You yelled back, hissing. 

“Because Ms. Petunia is coming over!”  

“Who the fuck is Ms. Petunia?” Incredulous, you stood up only to face a woman who must be Ms. Petunia, and she was holding out her car key when you suddenly popped up.  

“Oh,” the woman chuckled nervously, clutching her keys to her chest as she stared at you, surprised. “Hello, you were saying?” 

Quickly, you cleared your throat before pulling the phone up to your ear, “oh, fuck, she’s fucking right in front of me. Gotta go, thanks.” Then clicked on the black screen before smiling at the woman. “Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to be—I have an issue with, y’know, cussing.” 

Ms. Petunia’s smile became crooked. “I can see that.” She noticed your luggage and gasped, “you’re the new tenant! Oh, darling! You look younger than I expected.” 

“Oh? Haha, yes, I am.” You looked around to check if you were hallucinating this again and if this Petunia lady was also a ghost. If she was, you’d probably just cry and call your mom to take you home, fuck concrete jungles, this was just a huge horror house set.  

Ms. Petunia didn’t seem to notice your skittishness and took your hands. Warm. You felt your entire body sag in relief when you felt the human blood warming the hands that took yours and not the same gray ones from that ghost who had disappeared. Again. Of course, she’s creepy like that, if she even exists outside of your imagination.  

“Margaret already clocked out, honey, why don’t you come to my place for now, eh? It’s cold out here and who knows, those ghosts might be lurking around here, playing tricks!” 

Your vision seemed to fade at the mention of the g-word. You stiffened like a sleeper agent and knees wobbled like jelly until the hand clutching your suitcase went pale. This was just great, so they really did exist. 

You shoot Ms. Petunia a shaky smile, breathing slow and heavy, “yeah… Thank you so much, I don’t know if I can handle being outside for long.” 

This woman was so nice despite the hell you’ve been through just now. The universe really knows how to balance shit. First, they give you a full horror house experience, made you faint at the doorstep where the cameras probably caught you, and now, for the ending slope, they give you the nice lady that smoothly evens out every eldritch experience you’ve gone through.  

“You’ve got such clammy hands, must be cold here!” Ms. Petunia exclaimed as she grabbed your hands to lead you back inside. “And you’re shivering, oh dear… I’ve got tea upstairs, okay?” 

You smile. If only you could tell this nice lady that you weren’t shaking because of the cold but because a ghost just chased you down the same hall that you were walking down now. Every time the light buzzed above, you flinch, shoulders squaring as you look over your back, expecting to see those two whites staring at you. There was nothing, still; it doesn’t stop the cold sweat trickling down your back. 

The shadows of your figures disappeared up the spiraling staircase, along with the soft grunts as you both helped in lifting your suitcase up the steps.  

Caitlyn reappeared at the foot of the stairs, eyes just watching the shadow thin out until there was nothing but the soft click of two sets of feet down the hall to Ms. Petunia’s apartment.  

She looked down at her feet, then back at the empty stairway with a sigh. “I didn’t even get to tell her that Maddie still has the key.” 

caitlyn k. ⠀╋━󠁝󠀠󠁝‍󠁝󠀠󠁝‍ㅤghost!cait x new tenant!femr ;; a modern au

ㅤ݁ᛪ༙ㅤnew place, the rent's cheap, close downtown, and you've got a ghost neighbor. what would possibly go wrong?

ㅤ݁ᛪ༙ㅤmodern au , ghost!cait , conservative caitlyn if you squint (old ass prejudice) , caitlyn might be old but she died young so let's not mention the questionable age gap , fem!reader , terrible landlord and amazing neighbors , SFW

chapter 2 ::ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤarcane m. list | gen. m. list

Ms. Petunia’s apartment was cozy with lots of roosters and handmade stitches on framed handkerchiefs down the hallway. The wallpaper seemed to lull you into a sense of contentment just looking at the pink flowers as she sat you down on the leather chair.

The soft squeak of pristine plastic groaned under your weight, and you felt the ghost of a friction that made the ends of your arm’s hair stand when you rested against it.

“So, dear, what did the landlord say? Did he tell you anything about what you should do if Margaret clocks out?” Ms. Petunia asked at the counter, which was separated by a white wooden arch with flower carvings inlaid in the wood.

The whistle of a kettle brought you out of your reverie, eyes snapping to the woman across you before you shook your head, just as lost and still a little spooked from the ghost incident downstairs.

Even just thinking about those milky eyes had the ends of your hair raising.

Ms. Petunia scoffed like the landlord had done her a terrible one. She started pouring hot water over the strainer, sifting the tea's flavor. “Figures, that man. Always so irresponsible, he can’t even keep his tenants for long! What are we supposed to do with him, really?”

