acrehearts

occasionally writes (#) 18 and gay | white_capi on ao3

[acrehearts]

ㅤ“ the guide to acre's heart. ㅤㅤ8teen+ ㅤ ㅤ—ㅤ🌊

masterlist | taglist ‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤest. '26

ㅤღ ִֶ𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽 ㅤㅤarcane .ᐟ mlp .ᐟ genshin .ᐟ jjk ㅤㅤ᭪

[acrehearts]

is some of the details in ur ghost caitlyn fic inspired by the show ghost on netflix? the usa one

bc i read the part where caitlyn cant go far from where she pass away n that reminded me of that show

hi hunnn, to answer this question, no, unfortunatelyyy

i dont know the ghost show on netflix

the inspiration for the story will be mentioned in chapter 4<33 stay tuned!

[red-stairs]

I saw this and had to save this image cause I definitely have a few readers like this.

[acrehearts]

they dont have freaking tumblr but my ao3 is never left untouched by them

[acrehearts]

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.

chapter 1 > chapter 3 ...

[acrehearts]

new chapter out tomorrow(?) if i have time 💀💀💀💀

[tobesolxvely]

RUMOR HAS IT

SYNOPSIS: You thought Vi was the reason your best friend's relationship fell apart. Vi thought you were the one to blame. Being forced to work together was supposed to be torture until you realized neither of you knew the truth.

WORD COUNT: 11.4k | CONTENT WARNING: vi x fem!reader. sloooow burn. enemies to lovers undertones. miscommunication. reader x bff!maddie. vi x bff!caitlyn. cait x maddie (exes). mutual pining energy and the usual bad words but like is that even a warning??

NOTE: i've had this idea in my mind for a while now and i've been working on it since... yesterday, heh. not gonna lie, i was getting used to writing nsfw and jumping back to fluff made me feel i was writing a kdrama episode, but i loved how this turned out!

mads: i’m telling you, she just kept choosing her over us

You sigh, staring at the screen while the classroom slowly fills. It’s too early to be dealing with this —well, no, it’s almost noon, but Maddie’s been circling the breakup for weeks now, picking at it like a scab that won’t heal.

you: you know cait didn’t mean it like that

mads: she always had vi hovering. ALWAYS.

The mention of her name makes your blood boil.

Ever since Maddie and Caitlyn started dating, all you could hear from your best friend was how Vi is this constant shadow in Caitlyn’s life. Always there, always watching, always waiting for Maddie to mess up so she could step in.

And she certainly did.

There is no doubt in your mind that Vi is the reason why Maddie and Caitlyn broke up.

You type before you can stop yourself.

you: she sounds exhausting tbh

Three dots pop up almost immediately.

mads: she IS. i swear, cait couldn’t think for herself! she was ALWAYS getting in between us

You cluck your tongue disapprovingly, shaking your head as if Maddie can see it through the screen.

You’ve barely spoken to Vi before, but you’ve shared enough classes to recognize the patterns. At first, you thought she was harmlessly cool, easygoing in a quiet, unforced way— the kind of girl who never looks rushed, who jokes with professors without sounding disrespectful, a presence people leaned toward without noticing.

Vi seemed like someone who didn’t need attention to have it, she was never pushy or loud. Nothing about her seemed sharp or invasive. If anything, it was the complete opposite.

Holding doors open without making a thing of it, passing notes forward when someone was late, explaining assignments in a low, patient voice to people who were way too embarrassed to ask the professor again. You’d seen her do it more than once, and you used to think she was considerate, gentle and friendly.

Then, Maddie started telling you what she was really like.

And suddenly, every small thing you noticed about Vi felt different. Suspicious, even. As if every action was calculated, and her patience wasn’t actual patience, but strategy. Like maybe you had mistaken confidence and control for something softer.

It’s funny how quickly someone can change when you’ve never actually known them to begin with.

Your phone buzzes again in your hand.

mads: she seriously couldn’t stand when cait paid attention to me. i’m telling you, it was weird as hell

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, then you lock your phone and toss it face-down on the desk with a tired sigh. Maddie’s hurt, you get that, but you don’t need to keep feeding the fire. And you certainly don’t want to keep spiraling before class even starts.

You lean back in your chair, eyes drifting around the room, and the creak of the door opening catches your attention.

Speak of the devil, you think to yourself.

Vi steps inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, jacket half-zipped, and expression permanently unimpressed. She pauses just long enough to scan the room, searching for a place to sit.

Your stomach tightens as you look around, realizing the only empty seat in the room is the one right beside you.

Absolutely not. You move without thinking, sliding your bag onto the chair next to you.

Vi notices immediately.

“Crap,” she curses under her breath.

Of course it’s you. She scans the room one more time, hoping there’s another seat available so she wouldn’t have to be stuck with you for this course. But every other chair’s taken, and she’s not about to stand through a lecture just because Caitlyn’s ex’s best friend has a problem with her.

So, she walks straight toward you. And she sees the way you slide your bag onto the seat.

Of course, she thinks to herself. Petty.

It doesn’t take her by surprise, though. Not after everything Caitlyn told her about you. Vi had spent weeks of hearing how Maddie always had you around, how you texted non-stop even when Cait was over, how you somehow always came up in conversation, even when you weren’t there.

Not in a bad way. Never in a bad way, Caitlyn was not the type of person to speak ill of others. She’d just say it like an observation.

She’s really important to Maddie.

They’ve known each other forever.

I think she tells Y/N everything.

That would have been harmless, if Vi hadn’t seen the way Cait said it. Careful, quiet, like she was trying not to make it sound like it bothered her.

Vi is good at noticing small details, she’s always been very observant. Little shifts in tone, pauses between words, the way someone pretends they’re fine when they’re really not. So yeah, she had drawn her own conclusions.

You were just biding time until the relationship cracked, and your turn finally arrived. She was sure of it.

She walks down the aisle anyway, boots quiet against the floor, stopping beside your desk. Up close, she smells faintly like coffee and mint. You keep your eyes forward, pretending to be too caught up with your notebook to notice her presence.

“Hey,” Vi says, readjusting the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. “You mind?”

You don’t even look up. “I do, actually.”

Her eyebrow ticks up. For a split second, Vi considers pushing your bag off the chair herself just to see what you’d do. Just to watch that carefully controlled expression crack.

Instead, she lets out a humorless laugh under her breath.

“And I’m guessing the chair also minds?”

You flip a page in your notebook.

“Mhm.”

Vi exhales softly through her nose, tongue pressing briefly against the inside of her cheek. She had expected attitude; she’s seen the way you look at her before. You’ve never been mean to her, no, but there’s always been something in your gaze when it lands on her across a classroom or down a hallway.

Vi noticed it weeks ago. The way your mouth pressed thin when she walked past your desk, the way you never laughed at anything she said, even when the rest of the room did. You weren’t subtle about your dislike toward her.

And honestly? Neither was she.

You underline something in your notes with unnecessary precision, trying to ignore the fact that Vi is studying the side of your face like she’s reading fine print.

She shifts her weight and taps two fingers lightly against the back of the chair your bag is occupying.

“Look, I respect whatever territorial thing you’ve got going on here, but unless you want me sitting on the desk instead—”

Finally, you lift your eyes to hers.

Up close, she’s more striking than you remember. Her pink hair is a mess in a way that has to be intentional, dark roots peeking through. It falls into her eyes in uneven strands, softening features that are otherwise all sharp edges and quiet confidence. There’s a faint nick through one of her eyebrows, more noticeable now that you’re this close.

Her eyes flick over you, steady and unhurried. They’re bright blue, and there’s an amusing glint in them that makes you hate to notice.

Hate that you notice the way her eyelashes cast small shadows against her cheekbones when she blinks.

Hate that Maddie’s voice in your head doesn’t match the girl standing in front of you at all.

She’s annoyingly attractive, and you hate yourself for having the thought cross your mind.

