[fungalfaggot]

self-care phrases to boost your confidence

this shit ain't nothin to me man

I'll fucking kill you

.

[wldmsdlwldk]

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Jung Heeyeon proposes marriage the first time in The Pojangmacha Across From Doldam Hospital. She doesn't even look her would-be fiancé in the eye, alcohol-addled gaze instead finding a keen interest in the metal cap of a long-finished soju bottle. The realisation she doesn't have a ring comes only after the words are out of her mouth, and she idly wonders if he'd accept the metal ring of the cap instead.

It sounded like a good idea in the moment.

Not so much the morning after, because she doesn't even drink enough to black out and forget. She remembers with startling clarity how she'd interrupted him in the middle of his sentence, blurting a "Should we get married?" in the same tone one would use to ask if they should get another bottle. Starts blabbering on and on about the benefits of cohabitation; economic, taxes, and how they'd be getting their parents off their back if they just told them that they got married.

He turns her down politely, because Im Taein is nothing but a perfect gentleman. Reminds her that she's drunk and not to talk nonsense. Puts her in a cab after, and texts her privately to make sure she's home safe.

The next morning, coffee's sitting on her desk, her name scrawled in his handwriting on the top and an invitation to lunch if she finds time today. Flushed, she shoves the rabbit-shaped sticky note into the pocket of her scrubs before anyone sees, but it doesn't stop Joohwan from giving her a look she can't quite decipher.

It just so happens her lunch hour frees up somewhat, thanks to an elective surgery getting pushed due to the patient spiking a fever. Taein responds to her Kakao message in their group chat almost immediately in the affirmative--- Woohyun says he'll grab a bite when the ER's less busy, and Eunjae doesn't even read the message, which probably means she's in a surgery.

She offers to pick the food up when she sees it's 5 minutes away, but Taein tells her that no worries, he's got it--- it's nice out, would she like to eat in the office or find a spot outside?

She finds a nice bench, under the shade of a plum blossom tree. The sunlight's warm enough it fends off the slight bite of the early spring breeze, and Heeyeon sends him a picture of where she is. Leaning back, she rests her head, thoughts drifting to last night's conversation. Heat rises in her cheeks at the memory of it, and she can't help but cringe at her actions, hands coming up to cover her face. There's nothing to do except hope to God that he somehow doesn't remember and bring it up again.

with ♡, for @ftlove

[ftlove]

If there was a word to describe Im Taein, he would go with the simplicity of poised. A linear path down his life has only ever opened up those doors, so it is only natural that he hasn't been made familiar with much else. A control that extends over his life, whose reins he clutches to with a steady grip.

Or so has he thought. What should have been a simple outing to celebrate all their shifts, surprisingly ending at the same hour, has quickly turned into a situation that leaves him baffled on his ride home, as he falls asleep and remains baffled when he wakes up first thing in the morning. It's a question that sets him off his rails, and if there was anyone around him to witness the turmoil that ravaged him inside his empty house, they would have thought that he received perhaps the worst news of his life.

To call it a crush would be too childish for individuals of their experience and age. It would be too childish, too, given the drunken nature of Heeyeon's slurring words. But his heart doesn't care about any of it and decides to skip a beat with even the thought of her proposition coming to life. It's all too selfish in its core, really, but it eats away at him too deeply for him to simply let it go so easily. In reality, his own mother pressures him about the matter of marriage, children and the future, and he can only imagine that Heeyeon is not spared of the same speech being recited by her mother. The more he takes it into consideration the more he realizes it's like two bugs with one swat — the bugs in question being both of their parents, and not the unaddressed lingering feelings within.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," he says, quietly, careful not to startle her. In his hands is a bag — hoppang, gimbap, and a few other snacks. Back in the store, he had made a mental note: if he — if they go through with this, he will have to learn all of her favorites, not just grab whatever looks good. The thought itself makes him smile faintly, though he hopes she doesn't notice. Taein settles onto the bench, and he sets the bag between them, a little barrier that somehow makes the moment feel lighter. "How's your hangover?"

