Is Tracing Reference Bad? Maybe. But Not If You Add Enough Extra Muscles To Your New Werewolf Girlfriend.

Could you write something fun about Reid dating a Master/PhD student and everyone is like “how could you???” making jokes about how he is the weird teacher that goes out with his students.

She is not his student, she doesn’t even go to the same college he teaches.

Summary: Spencer's new girlfriend happens to be a student, raising questions and laughs from the team members.

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: None but lmk!

Word count: 645

a/n: I hope this is okay!🫶 also, if you're wondering why I only include three members.. I'd be lying if I said I was only on season 10 of criminal minds and I don't know any of the characteristics of anyone else.....

"I'm not sure, this guy's got a real temper." JJ commented as she read through the case file, her eyes darting from words to the pictures.

Spencer looked up for a split second to look at JJ, but when he did he got a glimpse of a familiar face through the blinds. You were looking around, confusion written on your face as you looked for, what he safely assumed, was himself. His eyebrows furrowed and suddenly everyone's words were going in one ear, and out the other.

"Uh, give me five minutes." He announced to the table, everyone staring at him in confusion as he got up and walked out the door.

"What are you doing here?" He asked as he approached you. You had your hands in front of you that held onto a brown paper bag, a smile on your face.

"You forgot your lunch!" You quickly frowned, holding the bag up in front of you.

"You're supposed to be studying." He stated, bringing a hand up to rub your forearm.

You groaned in response, "I need a break, Spence! I've been studying all day." You whined, throwing your head back.

He moved his hand to the back of your head to bring your face back to his.

"Exams are coming up, y/n." He sighed, "I'm sure you'll do great, but you really need to study." He added, grabbing onto the bag with his other hand.

You rolled your eyes, moving your head to the side only to catch eye contact with every member staring at the both of you. You laughed, amused, but not surprised everyone was being nosey.

He followed your eyes to everyone staring, as he looked back he brought his hand down from your head with a tight lipped smile.

"Fine, I'll go study." You sighed in defeat, placing a hand on his shoulder. He subconsciously aimed his head down, giving you access to his forehead to place a soft kiss.

"Bye, Spence." You smiled, turning around and making your way out the bullpen.

"Study." He called out, causing you to laugh as you walked out the glass doors.

He placed the paper bag on his desk on his way to the round table. The moment he stepped foot inside, everyone watched his with wide eyes.

He hadn't taken in account that when he left, he left the door open as well. Meaning they could've easily heard the conversation without needing to get up and move closer.

"Study? Is she some sort of student? She looked pretty young." JJ asked, being the first to raise suspicion.

When she spoke, everyone else looked at her and nodded in agreement.

"Uhm, sorta. I mean yeah, she's a student.." He answered, sort of mumbled as he took his seat.

"Wow, Spence. I didn't take you for the student, teacher type of guy." Emily teased, amused laced in her tone.

"What are you--?" Spencer attempted to ask, considering you weren't his student, he didn't think it mattered. But his words were cut short from Rossi butting in.

"How could you, Spencer Reid, be comfortable with that?" Rossi asked, genuinely curious, Spencer could tell by the way he narrowed his eyes and leaned closer.

"It's not that weird?" His brows furrowed, and it wasn't. It wasn't weird at all, you met how anyone would meet Spencer. He didn't see how you, being a student was relevant.

"So, you're just the teacher that goes out with his students now?" JJ went on, raising a brow at Spencer, and a look on her face that said, 'Did you think about that?' without words.

"She's not even--" But before Spencer could defend himself, Emily finally decided that they were getting too off track and needed to focus. Which annoyed Spencer, he's being accused of something that wasn't true and now, had no time to defend himself.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

APPLE BEACH BEADS Bra (click to enlarge) if you want to support this blog consider donating to: ko-fi.com/fashionrunways

“I’d love to not love you some days.”

“It is a burden, is it?”

“Unrequited love is notoriously so.”

Over the Garden Wall - Masterlist

Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

18+

Summary: The youngest daughter of Queen Charlotte and King George, plagued by the same illness as her father, grows tired of her lonely and isolated existence. When escaping the prison-like castle she has been sequestered in for her entire life, she meets a young man who shares her love for painting and whom she can not stop thinking about. Secrets, betrayal, and love all fight against one another. Which one will win?

