ROMANTIC FEEDING shipping meme

[dispairages]

ROMANTIC FEEDING shipping meme

The stomach being the way to the heart is not exclusive to men. So now, it's time to share some food with that crush, lover, significant other of yours. Mmm! And more than that, you're going to feed them! Whether it's all in fun, flirting, because they're injured and need assistance, or some other reason, you're determined to see them get a square meal. In contrast, you could be the one getting fed. Open up and, no matter what, be glad someone cares! HOW TO PLAY Comment with your character, preferences, and whether they're being fed or doing the feeding. Tag others. RNG that shiz. Cuteness ensues. PROMPTS Fun: Whether it's teasing, flirting, or just plain fun, you want to feed them. Try!: This is the best thing you've ever had! They have to take a bite. Made it For You: You're not just feeding them, you made the food for them. Stealing Your Food: Technically, you're not feeding them, they're just scarfing from your plate. They're lucky you love them so much. Indirect Kiss: This is a big deal if you're not actually dating yet. Their lips touched where yours did...ohmigosh you're going to diiiie. Make Them Eat: They don't eat enough. That's going to change when you get ahold of them. Can't Do it Themselves: One of you is so battered and bruised that the other has to help out come mealtime. Your Favorite: Even if it's not to your taste, you've got what they like the most. Kind: You're just a sweetie who enjoys sharing sweeties. Fancy: You're in a fancy restaurant and splitting an expensive plate. Packed Lunch: It's lunchtime, so you'll share what you have. Just So Cute: They look so adorable when they're eating something they love. Intimate: "Intimacy" doesn't have any sexual terms here, mostly. Instead, eating together is another way to bond. Sexy: How about eating off of each other, or something equally naughty? A human plate is all the same. Innuendo: Some foods you can't avoid eating in a manner that looks a little...suggestive. Lick: You're not eating. You're cleaning up their face with your lips and tongue. WILDCARD

Comments

Sinthia Schmidt | MCU (au) | ota

[abyssum_invocat]

Sasaki Haise | Tokyo Ghoul:re | M/M

[rc_2753]

((if you're not familiar with TG please message me first, because this meme and Haise, uh, yeah, um.))

[halfghoul]

[You okay with some possible nightmare/memory hallucination mindfuckery dealing with Haise's particular... diet?]

[rc_2753]

((OH MY GOD YES I mean. Yes. Very yes.))

Alright then, I got this.

[halfghoul]

[It stands before the other, fingers loose at it's sides, standing in a room that Haise might not recognise. It's dark--but not dark in a way that blotted out all vision. Rather, the low light was only enough to make someone squint, to make out the shapes that were in the room with him. No, it was anything but dark, a ravaged heliotrope glowing on the edges of shadow, lighting up that familiar face that stood next to a table, draped with black cloth. Something... sitting atop it, dripping, wet.

The figure turns to face the other, eyes fixated on the man's face, but quiet for a moment before the hint of a laugh--a dry sound that was more like a cough than much of anything else. It speaks, finally, festering silence finally broken by a voice, all too familiar, but still too different to sit right in the ears of the pepper-haired male. It was his own voice, but ... different, somehow.

Drawl pours from his lips in a languid manner, tongue lolling over his words lethargically. Arms folded over a skinny chest--a wicked smile brewing upon his bony features and with eyes flickering shut to dictate peace within his visage.]

...You've not eaten in over a week, now. Maybe it's been longer. ...Aren't you getting hungry, Haise-kun?

[Lips pull back to reveal his maggot-filled simper, eyes then open and narrow to instill hazardous threats into he who stood before him.]

...Aa. But your diet... you still haven't accepted this, have you.

*___*

[rc_2753]

As much as I can.

[Isn't that right? He eats because he has to, because he has no choice, but if he did have a choice...

He does have a choice, he can choose to starve and die, and even so, he goes as long as he can, living on coffee and (sweet, rich) donated blood, but he does eat, he chooses to, so that means... he has, hasn't he?]

What do you know, anyway?

