#unexplained-strangers

[houseflyy]

Anonymous asked: 🎁 (From @unexplained-strangers :) )

wrapped lyric starters

“Not so different, you and I! We all smile, and we all cry.”

[teapotgremlin]

Little My edged around Leena, overtly trying to get a better look. Under her breath she muttered, ❝ you've got sharp teeth ... ❞

She placed her arms behind her dress, standing upright with a wide smile. Where politness ( and even fear ) would have most holding their tongue, neither of those things had such a hold on Little My. She raised a brow, shameless in her approach. ❝ Somewhere private ? What exactly are you hiding ? ❞

Leena tugged at the drawstrings of her hood just a bit. She wasn't anticipating having to disguise herself from someone looking up at her. From her vantage point Little My could probably see the fur that had already sprouted on her chin, the tooth that had pushed its way out of her lip. Shoot... probably the fur on her hands too, as the motion pulled them from her long sleeves.

She paused to think for a moment. Normally, she'd be very against giving out her name to someone in the woods. She wasn't sure why she was even considering it, she didn't trust Little My. But maybe she knew these woods just a little better than Leena did.

"My name's Leena. I'm not rally going anywhere. I'm just looking for... I dunno, somewhere private?"

[nymphus-fan-account]

Isn't it beautiful that most Mike Wheeler stans are fan fic writers and most Will Byers stans are artists?

[gayofthefae]

The way when Mike says he was scared saying he loved El would hurt more, arguably the core of his entire speech and explanation, it cuts to Will's reaction instead of El's. We need to remember that doing that prioritizes and robs us of a reaction shot from El. The most important line. The core explanation to all his behavior. We don't get to know how El feels about it. We only get her on the fluff. When it's real, the only thing they want us to think about is "real: like Will's love for Mike".

[4rielle]

Really random but would anyone be interested in reading a fic about a kid in the party’s year who grows increasingly suspicious over his classmates and is trying his best to find out what the party and co are hiding.

[lighthouseas]

who up thinking about the Rifts tn

[paperbackribs]

The Gift (5a of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 4 Break the Illusion next: Chapter 5 You're Doing That On Purpose (Part B) Content: steddie fic, 1.4K words

Last chapter, Steve and Eddie came to an understanding and formed a deeper start to their friendship. This chapter, Eddie just wants to convince Steve about which film to watch on movie night and Robin's gonna mock Steve about the two of them flirting.

Chapter 5(a) You're Doing That on Purpose

“So, it’s a kid’s film,” Steve pushes the trolley down the aisle to the comedy section.

Eddie makes a sound like a whistling kettle and Steve bites down on a grin. Behind the counter, Robin ignores the both of them as she tries to plait three Twizzlers into a braid.

Despite school being out, Family Video is as empty on a Tuesday afternoon as it typically is, so no customers to judge her odd candy habits. The promo television silently plays Carey Grant's attempt to seduce Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday while Robin unironically plays the Bangle's Manic Monday on their shared boombox. The tinny sound provides a lively chorus to the boys' bickering.

“It’s a cult classic of epic proportions. It’s not just some animated film, Stevie. It tells of the enduring friendship of Frodo and Sam, it’s the journey from the Shire and the almighty and devastating battle of the Balrog.”

“Right,” Steve snaps his fingers absently, “the Shire is burning.”

Eddie eyes him oddly, “You remember that?”

Steve shrugs, “It sounded cool when you said it. I mean, I didn’t know what you were going on about, like the Bolrag too.”

Eddie squints at him, “You’re doing that on purpose.”

Uh, oh, busted. Robin meets his eye from across the room, laughing silently. They have a running bet on how long he can mix up fantasy names in front of the kids before they call him on it and Eddie had busted him within weeks of knowing him.

Steve feigns innocence while he shelves Weird Science onto the fake walnut shelves, the polished lamination suiting the glossy covers of the VHS cases. “I don’t know what you mean. Tell me about the Shire.”

“No, no, no,” Eddie sways into Steve’s right side, tugging on a lock again. He’s almost used to it now. Regardless, Steve bats his hands away, replacing the shock of Eddie's fingers by smoothing his hair back into place.

“You, my friend, pay attention. You know exactly where the kids are at any moment of the day, you listen to little old ladies at the Indy bookstore—”

“She wasn’t old,” Robin calls out. She was hot, he can hear her add silently. He nods at her to acknowledge how right she is. Her fist pumps in answer, she was hot.