[fromlittlewaves]

his father tells him he should be kinder to her. to give her a chance.

rakwon sits with it the same way he sits with scripture verses he doesn't fully believe in — lips moving over them anyway, the cadence drilled in, the meaning left to float somewhere outside himself. yian is young, polite in the way that feels rehearsed, her voice pitched to carry cleanly across the sanctuary. he knows what the others see: demure smile, hands folded just so on her lap, white blouse with the faint translucence that makes even the married men clear their throats and pretend they're checking the hymnbook.

"yian. ryu yian," he says finally, the syllables smoothed into something neutral, like stone turned in the hand until all edges dull. a faint lift of his brow. "you're the one who called her hot after sermon. front row in the choir, hair loose—" a pause, the smallest twitch of a smirk, "—the type you'd have a hard time keeping eye contact with if she asked you about today's gospel reading."

he exhales through his nose, a sound close to a laugh but without the warmth. "my father thinks the arrangement is good for me. for us. they're the construction ryus, old money pouring concrete before my grandfather's shipping yards touched the coast." the words drift, somewhere between confession and dismissal, his gaze trained not on hyojun but on the glass in the other man’s hand, as though the reflection there might show him what he refuses to name.

"maybe he's right. who would be stupid enough to refuse that?"

[ftlove]

entombing him is a silence that characterizes a person who is trying his hardest to remember, locked within his own depths and reaching for the deepest crevices of something even he is unsure what that truly is. like he's still not there in the room with rakwon, though now for a differing reason than the one of his selfish vice. it is just an appearance, however, the cluelessness in his eyes and the pursed lips merely that and nothing more; he knows ryu yian. the curve of her mouth behind her hand, giggling quietly after the pastor has given his last speech, making little chatter, rosy cheeks indicating something between shyness and the overwhelming closeness of bodies inside the holy grounds.

at long last - emotion; hyojun raises his eyebrows, a soft, albeit devilish, smile gracing his lips. he nods, hums, a disjointed tune that dies as quick as it was born. "oh, her," he says, uttered like he laces it with venom on purpose; instead, he just enjoys teasing rakwon, the one and possibly only action of pleasure that doesn't send him spiraling down into the depth of this hell that rakwon so fears. "the long legs. they look so fucking soft to touch, too." he takes a sip of his water. "oops. sorry. your fiance, and all. didn't mean to disrespect."

everything else comes as a whirlpool of blabber hyojun doesn't understand; doesn't want to understand. chatter of business expansions, benefactories for personal and economic gain, strategies, and everything else that is akin to nonsense blabbered by a court jester. to him, only the hedonistic end matters anyway: the money that will keep their family afloat and, by extension, even if he's hanging by a thread of disownement, money that will go into his pocket.

hyojun laughs again, dismissive of his friend's woes.

"you're stupid if you let that go. even if you hate each other, just go around having..." a deliberate pause, tongue sliding across the front of his top teeth. his smirk bears that same poison, one he wishes to sink deep in the delicate skin of rakwon's neck. "mistresses. if you're open about it god will forgive or whatever."

[ftlove]

his therapist tells him he should be more of an active listener.

hyojun's gaze didn't meet hers then, the same way he doesn't meet the relentlessly judging gaze of rakwon's, eyes cast on the glass in his hand, half-empty with simple iced water, brows knit tight across his face. it's lingering, his presence, something which haunts, too alive to be declared a ghost, occupying the space on rakwon's leather sofa (rather shamelessly after he has practically invited himself in) like air, the type that's heavy on the lungs and impossible to ignore. a reminder, with each breath, of the rotten that burrows deep into flesh and finds a home there, parasitic. just enough to acknowledge him when you catch a glimpse of protuberance in the corner of your eye before it fades into the background of your mind.

his therapist tells him it would make his friends like him more. hyojun tries, at the very least. even when the room sways and he finds himself in the epicenter of it, not really caring.