“Is he always like that?” You rubbed your arms, trying to keep the cold sweat away; the chill clung to you, and it certainly wasn’t because of the cold night air.

“The real question is: when is he never like that? I don’t know what that poor woman has to go through daily; she’s basically the one keeping this entire place from falling apart. And she has a separate day job as a sales manager.”

The gossip slowly filtered out as you went quiet, still thinking of the ghost that you saw. Was she even real, or was that all just you? The former idea had you groaning into the palm of your hands while Ms. Petunia was cleaning up the counter. It was even worse if that was all your imagination. Then you’d have to slowly deal with the fact that you were actually sick in the head.

You knew you were fucked when your only two choices seemed equally terrible. It was between contacting a spiritual mentor or a psychiatrist.

“You can sleep here for the evening,” Ms. Petunia offered after she finished brewing you some hot chamomile tea that she got as a gift from her son, Theodore, who was apparently a call center agent. Night shift, she told you. “I don’t mind, and you’re definitely cities away from home, aren’t you, dear?”

She sighed, looking pained on your behalf. You could only smile, feeling an odd sense of both relief and discomfort. Ms. Petunia was sweet ever since she picked you up from the parking lot, but you couldn’t help the feeling that you were intruding or relying too much on her for your own troubles. Besides, wasn’t it the first rule to never trust strangers?

Besides, the hotel wasn’t that bad, right?

“That’s alright, ma’am, I’ll just go to a hotel for the evening,” you said, shaking your head and ultimately, refusing the sweet offer of your new next-floor neighbor.

Ms. Petunia seemed surprised, but she composed herself quickly, folding her hands in her lap as she looked at you rise before you could finish your tea. “Darling, the nearest hotel is an entire street away. It’s dark here, and God forbid those weird crawlers are out and about again. They’ve been becoming more active since the mayor pulled out half the officers from the local station.”

The idea of walking down a dark street seemed to convince you quite quickly that you were back to sitting down on the leather couch and clearing your throat. The chamomile tea was warm in your throat as you took another cursory sip, a hearty sigh leaving your lips. The place was indeed homey, but still, you couldn’t keep on intruding.

So, naturally, you offered to help Ms. Petunia with dinner. While she stashed away your suitcase somewhere that didn’t block the hallway, you busied yourself with trying to feel at home with a woman you had just met.

“I was planning to eat out tonight because it’s a little lonely without Theodore around, but then you came,” Ms. Petunia told you as she entered the low space of the kitchen and smiled while watching you wash the cabbage. “Weird miracles, don’t you think?”

You could only laugh, glancing down at your handiwork before wringing your hands dry with the white cloth by the oven handle.

There were many questions you wanted to ask Ms. Petunia. She seemed like someone who had been around for a long time. You need all the help you can get if you are going to battle with either your undiagnosed Schizophrenia or your lack of faith. Apparently, if you start seeing ghosts, it’s suddenly God testing you, or whatever religious knick-knack the conservatives thought of again.

“Uhm, about what you said earlier…” You spoke after moments of relative silence. Ms. Petunia looked at you while she was slicing some onions. “About ghosts? Are there really?”

Ms. Petunia nodded, “Oh, plenty. Once, I saw two eyes look straight at me through the balcony window!” She laughed, like it was some fond memory. You certainly wished you were in the same boat. “They don’t mean any harm, the ghosts. They just… look scary at first. Like moths.”

“Moths.”

Right, because that was a picture-perfect comparison. Ghosts to moths.  Supernatural floaty beings with the ability to possess versus the alt/gothic cousins of butterflies. That tracks.

“You know how to slice cabbages, dear?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Then the rest of the conversation tuned out of your head.

Moths to ghosts. It made you smile, because you couldn’t imagine that breathing exercise ghost anywhere closer to a moth. At least you can hear it coming, the moth. There was no knowing when that ghost could appear again.

There’s a strange likeness to Caitlyn and the wind. It blows when you least expect it. Like luck, fortune, and everything that’s out of anyone’s control. There’s beauty in the unexpected. And Caitlyn wears that crown like a queen in the night.

Most of the time, as a century-old ghost, Caitlyn doesn’t quite exist, maybe because she’s a ghost. Sometimes, she suddenly opens her eyes, and she finds herself in the same place. Standing at the same distance from what was once her home, a hundred years later. More concrete, more weird technology, and Caitlyn has no choice but to adapt to the world around her. At the same time, she still wears that same dress she died in, a navy-blue evening gown with white trims down the middle, and a black belt around her waist that carries the insignia of the Kirammans. Her shoulder pads were golden to complement the dark color of her overall dress.

Time never stood still for Caitlyn; it just tolerated her. And she wonders how long that patience will last until time won’t allow her to open her eyes and find herself standing in the same spot just to wander. But not too far, never too far. Perhaps that was time’s patience waning.