Series Warnings: Love at first sight; POV third person; eventual smut; isolation; dramatic/inaccurate depictions of mental illness; thoughts of death; there will be fluff, okay? I swear; potential historical inaccuracies; complex mother/daughter relationship; historical medical practices; SIMP Benedict; idgaf about historical canon; complicated sibling relationships; execution by hanging

Tags specified before each chapter

(Tags will be updated as the story continues)

Last Updated: 03/28/24 (Complete)

*indicates smut

Chapter One - Loathing Boredom

Chapter Two - Ruinous Secrets

Chapter Three - Never is a Promise

Chapter Four - As the Poets Say

Chapter Five - Vagrant Body

Chapter Six - Codes and Clues

Chapter Seven - Dig My Fingers in

Chapter Eight - No Light of My Own

Chapter Nine - This Sweet Plague *

Chapter Ten - Tricked By the Past

Chapter Eleven - No Label, No Name

Chapter Twelve - Keeping Time

Chapter Thirteen - Only You Can Mend

Chapter Fourteen - Not Above Violence

Interlude - Lady Whistledown

Chapter Fifteen - Matching Wounds

Chapter Sixteen - Go Along to Be With You

Chapter Seventeen - Balanced on Desire

Interlude - Marietta

Chapter Eighteen - Oh, My One

Chapter Nineteen - Like Fuel to Fire *

Chapter Twenty - If I Send for You

Interlude - Honeymoon *

Chapter Twenty One - An Atom and a Star

Chapter Twenty Two - The Bed I Was Born In *

Chapter Twenty Three - Don't Wait to Understand

Chapter Twenty Four - Fingers Laced a Crown

Chapter Twenty Five - Here to Kingdom Come *

Epilogue - A Moment, A Love

Drabble - Pall Mall Drabble - Picnic Drabble - Like Mother, Like Son Drabble - Jealousy Drabble - More Than a Maid Drabble - Coronation Day Drabble - Second Son Drabble - Number Four Drabble - Reasonably Unreasonable Drabble - Tag, You're It Drabble - Sisters Drabble - Spoiled Drabble - Opal of the Season Drabble - Fit for Family Drabble - Garden in Bloom * (smut adjacent) Drabble - What if? AU

so what I'm trying to say is

she's my wife of 10 years! and the mother of my children!!! hope this helps💞💞💞

Stage Names

Sidney Sime - Romance Comes Down Out of Hilly Woodlands (Illustration for Lord Dunsany's "A Dreamer's Tale"), 1910

Reverse fae au Ghost Words: 5.5k Rating: M (Minors DNI) Tags: Ghost x f!oc, fae!oc, Ghost pov, slow burn horror, magic, time loss, stalking, predator/prey, dubcon/noncon, manipulation, panic attacks, piv sex, gore, erotic cannibalism(?), Ghost's family lives, Ghost is in therapy too bad it's not gonna save him, (debatably) bad end Summary: Simon Riley saves his family, so why does it feel like he still lost them? Years later he sees a woman in a bar, one he can't seem to shake. a/n: thank you Ghost for infecting my dreams a year ago, I'm going to destroy your life now <3

Simon Riley stands, blood soaked, in a little apartment in the heart of Manchester. His chest heaves, panting as he stares down the beaten and broken body of his former brother in arms. Washington is dead on the black and white tiled floor of his family's flat. His blood pools under Simon's feet, and Simon tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut to avoid the overhead light, as he draws in a sobering breath.

"Simon," His mother breathes, "What did you do?"

He’s not the oldest, but he's the man of the house. He's supposed to protect his family from anything that would hurt them: his father, Roba, now Washington, someday maybe even himself. "My job," He tells her over the sound of his own frantic heartbeat.

-

Ghost stands at the bar while the rest of his comrades laugh. Their booth in the corner is full of jokes and gentle prodding. He checks his watch, fishes for one of the pills in his pocket and swallows it dry. These new SSRIs Beth's doctor has him on are helping. The nightmares aren't as bad, he's feeling things again. The days are long but they're not interminable, sometimes that's all he can hope for.