"what did you say again?" he flits, trying to hold his gaze steady, despite the discomfort that comes with being watched ㅡ acknowledging you are being watched, his voice a flat tone. his hand twitches. "the arrangement between you and ㅡ whoever?"

@fromlittlewaves

[fromlittlewaves]

"kwon junyoung… cute?" he scoffs, like the idea physically offends him. "his eyeliner game’s strong, i'll give him that, but that kid's vocal fry makes me want to bite drywall." a beat, and he glances at her from the corner of his eye. "yeah, you look…" pretty, is what instinct says. but that’s vulnerable territory, and he’s already offered her his shoulder, his jokes, his grin. no need to give up the whole arm. "fine. don’t let it get to your head," he finishes instead, casual as a shrug.

the bus hisses to a stop with tired brakes, and dongwoo dips his head at the driver in the barest nod of respect before claiming the two-seater in the back corner — default territory by now. he drops his bag between his feet and takes hers gently, setting it on top of his so it doesn’t graze the grimy floor. it cramps his legs, long and always half in someone else’s space, but he doesn’t complain.

outside the window, their neighbourhood rolls by in soft motion. the boy digs into his pocket and fishes out his tangled wired earphones, fingers nimble despite the mess of cables, then offers one to his seatmate. "promise these aren't gross," he says, already dropping the earbud into yuri's hands. "it's a new demo. fresh from last night, 2 a.m. insomnia vibes. i think you'll like the bridge. it's ugly as hell before it gets pretty."

he hits play. the music starts — raw and a little rough along the edges, mirroring the worn charm of an older seongbuk-dong right outside the bus window on the 405, fading into the soft hum of evening traffic. the melody dips and swells, dongwoo's bass guitar grounding the sound with a slow, steady pulse.

dongwoo catches her eye, nudging the moment with a half-grin. "so… too much? or enough to make you wanna ghost cram school for front row tickets to my show?"

[ftlove]

his responses bring out a feeling of blackness inside the pit of her stomach, pooling inside and festering a sense of before-unknown dissatisfaction, even if the moment of it existing is as fleeting as the speed with which it appeared. even if it’s fleeting, it feels like a persistent burrowing into every inch of her skin, deep inside her body. even if it’s fleeting, it feels wrong.

“oh.”

it’s all she can muster, somewhat dumbfounded, though the stop of their bus snaps her from the incommunicable haze that’s washed her over like a veil. for once, she’s grateful for it as she follows dongwoo inside, close behind him, insofar the stray strands of hair on his nape almost tickle her nose. as always, she’s grateful he pushes through the hurdling people and makes space for both of them; the width of his shoulders something she would see and follow through every crowd, whenever, wherever. she straightens the pleats of her uniform’s skirt upon sitting, eyes focusing on the little hole that’s forming on her tights over her knee. it’s better to occupy her mind with that, anyway.

just as his words brought her into a haze, they drag her out just the same. yuri lifts her head and accepts his earphone with both of her hands and without a grimace, eagerly placing it inside her ear. as the music sprawls, yuri closes her eyes, as if to absorb the tune of it better. the strum of the guitar and its speed, or lack thereof, truly giving a sense of melancholy, poetically contrasting against the bumpy road they drive upon — if she had any inkling of genuine artistry within her. yuri chews on inside of her cheek before finally grinning widely.

“this is good.” an observation that would be obvious to even a child, but yuri’s eyes shoot wide as she looks over to him. it’s genuine, too, the same type of expression she dons on her face upon solving an equation at her intermediate hagwon course, except this time the pride is reserved for dongwoo’s accomplishment. “you said 2 a.m.? would it be irresponsible of me to say you should sleep less?” she laughs — then pokes him with her elbow. then, she pouts, giving him the cutest expression she can pull off: "dongwoo, would you really, really give me front row tickets?"

internally, yuri cringes, though her smile doesn't falter.

"of course i'd skip cram school for you and your show, silly."

