#casper x reader

Blowing out a breath, the reaper ran a gloved hand through his lengthy fringe and frowned at his own restlessness. He had just spoken to you the day before, mere hours ago - nothing but a blip of time to a creature such as he, and yet he was practically insensate with impatience, his limbs jittery and a gnawing ache in his gut that he knew could only be satiated by a glimpse of your face.

Well, he thought with a guilty shiver, sinking down into his chair and feathering his fingers along his waistband, perhaps that wasn’t the only thing… 

Glancing balefully down at his lap, Casper sighed. He had refused to touch himself to the thought of you since the urge had first presented itself to him just days into your correspondence. It was untoward, inappropriate. Unprofessional. You were a job, he had continually reminded himself, and thus off limits. It would be wrong of him to indulge in such a vice.

And yet.

And yet he could not strike the events of the night before from his mind: the expression on your face as he had presented himself outside your window, the slow widening of your eyes as he had revealed the bouquet he had picked for you and the smile that had bloomed upon your lips as you gathered the flowers against your chest.

Would you wear the same expression, he wondered, eyes hazy with growing want, when he slipped inside you? The same slow, creeping shock, the same flustered glee? 

“Shit,” Casper sighed, using his teeth to tug one of his gloves free and slipping his bared hand down the length of his torso. Now that the thought had taken root in his mind he could focus on little else, a slave to his baser urges, and for once, just once, he allowed himself to indulge.

It took a moment of fiddling with belts and zippers - he could already imagine you pouting at the inconvenience, and withheld a laugh - but soon enough he was palming at his cock, feeding the length of it through the gap in his zipper and hissing gently as his fingertips caught against the glistening head. Hells, he was already dripping.

“Sunshine,” Casper sighed quietly, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he lost himself to the blissful drag of hot, hard flesh through the tight ring of his fingers. Would you touch him like this? Firmly, warmly? 

No, he thought with a hot gasp, arching into his grip. No, you would tease him first, drawing your fingertips up the length of his shaft and thumbing gently at the tip of his dick until he was all but begging for more. 

You would enjoy that, Casper thought with a trembling moan. His pleading. His desperation. His tears, once your endless teasing had wrung them out of him. You would drive him to the brink of madness before deigning to grant him even a hint of respite. Gods, he could see it now. Feel it. The hot drag of your gaze along his straining cock, the breathy laugh you’d exhale as he twitched against your fingers. The flick of your tongue along your lip as you drank in the proof of his need for you.

“Fuck,” he grunted, free hand slapping against his keyboard as he chased his approaching orgasm. He knew it wouldn’t take long, not with these thoughts of you driving him closer and closer to the edge: thoughts of your smile, your laugh, the warmth of your touch - because surely you would be warm, radiant, just like your aura. Thoughts of your body splayed before him, parting for him, urging him closer and begging him to come inside -

Casper gasped your name as he came, hips rutting shallowly into the ring of his fist and cock spurting pearly ropes of cum over the ridges of his knuckles until he was shivering with oversensitivity, breaths sticking wetly in his throat and ears ringing -

“… Grim?”

Casper froze, eyes popping open to stare rigidly at his ceiling while his mind hurried to reassure him that he hadn’t just heard your voice calling out to him, of course he hadn’t, there was no possible way - 

“Casper?”

Shit. Slowly, as though courting disaster if he moved any faster than a snail’s pace, Casper lowered his head, hardly daring to blink as his gaze settled on his laptop and your familiar visage filling the screen. Your eyes were wide, round moons in the center of your face, your mouth comically agape, and yet as his eyes met yours, laughing was the last thing on Casper’s mind. 

“Sunshine,” he breathed.

“Oh my god.” It was nearly a whimper on your tongue, your hands coming up to hide your face from his gaze. “Casper. Oh my god.”

Shame flushed through him, his fingers releasing his cock as though burned. Gods, how could he have been so careless?

“Sunshine, I am so - ”

“You said my name.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, muffled by the palms of your hands.

Casper’s heart leapt into his throat. He couldn’t place the tone of your voice, muddled as it was through the gaps in your fingers. Were you angry? Displeased? Disgusted? “I - ” His voice faltered as he floundered for some excuse; what could he possibly say to explain his way out of this? “I was just - ”

“You were doing that,” you clarified, eyes shooting down to the bottom of the screen, beyond which you both knew his cock lay, spent and softening against his thigh. “And saying my name.”

Casper nearly sighed. Idiot, he thought fondly. “Who else’s name would I call? My own? Even I’m not that full of myself, Sunshine.”

“Oh my god,” you breathed - you really seemed incapable of saying anything else. “I can’t believe you called me during - ”

“That was completely unplanned,” Casper interjected hurriedly, his cheeks burning. “Believe me, Sunshine, I am as mortified as you right now.”

You mumbled something, something too low for your mic, and therefore the reaper, to pick up. 

“What was that?” he asked, leaning closer to the screen to hear you better.

“I said - ” you mumbled, only half a decibel louder. “I’m not mortified.”

Casper’s ivory brows shot up towards his hairline. “You’re not?” He certainly was, after glimpsing that shell-shocked look on your face. “Then why do you look so… ?” He gestured vaguely toward your face with his gloved hand, keeping the other - still wet with his own fluids, how unseemly - tucked out of your sight. 

“You’d look a little flustered too if you had just caught me doing… doing… ” You trailed off with a whimper, seemingly unable to finish the thought. “Fuck, Casper.”

His name in that breathy tone of voice sent a shiver through the reaper’s frame. “Sunshine,” he murmured,  “You sound… ”

“I know how I sound,” you interrupted him, throat bobbing on a harsh swallow. “Wouldn’t you be?”

An image of yourself coming apart by your own hand flashed before his eyes and Casper clenched his teeth to restrain the moan rising in his throat. 

“What can I do?” he rasped, wetting his lips as he drank in the sight of your flustered expression. The urge to reach out and touch your face, to feel the warmth he knew must be boiling beneath your skin, was so powerful it nearly undid him. “What do you need?”

Lifting your head from your palms, you met his gaze and whimpered quietly at what you found there. “Can you come over?” you murmured, lips wet and eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “Please.”

Casper’s throat ran dry. Why you wished for his presence was no mystery, your need written clearly across your face, and his stomach burned with the desire to flee to your side, to touch you as he’d been aching to - dreaming of - for longer than he cared to admit.