He glances over his shoulder at the men in the corner booth. Price claps a hand on Soap's shoulder as Gaz grins. It's warm over there, a family away from his family. He wishes- no, he's too greedy. He's happy with what he has, with the life he's built for himself. At the price of only one life he thinks it's well worth it. He should visit his mum while he's back in the UK, take advantage of some of the leave Price is always hounding him about. He's only glad he was able to convince his little family to move closer to base. Mum was hard to convince, but after Washington… It's hard to sleep knowing there's still blood rotting under your kitchen floor. Joseph didn't need to grow up watching people avoid half the kitchen.

“Jus’ a wa'er,” Ghost tells the bartender, “‘nother round for those sods though.” He nods back at the 141. He should grab something for the kid while he's got time. No sense being the favorite uncle if he can't spoil the bugger. Never mind he bought a whole house just so the kid could have a garden to play in.

“That's sweet,” a voice coos at him. Ghost glances left, following instinct to fix his gaze on a woman at the end of the bar. Despite the low lights and crowd she's glowing, in her element. Pretty, Ghost thinks, and sort of… pink. Her lips, anyway, are pink when they curve into a smile. He turns back to the bar, must not have been talking to him. And why would she be?

“You have a big heart,” her voice husks in his ear, her hands trailing down his back. He swats at the buzz, like shooing away a gnat and turns to look at her. The space behind him is empty. She's still at the other end of the bar chatting with someone, her pink lips moving in a dull hum of conversation. There's something about her, something that prods at the back of his eyes, like an incessant alarm blaring. She doesn't look dangerous, but then again the pretty ones never do. It’s the fuzz, he thinks, he must be tired if the edges of her are starting to get blurry, he’ll grab the next train after this round. The bartender sets three pints and a glass of water in front of him, and Ghost is forced to look away from the woman. 

“Cheers,” he nods to the bartender, setting a few notes on the bar and grabbing the glasses between his hands. No trouble getting them back to the table, people are too eager to jump out of his way. Although he's not sure if it's because of the mask or the size of him.

Ghost passes pints to waiting hands, nodding along as Soap gives his best impression of a joke. Gaz shakes his head, but his smile speaks volumes. Price keeps his eyes on the door despite his relaxed posture. Really all of them do. Even through the squint of laughter Soap and Gaz’s eyes scan the room, always on guard for a potential threat. It's strange, Ghost pulls the seat out and doesn't feel the need to glance over his shoulder. He angles it on instinct, but his eyes touch the men he’s with rather than the crowd. It's the first time he hasn't felt like jumping out of his skin with his back to the door. Must be the new meds working.

“Give your mum my love,” Price tells him and Ghost is forced to bring his attention to his captain.

“‘oo said I’m goin’ ta see my mum?” He replies, fingers itching against the cool glass.

“Ya always run off the see ‘er,” Soap chides.

“I think it's sweet,” Gaz chimes in.

“S’why I like you Garrick,” Ghost leans back in his seat, “ya stay outta my business.”

“Doing my best sir,” Gaz grins, clinking his glass against Ghost’s.

“My job to know your business,” Price smiles, leaning against the table.

“What's Mactavish's excuse then?” Ghost jokes, eyeing the scot. Soap balks, presses his hand to his heart like he's offended.

“Ahm yer best mate, ah cannae care about ya?” Soap says, doing a truly impressive impression of puppy dog eyes. Ghost snorts into his glass and shakes his head. It's easy to fall into this rhythm with them. The few people in this world he can trust, the few people who understand what it means when he says he has people to protect, people to get home to. Fighting the bad guys to make the world better, so he never has to see his family look at him like that again.

Ghost’s fingers tighten on his glass, splintering cracks running under his hand. Soap settles a hand on his shoulder and he takes a breath. Fine. He's fine. Anger is controllable, his emotions are controllable, he’s not ruled by fear anymore. He repeats it like a mantra. He lives, he takes another step forward and he lives. Soap pats his shoulder twice as his grip loosens.

“How's that new girl you're seeing?” Price asks, the false nonchalance sold for everyone else in the bar but no one at the table. The therapist, he doesn't need to add. Any direct acknowledgement of it, of the pills, tantamount to a discharge. Ghost is grateful, truly, the Price fudges his paperwork, for all of them.

“Be’er than the last one.” His answer earns a nod, a smile.

“Right, well, won't keep you from your family,” Price sniffs, “but I expect you in for morning PT at 0700.”