If Caitlyn does see them, soon, she’ll ask them why they haven’t taken her earlier. What else was there to show to someone whose time was long up?

There was always a soft breath, and Caitlyn knew her senses were returned. The consciousness flowed into her, and when she opened her eyes, she was standing in the middle of the relatively empty parking lot. Still dark, still in the middle of the 21st century. Her eyes slowly glided to Ms. Petunia’s car, then the memories ebbed like spring water down smoothened stones.

Right.

The new tenant. She’d been meaning to tell the lady that Maddie still has her key.

But that wasn’t the strangest thing; it was the fact that this lady could see her as well and fared more terribly than Maddie. At least that Irish lady didn’t faint in front of three cameras in the entrance.

Caitlyn floated up the stairs once more, trying to test out her hypothesis and hope that the woman wasn’t just someone she imagined out of loneliness. Being a ghost meant everyone passing by you, smiling in your direction, sometimes, but always missing the sign that says: I’m standing here. In the first few months of Caitlyn becoming a ghost, she tried to reach out to everyone. The more she did, the more her figure flickered, like a lightless ship lost at sea with no definite destination.

Soon enough, Caitlyn was standing right outside Ms. Petunia’s apartment. She stepped through the red door and poked around the halls, only to find you sleeping on the couch, the lights out, and the flower-patterned blanket falling off your right leg, where it pooled on the carpet.

As Caitlyn was about to reach out to do something, something else pulled her attention away. Her eyes widened, her gasp was loud when she realized: she had color. She has color again!

She wasn’t completely gray!

A laugh bubbled from the depths of her chest as Caitlyn twirled to check down her clothes and then her hair. Navy blue dress. Dark hair. Pale complexion. Oh…

“My God,” she whispered in the dead silence.

“Oh my God.” You stirred in your sleep, jaw going slack when you saw that the ghost was standing right in front of you again. A scream was on its way to claw right out of your mouth before the ghost was shushing you, hands flailing in front of her.

“Please don’t scream,” Caitlyn whispered-shouted as she knelt in front of you, eyes mirroring yours, wide and nervous, and she shook her head. “You’ll wake up Ms. Petunia, and she has issues going back to sleep.”

“Oh my God.”

“Oh my God.”

“You’re like colored.” You point to Caitlyn’s face, your fingertips grazing her shimmering form. Her figure blurred like smoke, or maybe the reflection on the water ripple. “Wow.”

You were faring better now, or maybe it’s just because you were still a little drowsy. Whatever the reason was, the sight of Caitlyn with color made you calm down. Like, there was this reassurance that Caitlyn was once a living being just like you. That she, too, was once as warm as your palm and could easily be scared by the mention of ghosts.

Caitlyn stood up, looking down at you with deep blues. You never realized just how breathtaking they were, even if her form was a little unstable, like the old TV in your nan’s house. Some static would catch the screen, and a long beep would pause your excitement for the afternoon show.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, sitting up and rubbing your eyes before switching on the lamp beside you.

“Maddie has the spare key.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in sleepy confusion. “Who?”

“The previous tenant, Maddie. She has the key to your apartment. It’s the last one.”

“Oh… Why didn’t they tell me?”

“You’d be surprised just how many things aren’t said to the owners of this place,” Caitlyn snorted before sitting—floating—on the armrest of the couch, watching your reflection on the black screen of the TV. “The people manage themselves here. I’m sure Ms. Petunia told you a lot.”

“She has a lot of opinions about the landlord.”

Caitlyn smirked wryly. “I could say the same.”

You hummed but didn’t add anything in response. You figured Caitlyn would get bored with your silence, so you went back to sleep, burying yourself under the sheets and hoping to get some shut-eye before talking it out with the very irresponsible owner of this building.

You win some, you lose some, they always say. So as long as you get to add a few more zeroes to your savings account, you’d be willing to do anything to keep a room as close as this to the downtown area without overdoing the rent. So, what if it were infested with one or two more ghosts? If they gave you breathing exercises like this one, who were you to complain?

While your eyes slowly started getting heavier by that moment, and the living room was plunged into darkness again, Caitlyn floated by the couch, watching you fall asleep. The good thing about being watched by a ghost was that you couldn’t feel their eyes, just the sense that they still lingered like the smoke of an extinguished candle.

Caitlyn looked down at her form, or what she could make up of it in the relative darkness. The city lights pooled into the living room, and Caitlyn stepped into the puddle of light to check her skin. It’s been so long since she last saw herself with color. There was a sense of relief to see herself again. Her, the Caitlyn Kiramman, Countess of Piltover, not the monochrome ghost of Chrysalis Avenue. Her eyes slowly drew their way back to the sleeping form on the couch, asleep and tired after a night of surprises, and Caitlyn wondered if you were the reason for this current myriad of changes.