To give you what you needed.

Lips firming, the reaper met your gaze. “I’m on my way.”

*

Your curtains were thrown open when he arrived, the room beyond bathed in the soft yellow light cast from your bedside lamp.

Casper lingered beyond the window, hesitant to encroach upon you just yet; you had not yet noticed his approach, and he marveled at the state of you as you paced back and forth in front of your desk, arms crossed over your chest and gaze distant, hazy. 

You were holding yourself so stiffly, he noticed, pausing every few moments to shift restlessly in place before resuming your harried trek across your bedroom floor. Had what he done - what you’d witnessed - truly affected you so much?

“Sunshine,” he murmured, his pulse leaping as you jumped and jerked your gaze to the window. 

“Casper.” His name was little more than a sigh on your tongue, your fingers trembling as you lifted the latch and raised the windowpane to usher him in. “You’re here.”

“Of course.” The atmosphere seemed to buzz as he slipped into your room, crimson eyes drinking in every detail of your face and form: the wobbling slant of your smile; the damp fullness of your lips, as though you’d been worrying at them with your teeth; the way you couldn’t seem to stand still, fingers curling fitfully at your sides and thighs pressing together, as though desperate to ease the ache building between them. Casper sucked in a breath and ventured, awed, “Sunshine, are you - ?”

“Really turned on right now?” you interrupted, wide eyes flickering from his fingers to his face before you nodded, voice thick. “Yep. Yeah. Yes.”

Casper’s fingers - still gloveless, he only now noticed; he’d left the Underworld so quickly he’d barely had time to do anything but clean himself up and button his trousers - clenched into a fist at his side. The thought that you were feeling like he had, aching as he had, just from seeing him in that state, filled his belly with a slow, creeping heat. 

“I want to feel it.” His cheeks flushed at his own daring, and yet there was no denying the want buzzing beneath his skin, the need. The thought of you wet and aching for him was almost too much to bear.

“Grim,” you breathed with a pained expression. “You can’t just say things like that. Not that I don’t want you to, it’s just - ” You quickly shook yourself, swallowing hard before pleading, “Fuck. Yes, please.”

Casper needed no further prompting, pushing forward and drawing you into his arms for a bruising kiss. You parted so easily for him, tongue wet and wanting against his own, and his bared fingers shook as he gripped at the soft swell of your cheek and nudged you gently toward your bed, following you down onto the mattress without breaking your connection and ignoring the minor flash of pain as your teeth clacked together.

You groaned against his lips as his hand traveled from your cheek to your waistband, nodding fervently whenever he hesitated and craning your neck to watch as his fingers worked your zipper open and slipped inside.

You both moaned at the first graze of his fingertips along your sex, the warmth and wetness enough to coax Casper’s cock into turgid fullness once more. The strength of his need was dizzying, the proof of yours even more so, and as his fingers reverently explored your most intimate flesh, the reaper found his mouth watering, suddenly desperate for a taste of your heat. 

“Need to taste you,” he found himself murmuring, lips fluttering along your throat and thrilling at the taste of your pulse. “Feel you against my tongue. Please, Sunshine?”

You moaned at his pleas, sex twitching greedily against his fingers and hands fumbling between your bodies for your waistband. It took a combination of your efforts, the both of you clumsy with desire, but eventually you were divested of all but your shirt, the whole of your sex bared to his hungry gaze.

At the sight of your flesh, slick and swollen with arousal, Casper was lost. 

“Nine Hells,” he cursed lowly, wrapping his bare fingers around your thigh and squeezing gently at your flesh. “You’re exquisite, Sunshine.”

You turned your face away at the praise, mouth parted on heaving breaths and fingers curling tightly within your bed sheets. “Casper… ”

Heat sizzled down the reaper’s spine at the gritty-want sound of his name in your mouth. 

“Say it again,” he breathed against the curve of your knee, dragging his cheek along your warm skin. 

Your eyelids fluttered. “H-huh?” you murmured, and Casper suppressed a laugh. It was a novel experience, catching you so off guard.

“My name,” he rasped, lips catching against your inner thigh. He could smell you there - the warm musk of your arousal already strong enough to coax saliva into the back of his throat, your sex gleaming wetly in the lamplight. Gods, you were perfect.

Your eyes grew liquid, welling with desire. “Casper,” you whimpered, one hand reaching down to tangle in the fall of his hair.

The sound of his name spoken so needfully from your lips sent a jolt straight to his cock. “Oh,” he moaned softly, lips dragging along your thigh, creeping closer and closer to where the glorious scent of your need grew strongest.

“Casper,” you mewled, fingers drawing taut within his hair, and the reaper could restrain himself no longer, hands gripping at your thighs as he lowered his head between your legs and licked a stripe up the length of your sex.

Your reaction was instantaneous, spine arching off your bed and a strangled curse spilling from your lips. 

“Oh my god,” you mumbled dizzily, words wreathed in panting breaths as his tongue continued to undulate against you, switching between teasing licks and long, lavish strokes along hot flesh until your thighs were tense and shivering beneath his grip.

Casper hummed in response, the vibration drawing a gasp from your throat. The taste of you was divine, a sweet, earthy musk that set his body alight and his soul on fire, but that was nothing compared to the sounds that you made: guttural gasps and needy whines that made his cock throb within the confines of his trousers, until his hips were rolling against your rumpled sheets of their own volition, desperate to ease the ache building in his groin. 

He needed more - more of that exquisite taste, more of those delectable sounds, and with a hungry growl the reaper fell upon you in ravenous fervor, gathering up swaths of your slick beneath his tongue and laving at your sex with wild, reckless abandon until you were all but shouting his name, one hand gripping tightly at the bed sheets and the other tangled in his ivory hair, each tug at the strands sending pleasurable tingles down the length of his spine. 

“Ca - ahh - asper!” you sobbed his name like a prayer, body writhing beneath his ministrations, and with an answering moan the reaper fitted his mouth to where he knew you’d be most sensitive and sucked, hard, tongue flicking madly against flushed, swollen flesh until you could withstand the torment no longer.

You came with a shout, hips twitching wildly as your orgasm shuddered through you. Casper clenched your heaving thighs with nerveless fingers and moaned brokenly at the gush of fluid on his tongue, laving at your throbbing sex until you were whimpering with oversensitivity and begging him for mercy.