“Rog,” Ghost nods, finishing his glass and pushing back from the table, “Gonna enjoy sleepin’ on a real mattress.” Gaz grumbles into his pint while Soap glares at him. Ghost smiles, and gives a short two fingers wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets and heading out.

The walk to the tube station is short. The street lights break up the darkness, the moon a thin sliver overhead, and the air is just at the edge of crisp. Spring is starting to break into summer. He always misses the stars when he’s in the city, misses the pinpricks that fill the sky in the desert. It feels too romantic to mention to any of the guys, anathema to the image he’s created. There are parts of him that still don’t feel like they fit, pieces he’s still trying to find in the wake of everything. It’s been a good few years and Ghost still can’t call himself whole, but he’s trying.

He texts Tommy from the train platform. It’s late, but neither of the Riley boys have ever been heavy sleepers. His phone buzzes with a message before the train arrives, Tommy letting him know he’s got a spare key. Ghost huffs a laugh, the hand in his pocket pressing fingers against the jagged teeth on his key ring. He sends a thumbs up, and switches to one of the stupid color games his mum convinced him to download. He’s just cleared level 1506 when he hears laughter drifting down the steps of the platform. 

A glance back, his phone closed as his shoulders draw back to attention. Old habits die hard, you can’t take the military out of the man. He relaxes minutely seeing the woman from the bar. She hangs off her friend’s arm, smile wide and eyes glittering. His brows draw down, a sharp pain hitting his temple. There’s a moment, when she opens her mouth to speak, that he sees the  peaks of sharp teeth. He turns away, presses the heel of his hand against his eye, trying to clear some of the fuzz away that seems to be infecting his vision. He glances at the woman again and finds her eyes boring holes through him, unblinking and unafraid of being caught.

Ghost holds her gaze, the fuzz tingling at the edge of his vision, black creeping into his periphery. His ears ring, and the train rushes to the platform. He turns to move out of the way of the doors, to check which line this is, and his ears pop. He winces, must not be used to the tube after such a long deployment. He slips onto the train, taking one of the open seats. He watches the doors close, and the train moves from the platform, the woman tips her head and he feels something pitch behind his ribs. It feels like avoiding a proximity mine, hearing the explosion behind him and knowing he dodged something big. He pulls his phone out to give the next level a go.

-

Ghost is woken up in the morning by a four year old not even a third his size jumping on his chest with enough force he almost thinks he’s taken a mortar round. Only to hear the fit of giggles that follows him tossing the little bugger off of him. Christ. Ghost drags a hand down his face, feeling the scratch of stubble as Joseph climbs over him. Tommy walks past the guest room door, and then backpedals to raise a brow at his brother.

“Thought Beth took ‘im to daycare already.” Tommy flips one end of his tie over the other and tugs the tail through the knot he’s made.

“Guess she’s got me babysittin’.” Ghost grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Joseph drops down to sit next to him.

“You mind?” Tommy asks, peaking in the dresser mirror to adjust his tie. Ghost shakes his head.

“Long as ‘e doesn’t.” Ghost scratches his chest, glances at Joseph who stares at him. Little shit grins a gap toothed smile and Ghost pushes him sideways onto the mattress. More giggles as Joseph kicks at him and tries to escape his iron grip.

“Daddy help!” Joseph shrieks, earning a hum from his father and a grab from Ghost. The kid is hauled against Ghost’s chest and then grabbed around the ankles to hang as Ghost stands from the bed.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tommy tells him, patting Joseph’s stomach. Ghost follows him out of the guest room, swinging the kid as he goes. “Mum’s at her club today, and Beth’s got an event tonight.” Tommy says, half talking to Ghost, half talking to himself as he grabs his bag for work, “pub later?”

“Don’t see why not.” Ghost rumbles, lowering Joseph to the carpeted floor. The four year old kicks his feet at Ghost’s hand and rolls towards his father. Tommy’s quick to scoop the kid up with a grunt of effort.

“Gettin’ too big for this,” Tommy grunts, earning a hug around his neck and a soft ‘I love you daddy.’ Something about the scene aches behind Ghost’s ribs. A glimpse at the life he isn’t supposed to have, the broken cycle that he never thought he’d get out of. Maybe he got too far out of it. “‘Ow long’re you in town?” Tommy asks, setting Joseph down.