Steve had told Robin that Eddie was safe and since then they'd all had a conversation that essentially amounted to each of them nodding in agreement: they were three queers in backwater Hawkins and, damn, wish that they’d known each other sooner.

They'd had the talk in the evening quiet of the local park, the heat of the day faded to a gentle breeze that carried a hint of the earth underneath them.

While Steve and Robin kicked a ball around, Eddie had sat, nestled within the sturdy and gnarled roots of the massive fig tree at the centre of the grassy area, working at the lyrics of a song. Of which, he refused to share with Steve and Robin, only smiling mysteriously when prodded about it.

Despite the black of his cut-off jean shorts and the grotesque skull on his t-shirt, the soft curls of Eddie's hair and his pensive expression as he looked down at his notebook had given Steve the impression of an earth sprite. Delicate and easily startled, ready to disappear into the trunk of the fig tree, never to be seen again.

Once the two players had tired themselves out a little, Steve had sat them all down and led the conversation under the shade of the broad leaves above them. The green of it stretching like fingers of a reaching hand, cradling them within its protection.

Steve had been amused at how shocked Eddie was, a near replica of Robin's reaction to his same disclosure last year. But, what was the fluidity of Steve's sexuality in comparison to the liminality he lived in as a Witch? He liked boys and girls and all in between. So, what? He could also make Robin hover by a few inches in the air and that was far more fun to play around with.

The conversation may have been had, but Robin wasn’t about to loudly call out something so damning in public when anyone could walk through the store door at any moment in their small, judgemental lives.

“—and I know you’re getting those names wrong on purpose,” Eddie concludes confidently.

Steve crosses his arms, biceps bulging slightly under his sunflower yellow polo. “So what if I get Bolrag wrong? I don’t want to watch a kid’s movie.”

Robin hums. “Always the babysitter.” Steve points to her in appreciation.

“No kiddies, I promise.” Despite being the same height, Eddie looks up at Steve through his bangs while his dimple deepens charismatically, “Just us big kids. You’re in, right Buckley?”

“Oh yeah,” she smirks at Steve, “it’s actually pretty good. And Eddie says it’s that or Ben Hur.” She makes a face.

“Isn’t that a black and white,” asks Steve teasingly, knowing her preoccupation with older films.

“No, it's colour, but I also don’t want to watch a flick about the boiling animosity of half-naked men for over two hours. Come on, Steve, let’s watch the kid’s movie that’s just under two hours,” she finishes sarcastically.

Eddie’s lips quirk crookedly, “The bonds of men and Hobbits alike are the theme of the night.”

Steve blows out a breath, knowing when he’s defeated. By the widening smile on Eddie’s face, the other boy knows it too and Steve can’t help but smile in response.

He’s aware that it’s been hard for Eddie lately. Beating the rap doesn’t mean squat when Jason Carver and his goons still have it out for him. Though Hop had apparently reigned the parents in so hard that their evil little offspring may have actually listened. Steve suspects that Hop had also pulled off one of his patented 'drive arounds' with the teens, calmly explaining the consequences of their future actions and, in turn, scaring the shit out of them.

The kids had shared about Jason and his guys stirring up trouble at school, but it sounded like it was mostly name-calling at this point. Steve had made Dustin promise to tell him if it got worse, but Eddie hadn’t said anything yet.

Steve pauses to consider before cautiously asking, “And the bonds of Hellfire? Is that staying strong post…” Steve waves his hand in the air as if to convey all that happened over Spring Break, including being hunted down and having your friends threatened by Jason’s vigilante mob.

An easy smile spreads over Eddie’s face, his voice rising as if performing to a larger audience and hands spreading wide like he’s inviting them to step onto his stage. “Hellfire? We are as strong as any dogs of war. For while our bloodshed is confined to the realm of the sorcerous, we still are that happy few, we band of brothers.”

Steve’s not one hundred per cent on what Eddie’s referring to, but he does trust that they’re getting along okay. He doesn’t have that tightness around his eyes and lips he sometimes gets when uncomfortable or avoiding a touchy subject. “And Jason? Is he leaving you alone?”

Eddie blinks for a moment, his wide smile dipping before drawing it back firmly onto his face. “No problems there, Stevie. They can’t do anything and I’m not worried.”