[fromlittlewaves]

dongwoo & yuri / +82 pressing continued from ♡

dongwoo has always been a fan of dissonance in his music — the kind of harmonic tension that keeps things from being too predictable, as it resolves back to a major chord and everything falls back into place. routine's like a flat note, too stale, too uninspiring, too predictable. everything will fall into place eventually, he reminds himself. the tension will resolve, just like always.

the sound of his name makes him smile despite the mocking edge, short of the bite that usually comes spitting from his mother or their homeroom teacher. "song yuri," he mimics, turning on his heel to face his friend as he begins to walk backwards. a sharp, almost mischievous laugh cracks through the tension, half-amused, as he shakes his head. "god, yeah. you know how much i love fluid mechanics. would marry her if i could."

she's by his side again now that he slows down, and the high school junior eases back to face the road, his friend in his peripheral vision still just within view. there's an easy pull of her backpack and he slings it over his shoulder, tugging it lightly like he's done this a hundred times before. "well. lucky for you, there's a gig tonight at jinwoo's. that band with the kids from hanlim? apparently they're really fucking good." he looks at her over his shoulder, a grin forming. "though not as good as me, obviously. i could outplay them in my sleep."

just ahead, the bus stop edges into sight, a flash of yellow marking the 405 rounding the corner. "unless you prefer the sweet, sweet thrill of test prep," dongwoo adds, eyebrows raised as he shoots her a look, already daring her to protest. "next bus isn't for another thirty."

[ftlove]

her mother's words echo in the back of her head, high-pitched and always biting into yuri and her choices, and yang dongwoo is no exception: he should dig his head into books instead of playing. but what her mother never gets to see is this smile that lingers on her daughter's face, the type that sets her features ablaze and alive. she doesn't get to see the vigor that burns in them — burns in them all — as music resounds through whichever little cafe extended its hand towards a wishful band; and she doesn't get to be the part of the audience, experiencing her best friend do what he truly loves. and cursed be all hagwons and cramming knowledge inside your brain if it's going to leave your soul empty, yearning for that something —

"it's not the last century, dongwoo." she bites with a roll of her eyes, all light teasing, of course. "you can't just go to mister newton and go i want to marry your daughter with an offering of some money. like, really. i didn't expect that from you."

with her hands freed, yuri stretches her arms outward, her elbow bones cracking. then, her hand lowers, rather smoothing out her bangs, fingers gently through black tresses absent-mindedly: "oh. with that cute frontman? how do I look right now, dongwoo? do i have something in my teeth?"

the yellow 405 makes its presence known in the corner of her own eye, too. her head turns, prompting a soft gasp to escape between her parted lips (a grimace, more fitting, aftermath of her baring her gums towards her friend). "of course we're going. to, uh, make notes of competition, their strength and weaknesses. of course, you outdo them, but there's never enough... ammunition? look, the bus is almost here———"

[ftlove]

[wldmsdlwldk]

Desire is a passing thing. A short-lived fire that burns as bright as it does quick.

Ji Haerin knows this all too well. Passion leaves her just as abruptly as it finds her and her partners, often in a dark corner of a nightclub.

So, of course, she assumes that this, too, will pass.

Accidental chemistry finds them together the night of Home School's welcoming party. She's a few drinks and half a joint deep, and it's easy, even without everything in her system, to instruct Sejun to take a deep breath in before pressing her lips against his, softly exhaling smoke into his mouth.

Everything else that happens after is a blur, and the masters slam the door quickly on whatever romance is possibly to be found within the confines of those 4 walls.

Now, her want is different.

It burns slow.

His shoulder brushes gently against hers, as they're laid on the floor reviewing their work in the library. She wants to reach out, press her palm to his chest, and see if his heartbeat's thrumming as fast as she thinks it is.

Constant.

Someone passes behind her, and he gently pulls her aside by her arm. His grip loosens slightly, fingertips dragging slowly and gently down her arm, and it feels like she's going to spontaneously combust. A shrill voice from around the corner reminds them where they are, and Sejun drops his hand. Haerin wants, wants, wants, so hopelessly, that she can't look at him.