Her fingers tap lightly against the chair again.

“Well?”

You blink, realizing you’ve been staring a second too long. With a stiff, wordless motion, you grab your bag and drop it on the floor.

Vi hums softly, like she’s accepting a truce neither of you actually offered, before she slides into the seat beside you.

“See? Cooperation wasn’t so hard.”

She leans back in her chair, stretching her legs out slightly, eyes forward now like you’ve already stopped being interesting.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches the way your fingers curl slightly against the desk. You look annoyed. Good, at least she’s not the only one.

Right on cue, the professor strides in, balancing a coffee in one hand and a stack of folders in the other.

“Good morni— Oop, I mean, good afternoon, everyone. I hope you’re ready to work, because we’re officially leaving the honeymoon phase of the semester.”

A collective groan rolls through the room.

Beside you, Vi shifts, elbow brushing yours for half a second as she reaches into her backpack. You move your arm an inch away like the contact burned, annoyed at your own heart for skipping a beat.

The professor sets his folders down with a clap. “Today we’re starting your first major project. This one counts for thirty percent of your final grade.”

He writes the number on the board, and the groan is louder this time.

“Now, this is a collaborative assignment. You’ll be working in pairs to do a longitudinal behavioral analysis.”

“A what?” one of the students at the back asks.

“You will be studying one subject,” the professor continues, energized by the despair, “over the next three weeks. Observing patterns, defense mechanisms, social tendencies, baseline behavior, and deviations from that baseline.”

You frown slightly. Three weeks? It sounds like too much work.

He writes on the board.

FINAL PAPER: JOINT ANALYSIS. TWENTY PAGES.

“Your subject will be your partner. You are encouraged,” he adds, far too cheerfully, “to spend time together in varied environments. People behave differently depending on context.”

A guy stands up at the front of the class, turning around to point at one of his friends. “We got this, bro.”

“Oh, no,” the professor laughs, shaking his head to cut that off immediately. “Let me stop you right there before anyone starts celebrating.”

The guy slowly lowers his pointing finger and sits back on his chair.

“I’m picking the pairs. Actually,” he hums, scanning the room for a second before he nods as he makes up his mind. “to save time… you’ll be working with the person seated next to you.”

A ripple of reactions spread through the room. Chairs scrape and people turn around. Some grin, some groan, and others immediately start talking logistics.

You don’t move. Neither does Vi. The realization settles between you at the exact same time.

You turn your head and find her already looking at you.

“Absolutely not!”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

The professor looks up. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” you and Vi answer in unison.

Vi gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Can I switch partners?”

“Trust me, it’s mutual,” you scoff, glancing at her.

“Good,” she shrugs. “Glad we agree on something.”

The professor crosses his arms, watching the interaction with curiosity. “Unless there’s a documented academic accommodation I’m aware of, no. Part of the assignment is learning to collaborate with different personalities.”

“She’s not just a different personality,” you say before you can stop yourself. “She’s—”

Vi’s head turns slowly toward you. It makes you stop right on track.

“Go ahead,” she says calmly. “Finish that sentence.”

 You can feel people watching now. You hadn’t actually planned to say anything, it just slipped out, impulse beating restraint every time she’s involved.

Vi doesn’t blink, she just stares at you expectantly.

God, she’s infuriatingly steady.

“She’s,” you start again, choosing the safest word you can grab before your temper picks one for you, “difficult.”

Vi’s eyebrow lifts slightly in amusement.

“Difficult?” she echoes.

You shrug one shoulder. “Objectively speaking, yes.”

She lets out a quiet huff through her nose, the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

The professor clears his throat, but he’s not interrupting yet. He’s watching like this is suddenly more interesting than his syllabus.

You cross your arms over your chest. “See? Incompatible.”

“Incompatible,” Vi repeats thoughtfully. “Or threatened?”

Your eyes narrow. “By you?”

“Could be.”

The corner of your mouth twitches in disbelief. “You wish.”

The professor claps once, finally stepping in before the tension snaps into something louder. “Fantastic! Already engaging in behavioral assessment. You two are staying paired. Think of it as… immersive learning.”

He turns his attention back to the lesson, ending the switching-partners topic.

You and Vi share another look. Slowly, she reaches into her bag, pulls out a notebook, and flips it open. She clicks her pen once, then glances sideways at you.

“All right,” she mutters. “Baseline assessment.”

Your back straightens automatically. “Excuse me?”

She ignores the question, eyes scanning you with deliberate thoroughness.

“Initial observations,” she says out loud as she writes, though only you could hear it. “Subject displays defensive posture, elevated tension in shoulders, controlled tone masking irritability—”

“Are you serious right now?” you snap.

She doesn’t look up.

“Interrupts when uncomfortable,” she adds calmly.

Your mouth opens, then closes. The girls behind you snicker, and you can feel heat creep up your neck.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Subject shows mild competitive response to perceived scrutiny,” she continues, utterly unfazed.

Fine. Game on.

You flip to an empty page on your notebook with a sharp motion, putting your pen to the paper.

“Initial observations,” you say coolly. “Subject exhibits inflated confidence, performative calm, and a tendency to provoke reactions for entertainment.”

One corner of her mouth lifts.

“Go on.”

“Also,” you add, writing it down, “clearly enjoys being studied. Egotistical.”

Her pen pauses for the first time, just enough to acknowledge the hit, then it resumes moving.

“Hm,” Vi hums under her breath, considering your wording rather than reacting to it. “Subjects resorts to labeling. Possible projection.”

Your eyes narrow. “It’s an observation.”

“Is it?”

She finally looks up. Her expression is different now, no longer teasing. It’s focused, like she’s trying to figure you out. You hate how much that steadiness throws you off.

You underline your last word harder than necessary.

Egotistical.

“Confident,” she corrects you out loud.

You let out a soft scoff. “There’s a difference.”

“Yeah. Competence.”

The word lands between you. Huh, now you can sort of get Maddie’s dislike for her. You can picture Vi looking down at your best friend and belittling her every single time.

You straighten slightly. “Then you won’t have trouble keeping up.”

Her eyebrow lifts.

“Was that a threat?”

“No. A warning.”

She hums, the grin on her lips widening ever so lightly.

“I like warnings,” she says quietly. “They make things fair.”

“Oh my God,” one of the girls behind you whispers, and you pretend not to hear it.

Vi taps her pen once against the margin of her notebook, eyes flicking briefly to your page. You shift your own notebook an inch away from her line of sight.

“Protective of your notes.”

“Protective of my work,” you correct.

“Territorial,” she writes.

You lean slightly toward her.

“Nosy,” you counter, jotting it down on your notebook.

She glances sideways again, eyes glinting. “Curious.”

“Intrusive.”

“Observant,” she corrects.

“Annoying.”

That almost earns a laugh out of her.

At the front, the professor clears his throat again. Your chatter had slowly turned a bit louder, catching his, and everyone else’s, attention. “I trust everyone’s begun their observational notes instead of flirting with their partners.”

A wave of laughter rolls through the room.

You immediately look down at your notebook, cheeks burning red in embarrassment. Vi does the same.

Neither of you speaks for the rest of the lecture.

The café smells like espresso and vanilla syrup, warm and loud in that mid-afternoon way, every table half full and every conversation overlapping with another.

Maddie is already mid-rant by the time your drinks hit the table.

“… cannot actually be okay with this!”

You blink at her over the rim of your cup. “With homework?”

“With her,” Maddie gestures like the word itself is offensive. “You got paired with Vi. Out of everyone!”

You shrug lightly, stirring your drink. “It’s just a project, Mads.”

“A three-week-long project. Three weeks of Vi hovering and judging and acting like she’s better than you, me and everyone else.”

“Well,” you tap your spoon against the cup, clicking your tongue, “she can’t be that bad.”

Maddie freezes.

She slowly puts her own cup down, watching you in utter disbelief.

“What?”

