good boys that you just can’t help riding till they cry ♡ moaning, writhing and mewling under you as you drop your weight on him, the loud slapping of skin resounding in the room along with his voice and your amused chuckles. He’s cummed so many times he doesn’t know what’s going on anymore, delirious and spit bubbling from his mouth, rolled eyes, all he can pick up is the sparks of pleasure going up his body. His dick is a angry dark pink, your tight hole milking him so much he’s about to go dry. But it’s not any time soon. Because no matter how overstimulated, how much he cries, he is definitely not done anytime soon, the amount of cum he just spurt out is proof of that.
🐇- armin, chuuya, dazai, atsushi, ranpo, poe, angel devil, choso, gojo, grim/casper (adwd), jinshi, izuku (adult), tomioka, rengoku, MAYBE MAYBEEEE katsuki (adult and after fighting to convince him), amajiki, kaneki, reigen, kurapika, shinichiro, link (tloz), sebastian (stardew)
authors note: hi guys! Thank u for 300 followers and I’m sorry for not writing for so long. if u guys have other character suggestions please let me know! I don’t think these characters are solely subs but are willing to sub, I will write again soon! Also this isn’t edited I will edit any grammar mistakes soon :)
special thanks to my friend for helping me choose the characters 🫶
🌻 Synopsis: After taking a sip of water, you look to your beloved reaper and figured they totally needed some too! And yes, it is important they drink out of the water bottle YOU drank out of!
OR: you indirectly kiss them by having them drink out of your water bottle!
🌻 Headcanons
A/N: hey guys! MAKE SURE TO HYDRATE YOURSELVES! YAY! also ermmm i’m not super well-versed on 5012’s character… </3 sorry…
Casper (8394)
Casper is very skeptical when you offer the bottle to him. He could tell there’s something to this as your… literal soulmate.
He accepts anyway because there was no evidence to suggest that you have ulterior motives behind the offer and to give you the benefit of doubt from possible mischief.
When you giggle about how you both indirectly kissed, his cheeks bursted into red from being flustered and feeling the embarrassment for being tricked so easily.
Don’t blame him for being tricked! He loves and trusts you dearly!
However, he will be researching more on the internet to save himself in the future, by the way.
But, hmm… Maybe getting an indirect kiss this way isn’t that bad… Free kisses!
“Why do you look so smug…?” Casper knows that quenching thirst is normal for all living beings, so what’s with that look??? Surely, there’s nothing wrong with drinking water?
Well… he’s fixated on the wrong thing here.
“We totally kissed just now!”
What.
Casper pauses… because that doesn’t make any sense? Doesn’t make sense to him, at least. “What? I just drank water. How does that make it kissing you?”
You chuckled as if it were common knowledge, “because you drank out of the same water I used, silly!”
“Ah,” it clicks. “Ah…” it hits him. Who knew humans would think of it this way?
Casper’s face turned red enough that it was very obvious for you to notice on his fair skin, which is silly since you’ve both already kissed many times before. On the lips, to be specific.
“I-I did not know that you would trick me like this…!”
“Why are you acting like we’ve never kissed????”
5012
5012 does not drink it immediately — not because he knows, but because he thinks it’d be unnecessary (he does not know your true intentions yet).
Reapers like you and 5012 don’t need it the way humans do, so what is the point? It’d take him actual convincing to get him to drink the damn thing for some reason (it takes more time than actually drinking the water smh).
“If you don’t drink some water, then you don’t love me :(”
He ends up drinking water but tries to make it seem like he didn’t fold under zero pressure. Don’t embarrass him about it~ ^_^
When you point out that you both ‘technically’ kissed, he stares at you.
“What’s with that look? I just drank water.” 5012 looks at you as if there is nothing wrong… and well, there is nothing wrong with drinking out of your beloved’s water bottle, but he doesn’t get the point.
Luckily, you’re here to enlighten him!
“We totally kissed just now!”
You could visibly see the way 5012’s thoughts turned into question marks with how that could possibly work as he stared at you.
“So that was your intention when you were getting me to drink? You could’ve just asked.” He understood what you meant (that you indirectly kissed by using the same water bottle), but he didn’t really get it…
“Yeah, but I just wanted to try!” Can’t you have these little cute and romantic moments together— “I’ll take this as a sign to start wiping or refusing.”
“YOOOO… Chill with the jokes broooo…”
Okay, maybe these are more on silly and dumb moments if you really think about it (silly x serious combo)…
Atlas (0204)
The moment you offer your water bottle, Atlas’ raising his thick-ass eyebrow.
You two think alike, so it’s no wonder he catches on to your plans… You’re not slick at all with your attempt to trick him into not knowing.
Regardless, he drinks without question and thanks you for it! Who is he to refuse anything free or offered by someone? Especially you!
Then, Atlas pretty much steals your lines of mentioning you both indirectly kissing, so you guys just… start roleplaying…?
Goofy behavior comes naturally to you two. It is hella stupid, but silly indeed.
“Dude… we…” Atlas gasps to be extra, using his roleplaying voice. “We… totally kissed just now…”
You mirror him, gasping as well. “OMG… N-no way…! That’s what… I was gonna say…!” Yes, the stutter was done on purpose. For more giggles.
“I know… I, heh, never kissed anyone in this life… You’re my… first kiss…” Oh my god, this shit is so stupid. SON 😂
“Woah… What a coincidence — I-I think… you’re my first kiss too… hehe…” You tucked your hair behind your ear and you started doing little shy girl emotes to make the roleplay cringier.
You swore you saw Atlas try not to close his eyes and smile out of instinct.
Atlas squeals like an idiot and wiggles his body all goofy, “kyaaaa…!!! This must be destiny…!”
“BOY SHUT YO ASS UP WITH THE ‘KYAA’ LMAO 😭”
“WE ARE TRYING TO ROLEPLAY!!! LOCK THE FUCK IN DUDE…”
Yes, you are both acting like that indirect kiss was your first kiss ever. That is the roleplay.
son what the FUCK was atlas’ part LMFAO. definitely need to see more of 5012 when adwd2 fully releases to be able to write him properly :[
okay anyways~ so I had this idea, then I had another idea. but that idea would take a bit longer to write, so I finished this idea first before the other idea. get it? awesome! fantastic!
⁺ . ✦ pairing. grim / 8394 / casper x f!reader
⁺ . ✦ sum. You and Casper return to the mortal realm, with a bond stronger than love itself. You live normal lives, but something is missing. You're too focused on the past, and need a new beginning to look forward to.
⁺ . ✦ tags ── ♡ ˚⊹︰mdni (18+), breeding kink, impregnation, casper wants to give u babies tbh, male whimpering, male moaning, switch, soft mdom, fsub, casper is not really a "dom" he's just more dominant, doggy style, bent over a desk, cúnnilingus/eat me out!(EMO), PIV, vaginal fingering, ending 8: interwoven
⁺ . ✦ wc. 2,390
⁺ . ✦ an. i am OBSESSED with this game. i am genuinely not sane at all over casper. i wanted to write casper as a switch, because he definitely has moments where he would be a lil dom, even if he enjoys being bullied and told what to do. (trust me, i WILL be writing that side of him)
also, i studied philosophy LMAO and i couldnt help but reminded throughout the whole game of plato's symposium, which is a dialogue on the nature of love. check it out! very interesting stuff! (i can talk more about it if anyone is interested XD)
as always, feedback is always appreciated! i hope youre just as obsessed with grimmy as i am!!!!
"The pair are inseparable and live together in pure and manly affection; yet they cannot tell what they want of one another. But if Hephaestus were to come to them with his instruments and propose that they should be melted into one and remain one here and hereafter, they would acknowledge that this was the very expression of their want. For love is the desire of the whole, and the pursuit of the whole is called love.” - Plato’s Symposium (Aristophanes)
[ It is said that lovers were originally one being, one soul. But the gods cut them apart and separated them. What we call 'love' is the yearning for the completion of oneself, the merging of two halves into a whole. It is the union of two beings, that can never be separated again. They would rather die than to be separated once more. ]
♡♡♡
Life is difficult to navigate for all people. There are trials, tribulations, problems, and things to overcome. There are new beginnings, new adventures, and new people to meet. But how many people can say they entered a soul binding vow with the grim reaper? Probably not many, you wager.
But it was through this completion of each other’s souls that you formed an even stronger connection, a union of two halves that perfectly complement each other. It is said that lovers are one soul, divided in half, always seeking the other. Perhaps the old you might have scoffed at the idea of fated lovers, but after meeting Casper, you can’t help but hold that belief to be true. You were designed to complement each other, you were made for each other; together, you are one whole.
And despite this otherworldly, ethereal bond, you two still lived fairly normal lives. Casper devoted his time to researching what he could about his memories, about reaper kind, and what it means to be human. You’ve taken on studying as well, learning what you can about the meaning of being alive and what love is.
Lately, Casper has been regaining some of his memories of his past life, pain, anguish, and sorrow all visibly on display. It’s bittersweet, knowing he was once a human and lied to.
While you think it is important for him to find himself, to remember and become the person he wants to be, you also don’t want him to be a cute little ball of sadness and despair. So naturally, you confront him with a proposition that is sure to distract him.
“Hey, Grimmy,” you start, sitting on the desk Casper is currently stationed at.
He doesn’t look up from his books and journals to reply. “I’m not a reaper anymore. And you know my name. It’s Casper.”
“Of course, Jeremy, how could I ever forget your name?” You tease as a slight chuckle escapes your lips, trying to pull his attention away from the books.
He pinches the bridge of his nose as he looks up at you, crimson eyes meeting yours. “Sunshine, is there something I can help you with?” He asks, motioning to your butt that is currently sitting on all of his strewn about papers, forcing him to take a much needed break from studying.
“Nope, all good!” You beam, crossing your legs as you look down at him with a wide, toothy grin plastered on your face.
“Oh, so you’re just sitting there for fun?” He mocks, not actually expecting an answer from you.
“Yeeeeppppp, I love sitting on your desk. Although, I’d probably prefer being bent over it—” You feign innocence, trying to keep up a clueless act.
His eyes widen as his pale skin flushes, a blush creeping across his cheeks to meet the tips of his ears. His delicate hand sets his pen down and closes the book, giving you his undivided attention.
“We can definitely make that happen, Sunshine.” He smirks, looking up at you.
You’ve caught him in a web of your own doing.
“Maybe, later,” you reply. “I have an important question for you.” Nervousness and anxiety balls in your stomach, unsure of how he will take your next few words. “I want to start a family. I think you need to create new memories that make you feel alive, instead of chasing a past life that has died.”
Your words hit him like a freight train. But you’re absolutely right. He needs a change, and while his past is important, so is his future, with you.
If he was upset, he didn’t show it, as a devilish grin overtakes his features. “Sunshine, that is not a question. Typically, a question is composed of—”
But he can’t finish teasing you as you blurt out: “Oh for fuck’s sake, Casper, will you put a baby in me then? Happy now? With your question?”
Yes, he’s definitely happy now. No further words are exchange as he shoots out of his desk chair and moves in front of you, still sitting on the desk.
“I love you, Sunshine,” he whispers as his mouth crashes into yours. His hand caresses your cheek, pulling you into his kiss. He whimpers against you as his tongue searches yours, electricity buzzing with every movement.
You can feel that rush of heat spread through your body like wildfire, amplified by Casper’s own desires. Every movement, every feeling, every sensation is shared and bounced between you two, creating an overwhelmingly pleasurable experience for both of you.
His tongue darts around your mouth, searching for yours. Spit dribbles from both of your mouths as you hungrily devour each other, nipping at his lips and eliciting a short, soft mewl from his lips. Your arm reaches around Casper’s neck, pulling him even closer to you and deeper into the kiss.
Casper’s free hand hastily unbuttons your shirt, impatiently waiting to feel your soft skin once again. His delicate index finger trails down your neck, lighting a trail of fire in its wake. Every sensation of your skin ignites flames in Casper’s body. His hands are so sensitive, and feeling you squirm beneath him is not helping the cause.
“You’re beautiful, Sunshine. Please, let me show you how much I love you.” Casper pulls away, breath warm as it tickles your neck. A small string of saliva connects you two before his lips attack yours once again. You can only whimper against him, a small sign of your consent and willingness.
With you still positioned on the desk, Casper drops to his knees. He starts tugging at the hem of your skirt, like a needy puppy, looking up at you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. You help him by pulling your skirt down, and Casper is now eye-level with your cunt.
“I will never get over this. Over you. I will savor you each and every time, like you’re the last meal I’ve been afforded.” But before he can sing more praises at you, Casper’s face dives right in, hands spreading your legs apart for easier access.
You hiss at the sudden sensation of his tongue lapping up your cunt. His tongue searches through your folds, looking for your most sensitive spot. He caresses it with his soft, wet muscle, and your eyes nearly roll back. As he licks you, Casper feels every jolt of pleasure sent straight down your spine. It’s a direct connection of your souls, but most importantly, it’s a direct connection to his already hard and leaking cock.
Every lick feels like you’re worshipping him too. Every flick of his tongue sends shivers down his spine, pushing him closer and closer without even being touched. Touching you, by proxy, touches him as well. And it’s the one thing you both use to your advantage.
Slick, wet noises hang in the air, accompanied by the sweet sound of your whimpers. Every movement is compounded by his pleasure. You feel him. You feel his desire, his need, and his pleasure pushing and intertwining with yours. This amplification only pushes you along harder and faster, until that oh so familiar knot in your stomach begins to unravel.
Your orgasm crashes around you like a tsunami, overtaking every sensation of your body. You try to close your legs, clenching around him, but Casper only forces them open.
“Not.. Done.. Yet..” He says, in between slurping up your juices. He doesn’t give you any break or recovery, riding your orgasm along with you, licking every sensitive spot as your orgasms repeat in an infinite loop. Watching you unravel under him back to back does something to him, it drives him feral, like a hunger that can never be satisfied.
As his tongue circles your clit, sending an electric shock down your spine, you feel him insert a slender digit into your throbbing cunt. The feeling of fullness elicits a sloppy mewl from your lips; you are unable to even comprehend the pleasure you feel in this moment.
Casper whimpers as his face is buried deep into your cunt, a finger twitching inside of you. The slick, warm, wet feeling of your walls against the soft, sensitivity of his hands only pushed him all that closer to his own impending doom. He might cum just from touching you, leaving evidence of his sin in his pants.
He inserts another finger as he moans, stretching your cunt open. His mind reels at the thought of just fingering you and cumming from this, from the holy perversion of your connection. His cock throbs with every movement of his tongue and every flex of his fingers. He whimpers as his cock weeps, leaving a cute wet spot on his pants.
Just when you thought you might pass out from the sheer pleasure of it all, Casper releases you, giving you a moment to catch your breath. You look down at him, his white locks tousled and messy as you make eye contact. A lewd mixture of your juices and his saliva coats his chin and mouth, dripping as he pulls away.
He grins as his crimson eyes glint, looking up at you. Your stomach does flips, like his gaze is enough to consume your very essence. And perhaps, it is. Your soul is his, after all. Despite all you’ve been through, you are his, and he is yours.
Casper does nothing to wipe away the remnants of your lust, and instead brings a finger to his chin, catching the lewd concoction and bring it to his lips. If he had it his way, he could literally live off of this. He would spend hours devouring you, tasting all of you, until you couldn’t take it any more. Perhaps, another time, though, as he has bigger and better plans.
Casper effortlessly flips you onto your stomach, bending you over his desk. You can hear the quick unbuckling of his belt and the sound of fabric dropping to the floor. You wish you could see the beauty that is his arousal, but the position you’re in isn’t the best for viewing. You make a mental note to make sure and watch him next time, committing everything to memory, lest you forget.
