#rectangular pillow

[habatour20]

Colorful floral digital pattern design 6

Rectangular Throw Pillow

[fractoluminescence]

I love my bed

[exculis]

and i already know what im gonna do with the leftover foam from my cushion project bc i had Inspiration come to me on a walk.....

[mox-doodles]

Mid-sized transitional backyard stone patio design illustration

Leah Wrobel Yoga

[husenfurniture]

Thanks to its high-resilient PP cotton filling, the pillow will snugly nestle your neck and head, gently promoting proper spinal alignment and sleeping posture. They are cushiony enough to help relieve pressure while reactive enough to create personalized support - all for a truly deep, restorative rest.Striped design will absolutely add a unique style and difference to your living room, making it become a nice place to snuggle

[from-izzy]

[00:35] | ATEEZ CHOI SAN

“And if I do?”

pairing » ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, non-idol au

genre » very fluffy, falling asleep during studying and boyfriend san who is worried for you because you don't take the greatest care of yourself, (it really was supposed to be fluff all through the end) turns suggestive towards the last quarter of the story, reader is a bit playful, san is very in love with you, of course you are super in love with him too

word count; estimated reading time » 1032; ~4 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » quite suggestive at the end, indeed...a suggestive sentence at the very end, san lifts the reader up, reader wears glasses, reader implied to be smaller than san, san restrains reader's hands, pet names (bubs, baby girl)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

my ateez debut! here it is @jaehunnyy !! i really wanted to post smth for your bday so please take this as a late bday present 😭 thanks for proofreading a bit of this one and finding the pictures for the banners 🥰 you saved me a bunch of tears fr 😀 have fun with the second one (even though it's the same...😭)

It’s not an unusual occurrence for you to be staying up late at night and for San to find you draped over your books and worksheets when he gets home. In fact, it’s becoming such a usual occurrence that San is making it a habit to open the front door with such gentleness that the click of the door opening would be too loud for his liking. In reality, your study desk at your shared apartment is quite a distance from the entrance of the apartment, so if San wanted to, he could enter in the same way as if you were awake.

But he didn’t want to.

In the rare case that you decide to snooze off on the couch, he doesn’t want to be the one to ruin your precious, peaceful sleeping time. Unfortunately for him, he would still be needing to do it one way or another if he ever finds you asleep on the couch or anywhere but your shared bed. The victorious smile from closing the front door quietly soon turns upside down, frowning at the sight of your head lying on your stack of handouts in the study room. The stack acted as your pillow, your arms around the rectangular pile. You look like you have been resting your body for some time now, given that San’s soft head pat didn’t faze you at all. With a slightly heavy sigh, San makes his way to the other side of the desk to get a better look at your face. He kneels on the floor, content with being more at eye level with you. 

He’s surprised to see that you must’ve been so exhausted that taking your glasses off might have been too much effort for you. The side frame completely rests on the paper, the nose pad of the glasses no longer resting properly on your nose. San hisses at how the hard plastic pushes against your nose, already imagining the pain when you wake up and realise tomorrow.

“Bubs,” he tests your consciousness with a whisper. “Your whole body is going to hurt when you wake up, you know?” Your breathing is still as even as before, and the no response from you deepens his frown. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to move you, okay?” 

San rises to his feet once again, grabbing the blanket drapped on your study desk that he has prepared. He’s told you multiple times to at least cover your body if you don’t plan to take a nap on the bed, but he should have known that when tiredness kicks in, all a person wants to do is to close their eyes. San spreads the light cotton across your back, kissing the side of your head and humming sweet melodies to avoid surprising you too much with his movement.

“San?” You slur sleepily, still unable to fully wake up. San clicks your desk light off and soon sees your content smile at his little gesture. “When did you get home?”

“Just a few seconds ago. When did you fall asleep?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” A raised eyebrow from your boyfriend is what prompts you to tell him the truth. “A little longer than that.”

San tuts disapprovingly, “You can’t keep slouching off on the table. It’s not good for your body. And this,” he takes your glasses off by the hinges, “it’s not comfortable for you.”

You hum at his loving lecture for you, beginning to straighten your back from the long nap. Truthfully, if San weren’t beside you right now, you would be sending complaints to your past self for dozing off at the table, your back cramping and sore. But Choi San knows you too well, and the creases between your eyebrows tell him everything.