You immediately regret saying it. Here goes another Vi is short for evil rant.

“I just mean,” you add quickly, “yes, she’s annoying, but—”

“Annoying?” Maddie repeats, incredulous. “Y/N, she literally ruined my relationship.”

Her tone sharpens. She’s not yelling, but it’s loud enough that you glance around instinctively.

“She was always there,” Maddie continues. “Every time Cait and I argued, every time something felt off, every time Caitlyn pulled away. Guess who always was nearby? Guess who Cait would go to?”

You don’t answer, opting to take a sip of your latte before it got cold.

She leans forward, voice dropping.

“Vi wanted Caitlyn from the start. I could tell.”

Before you can try and diffuse the situation, your phone buzzes on the table. You grab it immediately, half-relieved to have something else to focus on, but your stomach twists as you read the notification.

bubblegum brute: as much as i hate this, we gotta schedule observation time

Your grip tightens slightly around the phone, and you unconsciously roll your eyes.

“Who’s that?” Maddie asks, curious by your reaction.

“No one,” you say too fast.

Her eyes narrow. Well, it’s better to rip the bandage right off.

You sigh. “It’s Vi.”

Maddie leans back like you just said you were texting a serial killer.

“She already has your number?” her voice goes lighter for a second, and she shakes her head with disappointment.

“She needed it for the project.”

“That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s practical,” you try to defend your case. “Besides, we need to analyze each other for three weeks. It would be weird not to have her phone number to schedule this project.”

“Why can’t you just make it up?”

“We wanted to,” you lean back against the booth. “But the professor said we needed to document everything, and he wants evidence, too.”

Maddie rolls her eyes. “So invasive.”

Your screen lights again.

bubblegum brute: preferably somewhere public. it’ll be easier that way.

“What’s she saying?”

“It’s about scheduling this whole observation thing,” you mumble.

“Of course,” Maddie grabs her cup and takes a sip, not noticing the foam on her upper lip as she pulls it back down. “She probably already has a notebook labeled Ways Y/N Is Secretly Evil.”

You huff a quiet laugh despite yourself, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

you: i’m busy rn

Three dots appear instantly.

bubblegum brute: let me guess. with maddie?

Your breath catches as you stare at the screen.

“Hod does she—” you mutter.

“What?” Maddie asks.

You shake your head quickly, already typing down a quick yeah.

Across from you, Maddie keeps talking, completely unaware she’s being silently discussed.

bubblegum brute: makes sense

you: what does that mean?

bubblegum brute: it’s just that i was right

Your brows knit. What is she talking about?

“… uncomfortable or something.” Maddie turns to look at you at your lack of response, noticing your confused expression. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah… no… sorry,” you hesitate, pointing down to your phone.

“Ah, see,” she scoffs. “She’s probable trying to psychoanalyze you already. She acts chill, but she’s always looking out for anything she can use against you.”

Your eyes flick down to the screen again.

Another message.

bubblegum brute: tomorrow. 4pm. library or café, your choice.

You stare at it for a moment.

Maddie always said Vi was manipulative, intrusive and demanding, but it doesn’t seem like her. Well, who knows her better? You, who has only shared a couple of classes with her, or Maddie, who is her best friend’s ex-girlfriend?

“You’re not actually considering hanging out with her, are you?”

You look up, pursing your lips. Oh, you know she won’t like this at all.

“It’s not hanging out, it’s just… cooperating,” you shrug it off. “And it’s thirty percent of my grade.”

Maddie groans. “Y/N…”

“What?” you cross your arms.

“She’s not your friend.”

“I know.”

“She’s not even nice.”

Your phone buzzes once more.

bubblegum brute: or don’t. avoidance is data too.

Oh, she has to be doing that on purpose.

You type back before you can stop yourself.

you: library. 4pm

bubblegum brute: 👍

“You are meeting her,” Maddie tilts her head.

“It’s just a project,” you say again.

“It’s Vi,” she corrects.

You sigh, closing your eyes as frustration starts to kick in. “Maddie, please drop it.”

“No, seriously,” her voice drops a notch. “You don’t know her like I do.”

That’s the thing, though.

You don’t know her at all. Only the version you’ve heard about.

Maddie leans forward slightly, her tone quieter now, almost conspiratorial. “She’s the type to wait. She’s calculative, she plays nice so people don’t notice how controlling she actually is.”

“That sounds like a supervillain,” you open your eyes, watching her incredulously.

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

You glance down at your phone as you feel it vibrate again.

Maddie rolls her eyes. “See? You can’t even catch a break.”

bubblegum brute: don’t be late

you: bossy.

Three dots appear. They disappear. Pause.

Then—

bubblegum brute: not bossy. observant.

Your lips twitch before you can stop them.

You press them back into a thin line quickly, but Maddie notices.

“You just smiled at her text.”

You look up. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You literally just did.”

You exhale through your nose. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And she’s being manipulative.”

When you look back down, you notice two new texts.

bubblegum brute: you type the same way you argue btw

you: what does that even mean??

Her reply takes longer this time. Long enough that you picture her thinking about it.

bubblegum brute: fast, defensive, trying to win

bubblegum brute: but well, see you tomorrow

Maddie is still talking, trying to warn you, but her voice fades slightly into the background.

You don’t know why that tiny, simple message makes your chest feel tight. You lock your phone, deciding to let it go just for now.

You spot Vi immediately as soon as you walked into the library.

She’s sitting at one of the long wooden tables near the back, one arm draped over the chair beside her like she owns the space. A notebook lies open in front of her, pen resting across the page.

It takes you by surprise to notice she isn’t on her phone. She’s just sitting there, waiting for you.

She looks comfortable. Just like she belongs there.

Your steps slow as you realize what she’d done. She picked the library not because it was practical, but because you’d feel like the one entering her environment.

Your grip tightens slightly around your bag strap, and you shake your head. Should have seen this coming, you think to yourself as you walk over to her.

Her eyes flick up the moment you enter her peripheral vision.

“Right on time,” she says, glancing briefly at the wall clock behind you. “That’s good.”

You drop your bag onto the table with a soft thud. “Sounds like you’re taking attendance.”

“I’m just observing,” she corrects calmly.

You slide into the chair across from her. “You’re insufferable.”

Her mouth twitches, and you watch as she writes something down.

“Did you just—”

“Baseline irritability,” she murmurs as she finishes the line.

You stare at her for a second before you pull out your own notebook and flip it open.

“Mirroring behavior,” she notes softly.

You click your pen.

“Subject attempts to assert control through performative composure,” you say out loud as you write. “Possible reliance on intimidation tactics.”

There’s a pause.

Her smile sharpens as your gazes meet, and then she lets out a laugh. A genuine, amused laugh.

For one second, you forget you’re supposed to dislike her.

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. “So… how are we doing this?”

Vi nods once, instantly focused again, but there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips now.

“Three weeks. Well, we need enough interaction to establish baseline patterns before deviations mean anything.”

You blink, taking in everything she just said.

God, she speaks like she’s discussing a lab experiment.

“So, we gotta hang out before we jump to conclusions,” you repeat in simpler terms.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Okay… define ‘enough interaction’,” you say cautiously.

“At least one observation session per day,” Vi replies. “Plus, incidental data.”

“Hanging out every day?” you repeat flatly. “And what the hell do you mean by incidental data?”

“Just unplanned interactions, like your reactions when you’re not performing,” she looks up just in time to catch you frowning. “You do it when you feel watched.”

Your eyes narrow. “Well, you literally are watching me.”

“Exactly.”

Her gaze flickers down to her notebook as she keeps writing.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, flipping your notebook open again. “Subject demonstrates chronic need for control and a deeply concerning enjoyment of provoking irritation.”

Vi hums, leaning back against her chair as she looks up at you again.

“That was actually good phrasing.”

“You’re being annoying on purpose.”

“Yes.”

The honesty throws you off for half a second.