“Few weeks.”

“Welcome to stay as long as ya need.” Tommy pushes his kid towards the living room and Joseph wanders off to play. Ghost snorts.

“‘S if it isn’ my ‘ouse.”

Tommy grins, and holds his fist up. “Drinks on me then.”

Ghost bumps his own fist against his brothers with a smile. “I’ll ‘old you to that.”

Watching the kid is easy. Keeping a hold on him? So much harder. Being on leave gives Ghost a great opportunity to cement himself as favorite uncle. Which means taking his nephew out. Ice cream, playground, new loud toy that’s sure to piss off his parents. Swear to God this kid needs a leash though. Joseph’s little hand leaves Ghost’s big one as he sprints off down the street after something. Ghost swears loudly and makes his way after the booger. 

“Joseph,” He calls after the kid, his little head bobbing down the street, “Come on you little shit.”

It’s not busy, but there are enough people still dragging their feet from lunch to be a nuisance. Ghost’s never lost a target before, but most of his targets have at least three feet of height on Joseph. Someone bumps his shoulder and the sharp swear Ghost throws at them costs him a second of sight. His eyes dart back to the street and Joseph is gone.

The fear that grips him is unlike any he’s ever felt in the battlefield. It seizes his lungs, holds his ribs tight so he can’t take a breath. His eyes dart around for Joseph, for the little red jacket the kid insisted on wearing, the striped trousers, he can’t find him. A brainwashed soldier, and four years of Tommy’s parenting, Joseph could survive all of that, but one day with Ghost and he’s gone.

Ghost’s breath comes short, his eyes nearly vibrating with how quickly they scan the area. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers.

The walls may as well be closing in on him. Dirt rains down from the sky. The coffin closes. The jaw bone digs into the palm of his hand. The worms and beetles crawl over his skin as he digs and digs, suffocating on the dirt that’s still loose in the grave. The road breaks into an open square and he stands watching the parade of people that filter through it. It’s open air, so why does he feel like he’s suffocating? 

He turns to look towards the road he just came out of, the buildings seem to wave and curve in towards the people walking its path. Back towards the square. The shops feel closer, the store fronts opening like mouths to lure in an unsuspecting child. Red coat, striped trousers. He eyes the fountain, the couples that sit on the edge of it unsuspecting that the shallow water could drown a kid Joseph’s size. Strangers brush past him, eye him, their coats and rushed steps might hide a squirming victim.

Ghost’s hand grabs a passerby by the arm, his fingers tight as he turns manic eyes upon the man. The older man startles, his eyes darting over Ghost’s form, obviously frightened by this sudden confrontation. He lets him go, his attention returned to the square. The man hustles away from him, his hand gripping the space on his arm where Ghost had grabbed him with a wince. Not that Ghost notices, his mind too focused on the thing he’d lost. He takes a step further into the square and the people in it part like the red sea.

Red coat, striped trousers, and a flake.

He breaks the surface of the water, his eyes landing on Joseph as a woman crouches next to him. She pushes his hair back, glancing around at the crowd as his nephew bites into the vanilla soft serve. Something hurts, pushes insistently, behind his eyes. It needles at his brain, scratches at some old wound. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters but making his way to his nephew. Damn everything else.

The woman glances up at him, her smile splitting her face, wide and toothsome. “Such a big heart.” She coos. The ringing in his ears grows louder with each step, louder and louder until it’s deafening. It hurts. A man passes in front of him and Ghost all but throws him out of the way. He scoops Joseph up off the cobblestone, pressing his forehead against the kid’s temple. Joseph squirms, his ice cream falling from his hands and down onto the ground. 

Ghost heaves in a breath, squeezing Joseph tighter against his chest. Christ he thought he’d lost him. The pressure seems to stop the kid from complaining about the lost ice cream, pushing instead against Ghost’s chest to be released. Ghost transfers him to his hip and checks him over, any cuts of bruises, a single hair out of place. He straightens the red coat, pinches his cheek, tips Joseph’s head to kiss the top of it. 

Almost lost.

“Where she go?” Joseph asks, twisting in Ghost’s arms. 

“Scared the shit outta me,” Ghost huffs, ignoring the kid’s looking around in order to take him back up the street. See if he sets the little man down until they get home.