[Who are you? he doesn't ask, because he knows the answer, he fears the answer, he doesn't know to ask.

'Something' wet and dripping, and tempting him nearer.]

I love nightmare scenes sorry if this gets graphic djfkdfd

[halfghoul]

[Lips remain in their simpering fixation, sardonic undertones evident like figures beneath the ocean surface; through the needlessly cruel exposé bestowed upon his ears from vocal cords that pull and dip to volume.


'As much as he can'? That was fool's language for desperation. An acceptance of what he was only so far as his survival went. ...Ah, how much you've forgotten, how much you've changed, if only you knew the sorts of things those teeth have torn into.]

I know more than you might think. I'm you. You're me. You've forgotten, but that's fine. It was probably better to forget.

[The white-haired male takes a step forward as well, fingers pulling up something from the table, holding it between his fingers. It drips, wetly against his fingers, trails of bright sanguine against deep, black fingernails. He stands before the other, a haunted corpse that summons nothing but discomfort in the others' presence. An insect with a graced tongue forms words behind those pallid lips, a blackened maw behind cadaverous flesh. He is not solid. He is limitless. A being who isn't real. Or perhaps too real to exist in any plane on earth.]

But if there's one thing both of us know. It's that to eat is to live. And to live is to eat. Pushing it away... it's not something you can do. ...Aa. You look starved to death. Come. If you can't feed yourself, then I'll do it.

no apologies asdj; this is gorgeous I wanna roll in it srsly who gets into tg w/out liking this shit

[rc_2753]

[Sudden awareness floods through Haise, sight and scent, and the visceral, physical memory, the feeling of raw, wet meat sliding between his teeth and down his throat, and the way every bite makes his vision seem to sparkle around the edges just for a while, the way it makes his pulse race, and for a little while, just after he eats, he feels like he can do anything--

His stomach growls, and his insides roil, and he steps closer again.

Half-starved... In that moment, he feels it.]

HAHAHA you've got a huge point I live for shit like this

[halfghoul]

[Haise moves closer. And the white-haired apparition, the haunted memory moves closer, as well. His other arm turns from behind his back to stretching outward, hands wrung as titanium white peers from behind his terrible lips once more. Upon his tongue brews a laugh, air summoned up from his lungs to permit a dark titter, suppressed and knavish, lips parting and right corner curling in, a heartless smile on angular visage. Fingers reaching forward, dubious intent in every inch of his nearly glowing form.

They knot into mismatched hair, tangling into white and black stained hair, pulling the other forward, almost close enough that their identical height would cause their noses to bump together. However, he keeps enough distance to avoid such a thing. His other hand, gripping a strip of something between long, nearly bonelike digits raises up, drawing the edge of it over Haise's cheek, staining the others' face red. Violent red.]

...Well then.

What are you waiting for.

Open.

HORRIBLE AND BEAUTIFUL <3<3<3

[rc_2753]

[That wet touch makes him shiver, draws a little noise from him, low in his throat, a desperate kind of hunger that he doesn't even realise is in him. His kakugan burns black and red in his face as his lips part, exposing teeth that gleam whitely, and he leans in, ever so slightly, tongue stretching out to taste, to catch that red wetness and satisfy--

Satisfy. Satisfy that hollow gnawing inside of himself--

Hungry.]

Mikami Teru | Death Note

[eraser_rain]

[casuistor]

Light doesn't know at what point during the night that he'd managed to fall asleep, but he must have because he wakes up, and wakes up to the massively unpleasant realization that his wrist still feels like it's been set on fire.

Teeth grit, he cradles his hand and examines it with a scathing look. Of course, it had been Light's luck that he'd managed to run into that during the night and had spent the rest of that time running from hellhounds. People may not stay dead here, but there are more dignified ways to die than being mauled. It's an experience that Light would prefer is left for incompetents like Mello to have. Repeatedly.

A makeshift splint had to suffice during the night. Only an idiot would go into the basement for medical supplies then, and no matter how much he would have liked something to dull pain with, he was neither confident enough in Mikami's ability to avoid antagonizing the Doctor nor delusional enough to believe that Mikami would have reanimated in a cooperative mood. People wee a little frustrating sometimes.