“See?” He reprimands. 

You’re not given another chance to rebut when he swivels the chair around for you to face him. In a second, you’re in his arms, the back of your knee and back supported securely with his arms, and your shoulder pressed against his chest. San looks down at you, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead that you respond to by pressing yours along his jawline. Along the short walk to the adjacent room, you plant kisses all over his face, giggling at the way his cheeks grow red with every second. 

Just a few seconds before San would rest you gently on the mattress, you steal a kiss from his plump lips, arms wrapped around his nape and threading your fingers into the strands of his hair. San almost stumbles but soon regains balance when he registers the way you delicately take his lips. Along with the giggles and fabric rustling against each other in the small room, it’s not long until your head properly lays on a pillow. San doesn’t let you breathe after, climbing on top of your figure with his palms beside your head to support himself. His knees sink to the mattress beside your thighs, and you’re left breathless with the man before you. The remnants of his cologne are clearer now, and the proximity leaves you curling up a side of your lips.

Your boyfriend knows the meaning of your expression well from experience. “Don’t rile me up, baby girl…”

Just like he did a second ago, your eyebrow rises. Your pointer traces along the center of his exposed neck, feeling the gulp and his intense stare on you. You glide across his skin, tracing along his collarbones slowly, making sure that your touch lingers on his skin. When your finger slides down to the neckline of his fabric, it curls around his shirt to pull his tense expression closer to you. A quick touch of your lips is all you spare him before regaining eye contact with him.

“And if I do?”

Those words are enough for San to lose control, pulling the sheets to his palms as he fists them tightly. One hand leaves the bed, restraining both your wrists under his hold above your head. He dives closer to the crook of your neck, ragged breathing and warm breath against your skin.

“I’ll make sure you’ll sleep peacefully for days.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet

@haneul-and-clouds @jaehunnyy @mars101

[cowsabungus]

Art Hacks for Physical Disabilities!!

I know art can be inaccessible to physically disabled people for a lot of reasons, and I think art should be accessible to everyone, so here’s a couple of the things I found to help for a few different issues you may face that stop you participating!

I have a link to all these items (UK) in my link tree!!

IMAGE DESCRIPTION

Slide one: illustration of a white woman with pink hair, wearing a pink outfit, sitting in a power wheelchair, looking at the viewer with thumbs up. Text Reese “hacks to make art more accessible”

Slide two: illustration of three different kinds, using three different types of pencil grips. One hand uses a circular grip. 100 is a large, rectangular grip. Another uses a grip that is ergonomic and fit into the hand. Main text reads “Paul, grip, strength and dexterity”. Subtext reads “there are loads of different types of pencil, grips or design for different disabilities and conditions. Increasing the width of the pencil can give more texture for a better grip using a pencil with a thicker with also reduces the amounts of pressure needed to hold a pencil you can make your own using items like pool noodles. KT tape an air dry clay. You can also put these groups on things like paint brushes.“

Slide three: illustration of a hand using a tool that looks like a wrist support with a paintbrush connected to it text next to it reads “this talk next a paintbrush to your hand in a way that means you don’t need to hold the paintbrush with your fingers and you will need to move your arm around“ on the bottom right hand corner is in photograph of a guided hand device. Text read “regarded hand as a tool designed to reduce the need for moving your hands and fingers and relies on the movement of your shoulder and upper arms and can be used with different materials like paintbrushes, pencils, pens and styluses.

Slide four: main header reads “when in bed“. Illustration of an iPad pillow with a iPad in it is next to text that reads “iPad pillows, put your tablet at an easier to access level when sitting or lying down“. In the bottom left hand corner is an illustration of a girl sitting in bed in her pyjamas with a pillow behind her and a bed table as she is drawing. On the left hand side is a photograph of a bed table with the text reading “bed tables are used to give you a flat tire up surface while in bed, and are often height adjustable”. In the bottom right hand side is a bedsit, a pillow with the text underneath, reading “ bedsitters of specially shaped pillows that you put behind you in bed to help you set up and give you a soft surface to lean back on”.