You force yourself to look away from her eyes, because they’re getting to distracting. Maddie was right, she is calculating every move.

“Subject displays antagonistic tendencies. Likely compensatory,” you jot down.

“And I’m compensating for what exactly?”

You shrug. “You tell me. You’re the expert.”

“I never said I was an expert.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, dropping your pen onto the table. “You act like one.”

She nods, watching you closely. “And you act like someone who hates losing.”

“I don’t lose,” you correct, a smirk taking over your lips.

Vi doesn’t respond. Instead, she writes something else in her notebook.

You lean across the table. “Okay, that’s it. What did you write?”

“It’s confidential,” she closes the notebook almost immediately, looking up to find your face a lot closer than before.

You don’t move back.

Her gaze flicks once to your mouth, then back to your eyes. It was quick, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re annoying,” you blurt out.

“Yeah, you’ve said that already.”

“The more I say it, the more I mean it.”

“Huh,” one corner of her mouth lifts, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by it. “Noted.”

“Don’t,” you warn, finally sitting back down.

“Don’t what?”

“Do that?”

Vi huffs out a small laugh. “Do what?”

“That smug little…” you gesture vaguely at her face, “thing.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the comeback doesn’t arrive.

Vi’s gaze dips briefly to your lips again, then back to your eyes, and she taps her pen once against her notebook.

Oh, how she hates the fact that she loves getting on your nerves.

Five days go by easier than you expected.

You’re lying on the campus lawn, a hand thrown over your eyes to cover them from the sun. Students pass in loose clusters, laughter drifting through the air.

Vi’s mere feet away from you, settled against a tree, ankle hooked over her knee and notebook resting against her thigh. She’s not even writing right now, just twirling her pen between her fingers.

“You’re staring again,” she says under her breath, not even bothering to look at you.

“I’m observing,” you blurt out, but you look away immediately.

Lately, you’ve caught yourself staring at her way more than usual. You tried to tell yourself it was because of the project, but most of the time you weren’t taking any notes.

“What did you learn about me, then?”

“That you need to re-dye your hair soon.”

She finally turns her head, squinting at you. “For your information, chicks dig my current look.”

“Mhm. Jury’s out,” you hum softly, closing your eyes for a moment.

Vi snorts, grabbing a handful of leaves and throwing them in your direction. “Oh yeah? And you’re the jury now?”

You push your hand off your eyes to look at her properly. Sunlight catches in her hair, the faded pink uneven where her roots are starting to show through. It does need a touch-up.

Your mouth opens, but the sound of footsteps crunch softly on the grass nearby.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

The voice is familiar.

Both of you look up. A few steps away stands Caitlyn, tote bag on her shoulder, brows lifted slightly as she takes in the scene. Her gaze flicks from you, to Vi, to the notebooks, then back to Vi again.

Vi’s whole demeanor shifts. Her expression softens and the corner of her mouth lifts— not the smug half-smirk she gives you, but a warmer smile that takes over her face.

“Hey,” Vi greets her happily. “What’re you doing out here?”

You hadn’t seen Caitlyn in… well, long before her and Maddie’s breakup. You kind of missed her, actually. She was always kind and passionate, you loved hanging out with her.

Well, you weren’t surprised Vi wanted to break them up so she could have Caitlyn all to herself.

Something small twists under your ribs before you can stop the thought.

“I’m doing a library run,” Cait huffs out, shifting her tote higher on her shoulder. “Midterms are going to be the death of me.”

“Please, do you even need to study?” Vi chuckles, eyes flicking over Caitlyn quickly. “You eat something already?”

You sit back up, a hand coming up to smooth your hair. You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your fingers are already combing through the strands, subtly fixing what the grass messed up.

Caitlyn waves a hand dismissively at Vi’s words. “Yeah, I had a burger an hour ago. And I do need to study. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not academically invincible.”

She turns her attention toward you, a soft smile greeting you happily.

“Y/N, I hadn’t seen you in so long,” she sounds genuinely glad to see you. “How are you?”

You weren’t prepared for that.

Not the smile, not the warmth in her voice. You figured she would want nothing to do with you at this point, not with Vi feeding her up lies about you and Maddie, according to… well, Maddie.

Your shoulders loosen up almost immediately.

“Good,” your voice comes out softer than intended. You clear your throat. “I’ve been good. Incredibly busy, though. Classes are… y’know.”

“Relentless?” Cait supplies kindly.

“Awful, actually.”

She laughs quietly, eyes crinkling just a little. God, you forgot how easy it was to talk to her. How she always made conversations feel like she was actually listening, not just waiting for her turn to speak.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Vi shifting her weight against the tree. She hasn’t interrupted, hasn’t hovered, hasn’t done anything annoying. Hm, you would have thought she would have been all over Caitlyn’s case by now, but she seems far more interested in her notebook right now.

Cait glances between you and Vi again, curious. “So… are you guys like homework buddies now?”

“Sort of,” Vi says, at the exact same time as you say, “Not really.”

There’s a pause, and you notice Caitlyn’s lips twitch upwards.

Vi exhales through her nose. “Psych project.”

“Behavioral analysis,” you add. “We’re stuck together for two more weeks.”

“Mutual suffering,” Vi amends.

You shoot her a look. She doesn’t even glance up from her notebook, flipping a page like she’s above the conversation entirely. The corner of her mouth is so close to smiling, though, and it makes something prickle under your skin.

Caitlyn presses her lips together, clearly holding back a laugh.

“I should go before I start procrastinating,” she says, readjusting her tote again.

“Text me when you get back to your dorm,” Vi adds absentmindedly.

Cait just smiles, used to it. “Yes, mom.”

“Rude.”

Another soft laugh, and then Caitlyn looks back at you one last time. “It really is nice seeing you, Y/N.”

“You too,” you say, and you mean it.

She gives a small wave, then turns and walks off across the lawn.

You watch her go, and you can feel Vi watching her, too.

The silence stretches between you. A breeze rustles the leaves above you.

You glance sideways and notice Vi’s still looking in the direction Caitlyn left, expression thoughtful, pen idly spinning between her fingers.

Something twists low in your stomach, and you frown at it.

What’s wrong with you?

Light leaks through the thin strip between your curtains, stabbing straight into your skull. You stare at the ceiling for a long moment. Your throat burns, your nose is stuffed, and your body feels like it’s been replaced with a punching bag.

Your phone buzzes against your pillow.

You drag it closer with slow, miserable effort.

bubblegum brute: where are you??

You squint at the screen.

Shit, it’s four fifteen in the afternoon. You meant to text Vi earlier, but you’ve been drifting in and out of sleep all day, and you completely forgot about it.

You stare at the keyboard for a solid ten seconds before typing.

you: sorry, not today

you: i’m sick

Three dots appear immediately.

Pause. Disappear. Reappear.

bubblegum brute: define sick

You scowl weakly, pressing the audio icon.

“Fever, dying, it’s tragic,” you mutter softly. “Burn me down and scatter my ashes. The ocean will do.”

Typing. Stop. Typing again.

bubblegum brute: dramatic but acceptable

bubblegum brute: reschedule tomorrow

That’s it?

No teasing, no smug remarks, not even a “get better” text?

You stare at the screen a second longer, oddly unsatisfied.

you: wow no analysis?

There’s a longer pause this time.

bubblegum brute: subject sounds like she swallowed sandpaper

bubblegum brute: data collection postponed for ethical and sanitary reasons

Your lips twitch faintly as you lock your phone and let it fall onto your chest.

Vi’s responses had started to become a bit predictable—

Buzz.

You sigh and unlock your phone again.

bubblegum brute: you eat yet?

bubblegum brute: drink water

You roll your eyes.

you: no and don’t tell me what to do

You wait for a couple of minutes, but there’s no response. Vi must have already found something else to spend her time on.

