There's something I'm wondering about. Does Fae AU Price love the Witch? Or is she just interested in him? If so, when did he start liking her? Why did he start to like the witch?
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Does Price- YES OH MY GOD YES the man is head over heels for Witch. I think at the start Price was just curious, trying to get a hook in her, but he realized quickly it was more than that. I think when he gave her his name that was his first "I love you" to Witch.
Here's their meet cute:
You raise your hagstone to your eye and look around the shop. It's always interesting to find human owned businesses with a lot of fae hanging around. All sorts of fae too! You drop the stone back to rest against your chest, feeling the flow of magic as you look at the various plants and flowers. There are a few small stacks of notebooks and various other novelties among the bouquets and pots. You run your hand over a heavy leather sketchbook that feels hand made. You wonder if the owner sources from the locals.
The bell over the front door chimes and the atmosphere shifts. Magic shifts and tips, swirls and shudders, and drops to creep along the floorboards. You tilt your head, keeping your eyes on the cockscomb flowers in front of you. It feels old, heavy, not bound but binding. The way the fae around you glance quickly back and scoot closer into the flowers along the wall, is promising. You have nothing to worry about, but you do feel a little bad for the weaker fae that do their best to slide away unnoticed.
Whoever is causing a commotion certainly isn't going to stop you from getting what you came for. You pluck a few stems of the red brainy flower and add it to your collection, moving on to the last bucket on your list. All of your flowers safely in hand you turn to the open air of the store.
Your eyes fix on him immediately. Even without the sight you could pick him out of a crowd as fae. His hands press against the checkout counter, shoulders hunched as he speaks low to the taller man behind the wood barrier, the cigar between his fingers smokes in the wrong direction. The thick smoke pools over the counter, and drips down the sides like water.
It feels like a dream the way the man's head turns towards you, his eyes piercing, sticking you to your spot. You blink, watching him exhale, watching smoke slide from his mouth despite never raising his cigar to his lips. He's handsome, you think. The beard, the broad set of his shoulders, the wrap of his shirt around his biceps, even the darkness of dirt that creeps against the edges of his nails, all lend themselves to a picture that fizzes in your stomach pleasantly.
You push it from your mind. He's fae, one that feels dangerous, and fae only want one thing from Witches. Your family hasn't lost one of its own to the fae in generations and you aren't about to break that record.
You walk to the counter, and queue behind the man with a smile. He turns with you, leaning against the wood to watch you. He brings his cigar to his lips, looking you over. The larger fae narrows his eyes, his head tipping to menace you.
"Are you conducting business or chatting?" You ask, keeping your voice friendly as much as you want to be rude. You rather hate this part of the fae.
"Business," The smoke man says.
"Pull all the little strings you like," the taller man growls, "it's not my business." The smoke man waves him off.
"What about you little Witch? Business or pleasure?" His smoke curls around you curiously. You wave it off.
"I'm here to gather some ingredients, do I check out with you?" you look at the man behind the counter, or try to. Your eyes slide off of him. You recognize Mal's magic when you see it, but that doesn't make it any easier on your eyes.
The larger fae seems to light up, "No, she is in the back. I'll get her." He turns his back to you, and wanders into the back room.
You move to set your bundle of flowers onto the counter, the smoke man hardly moves out of your way. He actually seems to lean closer, just barely touching you as you do your best to not come off like you're ignoring him. After all there's no need to be rude.
Price breathes deeply, feeling the after effects of magic spark on his tongue. Citrus and vetiver, it reminds him of honey without the sticky sweetness. Wildflowers in liquid gold covering a seemingly bottomless pit of magic. It makes his mouth water. He tips his head to watch the way your lashes sweep against your cheek, the way you lips part as you sigh, resting your burden on the counter. What a pretty little meal you'd make. You’re absolutely captivating. A thousand years and he'd never see anything else as gorgeous as the magic that arcs off of you. (as beautiful as the color in your eyes)
You glance up at him. He's never met a witch whose gaze didn't cut him. You're blind, he realizes, not a speck of supernatural sight in you. So it wasn't the sight that made you interested in magic. He smiles down at you. He hasn't met an ancestral witch in ages.
"Is there something you wanted to say?" You ask, your voice as calm as a he's ever heard one.
"Could be," Price feels his register slip lower, the edges purring. Your blink slows, eyelids heavy for a brief moment before something sparks and you flinch. It's a small movement but so very telling. You're warded. Good girl.
You hum, and look back to the door behind the counter. Price hardly bothers, the muffled sounds of speech could take a while yet. Cheeky little thing not to follow the conversation. Smart though. Better to say less around him, wouldn't want to get any hooks from a nasty fae, would you?
"Where'd you come from sweetheart?" (How did I never notice you?) Price asks, hoping to drag your attention back to him. You tip your head, your fingers toying with the pendent on your necklace
"Nowhere spectacular," you smile up at him, "but certainly nowhere you were looking."
"Oh I doubt that." Price hums. You raise your pendant to your face and he belatedly realizes it's a hagstone. He moves instinctively, fingers wrapping around the stone to prevent you from looking through it. A growl rips itself from his throat, "Rude."
Your eyes widen ever so slightly. You don't fight his grip, fingers lax under his. Your hands are so soft, his thumb rubs over your finger without thinking. An intimacy he isnt allowed. Something sparks, electricity zapping his grip. Price pulls back with a hiss. You flick your fingers and drop a piece of amber into his hand. It's warm, he flips it between his fingers and gives it a look. It's warm, a small flame dancing in the gold.
"You're apologizin'," Price let's the stone drop back into his palm.
"I'm giving you something for the trouble," your voice is so sweet, gentle and pulling, "so you don't have to deal with me again."
Have to, no, but he wants to. His tether didn't even have a chance to hook you before you'd paid it off. Pretty little witch. His pretty little witch. You have to be. He can't let anyone but him have you, or your magic. No, if anyone is going to eat you, it'll be him.
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