Slide five: maisie had a read out “at a desk left”. On the left hand side is a photograph of the document holder with the text “document holders put your paper at an angle to help prevent crane in your neck down”. On the right hand, middle side is an illustration of someone using a armrest and on the bottom left hand side is a photograph of the armrest. Text next to them reads “economic arm rests clip onto your table or desk and give you a surface you lean you’re forearms or elbows on. This can be used to steady your arm and reduce pain and fatigue while sitting at a desk”.

Slide six: maisie reads “foot and mouth painters” . on the right hand side is an photograph of swapping Augustine, an Indian woman with no arms, wearing a sari painting with her left foot. In the bottom left hand corner is an illustration of a woman with green hair painting using her mouth. Text reads “foot and mouth painting is a technique used by artists who do not have, or cannot use their arms so hold the paintbrush in their mouth or using their foot. Swapna Augustine is a foot painter who has painted with her feet and participated in multiple exhibitions of foot and mouth painters. Her art is stunning and I would definitely recommend checking some of help work out.“

Slide seven: main text reeds “art without brushes and pens”. On the left-hand side is a photograph of a spin art device. Text next to read it reads “spin out involves using bottles of ink and squirting them onto a spinning piece of paper to create spiral art. On the middle right hand side is a illustration of a laptop with coding art written on the screen. Text me next to it reads “coding art involves making programs that design and create art pieces digitally. This could be used in conjunction with an eye tracking software.“ On the bottom left hand side is a photograph of a child in a power wheelchair with paint on their wheels painting onto a large piece of paper. Next to this is text reading “wheelchair painting involves putting paint on your wheelchair wheels and moving around and large piece of paper. Sometimes you can connect a roller to create more marks.“

Slide eight: text reads “what do you do to make art accessible for you?”

End of ID.

[kniterly]

Patio - Contemporary Patio Inspiration for a mid-sized, modern brick patio renovation in the backyard with a fire pit and no cover

[ovrgrwnivy]

CLASSIFIED ; spencer reid

synopsis ; a sleepy morning turns into spencer falling over himself to get to work on time, forgetting his badge behind him.

includes ; spencer reid x fem!reader, kissing, getting interrupted by the bau, secret relationship

sunlight flittered through your blinds, heat radiated off your boyfriend who laid beside you, his arm draped over you as he slept peacefully. you card your fingers through his hair, unintentionally stirring him from his sleep.

“oh, i’m sorry baby” you apologise, voice soft in an attempt to keep him from waking up any further “go back to sleep.”

it was a rare day off for spencer, by your second date he’d told you he was in the bau, by your fifth you had gotten used to work tearing him away. but despite the annoyance, you had gotten used to it. you understood his job was important, you understood that evil wouldn’t take a break just so you could keep your boyfriend all to yourself.

when you asked him how personal time worked, he admitted to you that his team didn’t know he had a girlfriend. it stung a little, but when he explained that his job would be putting you at risk it softened the blow.

you’d heard the horror stories, how his boss’s wife was killed just so the unsub could get to him, about another girl who had been shot simply for being an agent.

it sucked, but you understood why, at least for now, spencer didn’t want to broadcast you all over the office.

“don’t wanna,” spencer mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he blinked his eyes open “don’t wanna waste my one day off.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared when he said that, days off may be hard to come by but spencer made sure you were the sole focus for every second of them.

he propped himself up on his elbow, his other hand tightening its grip on your waist to pull you closer “c’mere, pretty”

his sleepy voice makes the words sound even better as you lazily wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair at the back of his head.

he presses a lazy kiss to your lips, which quickly spirals into something deeper. his hands grip at your waist, desperate, like he was afraid that if he loosened his grip you’d disappear.

trails of nips and kisses are dragged along your neck as he moves to hover over you, your breathing is shallow, fingers tightening in his hair as his hand slides over the surface of your stomach, fingers tracing along the hem of your underwear.

“fuck,” spencer mumbles, long fingers slipping under the fabric agonisingly slowly “you look so pretty, baby, so pretty under me.”

you let your eyes fall closed, his mouth still attached to your neck as his fingers ghosted across your skin.

until his phone rings, eliciting a frustrated groan from you both. you watch as he reluctantly reaches for it to see who’s calling. you don’t need to ask, his irate expression tells you it’s work.