-

The house is empty when Ghost wakes up the next morning. There’s no patter of little feet, no shout from Beth that Tommy’s going to be late, only the smell of coffee filling the kitchen. There’s a note letting him know who will be back when. He tugs it off the fridge and crumples it in his hand to toss into the kitchen trash. He’ll go back to base, look over some paperwork. It’s tedious work but at least it passes the time. 

Ghost sits on the tube, tapping at the bottles on his phone screen. It’s nearly empty, a few stragglers making their way into work, a few people heading home from long nights, and Ghost. The train stops at its next station. The doors open, there’s a slight pressure change, Ghost glances at the few people that board and goes back to his game.

A woman sits down beside him.

He doesn’t look up, but he does scan the rest of the train. Open seats galore. She crosses one bare leg over the other, the tip of her heel bumping his leg. If she expects him to move she should have sat somewhere else. He keeps his legs spread wide, his elbows on his knees as he taps away at his phone. One bottle filled with pink liquid sparkles upon completion. He stalls looking at the rest of the bottles, the colors mixed together in varying degrees. His mind pulls different possibilities, different patterns.

A manicured finger taps at his screen, one bottle upending into another. Ghost glances at the woman as she presses close, her eyes fixed on his screen. She doesn’t look at him, her finger tapping again and again as Ghost watches her eyes move. Long lashes and full cheeks. Pink lips. He winces, jerks away from her as her nail digs into his thumb. 

“Oops,” She blinks. 

Ghost looks at her, his heart feels like it’s about to pound out of his chest, his eyes ache like he’s attempting to focus on too many things at once. There’s a splitting pain in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut with a grimace and watches the colors pop behind his eyelids. He can’t control his breathing, it feels erratic, his brain is too focused on systems that should be involuntary. He forces his eyes open again, stares at his reflection in the window across from him. The woman beside him sits prim and proper reading a book three seats away. 

He can still feel her pressed against his side. Did he hear her move? Feel her move? There was no change in the air, no movement, no shifting, her warmth didn’t fade, her pressure didn’t fade from one moment to the next. She was beside him and now she’s not. His eyes watch her through the warped glass. Her reflection wavers, changing with the rattle of the train car. She flips the page in her book, tips it to read in the low light. Romance novel, Ghost notes. 

A glance down at his phone. Blood is smeared over his screen, streaked in fingerprints smaller than his own, his game boasting a completion trophy. His thumb is red, the congealed blood no longer contained to the shallow wound just below his nail. He raises the digit to his lips and cleans the blood with his tongue. 

Eyes bore holes into the side of his head, but when he looks at the car everyone seems to be minding their own business. It makes his skin crawl. The tension in his shoulders tightens. 

Ghost scratches his nail against the blood drying on his phone screen. His blood, dragged by an unfamiliar hand. 

The train pulls up to his station, and he stands. Phone locked and pocketed, he glances at the bird again before departing. She doesn’t look up from her book. 

His head is pounding as he steps out into daylight. A migraine, it must be. He hasn’t had one of these in a while, still as debilitating as the last one. Maybe he should go home. Ghost turns to head back down the stairs, he’ll text Price and let him know he couldn’t make it. He bumps into someone. Hands settle on his chest, holding him up, steadying him, and then-

And then they sink into his chest. Soft hands push past his ribs, push into his skin like dipping into water, his flesh non newtonian to the hands that hold him. His eyes hold the woman’s, as her fingers wrap around his lungs and squeeze. No. Not his lungs, his heart. Her fingers grasp his heart, holding on tightly, reverently. She presses close, her chest against his, hands releasing to continue their path through him and wrap around his spine in some sick impression of a hug.

“You’re lonely,” She breathes, “I can fix that.”

-

Ghost hands the guy at the gate his ID and waits for him to check the ledger. It seems to take ages. The man even radios Price to be sure he has the right man. When Ghost does finally get through the gate the migraine that had been building on the train is in full force.

His fingers hardly make a dent in the throbbing at his temple. The sound of footsteps drums against the inside of his skull. The blood pounding in his ears makes him queasy. His stomach flips, and he nearly upheaves his breakfast. Price catches him by the shoulders. Chill drips down his spine, mint fills his nose, then ginger. He swallows the magic his captain presses into him and sets himself right again.

