tastes like peaches

Kissing Chats is therapeutic

This is what resulted from a chat I had with @frostedpuffs and well, I’m very proud of it lol. It is kind of short tho.

Marinette was a wrecked ball of stress. It was so bad that people probably could smell stress on her while she passed by, if the dark circles under her eyes weren’t a dead giveaway. She had three tests, two presentations, the deadlines for four essays and a lot of commissions for her online clothes shop. And the cherry on top of her funeral cake was, of course, being Ladybug and saving Paris at any moment when an akuma appeared.

(Which happened a lot lately. Hawkmoth can choke.)

Although, Marinette probably won’t have a funeral cake, because, frankly, she didn’t even have time to die. But the real question here was if Marinette was using that time she had in the evening to do anything related to the before mentioned responsibilities?

Well… no.

Look, her plants had priority okay? Marinette can’t pull through stress crisis without her plants. So that’s how that fine evening found Marinette Dupain-Cheng on her balcony, making sure her hortensias were hydrated enough. She was humming a random tune, as she kept arranging her plants, trying to not think about the load of work she had. With a sigh, she glanced up at the skyline, hoping she to get a glint of inspiration for one that one-night dress that was lying between her commissions. As she looked in the distance, she noticed a dark figure jumping around the rooftops. Seems like Chat Noir was out and about. Marinette wondered if she should get some sweets from down in the bakery. That was how they got close after all. She was minding her own business, working on her sketched, when out of nowhere a cat fell on her because he was trying to steal her cookies. He received some swats over the head, but also some cookies, because Marinette has limits when it comes to how much she could resist begging kitty eyes. And well, what was said about feeding strays was very much true and Marinette was still amused that the biggest stray in Paris came to her out of all people.

“Good evening to you, ma princesse.” Marinette looked surprised as Chat landed on her balcony, making a courtly bow.

“Hey, Chat.” she greeted. “Did you come sniffing after some macarons or what?”

“As tempting as that sounds, I actually dropped by because I wanted to check on you. You seemed stressed.”

Marinette rose an eyebrow. “I seemed stressed from three blocks away?”

Chat rubbed the back of his head in a strangely familiar manner. “Call it a cat’s instinct.”

Marinette rolled her eyes fondly as Chat continued. “Anyway, I noticed you are stressed and luckily I know a wonderful type of therapy for this.”

Marinette glanced at him curiously. “You have my attention.”

Clearing his throat, he continued. “You see, this type of therapy is accessible to anyone, it is free, very good, wonderfully calming, utterly relaxing and prescribed by any doctor who cares about the well-being of their patients. In fact, there had been a scientific research, conducted by the Oxford University that came to the conclusion that this therapy was effective in 99,9% of the cases.”

“And what exactly is this therapy?”

“Kissing cats.”

Marinette sprayed Chat with her watering bottle, making him yowl and jump back a little. “Very funny, Chat.”

His ears dropped. “But I’m entirely serious!”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

“Come on, princess! It will work wonders for you, you’ll see.”

Marinette sighed, before glancing at him. His ears were dropped and he was giving her those typical kitty eyes and Marinette wanted to hit herself over the head with something for being tempted by the offer. Honestly, if he wanted a kiss he could have just said so. Albeit, it would have been a kiss on the cheek, but still. Glancing aside, she considered her options. Well, she already kissed him once to get him out of mind control. No feelings there. Absolutely not. There couldn’t be anything happening from a peck on the lips for ‘lowering her stress levels’. Putting her spraying bottle aside, she turned to Chat.

“One kiss.” he declared, making him smile brightly.

“One dose of anti-stress coming your way, princess.”

Marinette opened her arms allowing Chat to bring her in a loose embrace. Tilting her head, Marinette closed her eyes as Chat bent his head and captured her lips.

Marinette found herself really enjoying kissing Chat. Maybe it was because there was no akuma involved this time. Maybe it was because his lips tasted like peaches. Or maybe it was just because Chat was a good kisser. Marinette let herself relax against him as they keept kissing. And then a gentle rumble filled Chat’s chest, making her smile against his lips. He was purring. And oddly enough it made her relax even more, her body going almost limp against Chat. It felt just simply wonderful. And when Chat finally pulled away, his purring stopping as well, Marinette let out an annoyed huff.

The little shit was smiling victoriously. “So princess, was I right or what?”

Marinette couldn’t even roll her eyes, because yes, he was right. She just nodded. “Not bad at all either.”