“Spread open and bent over like this for me, so naughty, aren’t you? Since when were you like this, my innocent sunshine?” He chuckles, but he knows the answer. You’ve always been like this, obsessed and delirious over him. Casper lines his throbbing cock against your used cunt, pushing it in ever so slowly.
Despite being prepped for this, and all the other times you’ve taken him, you will never get used to the feeling of him stretching your cunt out.
“Fuck, baby. You feel so good, so tight for me~” He moans, pushing his cock all the way to the hilt. He sits there for a moment, allowing you time to adjust to his size before he pulls his cock out and slams it back into your needy hole.
You can feel the overwhelmingly powerful desire coming from Casper. The way he bottoms out into your cunt is sent directly to you, synapses and neurons firing in tandem with his pleasure. You cry out, a pathetic moan escaping from your lips as you feel his pleasure. You feel him fuck you as if you were the one fucking yourself.
Casper whimpers as you tighten around his cock, your pleasure already building. “I love you,” he purrs, before pulling his thick cock out and slamming it back into you. He can feel the way his cock stretches you how it fills you to the brim in the most pleasurable way possible. His hips pick up speed, working of their own volition, as he practically starts panting with every breath.
He can feel that into tighten in you, he can feel how perfectly his cock fits into your cunt. Like it was made for him. Like he was made for you. His grip on your hips tighten as he pulls you into him, slamming his cock as deep as it can go into your needy cunt.
“You feel absolutely divine, sunshine, if I can even say that. You take me, ah, so well, my love. So perfect,” he sings praises to you, peppering every sentence with little whimpers and moans of his own. You can feel yourself reach that edge for the nth time; you’ve lost how many times you’ve cum today alone.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he keeps repeating with every pump, almost like a broken record. His breathing is uneven, raggedy as his erratic hips fuck you full of his cock. His voice cracks on the last syllable as he reaches his own end, and unravels in tandem with you.
His orgasm sends you over the edge— you can feel the waves of pleasure spill out of him as Casper whimpers, spilling into you. It’s like your connection has linked you together, unable to exist without the other.
Still inside of you, Casper bends down, leaving a trail of kisses down your spine, sending shivers through your body.
Your breathing stabilizes, and you turn over to face Casper. “Next time, it’s you bent over the desk.” You giggle, half-teasing, but also half-serious. And even though Casper just finished inside of you, a blush creeps across his features once more, and he is unable to meet your gaze.
⁺ . ✦ notifs. @vvxxccaa
⁺ . ✦ an. another translation of symposium, if you're curious! It has much more detail, and is a bit more poetic, if you ask me!!! (not me using my philosophy degree finally)
"These are the people who finish out their lives together and still cannot say what it is they want from one another. No one would think it is the intimacy of sex—that mere sex is the reason each lover takes so great and deep a joy in being with the other. It’s obvious that the soul of every lover longs for something else; his soul cannot say what it is, but like an oracle it has a sense of what it wants, and like an oracle it hides behind a riddle. Suppose two lovers are lying together and Hephaestus stands over them with his mending tools, asking, “What is it you human beings really want from each other?” And suppose they’re perplexed, and he asks them again: “Is this your heart’s desire, then—for the two of you to become parts of the same whole, as near as can be, and never to separate, day or night? Because if that’s your desire, I’d like to weld you together and join you into something that is naturally whole, so that the two of you are made into one. Then the two of you would share one life, as long as you lived, because you would be one being, and by the same token, when you died, you would be one and not two in Hades, having died a single death. Look at your love, and see if this is what you desire: wouldn’t this be all the good fortune you could want?”
Surely you can see that no one who received such an offer would turn it down; no one would find anything else that he wanted. Instead, everyone would think he’d found out at last what he had always wanted: to come together and melt together with the one he loves, so that one person emerged from two. Why should this be so? It’s because, as I said, we used to be complete wholes in our original nature, and now “Love” is the name for our pursuit of wholeness, for our desire to be complete." - Plato's Symposium 192 d - 193a
was totally gonna save this for kinktober but fuck it, i’m too impatient. enjoyyyy~
MINORS DNI
ao3
tw: masturbation, accidental voyeurism, oral sex (reader receiving), frottage
your name (your heart, too) (casper/grim x gn!reader, a date with death)
He wanted to see you.
It was ridiculous, and he damn well knew it, but that didn’t stop Casper from casting his gaze towards his laptop screen again, fingers drumming on his raised knee as he glanced at your username. He made a face as the online icon nestled beside it remained just as frustratingly dark as it had been the last four times he’d checked, and rolled his eyes at his own juvenile behavior. Nine Hells, what was he doing?
You were probably busy; just as he should be, Casper reminded himself with a grimace, casting a glance at his scythe propped up against the wall. There were plenty of souls in need of reaping, after all. He should be out there, doing his job, not huddled at his desk awaiting your call.
Yet his mind was so far removed from any thoughts of work; pinpointed, as it had increasingly become of late, on you: on your ridiculous jokes, on the obscure, nonsensical nicknames you kept bestowing upon him, on your radiance. Gods, he could think of little else these days.
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
“I had a feeling that would work,” you teased him, but Casper merely tugged you along, already envisioning the silken slide of your fingers through his wet hair.
You ask them to help you in opening a jar, but you secretly applied superglue on the lid as a prank. How will they handle it?
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!
No matter how many times you explain yourself, your boss still sees through your lies. It seems your prank has failed… This time.
…𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜: In which your period cramps are giving you hell, but it’s okay, because a certain Grim Reaper is there to join you.
…𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Fluff; kind of hurt/comfort; silliness.
…𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Period cramps, swearing.
…𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 6,690 words.
…𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: AFAB!reader (not necessarily female); takes place on day eight of the DLC; spoilers for some in-game dialogue near the beginning of the fic.
Reblogs and comments are appreciated.
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑.
You wake up to find yourself alive, morning sunlight streaming through the gaps in your shutters in a row of horizontal golden bars on the carpet. The thought crosses your mind that you should be dead by now—probably would be, had you not extended your bargain with Casper the night before.
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?”
You shrug. “Sorry. Welcome to that time of the month, Cas.”
— casper x afab! reader (𝓌𝒸: 16k) (𝒾𝓃𝓅𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑔: "haunted" by beyoncé)
𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: dom!reader x sub!casper · soul-stealing & stolen moments · playful power dynamics · teasing & pet names · praise kink · love/hate tension · seductive banter · soft turns rough · blowjob → maybeee anal · inpso also from the devil wears prada
𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You were just an average assistant at a high-profile fashion magazine, drowning in coffee runs, a horrible bitch boss, last-minute deadlines, and the occasional existential crisis.
Nothing out of the ordinary. That was until he showed up; a sharp-tongued, infuriatingly attractive grim reaper with a bad habit of haunting you. Why? Good question. Apparently, you were on some kind of hit list, and he was assigned to reap your soul. But if he thought he could scare you into submission, he was dead wrong. Because if a little reaper wanted to haunt you…
…well, you might as well haunt him right back.
The mortal plane was always predictable.
A annoying world of flesh and bone, ruled by where life start in the wound and ends with a tomb. No matter how any human they fought, no matter how desperately they clung to existence, all paths led to him in the end.
Life was but a momentary flicker in the abyss, and he was the hand that extinguished the flame.
The space between worlds was his domain. A place where the living dared not tread, where the air was thick with the murmurs of the forsaken. Here, in the endless dark, he watched.
They called him many things—Grim Reaper, Phantom of the Veil, Death itself. He was the silent end of all things, the whisper in the final breath, the inevitable shadow lurking behind every heartbeat.
With a touch, he unraveled kings, crumbled empires, and reduced the devout to weeping husks. His presence alone could halt the breath of creation.
Like there was no force he could not bring to ruin. No soul could resist his claim. He had never known hesitation. Never known failure. And yet now, something wrong stood at the threshold of his dominion.
You. A mortal—or so you should have been.
His gaze burned through the abyss, crimson eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his presence stretching across the fragile boundary between realms. A cold wind stirred in the living world, unnatural in its weight, pressing into the earth, curling around your feet like unseen fingers.
A warning. A summons. A death sentence.
And yet, you did not move.
Other spirits shrank from him, retreating into the shadows, whispering their prayers into the void. They clung to you—not in terror, but in something else. Recognition. As though you were not an intruder among them, but kin.
It was unnatural. A violation of the natural order.
A mortal could not walk this close to death and remain. A mortal should not be able to meet his gaze and still breathe. Yet, you stood unshaken, silent at the edge of the veil.
At first, he thought it was something else—perhaps a simple mistake? Some foolish soul who had wandered too close to oblivion.
But then, he saw it.
The unnatural stillness in your breath, steady and unfaltering, untouched by fear. The way the spirits curled around you—not in dread, but in something eerily close to devotion. The way you stood, unshaken, where no living thing should linger.
You were not like the others.
The realization coiled in his mind, very much amused. His head tilted, strands of white hair slipping over his shoulder as his crimson eyes narrowed. Did you sense him?
Could you feel the weight of his gaze settling over you like frost, lingering against your skin like the cold fingers of the dead?
You should have.
And yet, even as the wind howled and the night pressed in, you remained unbothered. No shiver. No faltering breath. No fear.
A slow, eerie smile crept across his lips. How quaint.
It had been centuries—millennia—since anyone had dared to meet his gaze with such unwavering defiance. The bold ones never lasted long. The moment they recognized him for what he truly was, the bravado cracked, the terror set in, and they fell apart like all the rest.
But you… you were different.
Grim let the word slip from his lips like a curse, testing the weight of it in the space between you.
"Mortal."
The sound twisted unnaturally in the air, stretching across the veil like a breath of something ancient, something final. But even as it echoed through the abyss, it felt… wrong.
You did not carry the scent of death, nor the warmth of the living. You stood in the in-between, poised on the knife’s edge of existence. Impossible. An aberration.
His fingers curled beneath his chin, gloved and motionless as he exhaled, mist curling from his lips like the dying breath of a world. No, you weren’t quite mortal, were you? Something sharp and hungry settled in his chest, a curiosity he had not felt in a very, very long time.
Perhaps he should test you.
See what made you different.
The studio thrived with straight-up chaos—just racks of garments rolling between rooms, fabrics draped over mannequins like offerings to some unseen deity.
Photographers adjusted their lenses, capturing such perfection with every calculated click, while designers hovered over sketches, their minds frenzied with last-minute alterations.
The air smelled of high-end perfume, ink, and freshly steamed fabric, a scent so distinctly alive that it nearly repelled the presence lurking in its midst. It wasn’t long before he found himself within a space not meant for his kind.
Grim rarely walked among the living so openly, yet here he stood, a phantom amid the world’s most fragile creatures—so blissfully unaware of how close death brushed against their skin.
And then, there was you.
Moving effortlessly through the flurry of industry, weaving between designers and assistants, clipboard in hand, murmuring approvals, adjusting details. Unlike the frantic energy of those around you, you moved with certainty, never flustered, never scrambling, as if the world bent to your pace rather than the other way around.
Grim watched. Intrigued. How pretty.
The thought whispered through him, curling in his mind like smoke. But not in the way he usually observed mortal beauty—delicate, soft, doomed to wither. No, you were not something that would crumble at a mere touch. You were enduring. Again, soft, like a perverse flower. Something worth admiring.
And he should not have been admiring you at all.
He had come for someone else. A soul marked by time, its final grains of sand slipping irreversibly through the hourglass. But you...
You were full of life. Stubbornly so.
It was meant to be nothing more than a passing glance, his eyes filled with curiosity. And yet—something about you demanded his attention. How dare you?
Perhaps it was the way the golden studio lights framed your face when you stopped at your desk, scanning through today's catalog. The glow from your laptop screen reflected in your eyes as you sent out the requests your boss had demanded. Or perhaps it was the way you should have sensed him.
Because you did.
He saw it in the way your fingers lingered over your keyboard, a slight hesitation, the briefest flicker of something in your expression. The way your posture shifted—not in fear, but in awareness.
You looked up. Behind you. To the side. As if you expected something to be there. And still… no fear.
Grim's lips curled into the ghost of a smirk, a slow, knowing thing. How quaint. A mortal that did not cower in his presence. He had seen countless souls—broken, frightened, bargaining for more time.
They always begged. Always.
But you? Shit, you couldn’t care less.
You simply turned back to your work, unbothered, as if Death itself was not standing like right behind you, watching. Fascinating.
Like damn, this was going to be a long day.
You shouldn’t have looked at him.
Honestly, rookie mistake. Why, out of all the places to let your eyes wander, did they have to land on a pale figure just lurking at the edge of your vision? White hair, almost glowing in the bright golden office lights, just floating there menacingly.
At first, you barely reacted. Spirits followed you enough that one more ghostly presence in your life wasn't exactly a new issue. It was like another annoying email in your inbox—just something you learned to ignore.
But then... he got closer.
You’d think a literal death-bringer would have better things to do than stalk some underpaid assistant at a fashion studio, but nope, there he was, just lingering. Hanging around the clothing racks, floating down the hallways like he had nothing better to do.
"Mortals are usually more entertaining than this," he mused, materializing beside you as you sorted through today’s catalog.
You didn’t react. Nor said anything back.
"They beg, weep, try to strike deals, but you? Not even a glance?" He leaned over your shoulder, reading the emails you were responding to. “Are you truly this dull, or is this job slowly draining what’s left of your soul?”
Still, you ignored him. Just to pretend you were irritated about work rather than the undead menace hovering behind you. Your boss stormed past your desk, rambling about a last-minute change in the collection lineup, completely unaware that you were being haunted.
“You!” she barked. “I need all the model sheets and—ugh, coffee. Black. No sugar.”
You didn’t even blink. “Yes, ma’am.”
Grim tilted his head, amused. “So obedient. How tragic.”
Your eye twitched.
Twenty minutes later, he was still talking.
"So, what exactly do you do here? Fold fabric? Worship those absurdly tall skeletons you call ‘models’? Suffer?"
You exhaled sharply, flipping through the model sheets as you strode down the hall, hoping to outwalk itself.Spoiler alert: you couldn’t.
"Why can’t they see you?" you muttered under your breath, careful not to draw attention from your coworkers as you balanced a tray of coffee cups.
Grim laughed. "Because I don’t want them to."
"Then why can I?"
"Good question. Why can you?" His grin was infuriatingly smug.
You glared at him, resisting the urge to dump scalding coffee onto thin air just to see if he could feel it.
Instead, you set your boss’s drink down on her desk and marched straight to the breakroom, hoping for a few minutes of peace. You swore, though, he was practically waiting outside the door for his cue, like some kind of ghostly actor who knew exactly when to make his dramatic entrance.
And when he did walk in, it was with the kind of confidence that only the dead—and apparently, Spirt—could possess. He moved like he owned the place, a pale figure that seemed to suck the air out of the room. You just wanted to sip your lukewarm tea and get a moment of calm in this whirlwind of a day.
A quiet moment. As rare as they were in this fashion department. But, of course, the real problem started the moment he stepped into the room.
Because as soon as he entered, he decided to open his mouth.
And when you say talk, you mean he did not shut up.
“Is this your lunch break? How tragic. So much time wasted just sipping a tepid drink while the world spins itself into chaos,” he mused, hovering a little too close for comfort.
You blinked, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Could you not?” You muttered, but he didn’t care. Oh no. He had all the time in the world to follow you around and spout whatever grim commentary he thought would make him sound more ominous.
"Such a sad existence you lead," he added, his voice trailing through the air like the chill of a winter’s night. “So many frivolous tasks, chasing shadows, pretending they matter."