Even as he released you from the torment of his lips and tongue, the reaper could scarcely force himself to retreat from your heat, his cheek smushed into the plushness of your thigh as you both struggled to catch your breath and his pulse hitching with each shuddering roll of his hips against your rumpled bed sheets. 

He would need so little to coax himself over the edge, Casper knew, his fingers - still slick and shining with your fluids - reaching down to free himself from his trousers for the second time that night. He hissed at the first brush of his fingertips along his cock, his flesh slick and swollen with need, but he had only just managed to wrap his palm around the base when you were tugging at his shoulders and urging him to rise, a new edge of desperation to your voice that Casper found himself impossible to ignore.

“Come here,” you pleaded, drawing him into an embrace and wrapping an arm low around his hips in order to coax him into a languid grind against your splayed, spent body.

The drag of his cockhead along your hot, damp sex tore a sob from the reaper’s throat, his hands clenching tightly around your hips and his head dropping to bury his nose against the warmth of your throat.

“Sun… Sunshine,” he huffed against sweat-damp flesh, the thrusting of his hips already losing rhythm as he chased his release. “Ah, g-gods, you feel so… so good - ”

You moaned his name, lips slack against his brow and fingers knotted in his ivory hair. “You too.” Your voice hitched on a sigh as he rutted against you, head tilting back and hips rolling in time with his. “So fucking good, Casper.”

Your blissful exhalation of his name, coupled with the muted hum of your throat against his lips as you spoke it, immediately tipped the reaper over the edge, hips hitching against yours and strangled whimpers muffled against your skin as he came. 

“Gods,” he shuddered, unable to quell a final surging of his hips and panting at the sensation of his release slicking your skin. He had made an utter mess of you both, he realized, cheeks burning at the muted squelch of fluids disturbed by all of his shifting, and upon feeling the heat against your throat, you laughed.

“You’re so cute,” you exhaled, your voice sated and sleepy.

Casper huffed against your throat, even as his chest warmed at the familiar praise. “So you keep telling me.”

“Because it keeps being true,” you counter, lips fluttering over his brow before you nudge at his hip with your knee. “Let’s go clean up, hmm?”

Casper groaned pitifully, allowing the full force of his weight to tether you to the bed. Mess or no, the reaper had no desire to leave the circle of your arms anytime soon. “I think not,” he breathed sullenly against your throat, startling a laugh from your lips.

“Cmon,” you coaxed sweetly, fingers raking gently through ivory strands and lips twitching against his brow as he groaned happily beneath the attention. “I’ll even wash your hair for you.”

Casper’s eyes blinked open, body perking against yours. He couldn’t deny the promise of it made him melt. “Lead the way, Sunshine,” he murmured magnanimously, and you snorted, knees wobbling a little as he helped you to your feet

Grim

He'll smirk at you and make a comment about how mortals can be too delicate. You glare at him in annoyance as a response and tell him to just open it.

“Impatient as always,” he says in a teasing tone. “Fine. I'll open it for you. You're welcome, Sunshine.”

He twists the lid, yet it doesn't budge. He blinks, and tries again. But the jar remains unopened.

“That's weird…” He quietly comments, and twists the lid harder. He's too focused on the task in hand that he won't notice your attempt in suppressing your giggles.

He adds more force each time he fails to twist the lid open. His brows furrow together in frustration, “What in the nine hells…” He mutters in disbelief.

It's a funny sight at first. You never thought in your life that you'd ever see a Grim Reaper struggling to open a jar. But you start to worry when you notice his face turns red and grits his teeth in irritation. He's taking this way too seriously. You try to tell him the truth, but he only shakes his head stubbornly, not giving you a chance to speak.

“No, Sunshine. I said I'll help, and I intend to keep my promise,” he glares down at the tightly shut jar sitting on his palm. His expression is intense and deathly. “To think of a measly little jar able to challenge my strength… I am the best of the best. Mark my words. One day, I will open you.”

Welp. You tried.

0204

He winks at you and cheerfully accepts your request. “Anything for my favorite Grim Reaper! Your knight in shining armors is at your service~ ;)”

He begins to twist the lid. When it doesn't even move an inch, he tries again. His face contorts into confusion. He puts more force on his third attempt.

“Hnngh… Where the hell did you get this jar…” He grunts while putting all his might into twisting the jar's lid. “It's… Tight as hell… Holy shit… Uh, not in a sexual, fun way.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement at his words. He groans as he continues his effort. When the jar remains stubborn and unopened, he slumps his shoulders in defeat.

“Sorry, 0213. I don't think you'll be getting any of that [Favorite Jam] anytime soon,” he scratches his head sheepishly as he hands you the jar back. “What's that jar even made of? Sheesh… You think 5012 would hand us that if we fail a mission as punishment?”

He blinks at you when you explain that you glued it shut as a prank. Your friend pouts at you and crosses his arm in fake irritation. “How could you be so cruel! Pranking me like that… I thought we're friends– No, partners in crime!” He exclaims gloomily.

As if a lightbulb appears on top of his head, the corners of his lips curve upwards into a mischievous grin at the same time.

“Hey, maybe 5012 can open it for us…?”

5012

5012 is a very busy man. He's so busy with sorting and reading some important papers and documents you don't understand about on his desk that he doesn't bother to scold you from entering his office uninvited. It seems he has grown used to your antics by now.

When you voice your struggle in opening the jar and hope that your boss can aid you, 5012 lifts up his head and stares at you with a deadpan look. You feel his eyes searching for something in your expression, it makes you feel nervous and start to doubt if this is a good idea afterall.

You think he's going to scold you and kick you out of his work space, until he plucks the object out of your hands wordlessly. He looks back down at his work, his eyes not leaving the printed words on the papers as his hands work around the jar.

He twists the lid. After his first failure, he tries again, and again, and again, and again…

The Reaper finally looks away from the documents to confirm if what he's holding is a simple jar. His face twists into confusion for a moment, then puts the jar on his desk and faces you with a stern, disapproving look, like a disappointed father about to scold his child. His hand doesn't leave the jar as he glares at you.

“What did you do, 0213?”

Your mouth hangs open in disbelief. He found out already?

You stammer out explanations and excuses to cover up your prank. 5012 nods and hums at your every word. Once you finish defending yourself, he pauses for a few seconds thoughtfully before asking you again, “So what are you scheming this time?”

Gah!