[eraser_rain]

Mikami does know at what point during the night Light had managed to fall asleep, but when the latter wakes up wondering that, the former isn't there to answer even if he were of a mind to ask. But Mikami did consider being there when the other man woke up, for what it's worth--not much, he's sure. He'd been there at his side all night, holding onto a gun that he didn't know how to fire (yes, yes, point the hole at the bad things, pull the little lever back in the opposite direction, it sounds very simple in practice but he'd prefer the word 'know' maintain some semblance of meaning and so he cannot say he knows how to fire one). With no idea where more bullets might come from, he wasn't about to start learning or taking target practice, much less when anything was remotely near... near... Yagami Light? God? No, definitely not God, he'd thought through the night when having little else to do but keep watch. Sometimes God. He was trying not to think directly on why he was keeping watch but he knew he'd end up there eventually. But first, he thought on why he wouldn't fire when there was a chance of his inexperienced aim leading to him causing him harm. I've seen him shot before. Several times. Mikami supposed that this man probably hated him about as much as Matsuda already, and he had the pleasure of unloading a few bullets into him to let out his sense of betrayal.

But bitter self indulgence aside, he had to acknowledge that he considered the gun a tool to protect others with and so at the very least he didn't want it to be used to harm anyone 'good', even incidentally. That left the obvious question of what he'd do if something more sentient, something with more of an argument for wanting him hurt beyond bloodlust tried to attack the man he was, unabashedly, protecting. Or intending to, at any rate.

That was, for the record, about the time Light fell asleep, Mikami's pretty sure. At that point he had glanced to him and found his eyes closed and his breathing more even. Looking at that sleeping face he found himself wondering if he'd have fired at someone like Matsuda, someone attacking this man in a way that wasn't as black and white in terms of right and wrong compared to some of the things that roamed here.

He decided on yes because it was simpler. That was all. He'd even acknowledge that was all it was. He was tired. He was recognizing signs of a desperate situation in himself.

He'd kill a man for this man. He didn't even particularly like this man. This man was not exactly 'Yagami Light' to him; his tastes, his personality as a human being, his eccentricities, whatever good points he may have had were irrelevant. He thought of him as less than the average person, and yet in any remotely dubious situation he'd side with him over an average person.

Anyone else might have felt some gratitude or fondness. Yagami wouldn't. Mikami knew that.

Knows that, even. With the shot gun temporarily strapped to his side with a few pillow cases, he goes through the effort of making breakfast at least content in the fact that the effort put into it is for his own sake rather than any gratitude he knows won't be forthcoming. That reason he didn't stay with him until he woke up probably had to do with his personality.

He doesn't really like him, Mikami thinks in one part of his brain while another part dutifully considers an inured man's needs in a dish. Oh, make no mistake, the effort put into breakfast is for his own sake but it has nothing to do with what he particularly feels like eating. Mikami doesn't have an appetite, but he has a habit of eating and that's good enough. It's the act of cooking that's calming, a methodical, practical, necessary act to prove to himself he's still functional. He can even give a perhaps empty and flat but still existent conversation to anyone else who might come into the kitchen, asking about where first aid supplies might be.

He really doesn't like him, Mikami thinks, a similar but distinctly different thought from the one prior about not really liking him. What calls this to mind is that he's standing in the kitchen eating his own breakfast while Light's portion heats up separately. It's actually more trouble to cook for each of them separately, even if it's perhaps half separately at best. The ingredients are measured the same, the supplies are out, the only real thing making it two different times is the time of heating it. Eating first by himself means a little more time not with him, means time to himself. Practically it also means that if 'Not God' (as he's prone to thinking of him when still trying to place exactly what Yagami Light is to him) needs help eating he can do it but he really does dread going back. He dreads feeding him. He dreads dealing with him. Or maybe more than dread he's just tired and the idea of it all is only more exhausting. Maybe the sentiment he's labeling as 'dread' is terror of the other plentiful things worth the emotions classified under the 'fear' category.