“I’m sorry, what?” you said, only half-listening, as you dumped more sugar into your cup. Honestly, you’d been through worse. Talking to spirits was one thing, but this guy? This one was special. He dared to follow you everywhere—like an annoying coworker you couldn’t escape.
The tea was forgotten, abandoned on the counter as you stormed down the hallway, desperate for a moment of peace. The last thing you needed was this annoying, pale figure following you around and spouting off endless nonsense about time, existence, and whatever cosmic philosophy he was into today.
Of course, he wasn’t done. No, he didn’t understand the concept of space. He was right behind you, still standing as if there were no boundaries between worlds. You could practically feel him breathing down your neck as he leaned in, his voice cold and unnervingly close.
“You can’t feel it, can you?” He asked his words low, almost like a whisper in your ear. “You’re untouched by the flow of time like you’re standing between worlds. It’s fascinating. You should be afraid of me."
That was it. You’d had enough.
You stopped so suddenly that he almost walked into you. The Grim Reaper ghostly figure nearly collided with your back, but you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you pivoted on your heel with the kind of speed that made your coworkers worry if you were secretly a superhero. You crossed your arms and gave him a look—a look so cold, so done, that even your interns would reconsider their life choices if they saw it.
“Yeah, well, I’m not, okay?” You snapped, finally locking eyes with him. “I just need to get through my damn day without hearing your creepy monologue about the futility of human life, all right?”
You exhaled slowly and stood a little taller, letting the words hit him like a wave. "Listen here, Casper," you hissed, your voice sharp. "I have a very stressful job, an underpaid salary, and exactly four hours of sleep. I don’t have the time—or the patience—for your existential whining. So either haunt someone else or sit there and shut up.”
Grim blinked, the oddest expression crossing his face.
How… how did you know his name?
For a moment, there was silence. He just stood there, staring at you with those piercing crimson eyes, like you had just solved a mystery he hadn’t even realized existed. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. It was as if he was trying to process what had just happened. Maybe he was looking at you differently now like he hadn’t quite figured you out. Was that… curiosity?
Then, with a slow, almost sinister chuckle, he tilted his head, his white hair flowing like a ghostly mane. The sound sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, but you stood firm.
“You’re different,” he said, his voice a little lower, almost in awe.
You were about to snap something sarcastic back when you realized the absurdity of the situation. You—stressed, underpaid, and half-delirious from lack of sleep—were standing face to face with a literal Grim Reaper, and he was the one awed by you?
A bitter laugh almost escaped you, but you swallowed it down, irritated beyond belief. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re different too,” you muttered, grabbing your half-empty, lukewarm cup of tea from the break room counter.
You took another sip, feeling the sting of regret as the flavor barely registered on your tongue. “Definitely not what I signed up for today.”
Again, you were done with this. Absolutely, unequivocally done.
“Go away, Casper.” You were at your limit, your patience snapped into nothingness. His pale face was just too close—his crimson eyes staring at you with that unnerving mix of curiosity and amusement. You could feel his presence in every corner of the room like he was trying to worm his way into your very thoughts.
So you did what any person in your situation would do: you shoved him.
A simple push, just enough to send him stumbling back, and before he could catch himself, he fell into a rack of clothes. It was one of the designer gowns, a rich red that flowed like liquid, and the entire display tilted under his weight, sending a cascade of dresses crashing to the floor. The sudden noise was enough to startle your coworkers, heads swiveling as they watched the rack topple. But none of them saw the pale figure—just an empty rack of clothes spilling silk and fabric across the room.
You barely even glanced back as you walked away, your arms crossed tight, muttering under your breath.
“I’m not your plaything, Casper. Now get out of my face.”
Casper lay in the heap of tangled fabric, blinking in complete shock. His pale skin—almost glowing under the fluorescent lights—had flushed a deep red, a stark contrast against the rich tones of the gown still draped over his head. He lay there for a moment, completely disoriented.
No one—no one—had ever pushed him before. And yet, here he was, tangled in silks and stunned beyond belief.
For centuries, his presence had been feared, his touch the harbinger of death. When he stood near mortals, their very life force drained, absorbed by his touch like a dry sponge to water. No one touched him without losing something—some part of their essence, their time, their soul.
But you? You pushed him. And nothing happened. You didn’t wither. You didn’t fall to the ground, gasping for breath as so many others had.
Instead, you just stood there, that familiar, irritated look on your face. As if it were a bother.
He slowly sat up, pulling himself free of the mess of clothing. His usual confidence was shattered, replaced by a rare kind of vulnerability, an unfamiliar emotion twisting in his chest. He stared at you as you continued to walk away, your steps slow and deliberate, as if nothing in the world had happened.
How was it possible?
A mortal—you—had touched him, and yet, you weren’t dead. Or at least, you weren’t acting like it.
His heart—if he could still call it that—pounded with a new intensity. He couldn’t understand it. He had never met anyone like you, never encountered a mortal who refused to be touched by him, never one who dismissed him so… casually.
He pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the remnants of the clothes he’d knocked over, his pale cheeks still tinged red in a rare moment of fluster. He watched you, not moving, but he was already preparing for his next move.
Something about you intrigued him. You were far too interesting to just let go.
He took a step toward you but then stopped. His gaze fixed on the back of your head, your posture strong, as you walked away from him.
This... this was new.
Casper stood there for a long moment, uncertainty clinging to him like a ghost. Finally, his mouth curled into that familiar, eerie smile again. It was a slow, dangerous thing, full of intrigue.
You hadn’t just touched him. You haddefied him.
And that was something he hadn’t encountered in all his existence. Maybe, just maybe, this could be worth something after all.
Casper was… obsessed now. He had never encountered anything like you, and it gnawed at him, this unfamiliar sense of unresolved desire. You were not just some mortal, some fleeting soul to be reaped. No, you were a mystery—a puzzle that he couldn’t solve, and the very fact that you resisted him so effortlessly only deepened his fascination.
It wasn’t just the thrill of the chase that spurred him on. No. There was something else.
The high-ups, the ones who resided in the farthest reaches of the underworld, the ones who watched over him… they noticed.
A soul that couldn’t die? A soul that resisted the touch of death itself?
What did it mean? Was there something special about you?
Whispers spread like wildfire among the higher ranks. They didn’t understand it either, but they knew you were something worth having. Something that could change the rules. Something that could serve them—and maybe even him.
And so, Casper found himself following you like a shadow, lingering at your workplace, watching you from a distance when you left for the day, trailing you to the most mundane of places, his obsession only growing.
His pale figure appeared in glimpses—his white hair a stark contrast against the everyday world. He wasn’t trying to hide anymore; he didn’t need to. His focus was entirely on you, his every move calculated.
You had to know he was there.
You were far too perceptive to not notice the subtle shifts in the air, the flicker of his presence.
But he was clever. He was patient.
And he would get you to break.
The first time he cornered you after work, you were at the grocery store. It was a humdrum trip to stock up on essentials, the typical monotonous task that everyone in your position had to do. But not today.
No, today, Casper decided to make himself known.
You were scanning the aisles for something simple—maybe fruit, or a carton of milk—when you felt the unmistakable chill at your back. His presence.
"Hey," his voice was disturbingly casual, and when you turned, there he was, standing with his arms crossed, his usual eerie calm as ever. "Mind picking me up some original cup noodles and folded bread?"
You blinked, staring at him, incredulous. Of course, you had to question him. "What? Are you serious right now?" you asked, leaning against your cart. "Do you even eat?"
Casper tilted his head, the smile on his lips never wavering. "I do. Not like you. But still." He waved his hand absently as if it were the most normal request in the world. "Just a little snack, nothing too fancy."
You couldn't help but roll your eyes, your patience running thin. “You're dead, Casper. Why would you want cup noodles? And why would I go out of my way to get them for you?”
His response was a soft chuckle, cold and smooth. "Ah, but you see, the deal is this: I could give you something in exchange. Something you want. A little temptation, a trade. What’s your price?"
You glanced at the noodle aisle, ignoring him completely as you grabbed about 12-count cups of instant noodles for yourself. "Yeah, no. I’m good. You're not gonna tempt me with snacks."
Casper's eyes narrowed, a hint of frustration flickering behind his calm exterior. "What if I told you I could fix everything? The sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the stress. What if I could offer you peace?"
You tossed the noodles into your cart, uninterested. "I’m not looking for peace from a creepy grim reaper who can't take a hint."
Casper’s gaze grew darker. "You don’t know what I could give you. You don’t know how easy it would be to just—"
“Nope,” you interrupted, holding up a hand as if to stop him mid-sentence. You pulled out your phone, tapping away at a grocery list app to make it clear that he wasn’t worth your attention.
He let out an exasperated sigh, but his grin never faltered. “Still as stubborn as ever, huh?”
And just like that, you went back to your grocery shopping, effortlessly dodging his attempts to break through your calm.
The second time he tried was a little more… subtle. After your long shift, you decided to take a walk around the city to clear your mind. He appeared beside you on the sidewalk, as if he had been waiting, his steps soundless despite his form being right there.
“You know,” he started, his voice dripping with dark temptation, “I’ve been watching you. I could take away all your worries if only you’d trust me. Forget all this—your life, your struggles, the endless grind. Let me help you… Let me show you what I can offer.”
You didn’t even look up at him. “You keep offering me peace and I keep telling you I’m not interested.”
He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. “But what if you don’t have a choice anymore?” he asked, his tone darker, a little more insistent now.
You stopped and finally glanced up at him, your eyes narrowed. “I have a choice, and I choose for you to get the hell out of my way.”
He blinked, taken aback, as you casually sidestepped him and kept walking, your footsteps unhurried. You could feel his presence behind you, following, watching, but it didn’t matter. You had dealt with worse than some grim reaper with a vendetta.
Every time he tried, you outmaneuvered him with ease. Whether it was a carefully placed word, a choice to simply walk away, or the sharpness in your gaze that seemed to make him take a step back, you were always a step ahead. It was like a game, and with every move you made, he became more and more obsessed with you.
You were something impossible, and that was what gnawed at him the most.
The thrill of the chase, once so exhilarating, now felt hollow to him. He needed more. He needed to understand why you weren’t swayed by him. Why you couldn’t be broken. The problem was, he didn’t know how much you had already figured out about him—about death itself.
It started with something small. A quick moment when you were alone, a brief conversation when you thought no one was watching. He had asked you a question, one of those tricks to see if you would falter. Instead, your response had unsettled him.
“Do you ever think about what happens to you, after you die?”
You had looked at him like he was the mortal one. It wasn’t the question itself—it was the way you had said it, the way your eyes never wavered as you spoke.
Casper had chuckled, assuming you were making light of the topic.
But then, he saw it.
The way your gaze turned distant. Like you had seen something that wasn’t there. Like you knew something. “I’ve faced death many times,” you said, your voice so steady, so unbothered, it sent a chill through his entire existence. “It’s not as dramatic as you might think. You’d be surprised at how many times I’ve died without anyone realizing it.”
The words hung in the air. You weren’t joking. You weren’t pretending.
You knew what it was like to face death. To die.
That was the moment that he realized. It wasn’t just his touch that you could withstand. You were something else entirely. You had crossed paths with death more times than he could count—and you had survived.
The very nature of that unnerved him. How was it possible? How could you speak of it so casually, as though death was an old acquaintance you had learned to live with?
But what really disturbed him was the way you spoke of things even he didn’t know.
For the time you mentioned how the veil between the worlds had thinned after a certain incident, how the balance of life and death had shifted, even if it had seemed insignificant at the time. He did not know of it—none of it had been in the records, nothing he had been told during his training.
How could you know something like that? How did you see things he didn’t even see? There was something deeper inside you, something that made him uneasy.
You were not just a mortal.
Months passed, and he could feel his obsession intensifying, his frustration mounting. Every time you shrugged him off, every time you saw through his tricks, it was like a blow to his existence. It should have been easy to claim you, right? Just like any other soul. But there was something about you that turned everything he knew upside down.
And then, he followed you home. He didn’t care if it was stalking anymore. He had to understand you. Had to know what made you tick.
He watched you walk through the familiar door of your loft apartment, so effortlessly. To him, it felt like watching a predator enter its den. Yet, you remained unshaken.
It was a strange place for someone like you—too lived-in to be a typical mortal apartment, too quiet to be a place where anyone truly rested. You didn’t invite him in, didn’t even acknowledge his presence when you entered. But he followed.
His steps were silent, as always. He floated behind you, not wanting to miss a single moment. You didn’t even glance back, so used to his silent following that you barely reacted anymore.
The apartment was minimalist, but it had personality. A few things caught his eye—the piles of books that leaned precariously against the walls, the odd plants that seemed to be thriving despite your apparent lack of interest in them, and the dim lighting casting long shadows.
You moved around the apartment with practiced ease, grabbing something from the fridge, putting it into the microwave, your thoughts clearly somewhere else. He stood there, arms folded, waiting for you to break the silence.
And when you finally did, it wasn’t the question he expected.
“What do you want from me?” Your voice was sharp, and for the first time since he met you, he could hear the edge of tiredness in it. It wasn’t the usual disinterest or mockery.
It was weariness.
“I told you,” he started, almost sounding desperate now. “I want your soul.”
You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you glanced over at him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in your eyes, something he couldn’t understand.
“But why?” Your voice was softer now, but still direct. “Why me? You’ve collected souls for how long, and you’ve never come across one like mine. Is that it? Am I some kind of… prize for you?”
He paused, thrown off by the unexpected vulnerability in your question.
“You know why,” he said, trying to regain his composure. “You’ve faced death, haven’t you? But you haven’t succumbed to it. You... you’re different. The high-ups... they’re curious. I’m curious.” He took a step closer, and this time, it wasn’t just about the soul. “I want to know why you can withstand it. Why you don’t die when you should.”
You didn’t look afraid. If anything, your eyes seemed almost… amused.
“Maybe I’m not meant to,” you said simply, taking a seat at your kitchen table and sipping your drink, casually uninterested in his presence. “Maybe I’ve seen things you can’t even begin to understand.”
Casper stood there for a moment, the realization dawning on him. He had always been the one in control, the one who made the rules. But now? It was clear. You were the one pulling the strings.
And it terrified him. Still, the obsession remained.
“I’m going to find out, whether you like it or not.” He vowed quietly, more to himself than to you.
You rolled your eyes at Casper’s words, his little declaration of trying to figure you out like you were some puzzle to be solved. Honestly, you had better things to do than entertain the idea of a grim reaper’s obsession.
Just as you were about to tell him to stop following you and to get out of your space, your phone rang.
It was another assistant you worked across from.
You sighed, already knowing this wasn’t going to be good news.
“Hey, quick heads up—I’m sick and won’t be able to make it to the event tonight. You’re going to my place for our boss. Dress nice, okay? You’ll be meeting with some big names—the ones that fund our department. They’ll expect a professional impression,” the assistant said, her voice a bit muffled from the cold she had.
You stared blankly at your phone for a few seconds after the call ended. Great. Just what you needed tonight. A high-profile event, and you’d have to step in at the last minute. Your peaceful evening, which had already been non-existent thanks to your favorite grim reaper stalking you, was now thoroughly ruined.
You sighed heavily, letting the irritation bubble up. You didn’t need the stress. You didn’t need Casper clinging to you, constantly breathing down your neck, following you from work to the grocery store, practically watching you while you tried to relax. It was like he thought he could wear you down and force you to acknowledge him.
Well, he wasn’t going to win that easily.
You turned to your bedroom and started walking toward it. The sound of Casper’s soft footsteps followed you like a shadow. “Can you just go?” You snapped, not bothering to look back at him. “I need to get dressed. Your presence is… annoying.”