Steve is though, thinking about that brief expression hinting at more. But, he wonders what he’s allowed to question. Or maybe, he is allowed to ask Eddie, who may nevertheless still choose not to privilege Steve with an insight into that busy mind of his.

“All right, then. Since your band of dogs are happy, let’s do the hobos.” He feels a flash of triumph as he hears Eddie’s bark of laughter at Steve continuing the bit. “My place, Friday.”

“Fantastic my lovely, dear liege,” Eddie affects a bow. “I’ll shall bring the brews. My Madam Buckley, farewell.” She sticks her middle finger up at his blown kiss. Eddie leaves, chuckling under his breath, the door’s bell ringing after him.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open, so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed, let me know. :) If I've missed you, definitely tell me because it's an accident!

@a-gae-af-racoon

@a-lovely-craziness

@aly-reads-alot

@bookworm0690

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@ellietheasexylibrarian

@everyrandomthing

@finntheehumaneater

@geekymagicalpotato

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@hallucinatedjosten

@ilikeititspretty

@just-a-tiny-void

@ledleaf

@littlewildflowerkitten

@lostonceandneverfound

@manda-panda-monium

@matchingbatbites

@mightbeasleep

@nburkhardt

@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@platonicbesties4life

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie-archive

@spectrum-spectre

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

@bestwifehaver

[galatfemme]

finding out in A Stranger to Command that Shevraeth has ... some kind of latent capability to read people or pick up on emotions that he doesn't even realise made everything in Crown Duel/Court Duel hit different

https://www.sherwoodsmith.net/sartorias-deles/glossary/

Every time Mel is trying to escape or at court when she looks up and catches his eye and thinks it's like he's reading her mind HE WAS WITHOUT EVEN REALISING IT

The poor guy's an extra strength empath! Imagine being like that around Mel, a human firecracker

[cannibalisticvoyeurism]

hey if i'm really awkward and distant with you recently, it's because i'm paranoid and i'm positive i did something unspeakably wrong that i am Unaware Of and it's caused everybody to hate me

[fingertipsmp3]

I remember I was listening to LPOTL one time and Marcus said “Yorkshire is ridiculously haunted” and I was sooo happy because finally. The recognition we deserve

[rookenby]

One of my biggest pet peeves in fanfiction, that is rather unique to the medium, is when it's pitched as 'what if this major thing happened that should alter the entire plot and/or canon' and then the author seems to go out of their way to keep that thing from interacting with anything outside of very specific and sporadic scenes

[athiestpaladin]

does stranger things just have nostalgia wired into it cuz i first watched it not even a YEAR AGO and im like...god guys...sniffle sniffle...my childhood show...the memories

[justjohn333]

Watch till the end

[gayofthefae]

People claiming that Mike couldn't say "I love you" because of his parents is just a blatant admission that his canon excuse does not hold up.

It can't both be true that the plot is wrapped up and he explained himself with a valid reason AND your thing is true.

The whole thing with analyzing motives is that they haven't been revealed yet. Either his motives have yet to be revealed and they're what you say, meaning the L word plotline isn't over, OR he was scared of losing her like he said.

Why do you need to come up with your own reason? Didn't the show give you one? Why not just...quote the show? If you have such a proof, I mean... It's just so silly to me to be ABLE to quote the show and then decide NOT to because you want solider proof.

So you agree? His behavior is still unexplained and requires fans to speculate on his motives?

Because the SHOW claimed to have answered it...so what your're saying is you agree. His behavior and explanation were inconsistent require more explanation.

The fact that the argument is "queer vs his parents" in the first place just goes to show how WEAKLY "scared of losing you" holds up. It's the canon answer that's supposed to be framed as never being addressed again, but it isn't even on the table as an option in the debate.

[coloredcompulsion]

Its that time of year again *rearranges room for the winter*

[im-not-a-pleeb]

After Midnight

John Price X Fem!Reader

John Price steps in as Reader's fake boyfreind when her ex stalks her in the club.

.

"Put your hands on me, dove."

"What?" You chirp.

"He's comin' over. Put your hands on me."

"Fuck."

Your muttered explitive is completely drowned out by the music shuddering through the air in the club.

You'd recognize that godawful haircut anywhere. Apparently even through a dimly lit room crammed with people. Flashing lights and all, there was no doubt that your ex was here, and that he was scanning the crowd for someone.