“You broken?” Price asks, the low rumble of his voice just touches concern. Ghost drags his hand over his eyes, glaring at the recruits that scurry past the two of them. 

“No sir,” Ghost swallows again, and feels the sting of ginger creeping up into his nose, “Must’ve-”

Price grabs his face, his thumbs pulling at his cheeks, inspecting the whites of his eyes. He tips Ghost one way then the next, inspecting him. His eyes narrow, and Ghost resists the urge to swat his hands away. Ghost doesn’t pretend to understand his captain’s inspection, his mannerisms. “Magic”, “witchcraft”, he’s seen the jars that line Price’s office, read the briefs the military keeps redacted beyond legibility, and it still feels like bullshit. Until Price gets his hands on him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” Ghost asks when Price has been quiet too long. His captain’s lips have drawn tight, and lets him go. 

“What’s the date,” Price forgoes answering him. Ghost frowns but indulges him. Price mirrors his frown.

“By how much?” Ghost fills in the gaps in Price’s frown.

“A few days,” Price sighs, “Your mum called.”

“What’d you tell ‘er?”

“Nothing I can’t deny later.”

Ghost nods slowly. He can’t- the last thing he remembers was getting off the train, then making his way to the gate. Not unusual, he’s walked the route enough times he can shut his brain off, but it’s all black. He can’t remember a single part of the walk. He feels over his jaw, he’s shaved recently. A few days? His family knows better than to ask about his work, he’ll just tell them he got caught up in paperwork and crashed in the barracks.

-

It’s not a nightmare, Ghost knows that much at least. There’s no blood, no cramped space, no pain. There are soft fingers carding through his hair, humming. The pillow he rests his head on shifts slightly as the woman above him leans over him. She smiles, her fingers tracing over the scar that cuts through his brow, and down his crooked nose. The light overhead is soft, the air warm on his skin. Her hair halos her, casts strange shadows over her face. 

Ghost raises a hand to cup her cheek and she leans into the touch. He feels lighter, his chest, his limbs, the tension melted away under the careful touch that drags over his skin. Something sharp and teeth gnashingly dark batters against the back of his mind. It scratches behind his eyes. 

“They don’t understand, do they?” She asks. Who? Ghost wants to ask, but his tongue feels like lead. She drags her finger from his hairline to his chin, and back up, and back down. His head follows, nodding along with what she says.

“They never will,” She pouts, and Ghost’s brows twitch, “Poor thing.”

“No,” He manages to unstick his tongue, the scratching behind his eyes is growing more insistent. Ghost turns his head to look at the room, his cheek touches skin. So he’s on her lap. He takes a breath, something soft and floral filling his nose. It bursts pink and fluffy in his vision, clouding what he sees. The room feels fuzzy, he can’t focus his eyes. Dreamlike, he supposes. 

“I understand you,” She breathes, “you love with blood in your teeth.” She moves his head, turns him to look at her again. “I could love you, and you’d never be lonely again.”

His eyes focus on her face. Pretty, electric. Her eyes are too bright, her lips too perfectly carved, her skin looks like glass, she shines with some magic he’s never seen before. She’s fuzzy when he blinks. His heart clenches tight, his grief washing over him. He wants to see her again. It feels consumptive, like a fire burning through him. To love with blood in his teeth, to cut his lips on a kiss, to dig his hands into her thighs and carve his name into her, what bliss that would be.

“Stay with me,” She bids. Ghost swallows, she turns to kiss his palm, he forgot he was touching her. Her skin feels like it’s melting into his, she clings to him. Her lips part and he feels the sharp scratch of her teeth against his palm. The pain shudders through him, lights up the dark howling thing locked in his mind. 

She purrs as his hand wraps around her neck. Possessive, wanting. Blood in his teeth, he thinks to himself. Blood on his hands, on his kitchen floor. He can still see the look on his family’s faces, the horror, the fear in their eyes. Scared of him.

He’s just like his father.

Ghost jerks awake in the barracks. The spartan walls, painted in an attempt to seem more homey than the bare stone. The mattress is familiarly shitty. He drags a hand down his face. It’s dark. When did he drag himself away from the mountain of paperwork that had made its way onto his desk?