You toss the phone aside and sink deeper into your pillow, drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

Thirty minutes later, your phone vibrates again. You groan loud enough to scare yourself, blindly grabbing it.

bubblegum brute: open your door

Before you can type out a confused response, a photo loads in the chat.

It takes your brain a second to process what you’re looking at.

Vi’s face fills most of the frame. Her pink hair’s tucked under a cap, a few messy strands falling into her eyes. One eyebrow is raised, a thin and awkward smile on her lips. A takeout bag is hanging from two fingers, right beside her face.

Your eyes focus on the background and your stomach drops.

Behind her, you notice it’s your dorm hallway. More importantly, Vi is standing right in front of your door.

You sit up too fast, head pounding instantly in protest, eyes darting from the photo to your actual door across the room like it might suddenly disappear if you look too hard.

She’s outside. Right now.

You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping on your blanket, and stagger toward the door with all the grace of someone who is in fact sick. Your hand fumbles with the knob before you yank the door open.

And there she is.

Vi lowers her phone slowly, like she’d just been about to text again, and gives you a once-over that starts with your messy hair and ends at your sock-sliding stance on the tile.

“Damn,” she says mildly. “You look awful.”

You blink at her in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

She lifts her chin once. “Right. Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You said you were sick,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“So?”

She raises the bag slightly, and your stomach growls at the delicious smell. “So I brought food.”

Vi steps a little closer, eyes scanning your face quickly.

“You look like crap,” she blurts out, a hand coming up to your forehead so she can check your temperature. “Are you taking any medicine?”

You blink, taken aback. “You came all the way here just to insult me?”

“That part’s just a bonus.”

You should be annoyed, but there’s something warm and strange blooming in your chest that you refuse to examine too closely. Must be the fever, right?

“You walked all the way to my dorm just because I said I was sick?”

“You seem surprised,” she points out.

“I am surprised!”

She shrugs. “In the voice note it sounded like you were on deathbed. If you die mid-project, I’d fail.”

You narrow your eyes. “You walked across campus just for a grade?”

“Mhm.”

You huff out an unimpressed laugh, shaking your head.

“Also,” Vi adds, “you didn’t eat.”

You hate the way your chest tightens at that.

“How did you know where— Caitlyn told you, right?”

“Yup.”

“You asked her.”

“Yup,” she nods again.

“And she just told you where I live?”

“Well, we agreed you’d probably be too stubborn to ask for help yourself,” Vi replies easily.

You press your lips together. That does sound like something Cait would agree to.

Silence lingers between you for a second. The hallway hums faintly with distant voices and footsteps. Vi shifts her weight, sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.

“Are you taking the soup or should I find another sick person to give it to?”

You hesitate. An idea crosses your mind, and you hate the way your pulse skips at it.

Vi watches you in silence, warmth spreading through her chest at the sight. Whenever you’re deep in thought, your brows pull together just slightly, like you’re arguing with yourself behind your eyes. She’s noticed that for the last ten days.

She’s noticed a lot of things about you, actually. More than she probably should for someone she’s just doing a project with.

Your gaze flicks up to hers again, your expression letting her know you had made a decision.

“You can come in,” you mutter, voice scratchy. “Since you already committed stalking.”

She blinks once.

Her surprise lasts less than a second before she covers it with her usual composure. “Not stalking. Just food delivery.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes, pulling the door wider. “Get in before someone sees you and thinks I invited you willingly.”

Vi huffs a quiet laugh as she walks past you. The second she’s inside, she pauses and takes a look around.

The room is warm. It’s so you. It’s a small dorm, with blankets slightly rumpled over the bed like you’d been cocooned in them all day. There’s a mug on your desk with a faint ring of dried tea at the bottom, next to your sticky-note covered laptop. Colorful pictures cover the wall next to your bed, and she can’t help but smile at the sight of them— different cities, drawings you had made, even a couple of family selfies.

You follow her gaze, cheeks burning as you realize she can see a vulnerable sight of you.

“Don’t analyze my dorm.”

“I’m not,” she replies, looking back at you. “Your place is nice.”

You take the bag from her hands, fingers brushing slightly against hers, and your stomach betrays you with another quiet growl. Vi pretends not to hear it, but the corner of her mouth lifts a little.

You sit down on the small sofa you own, hurrying to pull the container out and crack the lid. Steam rises instantly, and a warmth spreads through your chest.

“Shit, it smells amazing,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

“It does,” she says casually, like she didn’t spend time figuring out which place near campus makes the best soup.

Vi’s leaning against your desk now, arms loosely crossed, watching you with that same steady attention she always has. Except it’s a lot softer today.

You glance up, and your pulse skips once again when your eyes meet.

“You’re staring,” you mumble.

“Just making sure you don’t die on me.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t look away fast enough to hide the small smile tugging at your mouth.

Vi notices it immediately. It’s small, just the faintest curve at the corner of your mouth while you lift the spoon. But she sees it, and for a second she forgets whatever dry remark she’d been about to make.

“You know,” you look up after a couple of sips, voice still hoarse, “for someone who allegedly walked all the way here just for her grade—”

Vi hums.

“—you’re putting a lot of effort.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “You saying my academic dedication is admirable?”

“I’m saying,” you counter, stirring the soup slowly, “most people don’t personally deliver soup to their project partners.”

“Yeah, and most people don’t speak like Victorian ghosts when they’re sick.”

You glance up. “Victorian ghosts?”

“Burn me down and scatter my ashes,” she quotes you flatly. “Definitely not fishing for attention, huh?”

“I had a fever! I was delirious.”

“You were dramatic.”

“Meh, all the same.”

Vi shrugs, but she can no longer contain the smile tugging at her lips. “If you die, I fail. I’m protecting my GPA.”

You stare at her for another second, trying to find the smugness in her face, the calculation Maddie always swore was there. But you couldn’t find it.

Your spoon dips back into the soup.

“Well… thank you,” you mutter.

“No problem.”

That’s it. There’s no teasing, no joke, not even a note scribbled down.

What is going on with her today?

“You’re not writing that down?”

She looks taken aback. “Writing what down?”

“That I said thank you. Seems like important data.”

She tilts her head, considering it for a moment.

“…Nah,” she shrugs again, crossing her arms across her chest. “I already knew you were capable of basic human decency.”

You scoff. “Wow. I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. The bar was low.”

You shake your head, but the smile comes back impossible to fully hide.

Time passes without either of you really noticing.

At some point, the soup is half gone. A couple of minutes later, Vi stopped leaning against your desk and ended up sitting on the floor beside the sofa, right next to you. Slowly, the conversation drifted from sarcastic jabs to dumb campus stories, professor impressions, and a debate about whether pigeons are secretly evil.

Hanging out with Vi was… easy. And you were starting to like it.

Your phone vibrates on the table, and you glance down.

mads calling

Your thumb hovers for a second.

Vi doesn’t look at the screen, but she notices the way your shoulders tighten just slightly.

You flip the phone face-down.

“Not answering?” she asks just to strike up conversation.

“Nope.”

It vibrates again almost instantly.

You sigh through your nose. “It’s Maddie… she gets a bit intense when she thinks something’s wrong.”

“Mm.”

You expect a comment, a jab, anything. But it doesn’t come.

Weird. The version of Vi that Maddie told you about would jump at the idea of insulting her.

You grab your phone, opening up her chat so you can let her know everything’s alright.

you: hey, i’m sick at home. not in the mood for calling.

You hit send and toss your phone back onto the table.

Next to you, Vi absentmindedly spins your pen between her fingers. She doesn’t ask what you wrote, doesn’t try to peek, doesn’t even look curious.

Weird.

Your phone buzzes again, and you glance at the screen.

mads: why didn’t you tell me earlier?

mads: i could’ve come over

you: i’m fine, promise

mads: i’m coming by

You let out a frustrated groan.

“You good?” Vi asks lightly, still looking at the pen instead of you.

“Maddie’s coming over.”