You.

Panic laces your bloodstream on the middle of the dance floor. Your lungs seize abruptly and the sheen of sweat on your skin cools, leaving you shivering. You weren't a party girl. You didn't go to clubs. You were only out tonight because you wanted- no, you needed to prove to yourself that you were still desirable after all the nasty things he said about you during the breakup.

It's like dropping a pebble down a well and listening for the splash, left with the anticipation for some eventual sound that could come at any moment. And every second the stone doesn't plunk into the water below, time stretches until it's still. Until it snaps. Your eyes meet his across the room. Your stomach pits.

You run.

Taking off, you aim for the back of the club where it's darker. You nudge and slide your way through the sea of grinding couples and a spike of anger parts your fears momentarily. Because isn't it just like him to show up and ruin your night. Not that you were having a particularly fantastic time to begin with- but still. It's the sentiment of it all.

You stalk towards the dingy 'staff only' hallway where a few people ( who definitely aren't staff) are making out. Hopefully your ex will take one look at the blatant PDA and head the other way, because yeah. It does make people uncomfortable.

The soles of your shoes stick to the floor as you duck next to a mountain of a man - who is thankfully standing alone. He towers over you by at least a foot and you use his wide, sturdy build to hide yourself further from the room. If he does notice you, he doesn't show it. Instead, he seems more focused on sulking down here in the tunnel of shame and fumbling hands. 

You groan and fall back against the postered walls, covering your eyes. The papers advertising various underground DJs are a little soggy from what you hope is beer (at least it smells like it) so you straighten back up with a grimace. Definitely showering when you get home. A draft of cool night air slips through the hall from beneath the exit, making you wrap your arms protectively around your middle.

You bite your lip, eyeing the door. You could slip out into the alley and leave that way... with that route you'd be able to avoid your ex, but you'd only be trading your bad situation in for a worse one. Frankly, you weren't terribly keen on the idea of dealing with whoever would be hanging around the back lane at this hour. It might be better to risk leaving through the front...

"A'right?" The big strangers deep, gravely voice tugs you back from your spiraling thoughts. It hauls you to dry land as easily as a mother cat grabs her wet kitten by the scruff and delivers it to safety. You tilt your chin to face him and with one look up at this man's eyes, you knew that's exactly what he offered. Safety.

His face was a little weathered. Big nose, smallish, blue eyes that would make the ocean jealous. Well-maintained beard and mutton chops. He was built masterfully, too, all shoulders and hard lines. All in all a gorgeous man, but more than that- he exuded a sense of protection and control that was damn near palpable.

It was unexplainable. In the same way that you knew your ex was here for you, you knew that this man would help you. So you answered his question honestly.

"No." You weren't alright.

"What's wrong, then?" He shifts his body to sheild you further, while still keeping half an eye on the rest of the room. Your gaze roams quickly over the bulge of his arms as they fold over his broad chest.

With a deep, albeit shakey breath, you recount how your recent breakup went bad. How your ex won't leave you alone. How he keeps showing up to your home, your work, and now you're almost positive that he is here to confront you. You'd hoped that blocking him on everything would be enough to dissuade him from talking to you, but clearly you'd been praying to a false God on that account.

Much to your surprise, he doesn't try to inturupt you while you talk. The man simply listens, his chin tucked down and expression unreadable, brows furrowed and eyes fixed intently on your face. He nods once when you're finished speaking, grunting when he spots your fingers playing nervously at your sides.

"Can you describe 'im for me?" He asks, stopping you from peering past his shoulder with the mere lift of his pointer and middle fingers that rested on his bicep. "Without lookin'."

"Oh. Yeah." You rub your own arms, trying to soothe away the goosebumps. "Tall- well- not as tall as you. Green eyes, blond hair. Horrendous man bun and shaved on the sides, you know?" Making a gesture beside your own head, you look up to make sure he's understanding. His mustache twitches.

"Mm, I know the type." He rumbles, a smirk playing at his lips. "What's he wearin'?"

"I don't know." You deflate. You'd been more focused on getting out of sight than on what he'd been wearing.

"S'alright." He touches your arm, attention slipping away from you momentarily. His easy posture doesn't change, but he stiffens. "Dark jeans, white jumper?"

"Jumper?" You wrinke your nose in confusion at the unfamilair british term.

"Hoodie." He translates for you.