“yeah?” his tone is blunt, uncharacteristically so but you can’t exactly blame him “what? no, i’m not supposed to be — right. fine.”

he doesn’t need to explain what’s going on, you already know by the way he jumps out of bed and hurriedly starts getting ready to head into work.

it’s immature, you know, but you can’t help but cross your arms in annoyance as you watch him bolt back and forth around the room.

“sorry, baby.” spencer sighs, easily reading the mixture of frustration and disappointment in your expression “i’ll make it up to you, promise.”

you hum in agreement as he presses a kiss to your forehead, promising to call you when he could before disappearing out of the room, and in turn, your apartment. you stay in bed a little longer, feeling sorry for yourself and worrying about your boyfriend at the same time.

the floor is a mess, both yours and spencer’s clothes strewn around as well as decorative pillows and comforters. as you begin picking clothes up from the floor, your eyes fall on a small, rectangular piece of leather hidden under a pair of socks.

spencer’s badge.

you gnaw on your bottom lip, conflicted on what to do. by now spencer would already be at the office, calling him to come back would cut important time from his schedule. but without it he’d be in trouble.

you needed to bring it to him without airing his personal business to the entire building, which is how you ended up signing in as a visitor who was here to meet with agent derek morgan.

the only name you heard from spencer that you could remember confidently.

a serious looking woman showed you the way to the bau office, your fingers nervously drumming on the leather cover of the badge as you headed up the elevator.

all hope was lost once you stepped out, two glass doors showcasing the expanse of the office filled with people shoulder deep in whatever they were working on.

you look around the hallway like a deer in headlights, unsure if you could just walk in or if you could just give the badge to someone else to pass on to spencer.

“you okay!?” a cheerful blonde approaches you, seemingly from nowhere. arms stacked with files and carrying a coffee cup at the same time.

“uh,” you’d feel guilty adding to her workload “do you need a hand?”

mentally you face palm, cursing yourself for your lack of social skills in the simplest of situations.

“please!” the woman gasps, the ceramic mug wobbling in her hand “hotch is going to kill me if i spill coffee all over his case. i already told him ‘mister hotch sir, it would be easier to go digital’ but nooo.”

you laugh softly, taking the mug from her unstable hand and tugging open the door for her.

surely you could enter with someone who was actually allowed in the office.

“follow me!”

she’s speeding ahead, a woman on a mission, up the steps and into what seems like a conference room. you trail behind apprehensively, not wanting to get either of you into trouble by just swanning in.

“if there’s any dismembered bodies or general badness on the screen i swear to god!” she warns, rounding a corner and disappearing into the room.

you hang back awkwardly, partly because you have no business in there but mostly just in case there was any dismembered people on display.

“you’re all good!” her head pops around the corner and she motions for you to come in, so you do.

there’s barely time to register your surroundings, a circular table with a group of people sitting around it. you spot spencer instantly, you don’t even attempt to guess who everyone else is.

his head is buried in a case file, so your presence is unknown to him. which isn’t a surprise considering you’re not meant to be in the building let alone the office.

“garcia, we talked about this.”

a stern voice comes from a tall, serious looking man. you didn’t need to be a genius to work out he was most definitely spencers boss.

“right.” the woman, garcia, presses her mouth into a thin line as she gently takes the mug from your hands “do you know where you’re meant to be, lovely?”

“oh, uh, here actually.”

as you retrieve the badge from your back pocket, spencers head snaps up at the sound of your voice. his eyes widen slightly and a small smile makes its way onto his face.

“hey, what are you doing here?”

his question catches you off guard, even more so when he gets to his feet and moves around the table towards you.

wordlessly, you hand over his id, the perfectly rehearsed excuse of finding it at a cafe stuck in your throat now that spencer had made it known you weren’t a stranger.

“how did i — thank you.” his smile widens slightly, his hand resting on your waist briefly as he pressed a thankful kiss to your temple “i’ll call you on the plane, okay?”

you knew he wasn’t trying to brush you off, but he was evidently busy and you had no actual reason to still be here.

you nod, face warming up when he gives you another quick kiss before you go, sending a tiny smile and a brief wave towards the rest of the team.

as you gently shut the door behind you, you aren’t quick enough to miss the questions thrown in spencers direction. even laughing softly at garcias exclamation of “spencer has a girlfriend!”