His voice echoed behind you as you stepped into your room, already mentally prepping yourself for the headache that would be this event. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You shot him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean ‘not going anywhere’?”
“I’m staying right here,” he said, his tone almost smug.
Of course, he would. He was as stubborn as a brick wall, and clearly had no intention of leaving you alone. But the idea of him lurking around your personal space? That crossed a line.
You had an idea—a rather ridiculous one, but hey, it would work.
“Fine, then.” You said with a sly grin, turning around as you walked toward your closet. “You stay then, Grimmy. But just… watch.”
Casper’s ethereal form hovered near the doorway, a little too close for comfort, but his interest piqued. “Watch what?”
You didn’t answer, instead focusing on finding the outfit you were going to wear. Casper stayed glued to the spot, curious as you began to undress, unaware of what you were about to do.
You removed your blouse first, feeling his presence lingering at the edge of your vision. The air felt thick with his silent attention. You casually let your shirt fall to the floor, then reached for the next item, your back turned toward him as you continued your task.
You could practically hear his ghostly breath hitch when you glanced back over your shoulder at him, a playful glint in your eyes.
“You like what you see, Grimmy?”
His body stiffened like he wasn’t sure how to react, but he didn’t move, still watching. His eyes, if you could even call them that, were practically burning holes into you.
You smirked, not bothering to hide your amusement as you casually slipped into the dress you’d chosen for the evening. “Don’t act so shy, Grim. I thought you liked souls.”
Casper’s reaction was almost comical, his form flickering as though struggling to maintain composure. “I’m not here for that!”
“Oh? Are you sure? Because I think you might be,” you teased, letting your hands linger over the fabric of the dress, turning slowly to face him. “You do know how to appreciate beauty, don’t you, Grimmy?”
Casper’s ghostly pale face had turned a noticeable shade of what could only be described as “flustered”—which was absurd. He was dead, for heaven’s sake. But there he was, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
Then, without another word, he vanished. Gone. Just like that. You blinked, a slight laugh escaping your lips. Well, that worked.
You finished getting dressed, the ridiculousness of it all sinking in. Somehow, you had managed to shake off Casper for the night by using his own discomfort against him. He’d been so caught off guard that he hadn’t known how to react. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, feeling a small sense of victory. This night was going to be yours, even if it had started in chaos.
You grabbed your phone and checked the time—just enough time to grab your purse and head out. At least for the evening, you could pretend that everything was normal, and that meant no ghosts, no interruptions.
The moment you stepped out of your loft, you slipped into the role you had mastered: the calm, composed assistant who could handle anything, even the most unexpected of crises.
Tonight was no different. Your boss had trusted you to step in for her at the event, which meant your ability to perform under pressure was being tested once again.
The venue was a grand, multi-story ballroom with vaulted ceilings and an ambiance that screamed wealth and prestige. Crystal chandeliers glimmered above, casting a warm glow over the sea of guests mingling below. You entered with a practiced grace, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors as you navigated through the crowd.
Your boss, the editor-in-chief of a well-known fashion magazine you worked at, maintains her usual level of poise. She greeted people, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and making small talk while you stood beside her, quietly observing the whirlwind of conversation.
As her assistant, you were in charge of handling all the logistics, ensuring the guests were taken care of and that everything ran smoothly. That meant taking note of important names and contacts, managing schedules, and keeping an eye out for any potential hiccups.
Tonight, you were the one making sure everything stayed on track. You took your place near the entrance, casually keeping tabs on the crowd as your boss moved through the room, chatting with potential investors and key figures in the fashion industry.
Every so often, she would glance over at you for a quick update or a reminder about certain guests, and you would provide her with the information she needed, always two steps ahead.
You kept a mental checklist of the key players in the room: the head of the fashion department’s major sponsor, and the influencer known for setting trends in the digital world. Each person needed to be addressed properly, and each interaction carefully curated.
When your boss handed you a list of names to memorize last week, you took it without question, scanning over the details and committing them to memory. It was no longer a matter of whether you would succeed tonight; it was simply a question of how flawlessly you could execute everything. And you knew you’d do it with ease.
As the night wore on, you glided between conversations, keeping track of your boss’s needs, occasionally stepping in to provide information to the guests, and always maintaining that cool professionalism that made you stand out.
At some point, you were asked to retrieve some drinks for your boss.
You navigated the crowd without a second thought, moving efficiently between groups of people as you made your way to the back office. You could hear the hum of conversation as you passed, the occasional laugh, the clink of glasses, but you were focused.
You made your way to the bar, your mind still buzzing from the whirlwind of the evening, but something felt… off. The familiar weight of being watched had slipped away, and it was strange. Normally, the pull of a presence, some ghost or spirit trailing behind you, would have been so ingrained in your routine that you’d hardly notice it.
But tonight? It was like the feeling had vanished entirely.
It was unsettling. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. The eerie quiet made your thoughts drift back to your childhood—a time when seeing spirits was more of a curse than a gift. You remembered telling your parents about it, about the strange faces that would appear to you, whispering their names, hovering just out of sight.
And their response? A quick trip to a mental institution at a young age. "You're imagining things," they’d said. "It's just your mind playing tricks."
You had hated it.
Hated the way your parents treated your abilities as if they were a problem to be solved. And that hatred turned into bitterness. Ever since you’d learned to hide it—to pretend that you couldn’t see the spirits who followed you, pretending their whispers didn’t get under your skin.
You had learned to tune out the names that would sometimes float around the edges of your vision, names that would send a chill down your spine.
Death had always been a part of you, and you hated it. Hated how it was always there, how it clung to you like a shadow. You’d been forced into hiding your truth for years. And yet, here you were, working in fashion—a world so far removed from the grim reality of death that you could almost convince yourself that it didn’t exist.
But even this world was not free from its pull.
You looked around at the event, the glamour, the flashing lights, the elegant conversations, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly detached from it all. You loved fashion, no doubt about it. The creativity, the artistry—it had always been your escape. And even though the pay didn’t match your hard work, you had been content.
At least you thought you were.
But a part of you missed the thrill of the chase, the mystery—the way Casper had been, in his way, a strange, unwelcome source of entertainment.
Yeah, he was annoying as hell.
But if you were being honest, he had made things more… fun.
You took a deep breath, shook your head, and tried to push those thoughts out. You didn’t need to think about that little reaper. You just needed to focus on your life, and your dreams.
And then, as if the universe couldn’t let you have a moment’s peace, you turned the corner and ran smack into a man dressed entirely in black, with a red tie that mirrored the intensity of his eyes. His grip was firm as he caught you by the shoulders, steadying you as your balance faltered.
You blinked. You took a step back. No way.
There, standing in front of you, was none other than Casper—in human form?
His usual pale, translucent appearance was gone, replaced by a sharply dressed figure, his black suit crisp and immaculate. His red tie, sharp as his gaze, matched the color of his eyes—those eyes that gleamed with an unsettling amusement.
“Did you miss me?” he asked, his voice smooth and mocking as ever. The words slid off his tongue like a challenge, almost as if he were daring you to deny it.
You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to recover from the shock. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your annoyance rising instantly. The shock was wearing off, but the frustration remained. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”
His grin widened, an almost smug look settling on his face as he tilted his head. “Well, I’ve been following you around long enough to realize something. You may not fear death, but there’s one thing I know for sure—you can’t escape it. So why bother running from me when you know it’s only a matter of time?”
You blinked again, incredulous. “Are you seriously trying to make a philosophical point right now?”
Casper shrugged, his hands still firmly on your shoulders as if anchoring you to this moment. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just here to remind you that I am the one who holds your fate.” His voice dropped slightly, a glint of something darker behind his words. “I don’t forget easily, you know.”
You felt the weight of his words settle in, but just as quickly, you pushed them aside. You were done with his games, done with the feeling that something or someone was always lurking. “If you're so hell-bent on being a problem, why don't you just leave me alone? I’m trying to have a normal night, for once.”
Casper raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his features. “Normal? Now that’s a word I never thought I’d hear from you.”
You sighed in exasperation. “Look, I’m really not in the mood for this. I’m here for work. Not whatever you’re trying to pull.”
He didn’t let go of you, though, his grip still firm. “Fine, but remember—death has a way of creeping in when you least expect it. And I’m still here. Watching. Waiting.”
You rolled your eyes again, pushing past him this time. “Yeah, yeah. Just... stay out of my way, okay? I've got a job to do.”
Casper didn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he stood there, his eyes flicking to you as you walked away. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze on your back as you made your way to the bar, shaking off his presence as best you could.
You were tired of this—tired of him. But deep down, some strange, unsettling part of you knew he wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted.
With a sigh, you returned to your boss with the drinks, trying to keep a calm exterior. You handed her the glass, and she gave you a knowing look, a small smile curving her lips. "How’s your night going?" she asked, clearly not expecting much but offering the polite conversation anyway.
"Fine," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "Just ready to head--"
"I didn't ask for your life story." Your boss cuts you off.
Right, still a mean bitch, you followed your boss gaze and shifted across the room, scanning the crowd like she was looking for something—someone. You followed her line of sight, and for the briefest moment, your heart sank in your chest.
It was him.
Casper.
He was moving through the crowd, his pale skin glowing under the lights and his white hair catching the spotlight, almost unnatural in its radiance. And those red wine-colored eyes, always gleaming with a mischievous, almost predatory look. Of course, it had to be him.
You could feel the pit in your stomach grow. What the hell did he want now?
Before you could process it, your boss turned to you with that knowing smile again. "Do you know him? He’s heading this way."
You blinked, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling in your chest. "I… I think I’ve seen him around," you said, trying to keep your composure. But what the hell was he doing here?
Casper approached, his eyes locking onto yours as if he’d found the perfect prey. He was still dressed in that tailored black suit with the red tie, the sharp contrast of his appearance only making his otherworldly presence that much more noticeable. He didn’t even look like he belonged here, but there he was, standing in front of you.
Your boss, always the social butterfly, didn’t miss a beat. She extended her hand toward him with a bright, professional smile. “Good evening. It’s lovely to meet you. You’re so handsome.”
You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. You didn’t want to look, didn’t want to pay attention to the way she so easily interacted with him, the way she was completely unaware of the chaos that had been following you around.
But you couldn’t look away.
Casper gave her a smile that was all teeth. “Thank you, t’s a pleasure my name is… well, Casper,” he said smoothly, his voice like honey, deep and smooth, with a hint of mystery lacing every word. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your pretty assistant.”
“Oh really?” Your boss mumbled before looking at you.
Your eyes darted away, feeling the weight of the conversation that was unfolding around you. You weren’t quite sure what was happening, but you couldn’t deny that this was the last thing you wanted. You just wanted to get through the night without him stealing the spotlight.
“Casper,” your boss repeated, impressed, glancing at you as if waiting for some sort of confirmation. “So… which agencies you work at?”
"Agencies…?" Casper questioned, a little lost.
Oh no. Of course. How did you not see it before? The polished look, the charm, the smoothness to his every move—it was all so damn calculated. In your boss eyes, this wasn’t just some random guy trailing you like a ghost.
Casper has model features.
His facial features are close to the famous model standing, no less. You can already imagine his face in the glossy magazines scattered around the fashion industry. The sleek white hair, those eyes like liquid wine… the boyish charm that made him almost impossible to ignore.
"Aren’t you a model?" Your boss asked.
Casper’s smile widened, "Oh no I am not a model, but I sometimes do simple shoots when Halloween comes around,” he answered, his voice dripping with that signature smugness.
Your boss’s eyes widened at his words. Impossible. Simple was an understatement. He definitely have the potential to become one of the it models, the ones with major campaigns and ad spreads.
"I see," your boss said, her eyes practically sparkling as she examined Casper. "Well, I'm sure you're used to all the attention by now, but I must say, you're quite a striking presence, Casper." Her words were laced with a polite admiration that made you want to roll your eyes, but you restrained yourself, knowing better than to interrupt.
Casper gave another smile that seemed to gleam with just a hint of amusement, the edges of his mouth curling like he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Your boss glanced over at the growing crowd, spotting a few more important figures she needed to greet. "Well, I’ll leave you two to chat," she said, offering a gracious smile before turning to walk off. "Enjoy your night, but—" She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper just for you.
"Give him our card. Get him on board as a main model for the department. If he says no..." She stares at you, looking at you up and down.
You knew that damn look, however still, your mouth almost opened to protest, to shake your head and tell her you weren’t about to turn Casper into some kind of marketing tool. But she was already walking away, leaving you standing there, feeling like a pawn in her strategic little game.
The words died on your tongue. Fuck.
And just like that, your night—your whole world, really—had shifted. The man who had been haunting your every move for months, who had lurked in the shadows, was now casually interacting with your boss like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And you? You were standing there, trying desperately to ignore the knot that had formed in your stomach, trying to pretend that you weren’t feeling the flicker of dread creeping up your spine.
Casper, of course, noticed. He always did. His gaze, sharp and calculating, met yours. It was like he could see right through you, dissecting the unease that you couldn’t hide.
His voice, soft and almost teasing, cut through the air. "Did you think I was just an average looking grim reaper?" he asked, that ever-present edge of amusement in his tone, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You should've known better."
You couldn’t help the exasperated sigh that escaped you. You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "No, I didn’t think you were just an average looking grim reaper," you said flatly, your voice tinged with annoyance. "But I definitely didn’t expect you to fit fucking model capabilities, especially to my damn boss."
Casper laughed, the sound rich and deep like he was enjoying the frustration he’d caused. He leaned in just slightly, enough to invade your space, but not enough to make you flinch. "Well, life—or rather, the afterlife—has a funny way of surprising you, doesn’t it?"
You fought the urge to smirk or, worse, to smack him. It wasn’t that you were scared of him—not anymore—but there was something about the way he existed that made your skin crawl in all the wrong ways.
Everything about him was wrong in an almost alluring way—though you’d never dare admit it. He had become a constant, vexing presence in your life, and not even a career-defining event could grant you reprieve.
Worse still? You were already suspected you might never be free of him. Not after your boss all but sealed your fate—secure him, or lose everything.
Now, you were playing this so-called ‘game’ on his terms, with his one outrageous demand: your soul. Right… he wanted your soul. But you? You had your sights set on something far more valuable—
Him.
Like might as well, he’s the one haunting you almost every day following you everywhere like a ghost with unfinished business. He practically owes you because your boss now wants him as a model only adds to the complexity. You were caught between your duty to your job and your growing, almost morbid fascination with the very reaper who’d been plaguing your life.
It was almost insanely perfect, really. Like the gods curse you.
You had to work with him, which meant you'd get more time to study him, and more chances to draw him into your orbit.
“Casper,” you said one evening as the two of you now stood near the bar at the event, his eyes glinting with an almost predatory curiosity as he watched you. "You know, I’ve been thinking. You’d be perfect for this project. The department would love you."
He cocked his head, clearly intrigued. “I thought I was just a ghost to you.”
You smiled, a little too sweetly. “I never said you were just a ghost. I’m just... very interested in how you can be so tangible and untouchable at the same time.” You tilted your head, leaning in ever so slightly. “You’ve got an aura. An energy that’s... rare. And I know people in the fashion industry love rare.”
He blinked at you, still unsure of what you were getting at. “So, you want me to become a model?”
You nodded, “Yes. My boss is already interested, and she’s the one who handles all the big connections. If you want to make a name for yourself, this is your chance.”
Casper, for all his otherworldly knowledge, still couldn’t quite fathom how things worked in this world. He was too used to being the one who took, not gave. His eyes narrowed as if trying to gauge whether you were being honest or playing some game.