Unbearably.

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, and Haerin still burns. Wants more, to have him without fear. Needs to have him like this, all to herself, all the time, impossibly closer than he is. Lets herself be pulled, pressing into him.

"Did you, now?" Like she couldn't tell. Still, she teases, leaning back and peering innocently up at him through long eyelashes. Her hand comes up to mess up his hair, just the way she likes, before it trails down slowly to interlock with the other at the nape of his neck.

"How much?"

[ftlove]

it's like the outer world doesn't matter.

it becomes drowned, every throe and every misery brought on by the incessant biting of masters'  speech, their words a carefully crafted sword that aism to nip away at their very core. even that, the blade logged deep inside sejun's heart, rusting and twisting with intent of harming, no longer bears the pain it once has, nor does it draw forth a river of blood that pools behind him with each following step. it's durable, he realizes. it becomes nothing more than an ever-present and persistent itch at the back of his mind; the pain dulled by the existence of a singular person, and something as simple as presence of another being that understands you.

and to him, it doesn't matter if he bears the brunt of her swords, too. like a living shield, he tells them it's him. it's him who is the provocateur and the instigator, the dog chasing after a bone that hangs in front of its face, always just there, within hands reach.

but he knows. every stolen gaze and quick glances; every brush of hand against hand in candle-lit hallways attests to it. and like that, every lie and excuse becomes warranted, as a mean of protecting this fickle sanctuary. he spends a week in sanctuary, a punishment for love. in the end, it's nothing but a week, one hundred sixty-eight hours that he thinks of her. every time he closes his eyes its her. every gentle footing that lurks beyond the closed doors he imagines is her. 

she draws a smile upon sejun's face, one that cannot be hidden by the creeping shadows. then, he leans into her touch, allowing himself the enjoyment before breaking into a laugh.

"it makes me crazy." a statement made through teeth, several curses lingering in air left unsaid. his fingers trail her waist, meeting together and pulling her into a tight hug. promptly — he lifts her with ease, spins her so she's seated against the sill and their gazes meet at an eye-level instead. "we're stuck here every single day but i can't get enough of you. like — how do i manage to miss you even now? i missed you so much. fuck."

if he could, he would devour her there and then; so that they are no longer separated again, so that he may carry her in his heart. instead, the closest and only move he can act on is pressing his lips against hers in a haste kiss, and then another, and another, and another. 

"we should run away, baby. the first chance we get. i'll think of something."

[ftlove]

[ lean ] for receiver to lean in and press their forehead against sender’s forehead + [ top ] for receiver to kiss sender on the top of their head and then rest their cheek against it while holding sender close. + @dearestcupids / haerin + sejun.

crevices of hallways enshrouded in darkness have proven themselves to be more of a home inside this wretched house than anything which masters spew about. the singular constant remains: them, by the open window, illuminated with the gentle touch of moonlight. it's comforting, in a way he cannot explain, in a way he doesn't know how to explain. it's an unfamiliar feeling he's submersed into, on he welcomes steadily — greedily. countless days pass by, turning into weeks, blending into months. and with the comfort settled inside and between them, it matters little. 

he closes his eyes then, not to alienate himself off of the sensation, but to feel it more: over three thousand receptors upon each fingertip that's pressed against the skin of her jaw, warm to his touch; a gentleness, as haerin closes in the little distance between them. more than three thousand receptors but he still cannot get enough of her her body pressed into his, an embrace holding her so tight lest she slips out of his grasp again and disappear. there is not a word ushered, complete silence, a comfortable silence; there is no need for a raise of voice to waver this that they share, actions speaking everything what they want to share to one another.

sejun's lips are pressed against her forehead — days of separation brought by the just rule of masters' has made him miss her presence more than he could miss even breathing itself. an ache within his heart slowly dissipates, pooling away and out into the night, the knot that's held his stomach in a tight hold now finally broken. she's with a heavy breath, chest raising against his, but sejun's is just the same. he does not fear the thud of his heart, either, threatening to burst through the cage made up of his ribs, nor the fact that she can tell. he wants her to know; his want and all that comes with it.

after the gentle kiss is placed, he leans his head against hers. soft inhale of the scent of her, like he doesn't know it as if it were apart of him, as if he couldn't tell her apart from miles away. he pulls at the fabric of her uniform, too, an attempt at bringing her any closer to him.