[fishmaelly]

Traditional Bedroom - Master day daydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydaydayday

[triciarkg]

Enclosed in New York Family room - mid-sized enclosed French country family room idea with beige walls and dark wood floors.

[habatour20]

Tropical fish - Modern artistic digital pattern design 4

Rectangular Pillow

[rob-colvin-art]

Family Room New York Family room: large, traditional, enclosed, light wood floor, beige walls, regular fireplace, stone fireplace.

[ripriprippers]

Enclosed in New York

Family room - mid-sized enclosed French country family room idea with beige walls and dark wood floors.

[escapecart]

Amazon Elevations 12 Sage Decor

Step into the serene world of Sage home decor, where tranquility and elegance converge to create an oasis of style and comfort. Our curated collection showcases a captivating selection of throw pillows, throws, wall pieces, and upholstered furniture that will infuse your living spaces with a soothing and harmonious ambiance. Elevate your home with pops of sage color to capture the essence of…

[dontpulloutman]

spring seventeen (2).

tags: owen taylor x reader. the starling girl. Owen Taylor Is His Own Warning. a/n: *clicks post and runs* … i hope u guys like this

(masterlist)

On the next field trip with the youth group, you take the chance to slip away. The yellow shirt itches on your skin. If you let your eyes close for too long, if you let your mind wander too far, you'll start thinking of Owen. How he left when he used to promise that he would never leave you alone.

He's a liar.

Your reverie is broken by the jingle of a bell above you. Behind the counter, a girl in her early 20s with bright blue hair looks up from her phone. You can feel the heavy stare on your shirt. Then she looks back down as casually as she could. With a deep breath and shaking hands, you walk up to her. Chest and palms pressed against the cold display case, you clear your throat.

"How can I help you?" She takes her attention away from her phone.

"I've been feeling sick a lot lately. And I threw up a few hours ago."

She takes a clipboard from beside the cash register, "Any allergies?" you shake your head no. "Fever?" you shake your head again.

She takes another quick look at the text printed on your stupid yellow shirt. "Sexually active?"

You take a pause. The lump in your throat refuses to let you speak. Through tears, you catch how her own eyes soften. You're speechless when she opens a drawer and places a rectangular box on the counter.

"There's a bathroom near the back."

"Satan has its grasp on you," she moves her accusing finger from your face to the small swell of your belly, "And that creature is its abomination. You are ruined!"

"Momma," you raise your hands, palms open, pleading, "Please, momma..."

She flinches back as if your touch would burn. As if you were the devil itself. "You stay away from me!" she shrieks. Gasping back a cry, you try to get closer to her. You're sorry. You're so sorry. You haven't been sorry yet.

"Get out of my house."

It brings a chill down your spine. Like a coward, you shrink into yourself. Like a mother, you move your hands to protect and cradle the life growing inside you.

"You better leave before your father comes back. Lord knows what he'll do if he sees you like this."

Your spine goes rigid. And then, almost stubbornly, you turn away. And then, you run. You run like its all you've ever known to do.

"What a raging bitch!"

You curl into the pillow pressed against your chest. Eyes following the girl pacing across linoleum tiles. It's only been a week since that fateful day, but she already has platinum streaks in the blue of her hair.

You didn't expect her to be so accommodating. Showing up at her parents' pharmacy on a random Wednesday evening. She quickly brought you in, ushered you into her basement bedroom, screamed a "Don't disturb us!" before she prodded at you to tell her what's going on.

"I can't believe she'd do that to her own daughter!" You can feel the rage in her voice.

"It's fine," you try to placate her. It doesn't work.

"No, the fuck, it isn't! I mean–" she stutters, at a loss for words. She parts her lips to continue her tirade, a new string of curses toward your mother, when she realizes the tears forming in your eyes. She immediately sags at the look on your face.

"What do you wanna do?" She says. Instead of more hate, more profanities, more choice words about your 'cunt of a mother'.

"I want to keep the baby."

"You have other options," she gently reminds you. But the thought of it is bitter. Less than five weeks, and yet you know you won't ever let this child go. The babe is a sacrament of the love you once had.

