#Gaz you are unfamiliar magic and wild magic already doesn't mix well with human magic

[ghouljams]

not to be a slut but what if price tapped witch?

:)

"Why don't we just wipe her and try again?" Gaz asks, already on his feet and moving towards you with an efficiency you haven't seen in years. You try not to be intimidated by the threat. Price wouldn't let anything happen to you, at least you don’t think he would. You trust him, and he must trust Gaz or he wouldn't have brought him. So you’re doing your best to trust Gaz as well.

"Not a good-" Price's words are cut short by Gaz's fingers pressing against your forehead with a soft tap before you can even think to swat his hand away. Price shoots to his feet almost as quickly as you feel the pierce of wild magic sliding through your brain. A jagged knife pushing home between the hemispheres of your brain, snapping synapses and tearing tissue. Your eyes go wide as agony sweeps over you.

"Price?" You don't know what you mean to say after that, or even what your intentions with it were in the first place. The sharp block of fae magic sits menacingly between your thoughts, pushing out everything else with increasingly painful precision. When you look at Price for help you taste blood, feel tears spill down your cheeks. Price's face contorts into something akin to panic as he reaches for you.

The two fae are snapped from your home, your wards identifying and expelling the threats as you stumble to your feet. You can't make your eyes focus on anything but the bright crimson blood that coats your fingertips as you draw them away from your lips. Your nose is bleeding.

Price pounds on the door, yelling for you. You do your best to ignore it and drag yourself to your kitchen, hands shaking and breaths shallow as you open your apothecary cabinet. You grab- no you- you can't remember what you're supposed to grab in this situation. The pain is starting to make it hard to think, and your vision won't clear enough to read the scrawled labels on the bottles in front of you. 

"Let me in Sweetheart," Price calls through your door, "please let me in," his voice sounds as desperate as the bang of his fist against the wood, "I can fix this, please."

You can fix this too. You're sure you know how to fix this. You just cant- you can't recall it. You grip your head with a whine, dig your fingers against your hairline as pain shoots against the back of your eye. You need a proxy. You need something to take this pain so you can think about how to get the twisting knife out of your skull.

You try to open the large drawer in the middle of the cabinet and find it stuck. You jiggle the handle to try and coax it open, tugging blindly at the drawer. There’s poppets in there, raw materials, you’re sure- you’re sure if- fuck you’re not-

You press your shaking hands to your eyes, clawing at your head to try and release some of the pressure. It feels like your skull is about to explode. You try not to scream in pained frustration. Everything is too much. Too bright and searing. You’re losing parts of your brain as quickly as you can remember them. You feel like a cup being poured out, the profound loss of yourself a threatening undercurrent to the pain. 

You need this -whatever it is- out of you. You try to remember your spells, your magic, the things your mother and grandmother have drilled into you since you were small. You don’t have time to think (couldn’t hope to anyway) you can only rely on the instinct that’s been nurtured in you.

You are raw unfiltered magic, built on generations of magical blood. It courses through your veins like a guiding compass and forces you forward, self preservation and adrenaline carrying you when your feet don't want to. The pounding. The pounding on the door. It's like a never ending drum beat, tattooing itself over your eardrums. There's someone very insistent at your door. A proxy, your ancestors whisper to you.

You rip the door open, grab the face of the man banging on it, and press. Press all the pain out of your body and into him, push the knife out of your skull and drive it as deep as you can into him until it doesn't hurt anymore, until you don't feel anything anymore. And he lets you. Whoever he is, he lets you pour the invading magic into him, his hand tight around your wrist as you do, holding you steady. He catches you around your waist when the adrenaline leaves you in a rush, and your legs can't support you anymore, holds you tight to his chest and murmurs soft kindnesses to you. You're not sure why when you've surely given him every painful reason to spit and curse at you. 

"It's alright Sugar, it's- Christ what took you so long, I thought-" He presses his lips to your forehead, wiping away the last of whatever invading force was putting you through hell. 

“Price I-” There’s another person here, you flinch away from his voice.

“Save it, you didn’t know.” Price, that’s a familiar name, cuts him off. Price crouches, adjusts his hold on you and slips an arm under your knees to lift you. “Witches are a rare breed,” He grunts, bouncing you a little in his hold to coax you to hang on, “and even if we didn’t mix like oil and water this one’s warded to hell and back.”

“Generational,” You mumble, trying to deepen your breathing, eyes squeezed shut against the sunlight.

“You comin’ back to me already, Sweetheart?” Price murmurs, there’s something rumbly and comforting in his chest. It makes you feel safe and held. You hum, not sure what he’s talking about. He smells good, cool like the winter breeze, after the horrible burning it’s a nice change. Price is mumbling something to himself, the rumbling starting to peter off as he does. That’s alright, it’s done its job leading you towards sleep. You’re jostled back to wakefulness with a few purposeful bounces. “You want me to put you to bed?” He asks softly, you think that’s a funny question considering he’s already trying to put you to sleep.

“Please.”

“Atta girl,” You feel when he passes through the threshold into your home. The wards raised and poised to attack the magic that had threatened their owner. You wish they wouldn’t bother you when you’re so worn out. That seems to work well enough for them to settle, humming in annoyance as Price carries you through the little archway separating the bedrooms from the main room of the house.

You’re set on a soft surface, your bed you think, and Price’s hands leave you to let you cuddle into your pillows. You open your eyes as he pulls the curtains over your window. The dim light makes you feel soft and selfish, reaching a hand toward him as he turns. He catches your fingers with his own, crouching to meet your eyes. He kisses the tips of your fingers, your knuckles, he looks… regretful. His brows are drawn and his smile doesn’t reach the soft look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You wonder how many people have heard him say that, something soft and warm settles between your ribs. You pull at his grip, push your cheek against his rough palm. He lets out a pained noise and draws back, “I can’t, Gaz and I-”

“S’okay,” You sigh and close your eyes again, pulling a pillow under your aching head, you’re starting to feel a little more yourself, “I’ll be here.”

“I know,” His fingers brush your hair from your face, “I’ll be back.”

You smile when his fingers don’t leave, tracing your features lightly, reverently, “I know.”

#1fae1 #oc: Witch #fae!Price #fae!Gaz #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x oc #x oc #cod x oc #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x oc #oh sorry did we forget that this is a horror #tw memory loss #tw head trauma #Gaz you are unfamiliar magic and wild magic already doesn't mix well with human magic #Price and Witch's magic has sort of reached an understanding #they're gentle with each other