"Oh. Yeah. I mean- maybe?"

Before you can blink, he's caging you in against the wall, both hands planted on either side of your head. Maybe you squeak, but the music swallows your surprise readily. There's no time to react before he leans in next to your ear, beard tickling your cheek as he murmurs:

"Think he's lookin'."

Automatically, you go to turn your head only to end up brushing your lips along his jawline. His facial hair prickles and you think you like it. Blushing furiously, you open your mouth to apolagise but the words die on your tongue when he moves closer. He consumes you without being invasive, crowding you now, but still careful not to touch you directly. He's so near that you can feel the heat radiating off of him between the scant distance of your chests.

"Put your hands on me, dove."

"What?" You chirp.

"He's comin' over. Put your hands on me." It's a demand this time. There's something in his tone now that you can't ignore, something that compells you to shiver and obey. He drops his head, nosing along the curve of your neck and collarbone as you slip your hands inside of his unzipped cargo jacket. The warmth of him instantly envelops you, seeping into your very bones. You're not cold anymore, you're almost too hot.

It's a casually deceptive act from both of you, and there's something so respectfully intimate in how he breathes you in, lips skimming up to your chin and leaving behind a trail of sparks. A hot puff of his breath tousels your hair and you ball your fists in the back of his shirt. It's only at his chuff of laughter when you realise you've tilted your head for more...

"Hey man, what the fuck you think you're doing with my girl?" Your ex's voice breaks whatever spell this man had put you under. The breath you'd been holding whooshes out of your lungs like you were punched, and the muscles that had turned to honey from just his proximity grow tense again at the unwanted presence.

The towering man doesn't lift his head immediatly. Instead, he hums beside your ear - a low, almost annoyed sound - and lets his beard rasp along your cheek lazily before looking up at the intrusion.

"Doesn't look like she's your girl anymore, eh?" He says casually, but there's an edge to his voice as he sizes up the other man. You're still practically engulfed by him. He hasn't given you back a millimeter of space, keeping himself all but pressed up against you. His hands haven't moved either, you note. They're both still beside your head, braced on the wall. Haven't even touched you and your knees are weak.

"Well she is, so I reccomend that you get the fuck off her, pal." Your ex repeats, tone haughty and he squares his shoulders like he actually thinks he could go head to head with this guy and come out victorious. He turns his attention to you then, still for the most part hidden by the stranger's frame. "I didn't come here to see you throwing yourself at whoever will take you like some common whore." He sneers.

Your cheeks flush in agitation at the insult. He's said such things before, but never to embarrass you in front of other people. The man previously dominating your personal space finally takes a step back, rolling his shoulders and expanding his chest. But before he can say anything, you're pushing in front of him to stand up to your ex. Because how dare he?

Ever since he got comfortable in your relationship, your ex had treated you like shit and you'd put up with it because really he was a sweet guy when he was happy. But you were done. He'd crossed the final line by insulting you in front of someone else, and the burly man standing behind you gave you enough confidence that your ex wouldn't deck you the second you laid into him.

"I don't know what part of 'never talk to me again' is so hard for you to understand! I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to call you... nothing! You need to accept that this-" You gesture between the two of you, "Is over. It's been over for a long time and I've told you every way I know how. We're finished, Okay?" You explode.

"Okay, but I just think you should give me another chance. I'll change." Your ex tries, pathetically trying to sweettalk his way back into your life. It might have worked on you once, but not anymore.

"No! I don't need to do anything else for you. I 'just think' that it's your turn to do something for me, and you can start by getting the fuck out of my life."

"Baby, I-" your ex starts, but you cut him off with a humourless laugh.

"Are you even hearing me right now? Are you hearing yourself!? We. Are. Over. I'm not your baby. I'm not your girl. I'm not your anything. Clear?"

He blinks stupidly. It was the first time you'd actually held your own against him. The first time you'd talked back and clearly he didn't know how to take it.

"Am I fucking clear?" You snap.

"Yeah." He swallows, brushing it off with a shrug. "Yeah, it's clear. It's whatever." He clears his throat, trying to play off his discomfort with an attempted smile. A smile that you mock and twist right back at him.

"One more thing." Your grin is sugary sweet and poisonous. Pure saccharine. "Call me whore again and I'll break your fucking nose."

The slapped expression on your ex's face is priceless. He wisely decides not to say anything else before walking away, seeming stunned.