To her surprise and satisfaction, Chat blushed a little. “Well, er… I… only the best for the princess.”

As he gesticulated, Marinette caught a glimpse of green. Grabbing his hand, she brought it closer for inspection. She gasped. These weren’t always here, were they? She would have noticed. She poked them.

”You have beans!” she giggled then poked them again.

”A new design detail to my suit.” he explained, clearly amused by her actions. Taking advantage of the fact that her hands were on his, he grabbed the left one and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I’m glad I could help you, princess, but now I have to bid you adieu.”

”Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Marinette said, once she was pull editare out of the cute green beanies trance. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

And with that, Marinette pulled him by the tail, in her room.

Marinette created a very strong opinion about how therapy with cats should become a thing. She spent a couple of hours in Chat’s arms, his purring echoing soundly in the room as she worked. Honestly, she didn’t remember the last time when she had been so calm and relaxed. This was the only reason why she was cuddling Chat. Because it was calming and it was lowering her stress levels. There was no other reason. Honestly.

And with Chat’s purring and cuddles, she managed to finish two essays, four sketches for her commissions and the layout of her presentations. And with a peek on the lips for him, she went to bed (at a reasonable hour, for once), playing with his beans until she fell asleep.

Chats were truly therapeutic.

On the topic of vaginal health though, make sure you’re hydrated, learn the different discharge colors and monitor any significant differences, stay away from heavily perfumed products, clean gently, be careful if you shave, and your vagina will be just fine doing its own thing.

Tips on writing Southern style for Leonard McCoy.

Being a native southerner and living in Georgia - the home of the great Dr Leonard McCoy and DeForest Kelley - I thought it would be fun to offer some tips for writing about the South.  I love reading Bones fanfics, but I see a lot of misconceptions about my home state and city, Atlanta.  THIS IS NOT MEANT AS CRITICISM OF ANYONE’S WRITING!!!  Hopefully people will see it in the fun spirit with which it’s intended!  I’ve also tagged a few people who have written Bones stories that I’ve really enjoyed.  I hope that’s ok!!  I love everything you creative writers do!!

1.  Y’all is plural.  And yes, we say y’all all the time, but only to refer to groups of more than one person.  It’s never you guys or even you when referring to a group - ALWAYS y’all.  I can’t talk without using that word!

2. Georgia is the peach state, but we’re not drowning in peaches.  The state doesn’t smell like peaches, taste like peaches, or drip peach juice.  

3. What we are drowning in is Coke.  AKA Dixie champagne, the elixir of life, the secret formula.  Nobody calls it Coca-cola, it’s just Coke.  Coke is headquartered in Atlanta and employees are not allowed to have any other soft drink on pain of being fired if they’re caught!  (True!!)  I’ve known people who wouldn’t attend a church event because someone was serving Pepsi!  Also, all soft drinks are called Coke.  If someone says, “Would you like a Coke?”  It means “Would you like any carbonated beverage of the Coke family?”  It’s never called pop or soda or anything else (especially Pepsi.)

4. Atlanta is not a small town.  It’s a city of about 450 million people.  If your story setting is Atlanta, then remember that there are no rolling fields or country roads here.  But there is Lenox Mall, Phipps Plaza, lots of nice restaurants, and lots of streets named Peachtree.  Peachtree Street, Peachtree Way, Peachtree Avenue, and Peachtree Battle Ave. are all within about a mile of my house.

5. We don’t call each other “Darlin’”.  Sometimes we call each other “hon’” or “sweetie” or I might call a boy “bud” or “buddy” but I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone called “Darlin’

6. I would suggest not writing in Southern dialect.  It’s hard to read and frequently sounds more country than Southern.  And yes, there is a difference.  Country is more redneck, Southern is more elegant.

7. We frequently say “Bless your heart”, but it’s sort of a way of saying “Isn’t she/he sweet but stupid…”  For example, “She ordered a Pepsi, bless her heart.”

8.  Outside of metro Atlanta is rural.  Really rural.  Georgia is a beautiful state that has both beaches and mountains and we love to take advantage of both!  But not everyone lives on a farm.  I would love to read a story where Bones takes the reader to Amelia Island or St Simon’s Island - it would just be so real!  Also, we don’t ever call it the shore.  It’s always the beach.

9. It does get hot here.  REALLY hot!  And humid. But it also gets cold here - but cold to us is anything below about 45 degrees.  And the reason we’re so cold is because nobody knows what to do with it - we might own one winter jacket, so when it goes down to 20 degrees everyone just freezes.  But it’s not hot here year-round.