Oh, Casper! Of course. You wonder whether he’s feeling any better now. As adorable as he is with a flushed nose and wrapped up in his pyjamas, you’d rather have him healthy than sick. You rise out of bed, yawning, and that’s when you feel it.

The waterfall. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. First a cold, and now this—you can’t catch a break, can you? With a frustrated sigh, you swiftly waddle over to the bathroom to inspect the damage. Thankfully, it’s not too bad, but that’s not your only problem. Your cramps tend to be the worst during the first few days, and lucky you, you just ran out of painkillers. You can already feel the accursed sensation beginning to build in your abdomen. It’s only an uncomfortable tingle at the moment, but you know well that this is but an omen of what is to come. 

Whatever. You’ll survive. Hey, maybe it’s the universe’s way of making you appreciate being alive?

…Yeah, right. If that’s the case, maybe you would rather have had Casper take your soul last night. This sucks. 

Well, not like you can do much about it. Worse things happen at sea, as they say. It’s about time you started getting ready; you’ve spent long enough in the bathroom. You slap on a pad, rush through your morning routine, and settle into the day-opening ritual which has now become habit: which is to say, texting Casper to fill the lonely void in your heart. You open the texting app and type, 

Seeing as I’ve lived through the night, I’d say the cold didn’t snuff you out. My big strong boy <3 Are you feeling any better? Ah, damn… I missed my chance to send you a ‘get well soon’ card and chocolates. Next time, for sure.

A few moments later, his reply pops up on the screen. He’s changed his profile picture again: another selfie, this time with a red flower tucked in his hair. A little smile spreads across your face. He took your suggestion, then.

hello to you as well.  i’m ever so sorry to disappoint, but i have no intention on ever experiencing that again. but, chocolates, hmm. curious. that need not be limited to a time when i am sick.

Oh? That’s new. You add ‘Casper likes chocolate’ to your mental list of things you know about him, which is growing by the day. 

A sweet tooth? Unexpected. 

even i can admit that mortals have brought some excellent things into existence.  chocolate being one of them. it is relatively high up the list. much like the computer i use now, or cup noodles. fantastic inventions. 

The talk of chocolate flips some sort of switch in your brain, and you feel suddenly like a starved animal. God, you could commit some atrocities for a chocolate bar right now. 

You know what, that’s fair. I’m having a chocolate craving right now myself.

you also have a sweet tooth?

Not usually, no. But it’s that time of the month again, so…

??? what time of the month? the twentieth?

You smile to yourself. 

Never mind. 

okay… so, as for your question… did you spend your entire night worrying about me?  do i consume that much of your thoughts?

Sounds like you were thinking about me, buddy. You’re sitting there, imagining me imagining you. Do you like me that much?

…….… i do not know what you are talking about.

You liiiike me.

Your conversation continues along a similar vein, with you teasing him mercilessly and him trying (and failing) not to fluster before returning to the topic of his recovery. He says he’s feeling better. That makes one of us, at least, you think drily. The pain is building steadily, and you’re having to shift in your chair to keep comfortable. Not that it’s working. 

anyways. sunshine, what do you know about birthdays?

You blink. That’s certainly a change of topic. 

Birthdays? That is ‘the day of one’s birth’, Casper.

ah! i forgot i was talking to the monarch of sarcasm.

I think we can both have that title.

if it is you, i suppose i do not mind sharing…. but, birthdays… what kind of things do people do on the days of their birth? live sacrifices? feasts?

The first proper wave of pain hits you. You clench your teeth, the lower half of your body seizing up against the unfair assault. You type,

Fuck.

A few seconds of silence on Casper’s end. Then,

people WHAT??

Briefly, you’re puzzled by his reaction. Then you read back over your conversation and realise how he must have understood your text. You can’t help but cackle.  

Oh. My bad. I didn’t mean it like that, lmao. I mean, some people do, of course. But not everyone. Anyway ignore me lol Why the question? Do you have any plans to conduct human sacrifices? Or… to do something else, perhaps…?

… ahem. to answer your first question. i was walking amongst the halls of my workplace last night…

While you were sick???

there is not enough time to worry about that. i had to find out more. about our strange… connection. the link beyond the one i created between us. it was late. i happened to overhear some superiors talking quietly… for context, i am of the 13th station, grim reaper number 8394. …they said that… those numbered 8100-8400 of the 13th station were created on this day, many decades ago.

Your mouth falls open.

You’re telling me… TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY??????

Cue a discussion about Casper’s preferred birthday activities, the fleeting nature of love,  and a debate about whether or not imps would appreciate having a tail pinned into their backside. Just as you finish gaslighting him, a familiar notification flashes across your screen, taking you by surprise.

[Incoming call. Accept?]

Your mouse hovers over the two options, Yes and Yes. After some careful deliberation, you select the bottom option. You can’t help but think of that meme about the illusion of free choice—except here there isn’t even the illusion. It’s not as if you mind it, though. 

Casper’s red-lit room fills your screen, along with the man himself, who is lounging as usual in his chair with his cheek resting on his hand. He’s back in his normal attire, with the hair clips and Azrael absent (to your dismay). Nevertheless, the sight of him makes you feel fuzzy inside, and for a moment you aren’t thinking about the cramps.

“Wow, way to call out of the blue!” you remark. 

“I grow sick of typing, and I longed to see your face,” Casper replies, his tongue poking out from between his lips. 

“Oh.” You feel your face warm. “That is… awfully honest of you, Grimmy.”

“I am always honest,” he says with an air of self-satisfied pride. 

“No, you’re always truthful. Definitely not always honest,” you correct. “They're different things.”

He smiles. “You know me so well, Sunshine.”

You readjust your position in your own chair again to alleviate the discomfort. “Somehow. It really does feel like we’ve known each other forever.”

“Strangely, I feel the same way,” he remarks, raising his eyebrows. “Perhaps an aftereffect of our souls being linked.”

The conversation about birthdays is still lingering in your mind, and your thoughts wander to the flier you saw yesterday for that festival. “Hey, Casper?” you say. “Have you ever seen fireworks?”

“Fireworks?” Casper frowns. “I cannot say I have. They're usually used in celebrations. Not a lot of overlap with my line of work. Why?”

“I was just thinking that it’d be perfect for your birthday. It’s fleeting, it’s beautiful, it’s… human.”

“Huh… Then I would like to see these fireworks, sometime.”

