Feed My Affection Mga Nobela at Kwento

She eats enough, but I can tell she doesn't enjoy it like she used to, it's more like she tells herself to eat for her baby and for me, probably, so that I wouldn't worry, even if I don't deserve that. I try to smile for her but she sees straight through my façade. The good thing about her feeling bad for me, however, is that she actually pays me a lot of attention in which I revel. She shows more affection to me than before; random hugs, making my favourite breakfast, stuff like that. It's obvious that she cares and wants me to get better and I love it. Knowing that she cares is a kind of a medicine for me. I know it's pity probably, but I let myself convince me that it's because she loves

“Because I’ve decided I won’t let anyone else have you.” The air between us was thick now, tense, almost electric. “Is this how you show affection?” I asked, quieter. “By caging people?” “I show affection by not letting you get hurt,” he said. “By burning down anything that tries.” My breath hitched. “I don’t need saving,” I whispered, but even I didn’t sound convinced. It thrilled me in a way, and made me curious in another. What did I have to lose? “No,” he agreed. “You need keeping.”

His lips felt warm and soft against my skin, radiating affection and tenderness. "There, all done," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth. "Thank you for keeping me company, my love." I smiled up at him, my heart swelling with affection. In that simple moment, surrounded by the faint aroma of our delicious meal and the sight of a cleaned kitchen, I felt a deep connection with Raffaele. It was a connection that went beyond words, a shared intimacy that bound us together. As we sat there, basking in the afterglow of our meal and the warmth of each other's presence, I couldn't help but think that sometimes the simplest moments in life were the most beautiful.

she took the spoon from me and forwarded infront of my mouth with strict face like she was my teacher. I opened my mouth silently without throwing any kind of protest which earned a smile from her as she fed me while I just gazed her. “That’s like a good girl” she patted my head pushing the bowel side before passing me a glass of water which made me shook my head lightly at her. I'm lucky to have her with me I didn't feel that I was capable of caring and loving anyone after spending seven years in that hell but this girl had proved that there was still some affection left in me and I should say that she had developed it like a sprout blooming on a barren land.

“ Okay “ I agreed with a silly smile and let him feed me. I was happy, of course the food he fed me filled my stomach but that’s not the reason I'm happy right now. I’m happy because he exists in my life, pampering me with so much love and affection that I couldn't ask for more. Gulping the good down, I asked him, “ aren’t you hungry ?” As much as I remember he didn’t have dinner just like me, because we both were too busy savouring each other’s bodies lately.

“You know, my love, there’s something intoxicating about your blood. It carries a sweetness that sets my senses on fire.” I chuckled softly; the sound laced with a mix of excitement and affection. “Oh, is that so? Well, I’m glad to know this. Consider it my gift to you, an elixir of love and devotion.” He resumed his gentle feeding, his eyes never leaving mine as he savoured each drop. “It’s more than just a gift, Mia. It’s a reminder of our deep connection, an intimate bond that transcends the ordinary. Drinking your blood is an act of trust and surrender, a symbol of our eternal love.”

I continued feeding Mama with the porridge while Francis went to get food. I thanked him and started eating too. I was very hungry; I hadn’t eaten much since last night. I only had bites of rice here and there. I had too many thoughts in my mind, so it affected my eating as well. This is how I am; I lose my appetite when I’m stressed. I also think that when I eat, it feels like food is running out. I’d rather be the one to go hungry than let them starve. I love them so much, and I’m willing to sacrifice everything. That’s the only thing I can give back to Mama.

"You need your strength." Evelyn, weakened and overwhelmed by his quiet, relentless care, found herself unable to resist. She opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her. Each spoonful was accompanied by the soft brush of his fingers as he held the bowl, the gentle concern in his eyes. She felt the blush return, a persistent warmth that had nothing to do with her fever. This intimacy, this unwavering attention, was both unnerving and deeply comforting. She had yearned for this for so long, yearned for him to see her, to care for her, not as an obligation, but with genuine tenderness.

Zach carefully leaned Zayla against his chest, picked up the bowl of freshly stewed chicken soup from the table, and blew away the rising steam. "You must be starving. You're still so weak—you need something nourishing," he said. "I want the chicken soup Joey used to make," Zayla whispered as she settled into him. "Her soup was always perfect for me. If I have that, I'll have the strength to bring our baby into the world." As she spoke, her hand absentmindedly brushed against his.

Yet, upholding my posture, I placed the food on the table and sat beside Saafia, “There you go, eat.” “I said I am not hungry.” She whined, shaking her head in denial and I won’t let her ruin her health. Shifting closer unintentionally, I moved my hand behind her and brought a bite near her lips softly. I used to feed my mother too when she was sick. “I will feed you. Open your mouth.” I offered, trying to sound compelling, gaining her attention as well. Lifting her eyes beautifully, she fidgetted her fingers around her dress anxiously and parted those plump lips. My heart skipped a beat, averting my eyes to not stare at her compelling expression and fed her.