Anyway, the man he doesn't like (which is probably a step up from 'Not God') needs carbs and protein. Idly while stirring the pan he finds himself thinking that he's a little too thin as a baseline. With that thought in mind, the oatmeal Mikami had taken utterly plain ends up having peanut butter added in. And some sugar. Brown sugar, too. He considers redoing the Scotch eggs to add mayo (Mikami had a regular fried egg while those baked), but it isn't as if he's trying to simply fatten him up and there are limits to how long he can avoid him. Another part of him wonders if these thoughts are more trying to avoid him, trying to impress him, or trying to do good by him.

Doing the dishes at least is for decency's sake, he insists. He's a good man in that regard. Civic duty minded. But the fact that nobody else has left dishes doesn't escape his notice. Maybe he doesn't need to do them.

Maybe Yagami Light doesn't need him to feed him.

Maybe Yagami Light doesn't need him at all.

Without digging too much into why, Mikami at least will acknowledge, begrudgingly and only to himself, that he needs him for now. But by then he's arrived at the door, knocking even while knowing the other has surely not made himself indecent and stepping in, balancing a plate with a spoon, a knife, a fork, eggs and browned buttered toast on top of a bowl of oat meal. In the other hand is a coffee mug.

He may have been prone to adding what he could to the oatmeal to beef him up a bit and he may have even considered redoing the eggs completely to add mayonnaise, but there was no excuse, even hypothetical, to ruin perfectly good coffee just for a few added calories from a splash of milk or sugar. Black it is. If this man doesn't like it, then Mikami is pretty sure he'll wish he had a second cup for himself before the morning is over.

He'll see how far he can get saying nothing for now. How to greet a man in the morning in your shared bedroom whom you don't particularly like but are willing to serve is just not something his years of Ivy League law school had prepared him for. Maybe he should have done some time in the business school department. Perhaps silence will actually get him quite far! Setting food and drink down at the bedside table seemed pretty self explanatory. Looking to his wound would probably tell him as much as asking about how it was doing now. None of his years of Ivy League schooling were in the medical school department either, but he could guess all by himself with nothing but a look (and maybe not even that!) that it still hurt.

[casuistor]

Mikami's absence doesn't faze Light in the slightest. He doesn't care enough to devote even a few seconds to the topic of that man's whereabouts. You don't wonder where inflexible, unvarying creatures like Mikami go and you don't wonder if a loyal dog will come back or not, no matter how grudgingly granted that loyalty is.

Hellhounds are only attracted to fresh injuries, so by the time the sun sets in a week's time, he won't have that problem to deal with anymore. All things considered, he's lucky not to have died. Except, if he'd died he would have woken up with a functioning hand. Its a strange, discordant thought - heavily intellectualized and disparate from his memories of dying. Then that mental barrier snaps, and Light scowls bitterly. He's lived here for too long; the house is slowly, slowly getting inside his head.

When the door to the bedroom opens, and the smell of food wafts through the air, Light tears his eyes away from his wrist, sits up and watches the other man approach the same way a hawk might watch a rat in total silence. It occurs to him that another person might have felt something like gratitude if they were in his position, but the gesture invokes nothing of the sort in Light. Mikami Teru belonged in a special category of unforgiveables - the ones that go to the tength circle of hell that Dante had neglected to write about.

He glances at the plate that Mikami leaves on the table, still cradling his right hand. (Why was it always his right hand that had to get injured? Didn't these idiots know that he needed it to write with?)

...And eat with, for that matter. Food had been the last thing on his mind in light of recent events. Is that why Mikami was just standing there then? To take some petty pleasure in watching him struggle to do something as simple as eat breakfast? Light seethes as he looks at the offering. But by the time he looks back at Mikami, the look in his eyes has dulled to a feigned indifference.

"You ate alone," he muses in a passably pleasant tone. It's part observation, part accusation for something else entirely disguised as a civil conversation starter.