"I can't... I want... I need to keep it."

Joanna sits on the bed beside you. Slowly, but with such tender care, she places a hand on your knee. "Okay, babes. That's your choice."

There's a moment of silence.

"Do you know any way to contact the father?"

He's completely and utterly fucked. Waking up alone on a random motel bed, only to find that his truck (his one-way ticket out of dodge) was missing from where he parked it last night. He's tried to call the cheap cell he bought for Jemima, only for it to beep in his ear. Out of service, out of range. He's in deep shit. Running his hands through his hair, he lists down all of his options.

Hell has to burn over before he returns back home. And without his truck to sell, he won't have enough money to afford a ticket back to Puerto Rico. Unless... He's quick to go through his duffel bag, deep into its inner pocket, where his old notebook lays tucked away.

In it, there's a slip of paper. Worn and tattered, an envelope with its seal still intact. The words inside having been accessed by a letter opener. Obvious through the jagged cut at the seam. Like a source of salvation, the light at the end of the tunnel, there it is.

It was sacrilegious. But with the taste of his gasps and the press of his lips, you knew you were on sacred ground. Leaning across the console of his truck, with his hands in your hair, and the dangle of your Benedictine medallion, you are reborn.

Owen pulls away, his palms against your cheeks. There’s a furrow to his brow. With a gasp, your cheeks turn red. His jaw moves, chewing. “Is this gum?”

You nod. How sordid to think of it. Candy passing from one’s lips to another. It’s downright sinful.

“I didn’t notice you chewing it the entire drive,” he comments, almost thoughtful while he plays with the candy in his mouth.

“I like mint.”

He chuckles, looking out the window. “You always taste like mint.”

(Are you chewing gum? Spit it out.)

Infatuated, like a school girl with a crush, you bashfully ask, “Do you like it?”

He’s leaning across the console again, grin on his lips before he kisses you once more, “I love it.”

He’s probably lost. Following the return address scrawled in your writing, he ends up in front of a pharmacy. He looks up at the sign, blue and white with the paint chipping. Above the pharmacy, he sees floral patterned curtains on brick-lined windows. With a breath, bracing for the unknown, he steps into the store. A bell rings above the door. There’s a lady with pink hair behind the counter. And a little girl sat beside the cash register. The lady looks up from where she was babbling at the girl. Owen doesn’t miss the way her eyes widen for a second. And then, she lifts the girl, placing her down on the hardwood floors.

“Sweets, go to your momma.”

The little girl, chubby fingers clutching on rubber teethers, nods with a smile before disappearing behind a curtained doorway.

“How can I help you?”

His lips part to speak, but he’s interrupted when someone else bursts into the store.

“Jo, these just came in.”

And there you were. With a box pressed against your hip, eyes focused on a piece of paper. His mouth dries. You’ve always been so beautiful.

“It’s the antibiotic we ordered last week—”

After years, your eyes finally reunite with sinful blues.

“Owen?”

He’s rushing forward. You’re numb, almost unseeing while he cups your face between his hands. He’s trying to get you to listen. “I’ve looked for you everywhere,” he says. “I missed you. I tried to go back,” he insists.

“What are you doing here?”

He pauses at the cold of your voice.

“I came back for you. I missed you.”

“You came back for me?”

You notice Joanna leaving the room, giving you privacy. Knowing her, she’s probbaly waiting by the curtained door. One ear out just in case something happens.

“Yes, baby. My darling girl,” he presses his forehead against yours. Your fingers tighten around the corners of the box you hold.

“You came back for me?”

Harsh and biting, a deep-seated rage bubbles inside you.

“It’s been three years. Almost three years. You only came to me now?”

His fingers are desperate, palms cupping your jaw. Thumbs rubbing into your cheeks. “I tried. I couldn’t get out of Puerto Rico for a while. I did everything I can to get back to you.”

His thumbs catch the salt tears running down your cheeks. The kiss he presses between your brows is solemn and pleading. The anger in your heart turns down into a simmer. You will always succumb to him.

You kiss him. It tastes like salt and relief. Desperate in how he tries to take it further. With one hand, slowly, softly, you push him away. His forehead presses against yours. Nose breathing you in. Quietly, almost scared, you whisper, “There’s someone you need to meet.”