Still grinning, you turn to the man behind you. He's stood unwavering, looking entertained and seeming more than a little impressed. With a surge of confidence and heady elation, you reach up and tug him towards you by his neck.

His eyebrows raise a little in surprise, but he leans down to meet you where you've stretched up on your toes to close the distance. He ducks his head, lips barely skimming yours before pulling away. You pout, glancing at him in displeasure. And then he's kissing you.

This time, he doesn't hold back. An arm snakes around your middle and heaves you against his chest, keeping you anchored to him with a heavy palm pressed to your lower back. His other hand tangles in your loose hair, tugging your head to angle you how he wants.

A breathy groan slips from your mouth, lips parting beneath his as thunder rumbles behind his sternum.

"Knew you'd be a needy little thing."

You feel your cheeks flush but you nod, just wanting more of him. The pulse of the bass hijacks your system and you're not sure if it's his heartbeat or yours that pounds in your ears. You tug at him desperately, and he huffs, smirking while you card your fingers through his hair. The scent of burnt spices envelops you just before he does.

"Christ, you're a sight."

His lips are on yours again, licking into your open mouth. He tastes like whiskey, you think leisurely, and you eagerly sip the flavour from his lips. The man - you still don't know his name - steps you back against the wall and slips a knee between your thighs.

The movement elicits a gasp as you clutch at him, hips pressing forward. He greedily swallows all the sounds that he draws from you, letting you grind against him for a moment before he stops you. His fingers tightens at your waist, stilling your restless motion. He doesn't want you to be greedy. He wants you to take what he gives you.

Instead, he rocks his thigh against you, letting the feeling build. You're gasping shamelessly against his lips, beard scratching your chin while he brings you nearer and higher. It makes it all the more cruel when he begins to slow before you can reach the peak you crave.

"Not here, dove. Not tonight." His voice thrums in your ear.

Protest leaves you in a whine. As badly as you want more of him, you have to reluctantly agree. The shame that would come with getting off in some dirty hallway with a guy you barely even know... it would fester the rest of the night.

He kisses you a little longer though, a little deeper. His lips are softer now, less demanding. Like he's trying to gradually calm the storm he evoked within you, to soothe that same ache he is responsible for.

When he finally breaks the kiss you're left flushed and panting, clinging to him to stay standing.

"Oh god." You breathe. "I don't usually do that- kiss random men in clubs."

"That so?" He asks, seeming amused.

"Mhm. I don't even know your name." You touch your fingers to your mouth and hope that your lipgloss isn't smudged to oblivion.

"S'John, sweetheart." He brushes the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, smearing some of the remaining moisture.

"John." You repeat, trying it out. It's a good, solid name. Hefty on the tongue. "Thanks for... you know, scaring him off and everything."

"Oh I think you did all the work there, love." John chuckles, and you can't help but laugh too. "I wouldn't like to be on your bad side."

"You'd be hard pressed." You murmur, marveling at how the blue strobes highlight his features, dancing across his face and blinding you. But they dim in comparison to those eyes.

"Would I?" He lowers his voice to a pleased rumble. The hand on your hip kneads the flesh there gently.

You nod, blushing. The few shots you had earlier must be filtering through your conciousness now, because everything's a little hazy and your cheeks are hot. Hotter than just a blush.

The floor dips gently and you sway into him, barely bracing yourself with hand slapped haphazardly against his ribs.

"Sorry." You giggle, pulling back. He doesn't let you go far, though, holding tight at your waist to keep you from tipping over again.

"Alright, dove?" He asks, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"Mhmm." You hum, still captivated by the lights playing exquisitely over the lines of his face.

"How'd you get here, sweetheart?"

"Took a cab." You tell him.

"Let me drive you back."

You hesitate. "Are you sure?" The last thing you want is to take advantage of his goodness.

John just hums and presses a kiss to the corner of your lips.

"Course" He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Gotta make sure my girl gets home safe, don't I?"

GUYS I'm so excited this is my first work in years! I'm still getting back into writing, but i hope you enjoyed it <3. Personally I'm not thrilled with how it came out, but my perfectionism needs to calm down, I'm sure it's good enough.

I realized there isn't actually that much Price in this Price fanfic.... I'm sorry! I swear there will be more of him in my next work!! You guys are gonna go crazy, I promise 😏😌