He sighs, pulls his knees up to rest his elbow against them as he scratches his head. His dream is already fading from his mind. Not that it made much sense to begin with. At least he wasn’t back in that damn flat. He’ll call his mum in the morning, let her know he’ll be home for dinner. She must be worried.

-

It’s still light out when Ghost leaves base. His back is killing him. Hunched over papers all day as Price piled more on isn’t his idea of a good day at the office, but shit needs to get done. Price had been looking at him strangely all day but hadn’t said anything. When he’d finally snapped at him to either say something or close his eyes, Price had threatened him with insubordination. It felt hollow, but the weight of it settled over his shoulders heavy enough to keep him from snapping again.

At least he let him go at a decent time. Ghost checks his phone, barely five. So why is the tube station so empty? There’s no one on the platform, and there was no one going down the stairs. Suppose that’s good. When he’d tapped his card it didn’t work, felt like a kid hopping the turnstile, be pretty embarrassing if someone had seen him do that.

There’s a woman on the other end of the platform. She wipes at her face, the sound of her sobbing carrying to his end. Ghost watches her for a moment. Her shoulders shake, and he can just barely hear the short sniffles that come with tears. It’s a strange feeling being the only two people in the station. It doesn’t feel real. The air doesn’t touch his skin, and there’s no sound save for the soft crying. 

“You alrigh’ love?” Ghost asks, his voice booming in the small space. He grabs his head at the sharp throb of pain. The space warps, his vision swimming. He closes his eyes, to try and stem the wave of vertigo that washes over him. Maybe he should have stayed on base, gotten examined. 

Christ what is he talking about?

He opens his eyes with a shake of his head, some of the pain dissipating. He looks down at the crying woman. He shouldn’t have yelled when she’s so close. She looks up at him with watery eyes and sniffles. Her pretty pink lips curve down into a pout, almost comical how exaggerated it is. He’s only ever seen Johnny wield that level of frown.

“I’ll be ok,” She tells him. Her manicured fingers swipe at the tears that roll down her face, “Thank you.”

Something in her voice makes his blood throb, and push against his circulatory system. He feels stuck, like his feet are glued to the platform. He can’t move his head to look away from her. She’s pretty when she cries. That must be it. She makes him want to hold her down and see what else he can do to make her sob and beg.

“You’re welcome,” Ghost mumbles. Hands around her neck, he’d bet she likes that. 

The thought itches against the inside of his skull. 

“Would you walk me home?” She asks, “You get off at -” how does she know his stop? “-it’s not far from there.”

She touches his arm, drags her nails up and down. His head follows. 

-

He remembers Price telling him once that magic is about exchange. You can’t get something from nothing, he’d been told. Which seemed like bullshit. What’s the point of magic if you can’t do the impossible with it. Only human, Price had griped at him, you want a miracle try religion.

“What do you want?” The woman in his arms whispers, her lips dragging along his jaw. His hands grip her hip, pulling her up and down his cock. She feels like a furnace, her soft gummy walls clinging to him desperately as he thrusts into her. Her hands squeeze in his chest, pluck at nerve endings and drag nails down his lungs. It hurts. He tips his head to kiss her. He’s never tasted anything sweeter than the honey that drips from her tongue.

What does he want? He wants to fuck her, and keep fucking her. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let go. He doesn’t want to be lonely anymore, always hovering on the outside of humanity. He wants his family to be safe, to never worry about anything ever hurting them again. He wants to be an asset to his team. He wants to lick her cunt. He wants to bite bruises on her thighs. He wants to melt into her. What does he want? What doesn’t he want? He’s greedy, sinking his teeth into any meal he can stomach.

His teeth press against her throat. He wants to feel her blood between his teeth. 

She’s laughing, bright bubbly giggles that pop against the walls with a spark of something. She pushes him back into the mountain of pillows, her hips rolling against him with a fluidity that feels unnatural. He stares up at her, his skin buzzing with her, his mouth, his teeth aching to latch onto her again.

“Say my name,” She grins, her teeth sharp and her nails cutting.

“Love,” He breathes.

“What do you want?” She asks again.

“You.” Ghost’s heart pounds, his voice feels weak. Damning.

“That’s right,” She tells him,

And rips his heart from his chest.

I LOVE YOU. GOODBYE.