Vi’s fingers stop spinning the pen.

“Oh,” she doesn’t sound defensive or annoyed. It sounds like she’s just processing it.

You glance at her. “You don’t have to leave or anything. I mean, you can, if you want, but—”

“I didn’t say I was leaving,” Vi shrugs simply. “Do you want me to?”

You blink once.

Before you can stop yourself, you shake your head ‘no’ in response.

“Okay,” she nods and goes back to idly turning the pen between her fingers.

Less than five minutes later, a knock hits your door.

You and Vi share a glance before you push yourself up off the sofa, suddenly hyperaware of everything. Your hair, your voice, Vi sitting on your floor.

God, Maddie is going to flip out once she sees her.

You open the door to reveal Maddie slightly out of breath, concern written across her face.

“Aw, poor thing, you look—”

She stops herself once she sees past you, spotting Vi on the floor. Her expression drops immediately.

“Oh…”

“Hey,” you clear your throat, your voice a bit smoother than earlier, but still hoarse.

Maddie’s eyes move slowly from Vi to you, then to the container on the table, then back again to you.

“You said you were sick.”

You nod. “I am.”

“And she’s here,” Maddie gestures vaguely.

“Yeah, she brought me some soup.”

Behind you, Vi lifts a hand in a small, casual wave. “Hi.”

Maddie doesn’t wave back. Doesn’t even acknowledge her.

Her gaze stays focused on you. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“I texted you, though.”

Her jaw tightens, hurt flickering across her face. “I was worried.”

“Maddie, I’m okay.”

Her eyes flick past you again.

“Yeah, you look pretty okay to me.”

The edge in her voice makes something in your chest pull tight.

You know Maddie doesn’t like Vi, and you feel like a traitor for hanging out with her now. After everything Vi had done to Maddie, how could you? But then again, the Vi you have gotten to know wouldn’t have done half the things Maddie told you about.

“She was just leaving.”

You feel Vi’s eyes on you instantly, but you don’t turn around.

Maddie’s shoulder loosen a fraction. “Oh, okay.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, quietly, Vi speaks up.

“I don’t mind.”

You finally glance back at her. She’s still sitting on the floor, one arm resting on her knee, expression calm. But her eyes are on you, steady and unreadable.

Maddie notices the look.

“Right…”

It feels like you’re standing between two magnets turned the wrong way, tension pushing outward from both sides.

“I brought you tea,” Maddie says abruptly, breaking the silence, as she lifts the cup carrier like proof. “For your throat.”

“Oh, cool,” you take it from her with a thankful smile.

Her voice drops a little. “You could’ve called me if you needed something.”

“I’m sick, not dying.”

“I thought something happened when you weren’t answering,” she gestures past you. “I didn’t think I’d find this.”

This being Vi.

Vi tries her best not to look annoyed, but Maddie’s intensity is starting to get on her nerves. She fails a little. You can tell by the small shift oh her jaw, the faint tightening at the corner of her mouth.

The kind of tells you wouldn’t notice unless you’ve been watching her closely for days, which is exactly what you have been doing.

“Relax,” she finally speaks, voice even. “I just brough her soup.”

Maddie’s eyes cut to her. “I’m not talking to you.”

You close your eyes briefly.

Great. Exactly what you didn’t want. For Maddie to cause a scene right in front of Vi.

“Maddie, it’s not a big deal.”

Her laugh is short and sharp. She looks at Vi again, disbelief creeping into her voice. “You’re hanging out with her now?”

“You know we’re doing a project.”

“In your dorm?”

“I’m sick,” you repeat again, brows furrowing as you’re starting to lose your patience.

“Well,” Vi cuts in, pushing herself up onto her feet, dusting off her hands lightly. “Patient’s alive, fed, and hydrated. My work here is done.”

Your stomach twists in disappointment at her words. You tell yourself it’s because if Vi leaves, you’d be stuck with a clearly hurt Maddie telling you over and over how awful of a friend you are, not because you’d miss having her around.

“Y’know what?” you set down the cup on your table, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Thank you both for coming over and being so kind, but I need to rest now.”

“Absolutely,” Vi shoots you a gentle grin. “See you tomorrow? For the project, of course.”

You nod almost immediately. “Yeah.”

Something flickers across Maddie’s face. Hurt, confusion, maybe even a little betrayal.

“Hope you feel better,” her voice is tight. “Call me if you need anything.”

They both head for the door at the same time, and they stop as they both reach it. They stand there for half a second, close enough to feel the tension, but not enough to touch.

Vi gives a polite nod. “Maddie.”

Maddie’s response is a tight, controlled smile. “Violet.”

She steps out into the hallway, not looking back at you as she walks away from your dorm.

Vi, on the other hand, turns to glance at you. She’s biting the inside of her cheek, very obviously trying not to laugh.

You narrow your eyes at her immediately.

Don’t, you mouth.

Her shoulders bounce once with a silent huff, and she lifts both hands in surrender. You point toward the hallway, but a smile creeps onto your face.

Vi presses her lips together, nodding solemnly, and steps out.

The door clicks shut and you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Just as you wrapped yourself in your favorite blanket—

Knock knock.

Your stomach drops. It has to be Maddie. She must have waited for Vi to leave and come back to argue with you about hanging out with her ex-girlfriend’s best friend.

You open the door again, already preparing your apology voice, but Vi’s face stops you right on track.

She’s leaning against the frame, holding up a small plastic bag.

“I forgot to give you these.”

She opens up the bag just enough for you to get a glimpse of the small, white medicine boxes.

“You bought meds?” you ask, brows furrowing as you accept the bag.

She shrugs. “I’m very invested in this project.”

Her expression softens a notch when she takes a look at you. Flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape.

“You look worse than five minutes ago.”

“Are you ever saying something nice?” you roll your eyes, but a cough ruins your nonchalant response.

“I think you really need to rest.”

You stay silent for a moment, taking a real look at Vi. The way her eyebrows furrowed in worry when you started coughing, the softness in her gaze as she stares at your weakened figure.

“You didn’t actually leave, did you?”

Her mouth tilts.

“I got halfway down the hall.”

Your pulse stutters, and you don’t know if the warmth that takes over your face is thanks to her comment or a fever.

“For the record,” she adds casually. “I wasn’t eavesdropping or stalking or anything dramatic. I just figured if she started round two, you might need backup.”

The warmth spreads onto your neck and chest. It has to be the fever, right?

“That’s not necessary, Vi,” you say softly. “I’m alright.”

She shrugs, “Just in case.”

Neither of you move for a while. The hallway light hums above her, and you wish she had taken off her cap, her eyes would look so bright under it.

“Take your meds,” she takes a step back, and you’re tempted to ask her to come back inside.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod again.

She gives you one last look, quick and almost shy, then finally turns and walks down the hall for real this time.

Later that night, your phone buzzes. You grab it almost instantly, your heart skipping a beat as you see her nickname pop up in your notification bar.

bubblegum brute: don’t die overnight, that’d be super inconvenient for me

Your lips press together, shifting against your pillow as you try to come up with a response.

You type. Pause. Delete. Type again.

you: no promises

Three dots appear instantly.

You don’t realize you’re smiling until your cheeks hurt.

Day fourteen came faster than you expected.

The sun is starting to dip low, casting long, lazy shadows across the quad. Students are scattered everywhere— some sprawled on the grass, others tossing a frisbee or lounging on benches.

You and Vi sit on one of the benches near the fountain to work on your observation session. At least, that had been the plan. Notebooks were abandoned in favor of leaning back and ranking squirrels by combat potential.

“That one,” you say, pointing toward a gray one darting along the fountain edge, “could absolutely win a fight.”

Vi glances casually. “Nah, he’s missing half his tail.”

“It’s a battle scar. He’s a survivor.”

Vi’s head is thrown back with a gentle, but unrestrained laugh that makes your chest tighten for a second. For a moment, you can’t stop staring— how her eyes makes her eyes sparkle, the way her shoulders move with ease, completely unbothered by anyone else.