You begin to reply, but before you can say anything, your abdomen gives another spasm and you fold over, pressing your forehead into your palm with a muttered, “Ugh, shit.”

Casper frowns, leaning forward in his chair. “Sunshine? What’s the matter?”

“I’m dying,” you croak out. It doesn’t feel like a lie. 

“You—what?” Panic sounds in his voice. His eyes scan over you for a few seconds before his eyebrows pinch together sharply. “Wait. Surely that cannot be the case. Our souls are linked, so if you were truly dying, I would be dying as well, yet I am not.” He pauses. “But still, something is evidently causing you pain. What is it?”

Despite the discomfort, you manage to crack a smirk. Depending on how Casper replies to your next question, this might be so fun—and considering he didn’t know what you meant by ‘that time of the month’, your money is on the ‘fun’ option. “Say, Casper,” you begin, crooning out his name, “do you know what a period is?”

Casper gives you a dead stare through the screen. He looks both supremely unimpressed and supremely perplexed. “A period?” He scoffs. “What a daft question. Of course I know what that is. A period is a designated amount of time, such as a particular period in history. Although, I fail to see what this has to do with your current pain.”

You were hoping he would say something like this. A laugh slips forth from you at his confusion. “Oh, Grim, you really are too funny sometimes, you know.”

In response, he pouts and crosses his arms, as if trying to protect his integrity from your merciless teases. “What? You think my definition was unsatisfactory?”

“Well, not necessarily, but it’s not quite what I was getting at.”

“What are you getting at, then?”

“Do you know how babies are made?”

“Ba—!” He flushes, bright red. You snap a hasty screenshot before his expression can fade. Priceless. “Of course I know how mortal infants are… conceived. But why should that affect—” Just as quickly as the colour came to his face, it drains out completely, leaving his skin white as a sheet. (Admittedly, this is not much paler than usual.) “You do not mean to say that you are…” Casper can’t seem to stomach the words. At last he manages to squeeze out in a hoarse whisper, “...with child?”

You double over again—this time not from pain, but from laughter. Oh, my god, this is too good. You laugh so hard, in fact, that it makes the cramps worse, and you have to force yourself back into a state of composure lest your abdomen literally falls off onto the floor. Wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of your eye, you reply, “No. I am most definitely not with child.” This seems to relieve him somewhat. “But it is related.”

Casper pinches his brow and sighs. “Just explain what is going on, mortal.”

“Alright, alright.” You sigh out, long and slow, letting your face settle into a comfortable deadpan. 

It’s time to educate the Grim Reaper on some biology. 

“Well, basically, every month, most people with a uterus go through this cycle,” you explain. “It’s called the menstrual cycle, despite the majority of those who experience it not being men, but that’s what you get when the history of science has been dictated by old guys for the last few millenia. Anyway, you see, your uterus doesn’t have the intelligence to know when you’re actually planning to have a baby, if you plan on having one at all, so every month it spends time and effort building up a lovely little blood-nest for the egg to grow in once it’s released and fertilised. However, if you haven’t, let’s say, undergone the necessary procedures for fertilising an egg, your body gets the memo a little bit too late. So by the time you’ve made it clear that no, I am not birthing a creature this time around, it’s already prepared everything. Once your uterus realises its work was in vain, it all goes to waste and gets thrown out via the, ah, what would otherwise be the child’s exit.”

Casper looks mortified. Any cringe you may have suffered by phrasing your explanation in such a way is absolutely worth it. “And this occurs every month?” he asks, almost in a state of disbelief.

“Every month,” you confirm, very solemn.

“That sounds terrible.”

You grin maliciously. “Oh, and that’s not even the best bit. Because leaking out your insides each month obviously isn’t enough, Mother Nature, in all her kindness and generosity, sometimes gives you cramps while it happens as well. Which is how we arrive at my present situation.”

He considers this new information for a few seconds, no doubt to work through the trauma you have just given him, before he narrows his eyes. “...Surely there was a more straightforward way of getting to your point,” he says.

“Well, yeah.” You shrug. “But it’s very important that you know how periods work. There are too many men out there who are ignorant about this kind of thing.”

“I suppose that is true,” he concedes. “And I cannot be comparable to those other men.”

“Obviously not,” you agree. 

“Are there any ways to stop it?”

“Well, that depends on what you mean,” you reply. “For stopping your periods altogether, not really. You can take contraceptive hormone tablets which prevent you from building up your endometrium, but once the bleeding has actually started, it’s too late for that. Painkillers are also an option, but…”

“But?” he prompts. 

You raise your chin and proclaim with dignity, “Painkillers are for the weak.” (Yes, you do recognise that this is a counterproductive and baseless view to hold. No, that will not stop you from milking it for humour.)

Casper raises an eyebrow. “‘For the weak’?” he repeats, sounding sceptical.

“...And I’ve also run out,” you admit. “Anyway, then there are other things you can use for comfort, like hot water bottles, but…” You sigh, dropping your joking for a moment, and rub your eyes. You can feel a migraine starting to set in. “Honestly, I just can’t be bothered to get mine right now. Too much pain and too much effort.”

A look of hard determination settles onto Casper’s face. “I understand. Stay where you are, Sunshine, and do not go anywhere.” 

And before you can say anything more, the call disconnects.

“As if I would be going anywhere right now anyway…” you mutter to the dark screen, though the grumbling contains no real bite. You have an inkling of what he’s planning to do—actually, no, who are you kidding. You know with ninety-nine percent certainty he’s on his way over to you right now, probably with a shopping trolley’s worth of ibuprofen in tow. It’s sweet of him. You don’t know how you can even begin to thank him. 

You push the window open for Casper in advance, then lean back in your chair and scrunch your eyes shut, trying to tune out the cramps—but goddammit, it really hurts. It’s like needles are driving constantly into your midsection before your guts are wrung out like a wet towel. You shift position a few times in the hope of settling in a more comfortable position, to no avail. There’s no helping it when the problem is inside you. 

A couple odd minutes go by in which nothing much happens, and you start wondering whether you jumped to your conclusion about Casper too soon. He’s already troubled himself once to come over and look after you, and that was only a couple of days ago. Twice might be pushing it. 

Nope. Right on cue, you hear a knock on your window, and the Grim Reaper slides into your room. You have to swerve sideways so that he doesn’t barrel into you as he sails over your desk onto the floor. Somebody was in a hurry, then.

“Welcome, welcome,” you say as he picks himself back up and brushes off his shoulders. “As ever, feel free to remember that my door does in fact exist.”

He breezes right past you without acknowledging your quip. “Sit,” he says flatly. 

“I am literally sitting right now.”

He rolls his eyes. “On your bed, mortal. It is more comfortable than your chair.”

“And you would know that how?” 

You find yourself on the receiving end of a thoroughly unimpressed look. With a sigh, you throw your hands above your head in surrender and do as you are told, trudging across the room with the grave sufferance of a war veteran and settling yourself between the cushions on your bed. It is, admittedly, more comfortable than your chair. 

“I have researched how to manage these cramps of yours,” Casper explains. “Painkillers do indeed seem to be the main suggested solution. I forgot to ask which are your preferred type, so I decided it was best to cover all bases.”

He passes a stream of little packaged boxes into your hands as he talks—ibuprofen, paracetamol, naproxen, tablets, capsules… even the orange-flavoured bottles of liquid your parents would give you as a kid. You end up with a little mountain on your lap of more painkillers than you would ever need. 

“This is… a lot,” you say, picking your words with care, “but thank you for getting them.” He tried, which is what matters. You place the boxes aside except for one—a pack of ibuprofen tablets similar to the ones you usually use—and, along with a swig of water from the glass next to your bed, toss it down your throat. A thought occurs to you then, concerning Casper’s lack of human money and readiness to run away with an old lady’s flowers. You turn to look at him. “By the way, please tell me you paid for all these.”

Casper is silent. You face-palm.

“Oh, my god. One of these days you’re actually going to get caught.”

“Do not worry. I was very discrete.” He sounds pleased with himself. It is an improvement from last time, in a way. 

“That’s not really what I’m worried about. Just…” You rub your temples. “Look, I’m very grateful for the painkillers, but please try not to steal anything else for me in the future, okay? Twice is more than enough.”

“So how shall I get things for you?” he questions.

“Well, I can lend you some cash in advance if you need to buy something,” you suggest.

“I have no need for mortal currency.”

“…You do realise that is precisely why we’re having this conversation?”

“Then let me rephrase,” he says with a huff. “If not for you and your strange needs, I would have no need for mortal currency.”

“I never said you had to get me painkillers,” you point out. “I’m very grateful for it, but that choice was ultimately on you.” 

A look of helpless dismay crosses his face. “I cannot stand by and watch as you suffer.”

The moment he says this, the pain intensifies. You clench your eyes shut and mutter a curse beneath your breath. Sickness twists in your gut. In less than a blink Casper’s hand is on your shoulder and he’s peering across at you with concern swimming in the red pools of his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” you protest, but your voice is strained. 

“I don’t think I need to point out how obviously that is a lie.” His expression softens by a touch as you recover yourself a little, but his hand still lingers on your shoulder. This is when a pink, rotund entity nestled beneath Casper’s other arm catches your attention. 

“You brought Azrael?” 

“...I thought he may be of assistance to you,” he admits. A faint dusting of red settles over his cheeks. “Azrael also… ahem, does not enjoy seeing you suffer.”

“Aw. Tell him I say thanks.”

Casper nods, very seriously, and hands the axolotl plush over to you. You pull it—him—into your chest and bury your face in the soft fur. It smells like Casper, you can’t help but notice. Ever so slightly floral, with a hint of incense and myrrh. It’s… nice.

“Where is your hot water bottle?” His voice rouses your drifting mind and pulls you back into the present moment. “I will bring it to you.”

“It should be in one of the drawers in the hallway.” You nod your chin in the general direction. As he begins to walk over, you are struck with an epiphany. “Wait,” you blurt. “I have a better idea.” You pat the space directly beside you on the bed and put on a dazzling smile. “You could be my hot water bottle.”

Casper’s eyebrows pull together in an expression of pure affrontedness. “Me, your hot water bottle? What a ludicrous suggestion. I am a gri—”

“—grim reaper, not a hot water bottle, I know, I know, yada yada.” You fix him with the most pitiful, puppy-eyed look you can muster, pushing your lips into a pout. “Make an exception just this once? For me? Poor, little me?”

For a moment, Casper looks torn. Then his shoulders slump in surrender, and you hear him muttering something under his breath about ‘troublesome humans’ as he sidles up to you—not next to you, but behind you, so that his legs are on either side of your hips and your back is pulled flush against his torso. His arms snake around your waist to tug you a fraction closer, and he rests his hands—ungloved, you notice—on your front, roughly above the area of pain. Like last time, your skin buzzes at the contact, almost magnetic, as if it wants to be closer, closer, until there is nothing separating your souls from twining together for eternity. 

…Thoughts of eternal soul-twining aside, you realise your mistake too late: you forgot how fricking cold Casper’s hands are. It makes no sense. The rest of him is warm, and very comforting, actually, but his hands may as well have just been pulled from an ice bucket. You shudder despite yourself when he lays them on top of you. 

He begins, “Is something—”

“It’s nothing,” you hasten to reply. “It’s just… your hands are a bit colder than I expected.”

“Oh.” Casper rubs his hands together before placing them back on your abdomen. “Is that any better?”

No, it’s not better at all, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that. You really don’t want him to move away from you right now, either. You reason that maybe physically things haven’t changed, but emotionally speaking, seeing the lengths he’s going to for your sake… “Yes, much better. Thanks, Grim.” 

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, at which you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Alright, then, Steve.”

You feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back as he heaves a sigh. That’s one victory for you.

You close your eyes and lean back into his embrace. The position is comfortable, but you can’t relax as much as you would like to: the subzero temperatures of his hands are too great to ignore. You try to shift as little as possible, not wanting him to realise that anything is wrong, but you can’t stop yourself. In fact, you’re pretty sure this is actually making the pain worse.

After a few minutes, you hear Casper sigh again. “Clearly, Sunshine, you are not comfortable. My hands are still too cold, aren’t they?”

“No,” you lie slowly. 

“I can feel you shivering.” 

“Okay, maybe a little,” you concede. “It’s possible I’m still a bit sick, too.”

“You should have told me earlier.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said it felt better. Just… that wasn’t necessarily physically.”

He clicks his tongue. “You and your mortal word games. Wait here. I will get you an actual hot water bottle.” He lifts his arms from around you and you are struck at once by how much you don’t want him to go. 

“Wait,” you’ve said, before you know what you’re doing.

He hesitates. “Yes?

…But you also really want that hot water bottle. What a palaver. With deep regret, you suppose it is probably best to sacrifice his presence for a few moments and acquire the bottle, and resume cuddling afterwards. That doesn’t mean you are too keen on it, though. “Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “Just… don’t be too long, okay?”

A stupidly smug smirk crosses his stupidly beautiful face. “Afraid you will miss me so quickly, are you, Sunshine?”

You sigh. “Something like that, I suppose. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Too late. Judging by his facial expression, it has most certainly got to his head, right down to the very atomic structure of his neurones. He’s such a poophead sometimes. 

Casper leans over and presses a brief, tender kiss to your brow. “I will be swift,” he vows, a red flush settling over his cheeks as he turns his face away. With butterflies in your ribcage, you watch him go. 

The few minutes that he’s away seem to drag on forever. You cuddle Azrael as you wait, rocking back and forth on your mattress. This whole situation is still surreal to you, even after a week. The Grim Reaper—the literal Grim Reaper—is in your house for a second time, coddling you for a second time. If you had a nickel for every time you were coddled by the Grim Reaper, you would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. And awesome as hell. This definitely wins you bragging rights over, like, every other human out there. 

After what feels like hours but was probably no longer than a couple minutes, Casper returns with your fuzzy green triceratops hot water bottle in hand.

“A dinosaur?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Well, yeah,” you grumble, “I was obsessed with dinosaurs as a kid. Everyone goes through that phase. And you’re hardly one to talk, Mr Pink Axolotl.” You pat Azrael’s head. “Which is not to insult Azrael, of course. He is immaculate and beautiful.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. But what does that mean you are implying about me…?”

You shrug. “No comment.” Casper shakes his head, sighing, and hands the hot water bottle to you. “Thanks,” you say, pressing it against your midsection. The warmth radiates right through you and you can’t help but sigh out in satisfaction. Casper stands beside the bed, looking a little awkward as it becomes overwhelmingly apparent that his previous efforts were useless. Noticing his hovering, you smile and wave him over. “I have my physical comfort, and now I need my emotional one. C’mere.” With a mischievous wriggle of your fingers, you add, “I’m not done tormenting you yet.”

“That much was obvious,” he responds, shifting back into place behind you on the bed. 

“How so?”

“You are always tormenting me. There is no end to it.” The weariness in his voice is at odds with the way his arms come around your sides to cradle you close. 

You frown. “Damn. If I’m that predictable already, I’m going to have to up my game.”

“Please, for both of our sakes, do not.” You can’t help but chuckle at how pained he sounds. “I shudder to think what that would look like.” 

As you talk, Casper sets his hands lightly upon your waist. His hands are still cold, of course, but now that you have the hot water bottle to balance things out more, it’s not too bad. You assume he’s just going to hold you—which in itself would be more than enough to satisfy you—but after a moment, you feel his fingers begin to press circles into your skin. He must notice the way you suck in a breath, because he clears his throat and says, “I read multiple sources that said massages can help with cramps. Is this…?”

“Okay?” You relax into his touch, smiling to yourself, and say quietly, “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Casper smirks. “Obviously. I am the one doing it, after all.” 

Oh my god, you think, I am in love with a complete idiot. 

“Oh. Wait,” he says. “I almost forgot that I brought this for you, too.” He pulls one arm away from you to reach into his pocket and draws out a little heart-shaped item wrapped in shiny metal foil. One whiff and you know what it is. 

Your heart melts at the sight. “Casper… You’re spoiling me way too much here.”

“There is no need to be so dramatic about it,” he replies as he hands it to you. “It is just chocolate.”

“Even so. You really didn’t have to go to such lengths.” You lift it to your mouth and are about to unwrap it when a thought strikes you, making you hesitate. You lower the chocolate heart and turn to Casper. “Hey, you said you like chocolate, too. How about we share it?”

This suggestion appears to catch him off-guard. “Share it?”

“Yeah, share it. I’ll take one bite, you take another.”

“I…” He flushes again, deeper this time, his mouth open and closing soundlessly and his eyes darting from your hand to the floor. 

You weren’t expecting quite as much buffering as this when you made the suggestion. “…You don’t want to?” you ask, a tad disappointed. “I mean, we don’t have to, of course. I just thought it might be fun.”

“N-no!” he hastens to reply. “No, I… ahem. I would like to, very much. It’s just that…” Casper stares at the chocolate in your hand, his expression torn. Warily, he asks, “Your ‘period’ is not… contagious, is it?”

You’re stunned into silence. Casper stares at you with evident concern. You collapse into another bout of laughter. “No,” you wheeze out. “No, it’s not. Or it shouldn’t be, at least. Who knows, given our soul connection. In any case, you won’t catch it from eating the chocolate.”

He still looks hesitant—no doubt his little joust with a cold yesterday was enough to traumatise him for life—but your reply is reassuring enough for him to assent. “Very well,” he says, still blushing from head to toe. “We can share it.”

“Great. Who’s feeding who?”

Maybe you were wrong about him blushing head-to-toe, because somehow, if possible, he becomes an even deeper shade of red. “F-feeding?” he all but chokes out.

“Well, yeah. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

“…I could not say so even if I wanted to. That would be a lie.” He looks physically pained as he speaks. He is way too cute.

“Exactly. So, once again, who feeds who?”

Silence.

“You want me to feed you, don’t you?” you say knowingly.

“Actually, I was going to…” He clears his throat, eyes darting away. “...Propose the opposite…”

You can’t help the smile which spreads across your face. “You’re so sweet. But I kind of want to feed you, too. Especially because it’s your birthday and all that.”

“We can feed each other?” he suggests. 

You shrug. “Sounds good to me. Open up, Grimmy.”

This seems to shock him. “I’m going first?”

“Well, unless you have any reservations…?”

For the briefest of moments, he seems to hesitate, before he draws up his shoulders and steels himself. Against what, you don’t know. “No. Nevermind. I will do it. Bring it on, mortal.”

The look of determination in his eyes is too funny, and you chuckle as you unwrap the chocolate heart and raise it to Casper’s mouth. His resolve crumbles the moment your little finger brushes by accident against his lower lip. His gaze darts wildly around the room, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin as he takes a tentative bite. With some degree of effort, he swallows, raising his fist in front of his mouth as if that were enough to hide the vibrant colour of his skin.

“Not so bad, is it?” you tease. 

“It was terrible,” he replies quietly. 

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes,” he insists. “Having you so close… I cannot function properly. You do things to me that are… ugh, I cannot even think, much less speak like this.”

Ah, so that’s what he meant. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you grin. “Alright, my turn.”

You pass the remaining half of the chocolate to him. He pinches it carefully between his thumb and index finger, like he is handling some priceless artefact. You wait with a patient smile as he brings it to your lips and pushes it gently between them. The rich, sweet flavour floods your taste buds, but all you can think of is his proximity and the coolness of his fingertips brushing against your lips as you take what’s left of the chocolate into your mouth. Your throat at once grows dry and you struggle to get the bite down. 

So, you fell for exactly the same things that he did. How embarrassing.

A victorious smirk flashes across Casper’s face. “Heh. And you act as though you are less prone to flustering than I.”

“Well, I am, most of the time,” you protest. “It’s just that… well, it’s kind of like we’re kissing.” At the mention of k-word, his cheeks flare red. A realisation dawns upon you. “Wait. That’s why you wanted to go first, isn’t it?”

“...Shut up.”

“Hahaha. Okay, as you wish.”

You sit in silence for a while, content to bask in each other’s wordless presence. Thanks to Casper’s various efforts, your cramps are becoming somewhat manageable, and the warmth of his body against your back and feeling of his arms around you brings you a sense of comfort you cannot put into words. It feels like home—like belonging. Like a safe, secret hiding hole from the world where you could bury yourself if you wished. For a moment you wonder whether you’ve ever been happier. 

Casper’s hair tickles your shoulder as he leans forward and nestles his face in the crook of your neck, close enough that you can feel his lips just barely brushing your skin. Your heart gives a dangerous stutter and heat, not from the water bottle, rushes through you. You expect him to tease you over your reaction—there’s no way he hasn’t noticed your pulse skyrocket—but Casper does not remark on it. Instead, it is a moment until he speaks.  

“I wish,” he says, slowly, carefully, as if voicing a prayer, “that I could take away your pain. It is not fair. You do not deserve to suffer.”

The simplicity of the statement, spoken with such straightforward sincerity, gives you pause. Warm, tender fondness buds inside you for this reaper’s kind heart and, in some ways, his pitiable naivety. “Lots of people don’t deserve to suffer,” you reply in a small voice, “but it happens anyway. It’s just a part of life.”

“It should not be.”

“Maybe not.” You twine your fingers together in front of you and give his hands a light squeeze. “But it is.”

He squeezes back and presses his nose into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Having him so close… you almost can’t believe it. 

“Thank you for coming over, Casper,” you say after a pause, putting your heart into every word. “You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. So, so much—especially considering it’s your birthday and there are definitely better ways of spending it. The cramps still hurt like hell, of course, but having you around makes it more bearable somehow.”

His voice is quiet, words muffled slightly against your skin. “I would always come. For you.”

The fondness from before blossoms and opens up inside you; a flower unfurling its petals, a fuzzy warmth pooling in your stomach. Words well on the tip of your tongue, but you keep them there. There is no need for speech. Not with him. Somehow, you are certain Casper already knows everything you would say and more; because that’s how it is when two people understand each other. 

You understand each other. The notion is consoling; it’s right, somehow. Despite it only being a week since you met—something you are still struggling to wrap your head around—it feels true as you think it. Life is so bizarre in the way that you can spend your whole life surrounded by people and never truly know them, and then one day somebody walks in out of the blue and sees right into the heart of you. 

The silence stretches onwards, enveloping you both in its arms of unspoken reassurance. You could stay like this forever and be perfectly happy. Casper, too, appears to have no intention of moving: he seems content just holding you and pressing the occasional kiss to your nape. You’re struck with the sense that time has ground to a standstill, and that all that matters (or ever has or ever will) is the present moment and the gentle tug of your souls towards one another, railing against separation. It doesn’t feel like so far of a stretch to suppose that, right now, you and him are the only two souls in the world. Oh, and Azrael, of course. Everything else—the pain, the future, responsibilities, the human race—is a pretty illusion trying to distract you from this fact.

Your wandering mind falls back into place when your roaming eyes rest on the clock hanging above your door. It’s been—two hours? 

You take it upon yourself to disturb the quiet. “I hate to be the one to say this, but you probably have to go at some point, don’t you?” Your own voice sounds foreign to you; intrusive, like it shouldn’t be there. “Surely you have reaper work to do.”

“Well, yes, I do,” Casper confesses, “but if you want me here, I can stay.”

“You know what my answer will be, Casper.”

“Do I?” Given the audible smirk in his voice, he absolutely does. He just wants to hear it from you, the smug bastard. 

Still, you decide you’ve caused him enough trouble for a day or two, and so choose to humour him just this once. “I always want you here,” you reply honestly. “But I also don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

“It doesn’t count as trouble if it is for your sake.” He says it with such simple conviction. “Technically, considering my main assignment is still to collect your soul, I am in the process of completing it.”

You place a hand over your heart in mock offence. “Wow. That’s cold. Even colder than your hands, in fact. And here I thought you came because you cared about me, Cas.”

He scowls. “Of course I came here for you. You know that.”

“Yep, I do.” You smile. “I was teasing you.”

Casper clicks his tongue. “You are so incorrigible sometimes.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m incorrigible all of the time, actually,” you rectify, “but you love it, don’t you?”

“...I will not answer that.”

“I’m afraid you already have.”

“I literally have not.”

“In avoiding the question, you literally have.”

“That is quite literally not what ‘literally’ means, sunshine. Do you need me to pull out a dictionary, too?”

“If you’re offering to read it to me, I won’t say no,” you reply with a mischievous wink. “But anyway, I think you just don’t want to admit it.” 

There’s a note of amusement in his response. “Admit what?”

“That you secretly love all of my personality traits with all of your soft, sappy heart.”

You can’t see Casper’s face, but you hear the fond smile leaking into his voice. “There is no secret in it, Sunshine. But yes, I do.”

With that, you soak up the last few precious moments of peace, before—

“Oh, shit.”

“...Casper? All good?”

“This sudden pain… w-what…”

“Ah. You know, I was starting to think that you might not get them, because no uterus and all that, but, uh… at least we’re not short on painkillers?”

“Sunshine… I truly think I am dying here. How can anything be worse than a cold? How?”