10. Manners are super-important.  Children are taught to say “Yes Ma’am” and “Yes Sir” from birth.  I still say yes ma’am and sir to people older than me. Gentlemen pretty much all still open doors for ladies, pull out their chairs, and stand when a lady approaches your dinner table in a restaurant (then the lady always says “Go ahead and sit!! Don’t stand on my account!”) McCoy would totally be into doing this. We ladies enjoy it.  Nobody is insulted.  But ladies also open doors for gentlemen.  We just try to be nice to each other.  I apologize if anyone ever met someone met someone rude from Georgia!  They must have been having a bad day, bless their heart. (Maybe someone offered them a Pepsi…)

11.  It’s true that tea is always iced.  And sweet. And we drink it all the time. Unless we’re drinking Coke. 

12. To me, McCoy does not sound like he has any accent, - I just don’t hear it. But Kirk sounds a little funny sometimes! 

 OK - I’m going to stop here.  If anyone has any questions please feel free to ask!!  I’m hoping to read a lot more Bones stories and I hope this helps!

@bravemccoy @mccoymostly @outside-the-government @outside-the-government @kaitymccoy123 @paigeinastory @atari-writes @medicatemedrmccoy @trade-baby-blues @anotherstartrekimagineblog @arrowsshootyouforwards @youre-on-a-starship @imaginestartrek @mybullshitsensesaretingling

I met a girl when I was 15.
To this day, I have no clue if she thinks of me.
But, that’s how I am.
I remember. I wonder about what could have beens, should have beens.
But should it have been a could’ve been, if I don’t worry too much about it anymore?
Was it real?
Years later, I fall in love over and over.
Girl after girl, heartache after heartache.
The other day you messaged me.
I didn’t know you.
I didn’t know your favorite color, I didn’t know how you liked your pizza, I didn’t know the way you slept, or your dreams.
Just another girl?
But, we keep messaging, keep texting.
You make me forget what it’s like to hurt. You make me feel like I can be anything, even a fireman. I don’t want to be a fireman, but you build me up to the point that I can do anything.
But who is this girl? What makes you special? Why do I question who you are when all I think about is kissing your lips, even though I have no idea what they taste like.
Maybe peaches.
I like peaches.
I bet you taste like peaches.
Or strawberries.
At 15 I didn’t know love.
I don’t think I still fully understand it, cause I’ve never truly been loved.
But, goddamn, I’ll give you the chance to show me.
I’ll throw my heart at you like it’s a football and you’re the bully from 7th grade.
I don’t know how that’s romantic, but I’d love you.
This story has no purpose, but darling, I know I do because of you.