Then, almost impulsively, you lift your phone and snap a quick picture.

Of course, you didn’t check for the flash to be off.

Vi’s laughter dies down slowly, and she’s looking at you with the ghost of a smile on her face.

“Did you just—”

“It’s evidence,” you blurt out, hands trembling slightly as the grip on your phone tightens. “For the project, y’know?”

She leans forward, peering at the photo with an incredulous laugh. “Uh-huh.”

Her grin widens, mischievous and genuine at the same time, and you can’t help but feel a warm flutter as she rolls her eyes at you.

Then—

Buzz.

A notification slides across the top of your screen.

mads: are you busy rn?

Vi watches the way your thumb hovers over the screen and she leans back, arms crossed loosely, pretending she isn’t paying attention. But she is. Way too much. Her brain starts ticking through endless possibilities.

“Your girlfriend’s texting,” she mutters under her breath, clearing her throat as she focuses on the pen she’s twirling on her hand again.

“Don’t say that,” you groan, sending a quick yup to Maddie before slamming the phone shut. “Not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking?” she says, confused now. “I just thought—”

“She’s just protective,” you shrug, glancing back up at her. Vi’s heart stutters at how softly you’re looking at her. “Especially after… well, you know, the breakup.”

Ah, right.

The breakup.

The one Vi was sure you had secretly pushed for to finally have Maddie all to yourself. Except, she wasn’t so sure you were the scheming, deceptive girl she used to think you were.

“So,” she leans forward slightly, just enough to seem casual. “The breakup… what a mess that was, huh?”

You blink at her, sensing a subtle edge in her voice. “Yeah… a real tragedy, don’t you think?”

Vi nods slowly, letting the silence hang.

“Cait does seem happier,” you mumble after a second, eyes drifting to the fountain in front of you. “I mean, I hadn’t seen her in weeks and… I forgot how much I liked having her around.”

Vi is taken aback at your statement.

Why would you like having Caitlyn around if you were secretly competing against her for Maddie’s heart?

Her brows pull together in confusion.

“You did?”

“Totally,” you glance back at her, biting your inner cheek. “I can tell you don’t feel the same way about Maddie, though.”

“Hell no.”

The answer comes too fast, sharp enough that even Vi hears it. Regrets pricks at the back of her neck almost immediately as she sees the way your back straightens, shoulders tightening like you’ve just braced for impact.

She didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but she also doesn’t take it back.

“You don’t even know her,” you let out a quiet breath through your nose.

“I know enough.”

A humorless chuckle slips out of you, your head shaking in one, slow and disbelieving motion. It’s not mocking, just… disappointed. For some reason, that stings more than if you’d snapped at her.

“From what?” you tilt your head, eyes steady on hers. “Cait’s side of the story?”

Vi’s eyes narrow just a fraction. Not because she’s mad, but because that landed.

“You got yours from Maddie’s.”

The words come out even, but her pulse has picked up, a dull beat in her ears she wishes you couldn’t hear.

You don’t answer right away.

That silence, that pause, makes something twist in her stomach.

“Maddie’s not a bad person,” you say, voice steady and firm. “She just feels things strongly.”

Vi snorts quietly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

You clock her tone instantly. Something sparks behind your ribs— it’s not anger, more like pride getting nudged where it shouldn’t be.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vi rolls her pen once between her fingers, buying herself a second she doesn’t really need. She knows exactly what she meant. The problem is she also knows how you would react.

“It means,” she says, tone flattening in that careful way people use when they’re trying not to escalate, “I know Cait’s not perfect either, okay? But she didn’t deserve to feel like she was competing with someone else in her own relationship.”

You lean back a little, arms crossing over your chest. A curious sparkle flickers through your gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Please,” Vi’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly around the pen. “Maddie was always telling Cait how the two of you were basically inseparable. They barely got one-on-one time because you were always with her, always texting and calling, always sleeping over, always third-wheeling…”

Well, maybe she had exaggerated a bit on the last point. But it was too late to take it back.

The second the words leave her mouth, Vi feels a subtle drop in her stomach. She notices your expression doesn’t turn guilty, not even defensive. It tuns confused.

Your brows knit together once again, arms still crossed, head tilting slightly like you’re trying to piece together a sentence in a language you don’t speak.

“Sleeping over?” you repeat, voice barely above a whisper.

Vi realizes you’re not reacting like someone who got caught. Instead, you’re reacting like someone who’s hearing this for the first time.

“That’s what I heard,” she says, voice firmer than she actually feels.

A quiet breath leaves you, almost a laugh but not quite.

“I’ve only slept over at Maddie’s twice,” you start, lips pressing together for a second. “Once when my heater broke and the other when she had food poisoning and Cait was on vacation.”

Vi’s grip finally softens around the pen.

“Both times Cait knew,” you continue, shrugging one shoulder. “We did hang out, sure, she’s my best friend… once a week sounds like a stretch, though. She had a girlfriend, and I respected that. And third-wheeling? How awful do you think I am?”

The question isn’t sharp. That’s what unsettles her.

You’re just looking at her, waiting for her response, like you genuinely want to know what she thinks.

Vi swallows.

Because she did think you were awful. Cunning, calculating, the kind of person who smiles sweetly while pulling strings behind everyone’s back.

The person sitting next to her doesn’t look like that kind of girl.

You look confused, a little hurt maybe, but mostly tired.

“And what about you?” you add. “I’ve also heard awful things about you.”

Vi’s eyes lift to yours slowly.

“Oh yeah?” she says, voice even, but there’s a rough edge under it now, something quieter and more dangerous that irritation.

“Hotheaded, bad influence, possessive,” you start numbering out loud, like you’re reading from a list you memorized rather than accusations you believe. “Apparently, you scare off anyone who gets too close to Cait.”

Vi doesn’t move.

Not a twitch, not a scoff, not even the usual tilt of her mouth that invites you to try harder. She just watches you, eyes steady, pen stilled between her fingers.

“And?” she asks.

“Well,” you saw slowly, “you do hover. And you are intense, always looking at others like you’re waiting for them to mess up.”

Vi exhales softly through her nose. It almost resembles a laugh.

“Can’t argue that one.”

“But,” you add, shifting a little in your seat.

The word hooks her attention immediately.

Her chin tilts. “But?”

You hold her gaze, steady as she’s been holding yours.

“I don’t think you’re awful. Not anymore, I mean.”

Silence settles again, softer this time. You can hear the birds chirping somewhere beyond the courtyard trees, the distant hum of campus life drifting along the breeze.

Her tongue presses briefly against the inside of her cheek, a habit you’re starting to recognize as something she does when she doesn’t know what to say but refuses to admit it.

“I might’ve misjudged you,” she mutters.

Your brows lift slightly. “You think?”

“Don’t push it,” she shoots you a look.

You bite the inside of your cheek, but the corner of your lips are already twisting up.

“You’re not the manipulative best friend who wedges herself into relationships and acts sweet, so nobody notices she’s pulling the strings that I thought.”

You nod slowly, absorbing that without flinching.

“Ouch. Did Cait say all that?”

Vi shakes her head in response, her eyes flicking away from yours in embarrassment.

“Not really,” she grimaces. “I assumed you were doing it on purpose.”

“Shit, I’m sorry if anything I did ever made her feel uncomfortable,” you uncross your arms, hands clasping together. “I swear, I didn’t do half the things you accused me of.”

Vi notices the shift immediately. The way your hands move, fingers tangling together like they need something to hold on to.

Before she can stop herself, her hand moves. Instinctively, her fingers close gently around yours.

You freeze. You don’t pull away, but the movement startled you. Your eyes flick down to where her hand is wrapped around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Vi doesn’t even notice at first. She’s too focused on the way your hands had been shaking.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.

Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to. “Do what?”