[eraser_rain]

If it's meant as conversational, Mikami's loyalty might finally be called into question. A conversation takes two and the closest to an answer he gives is to make eye contact and pause just long enough to make it clear he at least heard what was said. There's not so much as a nod offered because it isn't something that needs confirmation. It also isn't something that needs an explanation. Mikami himself isn't entirely sure which reason for eating along is most true but he suspects by the pleasantry in the other's voice that he's taking some pleasure in whatever reason or reasons he's assuming. He decides to let him have that. His pride's going to suffer enough when he has to be fed.


That isn't a thought he has vengefully, as if he can suffer the other's schadenfreude because he'll get his; it's simply a consideration that it will be easier to have his cooperation in putting food in him if his mood is good, so if he cheers himself up with any assumption, it's mutually beneficial to let him hold that assumption. The longer his pride can hold out the more he'll eat.

His eyes linger on the plate, wondering if he should just take up the spoon saying nothing or wait for an indication he's ready. Maybe I should seem uncomfortable with this silence, Mikami considers. He's sure he could squirm convincingly. He's sure if he thinks hard enough, he'll squirm for real. That'd be appetizing, wouldn't it?

The irony of wanting to go out of his way to help somebody who'd take pleasure, perhaps even need his misery like that doesn't escape him.

[casuistor]

The lack of response comes is a slight disappointment, though for once it isn't something Light can blame Mikami for; he wouldn't have dignified that with an answer either. What winds up coming off as the greater annoyance is the fact that Mikami keeps standing there, as though waiting for some sign or cue.

Light doesn't need to follow Mikami's line of sight to know that he's staring at the plate of food. His first assumption is that this is a veiled 'please shut up and eat', which, naturally, makes him feel disinclined to do exactly that. He wasn't usually oppositional for the sake of it, but if this is about schadenfreude, then Mikami is practically asking for it.

"Why?"

Still pleasant and silk smooth, though not even Light can keep up a certain act forever when in physical pain. It does occur to him that if Mikami were purely interested in laughing at his expense, he could do so at a distance, but the possibility that the man actually intends on feeding him is so insulting that it hasn't actually crossed his mind yet.

[eraser_rain]

With that, dark eyes behind his lenses dart back up to the other's face, finding it pleasant enough that he finds it necessary for the sake of argument to consider the possibility that it really is a simple question. But as tired as Mikami is, if his mind is in good enough condition to consider all possibilities it's also in good enough condition to dismiss the most ridiculous ones with swift prejudice. Even assuming that things weren't what they are between them, even supposing the unease were entirely on Mikami's own side, this man who is not God but who had done an admirable enough job long enough that even his humanity and mortality couldn't put a dent in Mikami's faith, whose utter breakdown and ruination had at last dented but not totaled that faith, is not a man so dense as to sincerely be unaware. There is no room for doubt that he is being glib.

Mikami could be glib. He hasn't learned all the finer points of high society but as lacking as he would admit himself to be in some social areas, he had proven himself versed enough in social pleasantries to speak and smile towards those he sincerely wished death upon. If he'd learned to accept that prosecution in Japan was often slanted towards rehabilitation in which he didn't believe possible much of the time, he could humor this question with the same eloquence he'd used to speak positively of the sacred glory of mass murder on public television without being seen as the devout man of faith he was. He can extract himself from the matter gracefully.

But Mikami can do a lot of things. He chooses not to exercise any number of those capacities every day for a number of reasons. He chooses not to be glib now specifically because it would waste time and leave the oatmeal to get cold and be unpalatable. If this man wanted to eat badly enough he would probably eat it cold but as tense, as targeted as he felt, Mikami sincerely doesn't wish him to have to experience anything unpleasant. He wants him to enjoy his food as much as he can enjoy anything. If he could convince him somebody else made it, that it was just conveniently provided by the house so that thinking well on it wouldn't be a compliment to Mikami he would, he reflects, still letting that silence draw out as his stare stays on that serene, lying, mask of a face before him.

He won't be glib. He'll let Yagami think whatever answer satisfied him most. He won't squirm, not yet. That trick would have to be held onto. Instead he dodges the question, artlessly, as if to say 'whatever answer makes me look the most cowardly, pathetic, and resentful; whatever answer makes you feel powerful and vindicated.'