You slide out of bed and tiptoe towards the bathroom, picking up one of Norman’s tops and slipping it over your body as you go. Once you’re finished you come back out, trying to make as little noise as possible. Getting back under the covers, you carefully place them down over yourself, being careful not to tug them and wake him.
“Take it off,” he whispers.
You turn to face him, not realising he was awake.
“Take what off?”
“My shirt, take it off.”
You laugh, “what? Why?!”
“Because I want to feel you next to me.”
He rolls onto his side to face you.
“Don’t make me take it by force,” you see him wink at you in the slither of moonlight coming through the curtains.
“Well, I was actually getting pretty comfy in it, so I think I’ll keep it on,” you tease.
His hand then lands on your hip, and you know what’s coming next as he slowly creeps his fingers up to your waist where he knows you’re especially ticklish.
“Norm-” you start, when he starts moving his fingers, grabbing at your side, then starting on the other as you roll onto your back. You laugh, squeal and try to tell him to stop but you can barely breathe let alone talk.
He stops for a while and takes his opportunity while you’re still catching your breath to pull the tshirt up and over your head with ease after your wriggling let it move up for him. He throws it to the floor and looks down at you.
“That’s better.” He breathes, your noses touching. “You’re so beautiful (Y/N).”
He moves his lips to yours and kisses you passionately, leaning his chest completely on yours. Your hands wrap around his neck and make their way down his back. Suddenly he stops and starts to get up.
“Sorry babe, gotta go pee!”
You laugh and settle back into bed, pulling the covers up and tucking yourself in. By the time he’s out again you’re asleep. He gets in beside you and leans up on his arm looking down at your sleeping face. He still can’t quite believe you’re his after years of being too shy to say anything.
Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, he opens up the camera and takes a snap of your hand on the pillow next to your face, a small piece of your hair laying across it, your engagement and wedding rings in view. You’d both managed to keep photos from your big day to a minimum in the public eye, fellow cast members had uploaded 1 or 2, but the special ones you’d kept hidden. He wanted to post this though, this perfect moment he felt, being in bed with you, bodies touching, so intimate, and so in love, but only sharing a snippet of what he felt. He uploaded it with the caption “🖤🌎❤” his world, and his love.
Soon he fell back to sleep too, and in the morning he woke to an empty space next to him. You were standing in the kitchen, staring at your phone, looking at the photo Norman had put up last night. You really loved it, and you knew how deeply he felt for you just looking at the sweet photo he took.
“What are you doing?” Norman asks sleepily, scratching his head as he walks up to you.
“Just looking at the photo you uploaded last night.”
“You like it? Is it okay to keep up?”
“Of course it is,” you chuckle, “I love it. And I love you.”
You lean up and kiss his lips quickly. As you go to lean away he puts his hand on the back of your head and pulls you into him again, this time the kiss is more forceful, he pushes his tongue into your mouth, swirling around yours. You grip onto his back, and his hands squeeze your bum, bringing your core into his growing crotch.
“I think we should finish what we started last night,” he breathes between kisses.
All you can do is mumble in agreement as you’re pushed backwards into the kitchen table. He leans behind you and pushes letters and papers out of the way and onto the floor, then lifts you to sit on the edge. He takes his lips away from yours and looks you deep in the eyes. He drops to his knees and with one quick movement your knickers are on the floor, his head in between your legs, licking, circling, and sucking.
“Fuck!” You gasp.
His eyes are fixed on your face as he continues to bring you closer to release. You look down at him, panting, and run a hand through his hair, fisting it and pushing him into you further until you can’t take anymore and let go over his tongue.
He stands up, licking his lips, and you pull him down to kiss you.
“You taste like a fucking peach,” he smiles, referencing one of your favourite films.
You stand up, lips still connected to his, and turn him round so he’s now perched on the edge of the table. Leaving a trail of kisses down his chest, you make your way down his body until you’re on your knees. You pull his boxers down and take him in your mouth as soon as he’s set free. He hisses and grunts, taking your hair into his hand and guiding your mouth up and down. You bring a hand up and start to massage him and he pushes you faster and deeper until he releases into your throat. As you lap him up, he looks down at you.
“Shit (Y/N), you’re so good.”
You stand up, position yourself in between his legs, and run your fingers through his hair and you stare into his beautiful eyes.
“I love you so much Norman.”
His thumbs make small circles on your hips as he looks up at you.
“I love you too (Y/N). Come with me.”
He takes your hand and leads you back to the bedroom. Just as you get there, the doorbell rings. You look at each other and pull sad faces, then he gets a pair of joggers and a top and pulls them on quickly to go answer it.
You hear muffled voices and then the door shuts.
“(Y/N), it’s a delivery for you!” He shouts.
You pull on some shorts and make your way out into the hallway. Next to Norman stands a tall box, almost up to his waist, it’s quite wide as well and you look at him confused.
“Open it!”
“Jeez, alright!” You take off the tape and open it up to find a huge bunch of red roses. You look through them to find the card. ‘Wife. Love you. Husband. X’

Just Peter

Peter Pevensie x Reader

Words: 826
Plot: Being King of Narnia isn’t easy - when the girl Peter has a crush on falls from a ladder, he has to dash to the rescue. Fluffiness ensues.
Prompt: (Anon) COULD YOU WRITE ME A PETER PEVENSIE THING PLEASE??? like maybe she works in the castle library, and she’s really shy and hiding behind books, but he keeps coming in to try and talk to her cause he likes her, and she’s up on a ladder organizing books one day, when she falls and he catches her and it’s a completely cliche moment except he wasn’t prepared to catch her and they both fall and they’re both laughing and he finally asks her out? i’m sorry if that’s too specific, whatever you write will
A/N: I am not ashamed of my love of William Moseley and all that he is. So the idea of him as a 20-something King of Narnia is adorable and great. I hope I can do it justice for you!

Despite the howling storm beating on the castle windows; when Peter Pevensie entered the library, the warm air filled his lungs and soothed his cold muscles. He’d been out hunting this morning, and naturally, he’d made a complete arse of himself. You’d think being King would have given him some sort of grace.
Apparently not.

The walls of the library were filled with mahogany shelves; floor to ceiling, stretching up endlessly to the curved stone roof. In the centre of the room, the stone fireplace blazed, shining a halo of light against the stormy world outside the windows. 
Ladders dotted the shelves, the only route to the highest books. And atop one of those ladders, there she was.