“Apologize for things you didn’t do.”

Her thumb shifts slightly against your knuckles as she says it, absentminded, like she doesn’t even realize she’s touching you.

Your pulse jumps.

You’re very aware of her hand. How warm, steady and careful it is.

Vi finally glances down, and her brain short-circuits.

For half a second, she considers jerking a way and pretending it never happened. Maybe she could even brush it off with a joke. But she doesn’t, because she realizes you didn’t pull away either.

So, she leaves it there.

“For what it’s worth,” she adds, voice trembling slightly, “Cait never said you were any of those things. She was just… insecure, I guess. But I don’t think you’re the one who gave her a reason to.”

Your gaze lifts slowly to hers.

“And you think Maddie did.”

Your tone isn’t accusatory, just careful.

Her hand is still around yours. She notices the warmth of your skin against her palm, the faint flex of your fingers when you speak, how you hadn’t tried to slip free even once.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

A breeze threads between you, stirring loose strands of her hair. Without thinking, your free hand comes up to push it out of her face. The contact is small, barely anything, but it sends a startling, electric awareness up Vi’s arm anyway.

“Guess I’ll have a chat with her.”

There’s no venom in your voice.

Vi studies your face, searching for cracks that would show hurt, anger, defensiveness. Anything she can try and understand.

Instead, she finds something that throws her off balance. Fondness.

“You’re not mad at her?” she asks before she can stop yourself.

“I’m guessing she was insecure and said dumb stuff cause she felt she was losing Caitlyn,” you shrug slightly. “Sounds like Oedipus’ myth. Her own actions pushed Caitlyn away, I fear.”

The simplicity of it hits her harder than it should, because you’re not excusing Maddie. You’re simply understanding her.

Vi’s grip on your hand tightens just a fraction, just enough for you to feel it.

“You’re really not what I thought.”

You tilt your head, brows knitting together in worry. “Disappointed?”

Her eyes flick to your mouth before she answers.

“No.”

Your fingers are still lightly brushing the strand of hair you’d pushed back from her face, and it takes you a second to realize you haven’t pulled your hand away yet.

Vi’s eyes stay on yours, but you can feel her noticing it now— the proximity, the touch, the way your hand is suspended beside her like it forgot gravity exists.

You should pull back. You mean to pull back.

But you don’t.

Neither does she.

It’s too late to pretend you don’t feel whatever this is. The realization settles between you like the hush before rain.

Vi’s gaze drops to your lips again, slower this time.

Her hand releases yours only so it can slide upward, fingers brushing along your wrist, your forearm, your elbow, each inch of contact slow enough to feel and deliberate enough to memorize. When her palm finally settles against the side of your neck, it’s warm and steady, incredibly gentle, her thumb resting just beneath your jaw.

Her breath ghosts across your lips, the air between you turning fragile.

Then, she closes the distance.

The kiss is soft, just the faintest brush of warmth. Her lips barely move and you realize she’s giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Your breath catches, and that’s all it takes.

Something bright sparks through her. You feel it in the way her shoulders loosen, in the way her mouth softens against yours, in the way the kiss deepens not with urgency, but with joy. Her hand at your neck tightens the slightest bit as if she can’t help it, as if something inside her finally stopped holding back.

You can feel her smile curving against your lips right before she pulls back, just enough that your noses brush.

Your foreheads rest together, breaths still tangled, lips barely apart as if the kiss isn’t fully over yet. Her thumb is still warm beneath your jaw, tracing absentmindedly your skin.

When you open your eyes, she’s already looking at you.

“Hey,” her voice is quiet, roughened slightly.

You swallow, still close enough that the movement grazes her thumb.

“Hey,” you echo softly.

One corner of her mouth lifts, but it’s no longer her usual teasing grin. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was a shy smile.

Her hand slides from your neck, but only so her fingers can lace with yours again.

“We still got a couple of days ‘til our project is due.”

You nod slowly. “We do.”

She gives your hand a small squeeze.

On the outside, Vi looks steady. Relaxed shoulders, the same casual confidence she wears like a second skin.

Inside, she’s unraveling. Because you’re still close, close enough that she can feel the warmth of your breath brush her mouth every time you exhale. If she tilted her head just a little—

Focus, Violet, think of anything else.

But her brain is busy replaying the kiss. The softness of your lips, the way you didn’t hesitate, the tiny sound you made when she kissed you.

Her gaze drops to your lips again before she can stop it.

Great. Very subtle.

She drag her eyes back up with effort and clears her throat lightly, forcing her thoughts somewhere safer.

“Library tomorrow?”

You don’t respond. Instead, your thumb brushes the back of her hand, and the movement derails her train of thought.

You’re staring up at her, and her gaze flicks down. Your lips are mere inches away, still a little flushed and slightly parted.

Vi’s restraint lasts exactly three seconds.

Her fingers slide from yours in an instant, curl lightly at your jaw, and she leans in again.

God, she could kiss you forever.

[acrehearts]

THIS.

THIS IS THE FIC THAT HAD ME ON A CHOKEHOLD EVER SINCE I FOUND IT ON A BORING SUMMER EVENING/JJJJ what the freak this is golden

[acrehearts]

twinie

can we have a sneak peek of wtv fic u’re writing 👀👀👀

this was a request from last month(???) and i finally had the time to start on it while im separated from my lovely potato laptop

[acrehearts]

twinie

do u have any fic recs? i want smth to read while waiting for u to finish ur fics 😛😛😛

im so glad someone asked, i have one but i forgot the title😭🥀

caitlyn and maddie broke up, vi and reader are their respective friends, and shit ensues after the breakup. vi blames r for being too close to maddie that caitlyn got insecure, and r blames vi for being too close to caitlyn.

THEY FALL IN LOVE AND WE ACHIEVED WORLD PEACE

[acrehearts]

do yk ellie from the last of us?

tbh im a larper n js want to see if u yk her too n maybe write some fics about her if u want ofccc

you're talking to someone who literally watched the entire freaking gameplay just to thirst over the lesbos of tlou

[acrehearts]

im rlly curious on how ghost caitlyn n reader will have sex

assuming that u’re planning on making a nsfw chapter lol

but i still wonder, will ghost caitlyn magically gain a temporary physical body? will ghost caitlyn be g!p?

(i hope this is a safe place foe me to say that i like g!p n hope ghost caitlyn is g!p 🥹)

there will be no sex scenes between count fagula and reader in this fic BUTTT there will be mutual masturbation and a little bit of voyeur:P

the temporary physical body sounds so tempting jBSienoscnd ngl i did wanna make it sort of like a happy ending with a defined finish to really wrap up the novelette-sized fic but hopefully!! we can add that cs i wanna see them tongue each other out filthy

also this is a safe place for everything, tell me your deepest darkest secrets ill match your freak to the best of my abilities

althooooo if u rlly want futa cait, I've got one drabble about it in my arcane masterlist gahhhh ily💖

[acrehearts]

this is how i cope and write sorry

[acrehearts]

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.” 

prologue < chapter 2 ...

[acrehearts]

men can literally go on without deodorant and walk around public spaces with their stinky stanky pits out to create the second hiroshima but NOOOOOO blood on my jeans is a social crime and women shouldnt flaunt their menstrual blood

[acrehearts]

js so yk

whenever i open tumblr, the first thing i do is go to ur account to see if pt2 of ghost caitlyn is out yet

(IM NOT RUSHING NOR AM I FORCING I JS RLLY LOVE UR FICS)

ill be releasing a new fic with several arcane characters soon!! (it was a request;>)

also chapter 1 for the ghost from chrysalis avenue will be out on friday 10:00 PM, GMT+

[acrehearts]

PLZ PLZ PLZZZZZ

chapter 2 of ghost cait PLZZZZZZ

gave me the will to be active here again

ill do my best 😙😙

[acrehearts]

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.

chapter 1 ...

[acrehearts]

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nanami as your husband