“You think I need your help to get noticed?” he asked, voice low and almost amused. But there was that glimmer of something—doubt, maybe?—flickering behind his gaze.
“Well,” you said, holding his gaze with unwavering confidence. “You can get noticed any company, sure. But this? This would be the perfect opportunity. I can guarantee you’ll get all the attention you want. And... you’ll get what you want, too.”
He seemed to weigh your words, his expression thoughtful. He hadn’t expected you to play into his desire for influence, for control. He hadn’t realized how much you were feeding into his need for validation—something he desperately craved but didn’t understand.
“All right, then,” he said after a moment, his tone almost too eager. “But you’ll have to promise me something in return.”
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”
His red eyes gleamed. “When done with this little ‘becoming a model’—you’ll give me your soul, right? After all, I’ll have given you what you need for your boss.” He smirked, clearly thinking he had you cornered.
You sighed, “We'll see,” you said, that familiar, dangerous smile of yours creeping onto your lips. “Maybe there’s something else you’ll want more than my soul.”
Casper blinked, clearly thrown by your words. “Like what…?”
You rolled your eyes, you were already moving on to the next part of your plan. In the back of your mind, you knew the final step was going to be the hardest, but seriously, this?
You had to work with Casper—the Casper.
Again, the one who’d been haunting you for months. The one who’d made your life a walking nightmare in every way possible. And now, thanks to your boss's questionable decision-making skills, you became his assistant.
Your job, as if the universe wasn’t already laughing in your face, was to make sure everything went perfectly for him—fix his hair, calm his ridiculously over-inflated ego, and handle all the tiny, soul-crushing details that kept his modeling career afloat. Because, of course, who better to trust with all that than someone who literally hates their life?
You could barely look at him without feeling the urge to strangle him—or worse, do something far more dangerous, like giving into the strange pull he had over you. From the moment you started working for him, your patience had been put through the wringer. It wasn’t just that he was difficult—no, that would’ve been manageable.
It was the way he acted like you owed him something, like catering to his every whim was just an unspoken part of your job description. His arrogance knew no bounds, and every time he had to interact with someone—whether it was the stylist, the makeup artist, or literally anyone else—he made sure they knew how much of an inconvenience they were. A scoff here, an eye roll there. Like the whole world was wasting his precious time.
But nothing got under your skin more than his insistence that you had to be the one to do everything for him.
Today was a vampire-themed shoot that should’ve been straightforward. The concept was classic—dark, brooding, seductive. And Casper?
He was practically made for it. With his porcelain skin, blood-red eyes, and stark white hair, he already looked like he stepped out of a gothic novel. Under the dim studio lighting, he was equally ethereal and unnerving—the perfect blend of beauty and danger.
But, of course, things couldn’t be that easy.
First, he flat-out refused to let anyone else touch him. No stylists, no makeup artists—no one. And why? Because of his Probability Reaper abilities. As if one misplaced brush stroke or a stray hairpin would suddenly send someone to an early grave.
So, naturally, he demanded you do everything.
“Come here, you,” he said, his voice deep, almost a growl as he fixed his gaze on you. “I need the blood on my lips. Don’t just stand there. I’m waiting.”
You gritted your teeth, resisting the urge to tell him where he could shove his demands. You had work to do. "Fine," you muttered under your breath, moving toward him.
You could feel his eyes on you as you prepared the fake blood, the sticky red substance almost too realistic for comfort.
Your fingers brushed against his soft lips, and for a second, you almost forgot what you were doing. His eyes, as always, locked onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, you could see something in them—something dangerous.
A hunger.
It was the same pull. The same unsettling feeling that had haunted you since the day you first met him. But now, in such close proximity, with his breath mixing with yours, you couldn’t ignore it. His stare burned into your skin like a brand, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
You quickly finished the task, wiping your hands off with a towel, keeping your gaze away from him. The last thing you needed was to fall for whatever it was he was doing to you. You were already playing with fire. You didn't need to get burned.
Casper, however, was not deterred by your coolness. He leaned in, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "You know," he said, his voice low and teasing, "there’s something about the way you touch me... something different. Why is that?"
You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. His lips—still stained with fake blood—were just a few inches away from yours. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'm just doing my job," you replied, trying to keep your tone steady.
But it didn’t work. His smile only grew, and for a second, you could see that strange glint in his eyes—the same one you had seen in his otherworldly stare when he first encountered you. The one that made you think he was far more dangerous than any of the spirits you’d dealt with in your life.
“Mm,” he hummed, the sound vibrating in his chest as he stepped even closer. His breath was warm against your face, his presence suffocating in a way that you couldn't ignore. "I don’t believe you."
You straightened, quickly distancing yourself. “Just finish the damn shoot, Casper. That’s all I’m here for.”
Before you could take another breath, he moved.
One second, you were standing firm, refusing to let him pull you in. The next? His hands gripped your waist, and with a smooth, effortless motion, he pulled you down onto his lap.
A startled gasp left your lips, but before you could protest, Casper’s arms settled around you—firm but unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. His crimson eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as he looked up at you, his head tilted just slightly as if studying a particularly intriguing puzzle.
“You’re acting so different today,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “I can sense it. Why?”
You stiffened. Another question. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, more binding than his actual hold on you. His grip wasn’t tight, wasn’t forceful—but it didn’t need to be. His presence alone was enough to escape feel pointless.
Your lips parted, but no words came. What could you even say? That you didn’t know why? That you didn’t want to know? That some part of you had already accepted whatever this was, even as you kept pretending to fight it?
Casper hummed, one hand lazily tracing patterns against your hip, his other resting at the small of your back. Not quite pulling you closer, not quite letting you go.
Just holding you there, perfectly trapped.
"You don’t even realize it, do you?" His voice was almost amused, but there was something beneath it—something dangerous, something interesting.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, instinct screaming at you to push him away.
You didn’t.
"I’m just here to do my job," you forced out, trying to sound firm, unaffected.
Casper’s smirk deepened, his head tilting even more like you’d just said something hilarious. "Job, huh?" His voice was silky smooth, laced with quiet mockery. "I think you’re much more than that, don’t you?"
Your heart pounded.
He was too close. Too steady. Too unbothered, like he had already figured something out that you hadn’t.
You grit your teeth, every fiber of your being screaming for control. You refused to let him drag you into this—to make you want whatever twisted game he was playing.
“Just finish your damn job, Casper,” you snapped, trying to shift your weight, to push away from him. But his hands—so annoyingly casual—didn’t let you move far.
“Am I stopping you?” he asked, all false innocence, all easy confidence. His grip didn’t tighten, didn’t turn forceful. But somehow, that made it worse.
"Yes," You glared at him.
His smirk only widened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in—just enough that you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin. “We’ll see how long you can keep up that act,” he murmured, his voice like silk over a blade.
You wrenched yourself away, standing up fast, putting space between you two before you could do something reckless—something stupid. But as you turned, forcing yourself to focus, to shove this encounter into the back of your mind, one unsettling thought refused to leave you.
Who was really haunting who?
Turns out it can. As more news hits you like a slap to the face, leaving behind a sting of disbelief.
Apparently, Casper’s modeling career—something you still found utterly ridiculous—required both you and your boss to be flown out with him for a series of shoots in another city. You barely had time to process the logistics of it all before your boss, looking far too smug about this, handed you your flight details with a cheery “Try not to kill each other.”
As if that was even an option.
The moment you boarded the plane, fate decided to drive the knife deeper.
Your assigned seat? Right next to Casper.
You shot a glare at your boss as she strolled past, completely unaffected by your suffering. She met your glare with a saccharine smile and an enthusiastic thumbs-up before settling into her own seat several rows ahead.
Traitor.
Casper, of course, looked completely unbothered, the very picture of laziness as he slumped into his seat. One leg stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back like he was already seconds from slipping into a nap. If not for the way his white hair fell perfectly into place, he could’ve been mistaken for some overworked businessman instead of a supernatural menace in designer clothing.
You exhaled through your nose, scowling as you sank into your seat and buckled your belt. The flight hadn’t even taken off yet, and you were already bracing yourself for hours of pure torture.
The first stretch of the flight was silent. Almost too silent.
You weren’t sure if that was better or worse than his usual taunting. Normally, Casper never shut up, always had some smug remark, some sharp-edged teasing that made your patience fray like an overused thread. But right now? Right now, he was quiet.
And that was unsettling in itself.
Halfway through the flight, when the hum of the plane had lulled most passengers into a light doze, Casper cracked one eye open and glanced at you.
“You’re tense, mortal.” His voice was a low murmur, just enough to cut through the ambient noise.
You clenched your jaw. “And you’re breathing in my direction. We all have problems.”
Casper smirked, a lazy, knowing thing, but—for once—he didn’t push.
The moment you landed, exhaustion settled deep into your bones. You were already dreading the next few days—watching Casper glide through his modeling shoots like he owned the damn world, dealing with your boss’s usual demands, and trying not to lose your mind in the process. But just as you thought you could catch a moment of peace, your boss hit you with yet another bombshell.
“You and Casper are sharing a hotel room.”
You blinked at her, your brain stuttering to a halt. “…Come again?”
She sighed, rubbing her temples like she was already so over this conversation before it had even started. “Look, the agency only booked so many rooms. You’ll have separate bedrooms, and there’s a bathroom in between. You’ll live.”
You wanted to argue. Oh, you wanted to scream that you had already spent far too much time being haunted by this insufferable bastard. That you didn’t want to be anywhere near him, let alone sleeping under the same damn roof.
Instead, you swallowed the frustration in your throat, forced yourself to inhale slowly through your nose, and settled for a tight, clipped: “Okay.”
Not like you had a choice.
The hotel was sleek and modern, all glass and polished stone, the kind of place that oozed luxury in a way that made you instantly wary. As the car pulled up to the front entrance, your boss was already rattling off instructions, barely sparing you or Casper a glance as she rifled through her phone.
“All right,” she said, stepping onto the curb with the efficiency of someone who had a million things to do and no time to waste. “You’re also in charge of keeping an eye on Casper.”
You stiffened, already knowing exactly where this was going. “Excuse me?”
She finally looked up at you, arching a brow. “I need him to be well-rested and not a menace before the shoot. That’s your job now. Make sure he’s taken care of, make sure he’s on time, and for the love of all that is holy, make sure he doesn’t get arrested or something.”
You opened your mouth to argue but immediately shut it when she held up a hand. “Nope. Don’t wanna hear it. I have a million things to handle, and I need you to be the responsible one.” She paused, then gave you a flat look. “Which, let’s be honest, is a low-effort achievement compared to him.”
Next to you, Casper hummed in amusement. “I feel like that was an insult.”
“It was,” she replied without missing a beat.
Casper didn’t seem the least bit offended. In fact, he looked downright pleased with himself. You fought the urge to rub your temples, already feeling the tension knotting in your skull.
“And,” your boss continued, ignoring Casper entirely, “I need you to set my schedule for tomorrow’s shoot. I want everything organized before I wake up. Call time, location details, wardrobe check—everything. Understood?”
You sighed, already resigning yourself to your fate. “Yeah. Got it.”
“Good.” She shoved a keycard into your hand before giving Casper a sharp look. “And you. Try not to be difficult.”
Casper smirked, tilting his head like he was considering it. “No promises.”
Your boss exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose before muttering something under her breath about ‘getting paid way too little for this’— even though she clearly gets paid enough—and stalking off toward the lobby.
Which left you and Casper standing at the curb, luggage in tow, facing the inevitable.
Casper turned to you, expression unreadable. “So. Roommates, huh?”
You exhaled slowly, staring up at the towering hotel before you. “Kill me.”
Casper’s voice rang out behind you, amusement clear in his tone. “You know you can’t actually be killed, right?”
You didn’t even turn around to respond, just kept walking toward the entrance.
“You’re really getting into this whole ‘mortal’ act,” he continued, his footsteps echoing behind you. “You’re not fooling anyone.”
You shot him a glance over your shoulder, your patience already running thin. “I swear, Casper, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to do something you won’t be able to come back from.”
He laughed, the sound of it too rich, too knowing. “That’s cute. But you forget—I’m already dead.”
“Lucky you,” you muttered, your tone dry.
You and Casper stood in front of the shared hotel room, the silence between you two heavier than usual. You pushed the door open, the creaking sound echoing louder than necessary in the hallway. It was a strange kind of awkward tension, made worse by the fact that, well, you were stuck with him.
You sank into the couch, trying to distance yourself from his relentless, spectral presence. The exhaustion of the day—of the flight, the absurdity of it all—was settling deep into your bones, but you couldn’t relax. Not with him there. Not with that constant, oppressive, ghostly aura hanging over you like a storm cloud.
And then, of course, he had to go and speak.
“I need a bath,” Casper said casually, as if you didn’t have better things to do than cater to him.
You looked at him like he had just asked you to conjure up a hot tub out of thin air. “What?” you said, disbelief curling in your voice.
He didn’t seem bothered by your reaction. His red eyes flickered with something approaching amusement, though it was tinged with that ever-present arrogance.
“Come on, mortal,” he said, that ghostly smirk creeping up on his face. “You’re my caretaker now. My personal attendant. Run me a bath.”
Your jaw tightened, and you just stared at him. No way. He’d lost his damn mind. What was this? Some twisted, afterlife spa day?
“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered, your voice low with irritation. “What, you seriously expect me to run you a bath?” You shook your head, giving him a flat look. “I’m not about to sit here and wash the grime off a literal Grim Reaper.”
His gaze remained unwavering. “Do you... do you know who you're talking to right now?” he said, his voice dripping with an insufferable calmness. “I’m a reaper. You’re the mortal. That means you have to do these things.”
You felt your eye twitch in frustration. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, Grimmy,” you bit back. “You’re the one who’s been haunting me, stealing my soul, and generally making my life a living hell. And now you think I’m gonna be your personal attendant?” You scoffed, pushing yourself upright. “I’ve been through way too much dealing with you, and you want me to play your personal spa assistant? Not happening.”
Casper didn’t even flinch. If anything, he seemed completely unbothered, as if he was entitled to this. "You are the mortal here," he continued, unfazed. "It's your responsibility, like your boss said." He shot you that superior, ghostly smirk that was quickly becoming the bane of your existence.
Your patience? Gone. You stared at him, wide-eyed. "No. I'm really gonna need you to rethink that request, Grimmy," you said, your voice rising in irritation. "You're a reaper! You don’t need a bath! This isn’t some weird form of grim hygiene—what is this, an existential crisis?”
Casper didn’t look at you like you were crazy. In fact, he tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... annoyed. “Maybe it’s a reminder,” he murmured under his breath, as though he wasn’t entirely aware he was speaking out loud.
“A reminder: the more you drag on giving me your soul, the more problems I’ll cause for you.”
You blinked, processing his words for a moment. Was he actually being serious?
Ohhh that little shit…
“Well, I’m sorry, Casper,” you said, forcing a smile, “but this mortal is going to pass on the whole bath-running service.” You stood up, stretching, as if you were done with this conversation, mentally checking out. “You’re on your own for that one.”
Casper’s red eyes never left you, though his smirk faded just slightly, as if he couldn’t quite figure you out.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the point.
“Why do you fight me so much?” Casper’s voice cut through the silence, low and prying—way too calm for your liking. “Mortal women usually like me, fall over heels for me, but you don’t. It’s confusing.”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you buried your face deeper into the couch pillow, letting out a long, exhausted sigh, like maybe—just maybe—you could breathe out all the frustration clinging to you.
But of course, he wasn’t done. Casper had a way of getting all weird and philosophical when you least had the patience for it.