"missed you."

[fierymcmehoard]

The ultimate affectionate gestures compilation ( version 2.0, improved and slightly extended )

Send one of the following prompts for my muse to reach out affectionately to yours!

Feel free to combine them ( example: send [ brush ] + [ push ] for my muse to brush the loose strand of your muse’s hair our of their face and then push it behind your muse’s ear ), reverse them ( example: send [ reverse + caress ] for your muse to caress my muse’s cheek ) and/or add details.

[ tilt ] - for receiver to tilt sender’s chin gently to prompt them to make eye contact with receiver

[ curl ] - for receiver to curl their fingers under sender's chin while resting a thumb on their cheek, not quite tilting but just... holding

[ cup ] - for receiver to cup sender’s face with their hand/s

[ caress ] - for receiver to caress sender’s cheek

[ place ] - for receiver to place their hand over sender’s hand where it’s placed on receiver’s cheek

[ boop ] - for receiver to boop sender on the nose

[ nose rub ] - for receiver to brush their nose against sender’s nose

[ nose ] - for receiver to kiss sender on the nose

[ palm ] - for receiver to kiss sender on the palm

[ back ] - for receiver to kiss sender on the back of a hand

[ knuckles ] - for receiver to kiss sender’s knuckles

[ shoulder ] - for receiver to place a kiss on sender's shoulder / shoulder blade

[ nape ] - for receiver to place a kiss on the nape of sender's neck

[ jaw ] - for receiver to place leisurely kisses along sender's jaw

[ cheek ] - for receiver to kiss sender on the cheek

[ lips ] - for receiver to kiss sender softly on the lips

[ forehead ] - for receiver to kiss sender on the forehead

[ lean ] - for receiver to lean in and press their forehead against sender’s forehead

[ pepper ] - for receiver to pepper sender’s face with kisses

[ eyes ] - for receiver to kiss sender’s closed eyelids

[ tears ] - for receiver to kiss away sender’s tears

[ wipe ] - for receiver to wipe away sender’s tears

[ gaze ] - for receiver to gaze into sender’s eyes

[ roll ] - for receiver to roll their eyes affectionately at sender

[ scalp ] - for receiver to massage sender’s head

[ pat ] - for receiver to pat sender’s head

[ brush ] - for receiver to brush the hair out of sender’s face / eyes / forehead

[ push ] - for receiver to push the loose strand of sender’s hair behind your muse’s ear

[ top ] - for receiver to kiss sender on the top of their head and then rest their cheek against it while holding sender close

[ chin ] - for receiver to settle their chin on the top of sender’s head while holding them close

[ hair ] - for receiver to place lots of short, sweet, messy little kisses on the crown of sender’s hair

[ run ] - for receiver to run their fingers through sender’s hair

[ stroke ] - for receiver to stroke sender's hair / head

[ twirl ] - for receiver to twirl a strand of sender’s hair around their finger

[ hand ] - for receiver to place their hand on sender’s shoulder / neck as a way of supporting / comforting / reassuring them that receiver is there for them

[ wrap ] - for receiver to wrap their arm around sender’s shoulders

[ massage ] - for receiver to massage sender’s shoulders and/or neck

[ soothe ] - for receiver to rub sender’s shoulders soothingly

[ rub ] - for receiver to rub sender’s back

[ body ] - for receiver to give sender a full-body massage

[ snuggle ] - for receiver to snuggle to sender’s side

[ waist ] - for receiver to wrap their arm around sender's waist

[ support ] - for receiver to support sender with an arm around their waist / shoulders and/or pull sender's arm across receiver's shoulders to better support their weight