They had first met several years ago; Peter had been nervously browsing for information on Narnian languages and had no idea what he was doing. She’d given him a warm smile, a gentle look, and she’s shyly taken him to the right section. Even then, butterflies had filled his stomach.
Just a little at first; soft sparks on his skin as she brushes his shoulder. And then, over time, he’d found himself wandering into the library whenever he felt as though a task was insurmountable and he’d sit and read by the fire while she worked.
It brought him unsaid comfort. In this room, he wasn’t King of anything.
He was just…Peter.
Just Peter.

“(y/n)!” He called from the bottom of the ladder “I just finished the novel you recommended on Centaurs, and I had to let you know how much I loved it.”
“Your majesty” she nodded, a smile softening her features “hang on one moment, I’ll come right down”.
Peter laughed “you know I’ve asked that you call me Peter.”
(y/n) began climbing down the ladder with ease, her boots clinking on the wooden platforms. 
“I-” she began, before stopping immediately.
An audible creak echoed off of the walls, and in a sudden blur, the rung she was standing on snapped. She cried out, hurtling through the air.
Peter felt his heart catch in his throat, reaching up his arms to soften her fall reflexively.
When she fell into them, Peter felt his centre of balance shift. With a loud yelp, they both crashed to the floor in a heap, Peter’s arms supporting her as he lay sprawled over her.
For a moment, they were both in shock. 
And then, (y/n) burst out laughing, the musical sound echoing off of the walls.
Peter snickered, before falling into hysterics, the pure madness of the situation overcoming them both.
When they managed to regain their composure, (y/n) reached up and brushed the tears of laugher out of her eyes.
“A good catch” she grinned “you may have just saved my life”.
“I suppose there is a first time for everything” Peter smiled, biting his lip briefly.
Silence fell between them, and Peter felt something stirring in his chest.
Looking down at her, her wrapped in his arms, he felt a force unlike any he’d known. To protect her, to always be there to catch her when she fell. His blood felt as though it were on fire and he-
“I’m still…I’m still lying on you” Peter stuttered, before moving his arms out from under her so that he could sit back. She breathed out audibly, sitting opposite him, her face still inches from his own. He could see her dark lashes, the curve of her lips. The brilliant colour of her eyes; shining sharply in the firelight.

“Your M…Peter. Thank you” she swallowed, her eyes moving to his lips “I didn’t know if-”
Peter leaned in then, slowly, softly, his lips touching against hers for only the briefest of moments. She tastes like peaches and walks in the rain, and it took all of his restraint to pull away, to lean back.
But he wanted to do this right. He knew his title could scare her off.
“I’ve wanted to do that” he breathed “for a long, long time”.
She laughed, clasping a hand to her mouth in giddy excitement.
“I’m not sorry you did” she whispered, her happiness audible in her voice.
Peter felt his heart leap in his chest, the world falling away to nothing. There was only she and him, alight by the fireplace, burning brighter than the flames themselves.
“Did you…I mean, did you want to perhaps come to tea with me sometime? We could go on a picnic, or go for a walk, or-”
(y/n) moved forwards, her lips pressing against his, her hands folding atop his own. He felt as though he were on fire; his skin pricking with ecstacy. He opened his hand to lace his fingers with her own.
When she pulled away, he was left blinking away the headrush he’d had, the shock plain on his face.
She laughed, her cheeks flushed red in the firelight.
She was so beautiful.
“I’d like that, Peter. I’d like that very much”.


Some things I like:

1. My secret Valentine gifts! I feel like the address is ringing a bell (maybe, or I’m just crazy)…but identify yourself, friend! And, thanks!! 😁
2. This peach tea is A+! It does NOT (thankfully) taste like peach pie in a teacup; it’s nice and mellow but with a lovely peach taste and smell! 😍
3. I’ve worked out and grocery shopped for the week, and now I’m relaxing for a bit in this explosion of sunshine. ☀️ Really enjoying the book so far!

Tautened by Jess MacDonald

I kissed her again and lit up once more. She tasted like peaches and laughter and I remember thinking that peaches were my new favorite fruit. She giggled between kisses and I felt myself melting into the pavement. Her laughter burst like carbonation in my mouth, fizzy and sweet. I kissed her again, amazed and in awe of how soft she was. How kissing her made me feel drunker than any liquor I’d ever drank. How I never wanted to stop. How even though we clung to each other, she still wasn’t close enough.