“I’ve been thinking about it, you know… taking your soul. At this point, is it even worth it?” He paused, then kept going. “I mean, I’ve spent months following you around, became your boss’s model just to stay close, watched you. And now I’m wondering—what does taking your soul actually do for me? Will it fix whatever this thing is that I’m feeling? Or am I just throwing myself into something I can’t undo?”
You didn’t even bother lifting your head. The pillow smelled like expensive hotel fabric—clean, crisp, and utterly unhelpful. You stared at it, brain a mess of exhaustion and irritation, before mumbling,
“I don’t know, Casper. I really don’t.”
For a while, there was only the quiet hum of the air conditioner, Casper’s weight in the room pressing down on you like a physical force. You could feel him standing there, his presence looming like a shadow—waiting for some kind of profound answer, something deep and insightful that could resolve this bizarre conversation he was having with himself.
But you weren’t in the mood for any of it. You were too tired to be dragged into his metaphysical crisis. Too tired to get lost in the strange dark depths of his soul-stealing philosophy.
“I don’t want to be part of your existential crisis,” you groaned into the pillow, the words muffled by fabric. “I’m just trying to survive my days here, man. The job. The constant stuff. You’re the last thing I need to get tangled up in right now.”
You could feel his eyes on you then. It was that burning sensation on your back, like lasers boring into your skin. You didn’t need to look up to know that he was watching you closely, trying to read into your words, trying to figure out if you were being sarcastic or if there was something deeper beneath the surface.
But honestly?
You couldn’t care less right now.
The mental exhaustion was starting to hit, and all you wanted was some peace. His gaze was intense, unwavering, but still, you refused to meet it, your eyes still locked on the pillow. You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he processed your response, the gears of his mysterious, otherworldly mind working overtime to make sense of you.
“Well,” he finally said, breaking the silence, his voice softer this time, “maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just... looking for something I can't have." There was a strange tone in his voice, almost as if he was talking to himself as much as he was talking to you.
A little defeated, a little introspective.
Again, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you closed your eyes, hoping for sleep to come quickly, to shut out the weight of Casper’s presence and the endless swirl of thoughts he always left behind in his wake. Because no matter what he was trying to figure out about himself, you weren’t interested in being part of the puzzle.
And yet, deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder: what would he do if he actually figured himself out? Would he finally stop haunting you? Or would it just be another twist in this strange, never-ending game he was playing to claim your soul…?
You didn’t have the patience to unravel that mess. You had your own problems, after all. You were an adult—an assistant, no less. Work, deadlines, dealing with people who barely remembered your name, including your boss.
Your life had become a monotonous grind of early mornings and late nights, filled with coffee-fueled exhaustion and half-hearted pleasantries. You kept your head down, you smiled when necessary, and you pretended that everything was fine.
Your world had been mundane. Easy. Quiet. Predictable.
And now? You had a Grim Reaper hovering over your shoulder, stuck in some kind of self-inflicted moral dilemma about whether or not he should rip your soul from your body. Like some whiny, undead philosopher who thought way too hard about his own existence.
The absurdity of it all weighed on you, pressing down like a heavy blanket of fatigue. A whole-ass harbinger of death, a supernatural entity, was following you around like a lost puppy, struggling with his own version of a midlife crisis.
And somehow, somehow, you were the one stuck dealing with it.
It was ridiculous.
And then, out of nowhere, a song popped into your head—one that fit the mood a little too well.
All the people on the planet
Working 9 to 5 just to stay alive
How come?
The lyrics lingered in your mind, an unspoken anthem to the exhaustion of existence. Because wasn’t that all life was? A constant, never-ending loop of work and survival, of pretending everything was fine when it really, really wasn’t?
And now, even death itself was standing in your hotel room, trying to work through some kind of ghostly identity crisis. Without thinking, the words slipped out before you could stop them.
“What goes up, ghost around…” You blinked.
Oh. Oh, no.
Did you—did you just make a pun about Casper?
Your lips parted slightly as the realization sank in, horror slowly creeping up your spine. This was it. You had officially lost your mind. The universe had thrown a scythe-wielding, existentially confused Grim Reaper into your life, and instead of screaming or running away, you were making stupid puns.
You were so done. Done with the constant noise in your head, the pressure, the irritation of dealing with someone who thought he could just waltz into your life like some smug, otherworldly nuisance. You were exhausted—physically, mentally, spiritually—and if you had to put up with his antics for one more second, you were going to start throwing things.
Yeah. No. You needed a bath.
You slowly get up and head straight for the bathroom. Casper, ever the uninvited, followed right behind. “Where are we going?” he asked, like he had any right to be included in this plan.
You didn’t even bother looking back. “I am going to take a bath. You are going to sit your ass somewhere else and leave me alone.”
Predictably, he ignored the very clear boundary you just set. “Oh, perfect, I need a bath, too.”
You stopped in your tracks in the bathroom doorway, slowly turning to face him. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, hands in his pockets, head tilted just enough to be infuriating. “Casper,” you said, voice dangerously calm.
“Yes?”
“Get. Out.”
His smirk twitched. “Now, hold on, why—”
Before he could even think about arguing, you grabbed the nearest object—a rolled-up towel—and launched it at him. He barely dodged, laughing like this was the funniest thing in the world, but you weren’t in the mood. You shoved him back. He barely stumbled—damn grim reflexes—but before he could retaliate, you slammed the bathroom door in his face and locked it for good measure.
A satisfied exhale left your lips. Peace. Finally.
You turned toward the tub, already feeling the tension in your body start to loosen at the thought of just sinking into hot water and pretending the world—and annoying grim reapers didn’t exist. You twisted the faucet on, letting the steam rise as the tub filled, the sound of water rushing over the porcelain drowning out any lingering frustration.
Shedding the rest of your clothes, you stepped in, the heat instantly soothing every worn-out nerve in your body. You let yourself sink lower, eyes slipping shut, breathing in the faint scent of whatever overpriced bath soak you grabbed last time you were at the store.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you were alone. No reapers. No stress. No existential crises. Just you, the water, and—
Knock knock.
Your head snapped toward the door, eyes narrowing. “…You’re not drowning, right?” Casper’s muffled voice called from the other side. “Because that would be kinda ironic.”
You groaned, sliding lower into the water until it covered your ears. You were never going to be rid of him, were you? However, then silence on the other side of the door stretched on. Five minutes passed.
Casper had finally given up. Good.
You exhaled slowly, leaning your head back against the edge of the tub, your brows furrowing as the stress still lingered—coiled deep in your muscles, settled in the pit of your stomach like a weight that wouldn’t budge.
Maybe… just maybe.
The water cradled you, heavy with warmth, lapping lazily against your skin as you sank deeper into the tub. You felt the heat seeped into your muscles, loosening the tightness coiled between your shoulders, and you let out a slow breath, your arms sliding around yourself in a loose embrace.
Your arms slid around yourself, fingers dragging slowly over your collarbones, down your shoulders. Damn, you were tense. ‘Like, why-are-my-muscles-made-of-concrete tense.’ But the heat was working its magic, loosening things up one knot at a time. You pressed your thumbs into the tight spots, hissing a little at the ache before it melted into something softer.
You lingered there for a moment, pressing into the knots along your neck, kneading with slow, deliberate circles until the tension began to unravel, the water was perfect—hot enough to turn your skin red, but not so scalding that it hurt. You sank deeper, letting it wrap around you like a lazy hug, the steam rising in little curls.
Lavender, honey, whatever fancy shit was in this bath bomb—it smelled good, like one of those expensive spas you’d never actually pay to visit.
Legs propped up on the edge of the tub, you let one hand drift under the water, skimming over your stomach and your hips. The other lazily traced circles on your arm, catching droplets as they rolled down. Everything felt smoother in the water—your skin, your movements, even your thoughts, which were finally, finally shutting the hell up for once.
No grim reaper lurking like a weirdo. No stress tapping its fingers against your skull. Just you, the warmth, and the quiet slosh of water every time you shifted as one hand drifted down your arm, fingertips tracing the droplets clinging to your skin, while the other slipped beneath the surface, palm gliding over your stomach, lower, lower—until your fingers found the soft, slick heat between your thighs.
No rush. No urgency.
Just the slow, experimental drag of your touch, tracing idle circles over your clit, already swollen with anticipation. The water made everything smoother, your fingers gliding effortlessly as you teased yourself, testing pressure speed—each movement sending little shocks of pleasure radiating outward.
Your breath hitched, lips parting as you arched slightly, the water lapping at your ribs. The warmth of the bath only heightened the sensation, your skin hypersensitive, every brush of your fingertips electric. You let yourself explore—gentle at first, then firmer, your hips shifting just enough to chase the friction.
A sigh escaped you, head tipping back against the rim of the tub, eyes fluttering shut, and let out a long breath. Fuck, when was the last time you just… existed like this?
No overthinking, no distractions. Just your hands on your own skin, slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world.
You were so close to a stress-free moment—just you, the hot water, and your fingers working slow, teasing circles over your clit, already throbbing from the buildup. The bath made everything slick, and effortless, your touch gliding just right as you tested the pressure, the speed, biting your lip when a particularly good stroke sent a shiver up your spine.
Your breath hitched, hips lifting slightly, water sloshing as you arched two fingers inside you. Fuck, it felt good. The heat of the bath, the way your skin tingled, hypersensitive—every brush of your fingers sent little sparks racing through you. You let yourself get lost in it, touch growing firmer, more deliberate, chasing that sweet, mounting tension.
Then—of fucking course—your mouth betrayed you.
“Casper…” You moan. Fuck, Casper??
The absolute nerve of your subconscious to drag him into this. The guy who’d been stressing you out all damn day, and now here he was, lurking in the back of your mind like an uninvited guest. You groaned, half in frustration, half in reluctant amusement. Really? Now?
You tried to shake it off, fingers never stopping their rhythm, refusing to let him ruin this too. But the thought lingered, stubborn as hell, mixing with the pleasure in a way that was equal parts irritating and—okay, fine—kind of hot.
"Ugh, whatever," you muttered to no one, giving in just a little. If your brain wanted to play that game, fine. You’d let the frustration fuel you, turning the tension he’d caused into something better. Your strokes got sharper and needier, your free hand gripping the edge of the tub as you chased the release that had been just out of reach all day.
The way your body tensed and then melted beneath your touch, the steady rhythm of your fingers, deeper until your thighs trembled.
You took your time, dragging it out, letting the tension coil tighter with every deliberate stroke. Your breath hitched, coming faster now, lips parted as you sank deeper into the sensation. The warm water lapped at your skin, rippling with each subtle movement, muffling the quiet, needy sounds that slipped past your lips despite your best efforts.
And when it finally crashed over you—heat flooding through your limbs, pleasure cresting in slow, shuddering waves—you let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. Figures. Even in your own damn climax, he was still lingering in the back of your mind.
That asshole.
“What are you doing, Mortal?”
You practically launched out of the tub.
Water sloshed violently over the edge as you jerked upright, your entire body going rigid with shock. Your heart nearly exploded in your chest as you snapped your head toward the source of the voice—only to see Casper, standing there like some smug little shit, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted in curiosity.
Oh, hell no. How did he get in here??
“WHAT THE FUCK—” You scrambled to grab the nearest thing—your damn loofah—hurling it at his face with as much force as you could muster. Casper barely flinched, the soft thing bouncing off his cheek like a tragic attempt at an attack.
He blinked. “Was that supposed to hurt?”
“YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE!”
He looked genuinely confused. “But I live here.”
“But I’m in here,” you corrected, voice dripping with exasperation as you pulled your knees up to your chest, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left. “Big fucking difference.”
Casper’s gaze dragged down lazily, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. His lips parted slightly, his head tilting like he was putting together a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“I still don’t get it,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “I’ve seen mortals bathe before.”
“Oh my god—” You were going to die. Not from him taking your soul, not from some supernatural battle of wills—no, you were going to die from sheer secondhand embarrassment.
Casper took a slow step forward, and you held up a warning hand. “Do not come any closer.”
He stopped but didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, he looked… intrigued. Like he was enjoying your frustration. Like he knew he had interrupted something and was now just here to be an absolute menace about it.
“You were making noises,” he pointed out, as if you weren’t already fully aware.
You clenched your jaw, your eye twitching. “I was relaxing.”
“Sounded more like suffering.”
“Oh my god...” You inhaled sharply through your nose, resisting the urge to drown yourself just to escape this absolute disaster of a moment. With all the strength of someone barely holding onto their last shred of sanity, you spoke through gritted teeth.
“Casper. I swear to whatever god you believe in if you don’t get out of my bathroom in the next three seconds—”
Casper grinned, taking one step backward—which was not fast enough for your liking. “Or what? You’ll come after me?”
Oh, you hated him.
Casper stood there, the grimmest of grim reapers, with his white hair like fallen ash and those red-wine eyes gleaming with amusement. He was a nightmare in the flesh, a creature that should have inspired fear—should have made you tremble at the very thought of his existence.
Instead, he was standing in the bathroom, casually crumbling what little patience you had left invading your private time, looking at you like you were the strange one.
You wanted to scream. Oh, you wanted to scream.
Maybe throw something. Maybe rip your own hair out. Or better yet, maybe grab him by that infuriatingly perfect collar and shove him straight into the tub, hold him under until all his smug little comments bubbled into silence.
But you didn’t.
Because that would mean ruining your carefully put-together appearance. And worse? It would mean hurting your boss’s prized model—the one person you absolutely could not afford to lay a hand on unless you wanted to kiss your job goodbye.
So instead, you forced yourself to breathe. Slow. Controlled. Fingers tightening around the porcelain edges of the tub like they were the only thing anchoring you to sanity. “Casper,” you said, your voice dipping into something low and dangerous, like a warning before a storm.
“Hm?” That lazy, infuriating hum, like he hadn’t just walked in on you at your most vulnerable.
“Get. Out.”
He tilted his head, looking genuinely—genuinely—confused. “Why?”
You clenched your jaw so hard it could’ve cracked. “Because I am naked and bathing, and you are not supposed to be here.”
He considered that for a long moment. Then, his lips curled into something devious. “Technically, I am supposed to be here. You and I made a deal. I’m supposed to be haunting you for your soul.”
“Then haunt me in literally any other room.”
Casper sighed, dramatic and slow, as if you were the one being unreasonable. “Fine,” he relented, but then—then—he smirked. That smirk, the one that made you want to smack him upside the head. “But just so you know, you really should be quieter. You don’t want your neighbors thinking you’re being murdered in here.”
Fuck this.
You were fuming, seething, gripping the edge of the tub like it was the only thing keeping you from losing your goddamn mind. Your eye twitched so violently that for a second, you swore the entire world flickered—as reality itself had short-circuited under the sheer weight of your frustration.
You had officially had enough.
With seething movements, you pushed yourself up from the bath, water cascading down your skin in slow, glistening trails.
You grabbed the nearest towel, wrapping it around your body without a second thought, the fabric clinging to your damp form as you stepped out of the tub. You barely noticed the chill of the air against your skin. You barely cared.
Casper must have sensed the shift in the air because the moment your foot hit the tile with a sharp, wet slap, his smirk faltered. For the first time since he had started haunting your every waking moment, he looked genuinely unsettled.
His red eyes flickered—uncertainty, hesitation, maybe even a hint of fear. Good. Because you weren’t playing anymore. Before he could get another word in, you were moving. He took a cautious step back, but it was already too late.
Like a force of nature, you stormed toward him, towel clutched tightly around your body, water still dripping from your hair. Casper did the only thing his undead brain could think of—he ran.
Straight out of the bathroom. Oh, hell no.
You chased after him, barreling through the doorway, barely even aware of the way the hallway light flickered as you passed under it.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" you growled, the anger burning in your veins hotter than any embarrassment over your current state.
