#Ok I gotta get off the fae and back to the cowboys

[ghouljams]

Dear Ghoul, remember the ask I sent previously about Price being all condescending and using nicknames to mock our dear witch and how you asked about how it feels being right about it?

I think I'm pretty proud about being spot-on about it all lol.

I wish I could send you some more stuff but atm my brain is solely focused on this Gaz oneshot I'm writing :') but I'll probably gush about Fae Price and Fae Gaz later this weekend hopefully.

Anyway, the only thing I can think about is witch harvesting some strawberries from her little kitchen garden and making a lot of fruit jam, and leaving some for Fae Price outside on the wall/barrier that stands between her hut and Price's place. Along with a cute note telling him to take the jam and to use it while it's fresh and all....the domesticity of it all is just so....gentle.

This probably got Fae Price thinking about how pretty and glowing Witch would be as they go about their day in a shared space, him going out and bringing his sweet witch herbs and keepsakes to work with, testing her magic spells by trying to break it for her....just swoon.

(also can I be 🪷 anon, if it's not taken? I'd like to have some moniker so it's easy to identify my rambling on your blog lol)

AH! Imagine me pointing at my fic with Witch sitting on Price's lap: the cookies in that have home made rose jam. God the rose motif I am pushing is just not subtle, but I don't care. Witch absolutely makes jam with the fruit in her garden/the fruit given to her by clients.

I think that while Price was still waiting for the threshold to let him in he sometimes had tea with Witch. He's not a big fan of tea, but he is a fan of the scones and jam that Witch makes.

It's one of your favorite times of the day, a little past lunch when the sun in your garden is at its hottest and the Winter on the other side is the coldest. You pass Price a mug of warm mulled wine and pluck a scone from the plate precariously balanced on the garden wall. Price sips at his drink while you complain about a difficult customer, neatly slicing your preferred scone to slather jam on each half. You offer half to Price and he takes it with a small smile.

"You not drinkin' tea anymore?" He asks suddenly. You pause capping the jam.

"I'm drinking tea now," You tip your mug to show him the leaves at the bottom, "Why?"

"This is wine." He says it like you should know what he's not saying, and you do.

"Homemade," You tell him with a smile, before relenting to his stare with a sigh, "You don't drink tea." Price hums, like he wants to refute it, as if you didn't see him his a frown and furrowed brows the last time you served him tea. Granted it was pretty bitter, but there were only so many times you could pour out a half drunk mug before you figured the man didn't enjoy a cuppa like you did.

"It's good," He finally tells you. You hide your smile behind your mug, sipping your lukewarm tea.

"Good, I'll make it again." You leave off the 'for you' Price doesn't need to know he's the only other person enjoying your labors. Even if he can taste it under the spices, that you were thinking of him while you were cooking. If he didn't know any better he might think you were trying to make him fall for you. You give too much of yourself too freely, he'd be a fool not to want you for himself.

"Got something for ya," He digs a hand into his pocket, fishing out the tightly corked bottle. You're pretty when you frown, the little crease in your brows is endearing.

"You don't have to repay-" He hold out the bottle, little white stems in soft purple liquid. Your eyes light up just how he thought they would. "Ghost pipes," Your excitement is so pleasant to be on this side of. He shakes the bottle, churning the contents while he waits for you to take it. He knows you will, the way you set down your mug and hold your hands out.

"For the food," He knows you're itchy about debts, and it's easier to imply he's put a price on your kindness than try to convince you he's giving out of his own care. No strings attached, he means to say. Even though he knows you'd never buy that. Your hesitance around accepting his gifts is starting to fade. It makes him feel almost warm when you take the bottle from him. It's not a tether, it's something else. A warmth he hasn't felt before.

He'll decide what it means later. When he isn't watching your smile.

#1fae1 #fae!Price #oc: witch #john price x reader #john price x oc #captain john price #Ok I gotta get off the fae and back to the cowboys #captain price x reader #captain price x oc #I feel like I'm losing my cowboy credibility #also i have seen other people writing cowboys recently and that makes me happy #more cowboys for me to read about #I'm gonna clear a bunch of fae asks out of by inbox #and work on my beloved ranch hands #🪷 anon