He grants a silence long enough to make it clear he's thinking about it, as if that will make his own eventual reply sound less the the sarcasm it's sincerely not meant to be. "If I try to give you the same luxury, can you take advantage of it?"

He really doesn't know the full extent of his injuries, other than that his right hand is surely not going to be displaying any fine motor skills immediately. Maybe the eggs he can eat. The plate can probably be sat on his lap. But they really require being cut up unless he wanted to try eating an entire egg in one bite or letting the crumbs fall over himself. Eating from a bowl is a little different. Maybe that much is possible. With the peanut butter it's a bit thicker than what he remembers having, making it difficult to scoop quite as cleanly as soup. He might end up making a mess of himself. But maybe it's not his place to worry about whether he can eat like an adult and maybe it's best to just be satisfied if he can eat at all. If anything, this man's dignity would likely prefer making a mess of himself in private to being fed...


Maybe if he just cuts up his eggs, that'll be enough. And so Mikami starts on that much, anticipating that the very pleasant man in the bed he can't use despite his increasing fatigue will ask why he didn't cut it up before bringing it.

[casuistor]

Light doesn't consider himself a volatile man. Any person who can spend five years in Misa's presence with only the occasional thought of having her killed must have more poise and patience than the average person. He doesn't even consider himself difficult to please. It isn't as though he has any unfair expectations of telepathy from the idiots around him; no, he always very generously gives specific instructions and orders. All people ever have to do is follow said instructions and orders without deviation. He maintains that this isn't asking for anything outside of the scope of anyone's capacity to accomplish. After all, watching morons drown in their own mediocrity isn't any more entertaining than watching paint dry or grass grow. In the end, results have always mattered more than a fleeting moment o amusement.

These are all parts of how Light understands elements of his own personality. Everything is secondary to a desired result. All the human filth that he'd judged to be unfit to live? Clearly, sacrifices have to be made in order to do what's right for the world. Someone has to make the difficult decisions in order to make humanity prosper. Even now, he'll reflect on it without a drop of remorse. he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.

But what happens when you no longer have a clear, defined means of getting the results you want? Perhaps it's at that point that other desires that would have been counterproductive to accomplishing a goal begin growing louder and more frequent in intensity. Light has known for a while now that Mikami Teru has difficulty obeying simple commands and that given any degree of freedom to interpret a situation will invariably select the interpretation that is least palatable to Light's taste.

In fact, the man is doing it right now. Dismissing a direct question is insolence enough, outright calling his capacity to feed himself into question is another offense entirely. Light's eyes narrow, quiet fury simmering behind a faltering show of indifference. In many ways, Light expects this from Mikami, but he doesn't have to like it. In fact, he doesn't even have to pretend to like it. His good hand forms a tight fist as he watches Mikami cut up the eggs, thoroughly tempted to take a swing at him. It isn't a rational reaction - even Light recognizes that much - but it would be satisfying.

"Unless it's your intent to feed me," he replies after a notable pause of his own, "I don't see a choice in the matter."

He isn't hungry at all, but he will be if he doesn't eat. Starving serves no positive purpose whatsoever, and despite the overwhelming appeal of smashing the damn plate in Mikami's face, that isn't the best use of resources.

Asami Sato | Legend of Korra | OTA

[revvingforglove]

Asbel Lhant || tales of graces f || ota

[protectives]

[+10 points if ice pops, +100000000 if mild curry. Either/or, or they can take turns. Just don't expect it to be homecooked.]

Mikasa Ackerman | Attack on Titan | F/M

[wearshisscarf]

Sora | Kingdom Hearts | M/F

[heart_janitor]

Alleyne - the Headless Horseman ♞ OUAT/SPN OC ♞ OTA, prefer F/M

[ridesheadless]

Anne Boleyn || The Tudors || OTA, prefer F/M

[happyfalcon]

Dejah Thoris || John Carter/A Princess of Mars || OTA, prefer F/M

[barsoombamf]