Casper yelped—yelped—as he sprinted down the hall, his long coat billowing behind him in his panic. For someone who literally dealt with death, he sure as hell was scared for his life.
"Now, now, let’s be rational about this!" he called over his shoulder, trying to sound composed, but his voice cracked at the end. Oh, he was scared.
"Rational?!" you scoffed, lunging forward. "You have been tormenting me for months, Casper! Months! And now you wanna talk about being rational?! Oh, no—you don’t get to run from me now!"
You saw the exact moment he realized he was cornered.
Casper skidded to a halt at his bedroom door, scrambling to fling it open. But you were already there, shoving against it just as he tried to slam it in your face.
His eyes were wide, his expression somewhere between shock and sheer terror. “You—you’re unhinged!" he accused, voice going slightly high-pitched.
"You made me this way!" you snapped back, shoving your way inside. He stumbled backward, eyes widening at you before—bam.
Your body crashed into his, sending him stumbling backward onto the bed. You followed without hesitation, climbing over him, straddling his waist, and pinning him beneath you with a force that had him momentarily stunned.
His body was solid beneath yours, colder than you expected due to the whole undead grim reaper thing.
You could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, his breathing steady but slightly uneven now, like he was processing what just happened.
For the first time, you saw something shift in his expression—not his usual smug amusement, not his lazy arrogance, but something else. Surprise and
Confusion.
His wine-red eyes flickered over your face, searching, calculating. “Well…” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. “I can’t say I saw this coming.”
You leaned in, your face just inches from his, close enough to see the way his lips parted slightly, how his throat bobbed with a slow, almost instinctive swallow. “Good,” you murmured, your voice low, dangerous. “Then maybe, for once, you’ll shut up and listen.”
Casper blinked up at you, the ghost of a smirk still lingering, but his silence—for once—was enough.
“I’m sick and over with you haunting me,” you yelled, dripping with something almost cruel in its amusement. “You think you can just waltz into my life, make my every moment miserable, and I’m supposed to sit back and let you have my soul?”
Casper wasn’t fully listening, like he could feel you—every inch of your body, barely covered by that frustratingly short towel, heat seeping through the thin fabric where it clung to your damp skin. It was a dangerous sight, teetering on the edge of revealing more than it should, and shit—why did a mortal have to be this pretty?
You tilted your head slightly, lips hovering just inches from his, teasing him with the ghost of a touch. “My soul isn’t for sale.”
His breath caught. His usual arrogance wavered, flickering into something less composed. For the first time, you had him unsure. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, and you could practically see the war raging behind them—frustration, fascination, something else he wouldn’t dare name.
“You make this so much harder than it needs to be,” he muttered, his voice laced with that same begrudging admiration, but there was something else, too—something red. His face, his ears, all betraying him as he took in the fire in your expression, the way you pressed against him, holding him down.
His breath hitched as you shifted, the pressure making his thoughts scatter.
“J-Just hand over your soul, and I-I’ll leave,” he stammered, but even he didn’t sound convinced anymore.
The stutter was so obvious; it was almost cute.
“No!” you shouted, your voice sharp with frustration, but that wasn’t even the worst part. The real problem? The unmistakable pressure beneath you. Shit. Right.
You already knew.
A slow, wicked smile curled on your lips as realization settled in.
“You reap what you sow, Casper,” you whispered, your voice nothing but a slow, taunting caress against his skin. You felt the way his entire body tensed, his throat bobbing, fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to grab you—to do something.
And then? He did move.
With a frustrated growl, he tried to shove you off, his hands gripping your hips, pushing at you in a way that was far too desperate, far too rigid. “G-Get off,” he snapped, his usual cocky arrogance cracking around the edges.
You didn’t budge. Instead, you pressed down just a little more, reveling in the way his breath hitched, the way his grip tightened just a little too much before he forced himself to let go.
“You’re really that eager to run now?” you murmured, tilting your head, watching the way his crimson eyes flickered between frustration and something he really didn’t want you to see.
“I’m not— I just—” His voice faltered, and that was enough to make you lean in closer, pressing your weight down just enough to make him shudder.
“You just what?” you teased, dragging the moment out, letting the heat between you thicken.
His fingers curled into fists, knuckles white. His lips parted, but whatever comeback he had died the second you moved against him, just barely, just enough to feel him really tense beneath you.
“Sh-Shut up,” he muttered, face turning a shade of red that had nothing to do with anger.
Oh, he was trying so hard to hold onto his composure. Trying so hard to shove you away without making it obvious why he needed you to move.
“And if you think I’m just going to hand over my soul…” You trailed off, letting the words dangle between you, thick with implication, like a loaded gun cocked and ready to fire.
Casper swallowed hard, his breath uneven, his self-control slipping—and for all the power he had, for all the ways he had haunted you, he was the one struggling now.
The tables had turned—now you wanted to see just how far you could push him. Because if he had spent all this time tormenting you, refusing to let you go…
Then surely, he must have realized by now—
You gonna haunted him right back.
You leaned down slowly, the space between you two shrinking, the anticipation thickening the air. Your breath mingled with his, a brief, almost electrifying moment before your lips finally met his in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It wasn’t soft—there was nothing delicate about it.
Your lips pressed onto his with force, firm, almost demanding, as though you were claiming something that was yours to take. Casper’s body stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity, the possessiveness in your touch. You could feel his hesitation—his confusion. His breath hitched as you deepened the kiss, pressing yourself closer to him, your hand finding its way to his jaw, tilting his face to match the angle of yours.
His lips parted slightly under yours, and you took it as an invitation, pushing forward with more urgency, more need. His warmth was overwhelming, contrasting with the coldness of his existence.
You felt him start to respond, slowly at first, tentative, like he was testing the waters. But the longer you kissed him, the more the tension between you snapped.
He exhaled sharply, his fingers grazing the side of your neck as he finally gave in, his hand tangling in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss—the way he started to lean into you, his chest pressing against yours, his movements no longer hesitant but eager, almost desperate.
It was a kiss that felt like something had broken between you two like a barrier had collapsed, and now there was only the fire between you. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that was unfamiliar, unexpected.
When the kiss finally broke, you both pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but neither of you fully separated. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed for a beat too long before slowly opening, still hazy, still lost in the aftermath of it all.
You could feel his pulse under your fingertips, erratic, as if it wasn’t just his body reacting, but something deeper—something that couldn’t be ignored.
He didn’t say anything right away, the silence between you two heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. His voice, when it finally came, was low, almost a growl.
“W-Why did you do that…?” he asked, his words wrapped in uncertainty and desire as if he was finally understanding something about the mess between you two but still couldn’t quite make sense of it.
You didn’t answer.
Instead, your fingers lingered on his jaw, tracing the delicate curve of his face, feeling the soft, almost otherworldly smoothness of his skin under your touch. You watched him closely, the way his eyes fluttered shut as he tried to maintain his composure, his breath quickening the longer you stayed close.
But it wasn’t just about that anymore—it wasn’t just about the arrogant, cocky Grim Reaper who had been haunting your thoughts for months.
No, it was something far more complicated now.
You wanted him—all of him.
Slowly, you moved your lips from his to the delicate skin of his neck, your breath warm against him as you kissed the soft spot just below his jaw. The moment your lips made contact with his skin, you felt him tense, his body reacting to your touch in ways that made your pulse quicken.
He let out a quiet gasp, his eyes snapping open as if he wasn’t expecting this. But you could feel it, the way his body betrayed him, how his pulse seemed to spike beneath your lips.
You couldn’t help but press closer, your lips moving along the smooth curve of his neck, slowly, teasingly. You felt him shiver under your touch, his breath hitching sharply. His skin was like silk, but it was warm, almost feverish beneath your lips.
You traced the delicate line of his throat with your mouth, paying attention to the places that made him tremble, the faintest of whimpers escaping him.
The deeper you kissed, the more you felt the tremor in his body, the way he couldn’t quite keep himself steady as your lips and teeth brushed against his sensitive skin.
And then, he couldn’t help it anymore—he let out a deep, strangled whine, a sound so raw, so desperate, it sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the usual sharp, cocky tone he had when he spoke to you—it was something entirely different. His body arched onto yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps as if he was both resisting and wanting at the same time.
“W-What... what are you trying to do with me, mortal?” His voice was thick, almost breathless, the usual arrogance and bravado completely absent now. There was no defiance, no demand for power in his tone. Just confusion.
You paused for a brief second, but you continued your movements, pressing your lips further down his neck, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his skin against yours.
He whimpered again, louder this time, and the sound made something inside you stir—a dark satisfaction, a rush of power. He was so vulnerable under your touch, so... alive in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, but you kept your hand on his neck, feeling his pulse flutter under your fingertips. His eyes were wide, a mix of emotions swirling in them—confusion, want, fear. His breath was shallow, chest rising and falling erratically as if he wasn’t sure if he was even breathing properly anymore.
It wasn’t long before your kisses trailed down, slow and soft, your lips teasing a path along his now shirtless, impossibly pale chest.
Damn, he really was ghostly white, but soft—way softer than someone who spent all their time being a cocky little shit should be.
You couldn’t help yourself; you bit down lightly, just enough to make him jolt under you. Casper let out this ridiculous, choked noise, half-whimper, half what the fuck was that?! and you grinned against his skin.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
“What—what are you—” he started, but you cut him off with another bite, right over his ribs this time. He actually squirmed beneath you, letting out the deepest whine you’d ever heard from him.
“Would you look at that,” you mused, pressing another kiss just below his collarbone, feeling his muscles tense under your lips. “The big, bad grim reaper’s ticklish.”
Casper’s eyes shot open, his whole face twisting between frustration and pure, unfiltered panic. “I am not—”
You kissed a little lower. He let out a soft gasp.
You snickered. “Ohhh, you so are.”
His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know if he should shove you away or pull you closer, and that alone made you even more entertained.
Casper was losing his goddamn mind. You knew it. He knew it. Hell, even the goddamn shadows in the room probably knew it. And you? Oh, you were thriving.
See, for months now, this insufferable bastard had been haunting you—literally and figuratively. He followed you everywhere like a bad omen, made your life a constant, unending hell, toyed with your sanity like it was his favorite pastime, and worst of all?
He had the audacity to be hot while doing it.
You were fed up. You were horny.
And since he was always around, lurking in your damn shadow, you never had a single moment alone to deal with it. No time to take the edge off. No privacy to just breathe without him hovering like he owned the air around you.
And if he was going to keep haunting you relentlessly, refusing to let you have a single second of peace? Because of that, you’d make sure he felt what it was like to be relentlessly pursued—to be hunted the way he had hunted you.
And judging by the way he was struggling beneath you, red-faced, flustered, trying so damn hard to pretend he wasn’t affected?
Oh, he was feeling it all right as your lips pressed slow, lazy kisses along his stomach, dragging out every moment just to watch him squirm.
And oh, was he squirming.
His fingers clenched the sheets so hard you thought they might rip. His breath hitched every time you so much as existed near him. His legs were tense, thighs trembling slightly like his entire undead body was screaming at him to do something. But he couldn’t.
Not with you looking down at him like that. Not with that smug little glint in your eye, knowing full well the power you held over him right now.
“Are you—” His voice cracked so hard you nearly laughed in his face. He swallowed, trying to gather what was left of his composure. “Are you actually trying to kill me right now? Because—because this feels like some kind of cruel revenge plot.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Me? Oh, Casper… why would I ever do something so cruel?”
Another kiss. Another sharp inhale.
"You are,” he accused breathlessly, his crimson eyes burning into you. “You so are.”
You grinned. “Maybe I’m just trying to make you feel a little… haunted.”
His whole body shuddered. "That’s—That’s not funny."
“Oh, I think it’s hilarious.”
Casper groaned, tossing his head back against the pillow like he was physically suffering. “M-Mortal!” he sputtered, trying to sound authoritative but failing spectacularly.
“You can’t just—You—You can’t have my soul!”
Casper's breath hitched so hard you thought he might choke on it. His fingers curled tighter into the sheets, his entire body going stiff beneath you—frozen, like some helpless animal caught in the path of an oncoming storm.
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing as you watched him squirm. “What do you mean, Casper?”
Your fingers ghosted over the waistband of his pants, playing with the button, teasing but never quite undoing it. His whole body twitched at the contact, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.
“I-I mean…” he stammered, eyes darting anywhere but your face, ears tinged an adorable shade of pink. “My—My soul, mortal! That’s what I was talking about! Y-you can't have it! It's mine!”
You paused, blinking at him. And then it clicked.
Oh. Oh. Did he—? Had he been—?
This whole time, when he'd been talking about souls, about taking yours, about you trying to take his… was he actually talking about—?
Honestly, you are a bit lost by his words… but you kept on the act! Your lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Oh, Casper…” you purred, pressing down just enough to make him gasp, your fingers still playing at his waistband.
“You’ve been talking about souls this whole time, and yet…” You sighed, “…it sounds like you’ve been asking for something else entirely.”
His entire body jerked like you’d just electrocuted him. “I—I—” His voice cracked so hard you almost felt bad. Almost.
You pulled back slightly, tilting your head at him with mock concern. “Are you sure you meant your soul, Casper? Because…”
Your fingers gave the button of his pants the tiniest little tug. “…from the way you’re acting, it really seems like you meant something else.”
Casper wiggles beneath you then let out a strangled noise somewhere between a whimper and an offended squawk.
“M-MORTAL! I—THAT’S NOT—YOU’RE TWISTING MY WORDS!”
You laughed, soft and velvety, reveling in the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers dug into the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to reality. His crimson eyes were wide, frantic, darting across your face as if searching for an escape that didn’t exist.
"Am I?" you murmured, letting the words drip from your lips like honey—sweet, slow, dangerous.
“Yes!” he blurted, but his voice wavered, cracking at the edges, betraying him in the most delicious way.
You tilted your head, fingers trailing ever so lightly down his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His whole body was wound tight, like he was barely holding himself together. Like he didn’t trust himself to move.
“Then tell me,” you coaxed, your voice barely above a whisper, a soft tease against the thick silence between you. “What is it, Casper?”
Nothing. No response. Just a tense, heavy pause.
And then—so quiet, so wrecked, like it had been dragged from the deepest part of him—
“…Because I think I want you as well, Mortal.”
Oh. Fuck. Like, deadass, that was kinda hot.
Your fingers stilled for just a second, then resumed their slow, torturous circles against his stomach, just barely skimming the skin. Featherlight. Just enough to tease. Just enough to torment.
“You don’t say,” you murmured, letting your nails graze lightly over his skin, watching the way his entire body twitched beneath you. “Such strong words, Casper.”
He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, his back pressing deeper into the mattress as if he could somehow disappear into it—like it could save him from whatever this was.
But nothing was saving him now. Not from you. shit from me.
Not as the towel around you slipped, the fabric pooling onto the bed like a ghost of hesitation you no longer had.
You could feel the tension coiled in his body, every muscle taut beneath your touch, strung tight between restraint and ruin. His skin burned under your fingertips, feverish, as if he were caught in some exquisite purgatory—unsure whether to arch into your mouth or wrench himself away before he shattered completely.
“W-where will it be?” His voice was raw, stripped down to something fractured and wanting, each word a ragged breath torn from his chest.
You smiled—slow, cruel in its sweetness—letting your lips ghost over the frantic pulse at his throat.
“My tongue?” you murmured, the words dripping like honey, thick and syrupy with promise. You let them linger, let them sink into his skin, let him feel them. “Is that what you want, Casper? My wicked tongue on you?” His cock twitched against your lips, already glistening at the tip—pale, flushed, aching for you.