Annabella. Annabella. Annabella.

I’d said before that I liked the way her name felt in my mouth. That didn’t compare to how her mouth felt on mine. Nothing did.

I felt like I was awake for the first time in my entire life.


This might be one of my last pies for a little while.  I’ve got one to make for a party next week and I’ve promised my family one for Christmas (my dad and grandmother actually fought over the last slice of that three berry pie from last week!), but I’ve got an injury that makes standing in the kitchen for hours a week a bit much at the moment, so apart from those two I will be taking a break until next year.

Still, this is week eleven and technically pie thirteen, so that’s something!  I’m more than a quarter of the way to fifty pies.  I certainly feel like I’ve more or less mastered the art of the fruit pie in that time, and can now play around with them without relying on recipes too much. I can’t link to the recipe for this peach maple pie because I decided to wing it.  I winged it?  Wung it??

Both the crust and the filling have maple syrup in them, and the filling also has peaches and brown sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg, and a bit of cornflour to thicken it up.  There is a LOT of maple syrup involved, but it doesn’t taste particularly mapley, mostly it just tastes like peaches.  Which is still great, because peaches are fantastic.  I do love summer stone fruit season!

Safe: a mileven fanfic

This fanfic doesn’t really have any context. Mike and El are down in the basement and cute stuff happens. Hope ya like it!

Eleven gazed at her reflection disdainfully. She thought of all the tall, pretty girls with long, flowing hair at Mike’s school. And then there was her. The small girl brought her hand up to touch her short brown hair. It was starting to grow back, and Nancy had even given her a little pink bow to put in it. But it wasnt enough.
She still wasn’t…pretty.
“Eleven?” A familiar voice cut into her thoughts. The skinny girl flinched slightly before turning to face Mike, ignoring the feeling of warmth that blossomed in her chest and in the tips of her fingers whenever she saw him–she was beginning to get used to it. The boy had put his comic book down and was staring at her, frowning worridly. “You okay?”
Eleven nodded, but Mike seemed to see right through her. He reached out, grasping the fabric on either side of her skirt, and pulled her down next to him on the couch. The two of them, both small, could easily fit together on one cusion, and that’s exactly what Mike seemed to want. “El,” he mumbled, his nickname for her sending pleasant shivers down the small girls spine. “M-mike?”
The boy’s freckled cheeks turned pink. He looked away, clearing his throat. “You’re more than pretty good, okay? And…and I-I like y-you a lot.” Eleven’s cheeks burned. It was like he’d known exactly what she was thinking. She wasn’t sure what to do. Which like did he mean? Like like or friend like? Apparently there was a big difference between the two. Only one way to find out, she decided. Eleven looked down at the boy’s pale hand. It was resting on his knee, his fingers making weird, fidgety movements (he seemed to do that a lot whenever he was around her). What had she seen Nancy and Steve do again? The small girl inched her hand over and interlocked her tingly fingers with his. Mike sucked in a breath and he glanced up at her, holding her stare. The look he was giving her…It made Eleven feel kind of dizzy. Her gaze wondered down to Mike’s lips. The small girl’s own mouth seemed to tingle as she rememberd when he’d touched his lips with hers. It made her feel…safe. There was even a name for it. A kiss, she recalled. Eleven suddenly found herself leaning forward. She wanted her mouth to touch his again. She wanted to kiss him. The boy seemed to get what she was doing. His hands inched their way up to her cheeks, pulling her face towards his. His lips were soft, and they tasted like the peach cobbler his mom had made for dessert. They pulled away from each other, their lips making an awkward smaking sound as they did so. Eleven’s eyes fluttered open. Mike was looking at her all starry eyed, and that dizzy feeling came back. Or…maybe it had never left. His hands were still on her cheeks, spreading warmth throughout her face. This boy…why did he make her feel this way? Was she having the same effect on him? Did this mean he like liked her? Before she could voice these questions, however, Dustin stomped his way down the stairs, startling the both of them. Eleven jumped so high, she toppled off the couch, taking Mike with her. “Hey guys. D'you wanna go get– ” Dustin stopped midsentence upon seeing Eleven and Mike tangled together on the floor. Dustin smirked. “Well its about time.” Mike got up off the floor, pulling a confused Eleven up with him. His face had turned a bright shade of red. “N-no! Dustin, its not what it looks like!”
“Whatever you say…” Dustin said, already heading back up the stairs. “I’ll just leave you too loverbirds alone,” he called over his shoulder.