[ catch ] - for receiver to catch sender as they stumble or collapse from exhaustion / sickness / injuries

[ lift ] - for receiver to lift sender up in their arms

[ shield ] - for receiver to shield sender from a threat, be it a person or a force of nature

[ tackle ] - for receiver to tackle sender, playfully or to shield from danger

[ come here ] - for receiver to gently pull sender towards them for a hug or a dance

[ behind ] - for receiver to hug sender from behind

[ rest ] - for receiver to hug sender from behind and rest their cheek against sender’s back / shoulder

[ rock ] - for receiver to hold sender and rock gently from side to side

[ tuck ] - for receiver to tuck sender against their chest, covering them with their jacket / coat fronts, in order to keep them warm / safe from rain

[ head ] - for receiver to rest their head on sender’s shoulder

[ sit ] - for receiver to settle down on sender's lap

[ lap ] - for receiver to place their head upon sender’s lap

[ guide ] - for receiver to guide sender to place their head upon receiver’s lap

[ hide ] - for receiver to guide sender to hide their face in receiver’s chest

[ heartbeat ] - for receiver to place their head upon sender’s chest, right over their heart, to listen to its beat

[ listen ] - for receiver to guide sender to rest their head upon receiver's chest, right over their heart, so they can listen to its beat

[ help ] - for receiver to give sender a hand when they’re stepping up or over something

[ touch ] - for receiver to touch the back of their hand to the back of sender’s hand as if inviting to hold hands

[ thumb ] - for receiver to run their thumb over sender’s thumb while holding hands

[ hold ] - for receiver to hold sender’s hand and interlace their fingers

[ squeeze ] - for receiver to squeeze sender’s hand

[ fingers ] - for receiver to play with sender’s fingers absent-mindedly

[ shapes ] - for receiver to trace imaginary shapes on sender’s skin

[ cover ] - for receiver to cover sender with a blanket / jacket / coat as they’re lying down

[ drape ] - for receiver to drape a blanket / jacket / coat around sender’s shoulders

[ comb ] - for receive to brush sender’s hair

[ braid ] - for receiver to braid sender’s hair

[ nails ] - for receiver to tidy sender’s nails and/or do a manicure

[ makeup ] - for receiver to help sender put on their makeup

[ jewelry ] - for receiver to help sender put on a piece of jewelry

[ tie ] - for receiver to help sender do their tie

[ smooth ] - for receiver to straighten sender’s collar / lapel / brush a hand over sender’s clothes to smooth them out

[ zip ] - for receiver to help sender zip their dress / jacket / button their clothes

[ dress ] - for receiver to help sender put on an item of clothing

[ cook ] - for receiver to cook something for sender

[ feed ] - for receiver to feed sender

[ drink ] - for receiver to help sender drink

[ cocktail ] - for receiver to make a cocktail for sender

[ pour ] - for receiver to pour sender a drink

[ bath ] - for receiver to draw a warm bath for sender

[ water ] - for receiver to join sender in the bath

[ wash ] - for receiver to help sender with washing their hair / body

[ swim ] - for receiver to invite sender to swim with them

[ beckon ] - for receiver to beckon sender towards them

[ whisper ] - for receiver to whisper something in sender's ear

[ tickle ] - for receiver to tickle sender

[ cheer ] - for receiver to try to cheer sender up

[ faces ] - for receiver to make funny faces at sender

[ shove ] - for receiver to playfully shove sender

[ pull ] - for receiver to pull sender down to sit on receiver’s lap

[ bed ] - for receiver to push or pull sender back on the bed when they try to get up

[ cloth ] - for receiver to bath sender’s face / neck with a cloth soaked in cool water

[ patch ] - for receiver to patch up sender's wound/s

[ pain ] - for receiver to kiss sender where it hurts to soothe their pain

[ trace ] - for receiver to trace sender’s scar/s with the softest press of their fingertips

[ ask ] - for receiver to ask sender about their scar/s

[ scar ] - for receiver to kiss sender’s scar/s