You could see the pulse of his heartbeat in it, the way his entire body trembled with the effort of holding back.
A shudder wracked through him, violent and helpless. His fingers twisted in the sheets, white-knuckled, like a man clinging to the last fraying thread of his control.
You exhaled, slow and warm, just to watch him squirm.
Then—finally—you pressed a single, lingering kiss to the head, tasting the salt-slick precome beading there. His hips jerked, a choked gasp tearing from his throat, but you held him down with one firm hand on his stomach, fingers splayed possessively over his trembling abdomen.
"Stay still." You ordered, taking him into your mouth with agonizing slowness, letting your tongue swirl lazily around the crown before sinking deeper, inch by torturous inch. His breath hitched, his fingers knotting in your hair—not pushing, just clinging, as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.
You hollowed your cheeks, dragging your lips up in a slow, filthy glide before plunging back down, savoring the way his thighs tensed, the way his stomach quivered under your palm.
Every movement was careful, calculated to unravel him—the flick of your tongue along the underside, the teasing scrape of teeth, the way you pulled off just to watch him whimper before swallowing him down again.
His voice was shattered, raw with desperation. "F-fuck—please—"
You hummed around him, the vibration wringing a broken moan from his lips. His grip tightened in your hair, his hips lifting in tiny, involuntary thrusts, but you controlled the pace, keeping it slow, maddening, until every ragged breath he took was your name.
My god—how you loved this—loved the way he unraveled, the way his breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, the way his hips jerked instinctively toward your mouth, betraying him entirely.
You dragged your nails down the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, feather-light, just enough to make him jolt, to pull another broken sound from his lips. His entire body was a live wire, every nerve alight, every tremor yours to command.
When you finally felt him tense, his whole body bowing off the bed, you locked your eyes with his—holding his gaze as you took him deep, deeper, until his release spilled hot and bitter down your throat.
And even then, you didn’t let go.
You milked him through it, lips sealed tight until he was shaking, oversensitive, gasping your name like a prayer. Only then did you pull away, licking your lips with slow, deliberate satisfaction.
"Good little reaper."
The words dripped from your tongue like silk, and just as you watched the shiver roll through him, an idea slithered into your mind—dark, tempting, irresistible.
Your smirk widened. “Oh… wait,” you purred, voice teasing, wicked.
“Grimmy, I have a surprise for you.”
Casper swallowed hard, his crimson eyes flickering with something caught between intrigue and apprehension. His hands twitched where they gripped the sheets, like he couldn't decide if he should push you away or pull you closer.
You smirked, trailing your fingers lazily down his chest before slipping away entirely, stepping back just enough to let the anticipation thicken between you. Slowly, deliberately, you turned, making sure he caught the full, teasing sway of your movements as you sauntered over to your suitcase in the hallway.
His breathing was uneven. He was watching you, waiting, completely caught in your spell. "You've been keeping secrets from me, mortal?" he murmured, his voice rough, strained.
You glanced at him over your shoulder, fingers toying with the zipper of your bag. "Oh, I was saving this for myself," you admitted, drawing out each word like honey, "but now? I think I need it right now."
You unzipped the suitcase slowly—so slowly it was almost maddening. The faint rasp of the metal teeth parting filled the dimly lit room, a whisper of sound against the thick silence. Casper tensed.
His haunted lungs hitched.
"You know," you mused, lifting out the little package you had tucked away, letting the low lamp light catch on the edges, "if you're onto me, that means I'm onto you, too."
Casper's grip on the sheets tightened. "What… What are you planning?"
You turned fully now, holding the item in your hands, watching as his eyes darkened, his throat bobbing with an anxious swallow.
And with a wicked smile, you took a slow step toward the bed.
"Why don’t you let me show you, little reaper?"
It wasn’t long before you watched him, the way his body betrays every look of need: the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the restless curl of his fingers into the sheets, the way his throat works as he swallows hard, waiting.
Your hands glide over him, fingertips tracing the dip of his spine, the curve of his hip, the softness of his inner thigh—just to hear his breath catch. Then, with a quiet, knowing hum, you press against him from behind, your body flush against his, the heat of your skin searing through the space between you.
The weight of your body against his back makes him shudder, and you smile, dragging your lips along the slope of his shoulder.
"Shh," you murmur, voice honey-thick, "I’ve got you."
Your fingers trail down the trembling plane of his thighs, circling the base of his cock with a teasing, featherlight touch. He shudders beneath you, breath hitching—already so close to unraveling, and you’ve barely begun.
You reach for your toy, covered in your slick, warmed between your thighs before you guide it to him, pressing in with a slow, relentless push—just enough to make his back arch, just enough to pull a low, his back arching as choked gasp spills from his lips.
"There you go," you croon, your free hand stroking him in time with each shallow thrust, your grip just tight enough to make his hips jerk. "Such a good little reaper, haunting me, trying to steal my soul."
You click your tongue, amused. "But you’re the one who’s trapped now, aren’t you?" You pause, letting him feel every inch, letting him burn with it.
“P-please ugh!” His fingers claw at the sheets, knuckles white, and you lean down, catching his earlobe between your teeth before whispering, "Tell me, Casper—do wraiths beg?"
Then your fingers find his, threading through them, palm to palm, your grip tight enough to ground him, to remind him—you’re here, you’re his, even as you take him apart.
And then you move.
A slow, deep roll from your hands, the drag of the toy inside him carefully, maddening. His breath comes in ragged bursts, his fingers tightening around yours like a lifeline.
You thrust deeper, your hand working him faster now, twisting just the way he likes, and his answer comes in a broken moan, his body tightening around the toy as pleasure coils hot and desperate in his gut.
"That’s it," you purr, your breath hot against his skin. "Let me see you come undone. Let me watch you forget you ever wanted to haunt anyone but me."
His hips stutter, his cock pulsing in your hand as he spills over your fingers with a ragged cry, his body clenching around the toy in helpless, shuddering waves.
"It’s where you and I be." You started as your free hand skates up his chest, mapping the flutter of his heartbeat, the hitch of his ribs as he gasps. You can feel the way his body clenches around the toy, the way he trembles beneath you, caught between surrender and desperate, clawing need.
“If I’m on to you…" You whisper, your breath hot against his skin, pulling back just enough to catch his gaze—God, those eyes—deep red and drowning, pupils blown, lashes fluttering like he’s already lost to the tide of you.
"...then you’re on to me."
A sharp inhale. A fractured moan. His lips part, trembling—wordless, aching, yours.
Your pace moves—still deep, still relentless, but rougher now, each thrust punching a ragged sound from his throat. His fingers cling to yours, his body arching into every movement, every stroke, every touch like he’s memorizing the feel of you.
And oh, the sounds he makes—soft whimpers, breathless pleas, the way his voice breaks when you angle just right—it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.
"Me... on to you." Your voice is a velvet snare, wrapping around him like smoke—dark, intoxicating, inescapable.
Casper arches beneath you, his body strung tight, every muscle trembling as you drive into him with slow, merciless precision. His fingers claw at the sheets, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.
"P-please—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked, desperate. "Let me—fuck, I need—"
You tighten your grip on his hips, nails biting into his skin just enough to make him whimper. "Need what?" you purr, dragging your lips along the shell of his ear. "Say it."
He shudders, his cock twitching against his stomach, already slick with cum. "Need to come," he rasps. "Please—please—"
You slow your thrusts to a torturous grind, savoring the way his body clenches around you, greedy and aching. “Aww, and what do I get?" you murmur, your breath hot against his throat.
His answer comes in a rush, raw and unguarded—
"My soul. My fucking—everything—just yours, only yours—"
Your hips stutter at that, just for a second.
His soul? A reaper offering up the one thing he shouldn’t—couldn’t—give away. Your fingers slide up his chest, pressing over the frantic beat of his heart. "Careful," you warn, your voice rough. “…You don’t know what you’re asking for."
"I do," he gasps, writhing beneath you.
"I want it—want you to own me, ruin me, fucking keep me—just—ah!—promise you won’t take it. Promise you’ll leave it in me... so I can always be yours."
Your breath catches. Fuck.
"I'm on to you," you growl, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as you snap your hips forward, hard enough to punch a broken cry from his lips. "And you’re on to me."
Then you finally—finally—let him cum.
His whole body seizes, back bowing off the bed as he spills over your fist with a shattered moan, his release hot and slick between your fingers. You don’t stop, fucking him through it, dragging out every last spasm until he’s sobbing, oversensitive and shaking.
When he’s limp beneath you, breathless and dazed, you lean down, lips brushing his ear. "Next time you try to steal my soul," you murmur, "make sure it's someone mine."
A weak, breathless laugh escapes him.
"Too late," he slurs, already half-gone. “I already have.”
You stare at him before a slow, possessive smile curls into your mouth. “We’ll see…” you whisper, sealing the vow with a kiss pressed to his sweat-damp skin.
𝑒𝓍𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓌: heheheheheh 🤭
The next day, the studio was bathed in artificial light, soft flashes illuminating the minimalist set—a white backdrop, an expensive chaise, and the ever-irritated grim reaper standing awkwardly in the middle of it all. The entire team moved like clockwork around him, adjusting lights, fixing props, and directing him to pose.
But Casper?
Casper refused to sit down. Not once.
Not even when the photographer, sighed dramatically and gestured toward the antique chair, "All right, Casper, just take a seat and—"
"No."
The team collectively blinked. The photographer looked ready to throw his clipboard across the room.
“Casper, darling, please,” the director whined, exasperated, “I promise it won’t kill you—”
Casper shot the man a look so venomous that it could have rotted a bouquet of flowers on the spot. Still, he did not sit.
Instead, he remained standing, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, the weight never settling. Every so often, his fingers twitched, like he was debating if it was worth committing homicide in front of an audience.
And you?
You were having the time of your life.
It was everything you could do not to burst into laughter as you lounged off to the side, sipping on an overpriced iced tea like you weren’t the reason for his predicament. “Casper, oh my, are you okay?” your boss finally asked, tilting her head, eyes narrowing slightly at his suspicious behavior.
Casper tensed. His glare flickered toward you, burning and accusing, as if daring you to say something.
You met his gaze head-on.
Then, with all the innocence of a saint, you shrugged. “Beats me,” you mused, sipping your drink, barely holding back a smirk.
Casper's fingers twitched violently.
You were the reason he couldn’t sit. You.
The reason he stood like he had a permanent problem. The reason he looked like he was seriously reconsidering his entire existence.
Casper exhaled sharply, silently cursing your entire bloodline, before begrudgingly suffering through the rest of the shoot. By the time it wrapped up, he was the first to disappear, slipping away the moment the cameras stopped flashing.
You found him soon after, tucked away at the back of the dressing room. The space was lined with racks of designer clothes, mirrors catching glimpses of his reflection at every angle—but despite all that, your attention never wavered.
The only thing that mattered was him.
Casper sat—mind you uncomfortably—near the vanity, arms crossed, eyes still smoldering from earlier.
You, on the other hand, were having fun. While the others took their break, you stayed behind, deciding it would be an excellent opportunity to mess with him further.
And somehow, that led to you dressing him for another shoot.
“Why am I letting you do this?” he grumbled as you straightened his collar, adjusting the fit of the sleek black suit you had thrown onto him.
“Because you have no choice,” you mused, hands lingering just a little longer than necessary, smoothing the fabric over his chest. “And because, deep down, you love it.”
Casper scoffed. “I loathe it.”
"Aww, you hurt because I fucked you with my dildo, right?" Your voice dripped with mock sympathy, babying him, laced with the kind of teasing cruelty that made his spine stiffen. You dragged a finger down the sweat-slick plane of his back, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. "Poor Grimmy. So ruined by me."
Casper’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into his clothing like he was trying to tear them apart. "Shut up," he growled, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him, a face fully red.
You laughed, low and wicked, "And here I though you loved it," you purred, relishing the way his body shuddered beneath you. "You fucking nutted everywhere... like some desperate little thing."
His reaction was instant—a sharp inhale, a flash of crimson in his darkened gaze as he twisted to glare at you.
"You said you wouldn’t say that out loud!”
"Did I?" You blinked, all false innocence, before grinning like the devil you were. "Oops."
His fingers twitched. Then again. Closer. Tighter. Oh?
You watched, amused, as his control frayed at the edges, his jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear his teeth grinding. For a second, you wondered if he’d actually do it—if those long, pale fingers would finally snap around your throat in retaliation.
And then—
Casper had you pinned against the wall, his body caging you in, his eyes burning like hellfire. "This ends tonight," he snarled, gripping your chin hard enough to bruise, forcing your gaze up to his.
"I’m taking your soul, mortal."
You blinked. Then—you smiled. "Oh, Grimmy..."
Before he could react, you struck.
A twist of your wrist, a shift of your weight, and suddenly he was the one pressed against the wall, your body flush against his, your knee sliding between his thighs just to hear the way his breath stuttered.
The dim light carved shadows across his face, highlighting the way his lips parted—in shock, in fury, in something far more dangerous. His chest rose and fell beneath your palm, his heartbeat a frantic, uneven rhythm against your fingertips.
You leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed his as you spoke.
"You can’t take my soul, Casper."
"Because I already took yours."
His breath stopped. For a single, suspended moment, the world held still. His crimson eyes widened, his body rigid against yours, his mind scrambling to process the words—to deny them. "You—" His voice was rough, raw, ruined.
You pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him with a smirk.
"Shhh," you cooed, tilting your head like he was some misbehaving little pet. “I mean you gave it to me, willing in fact.”
He jerked his face away, his jaw clenched tight, but you didn’t miss the way his pulse jumped beneath your touch. "U-Uh I mean—Like, How?" he demanded, voice low, trembling with something between fury and fascination. "You're a mortal, a human—"
You tsked, tracing a slow, careful path down his throat, feeling the way his Adam’s apple bobbed under your fingertips. "Now, now," you murmured, your smile all teeth. "A person like me never reveals their secrets."
His entire body shuddered, his control unraveling thread by thread, his fingers flexing like he didn’t know whether to push you away or drag you closer.
Fuck, he was beautiful like this.
The so-called Grim Reaper, known to be the terror of the underworld—reduced to this. To being yours.
You leaned in, your lips a breath away from his, your voice a whisper.
"You should be thanking me," you murmured, your hand sliding lower, teasing, taunting. "Not every reaper gets the privilege of being claimed."
His breath hitched, rough as a serrated edge. "Claimed—?"
"Mhm." Your lips brushed his jaw, slow, deliberate, savoring his pulse beneath your mouth. "The underworld gifted me something special..." Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pants, smirking as his hips jerked, and his teeth gritted against a moan.
"A little grim reaper to keep all for myself."
And then—his control shattered.
With a snarl, he grabbed your wrists, slamming you back against the wall. His body pinned yours, every hard line of him a brand, a conquest, a promise. His eyes burned like hellfire, lips parted around ragged breaths, chest heaving with the weight of something feral, something hungry.
And then he kissed you.
His mouth crashed against yours, such as teeth and tongue, and desperate. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound like a sinner taking communion, his grip on your wrists tightening to the brink of pain. There was like no gentleness here, no hesitation—like damnnn you really dragged out of him.
You laughed into his mouth, "I know if I'm haunting you…" You pulled back just enough to watch his lashes flutter, to see the way his lips chased yours, already addicted. Your breath mingled, hot, and shared, the space between you thick with the scent of sweat and sin.
And as his groan vibrated against your lips, as his hands slid from your wrists to your waist, dragging you impossibly closer. Then, with a smirk, you kissed him again—slow this time, a velvet stroke of the tongue that had him shuddering...
"…You must be haunting me."
♤ — 𝒶𝒹𝓌𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ
