5 Love Languages Novels & Stories

“So, you're telling me that your fat girlfriend threw a birthday for you? Adrian baby, you told me you'd break up with the bitch already. You don't love me.” “Lily baby, I love you.” Adrian called out cooingly. He even wrapped his hand around her tiny waist, while using the other to stroke her hair lovingly. An action he had never done with me. He always made excuses that physical touches weren't his love language. Here he was, not only touching her hair and waist, but she was placing her entire ass on his thighs. Lily pouted her lips and spoke in a cringe voice that was way softer than the first, as though she was trying to sound like a baby.

"So, words of affirmation is your love language, huh?" "If it's you, then my love speaks all languages." The sweet symphony of his words rang in my ears like a melody I never want to end, and his statement made me remember all the things he did for me, especially his acts of service. . . just like what he did to me in the tub. With my heart making my system go wild, my lips break into a wide grin. "What a sweet talker." "Only for you." My mouth hung open in disbelief and I looked at him over my shoulder. His eyes are closed as if he's savoring the moment, and the soft glow of the moon outlines his features, emphasizing his silky hair and his pointed nose.

he says with a genuine smile and grabs me for a hug, “I love that you’re putting in an effort, I promise it’s going to pay off.” Whenever he says that, it means he’s going to find a way to spend money on me. I truly can’t hate him; that’s his love language. He might be shit in a lot of ways, but he tries his best to show appreciation with money, and I used to love his gifts. I probably still will.

we all muttered in unison and we giggled. "Love demands sacrifices, my love language is sacrifice, how can you say you love me and yet you can't even sacrifice certain things for me? It doesn't make sense to me, if you love me you should be able to do certain things that would hurt you and it should be vice versa.

That wall vanished into thin air with the shift. They are the happiest they have ever been. Theo seeks her out at every possible moment he can. His love language is touch, she noticed. Even when they are in public, he would graze the sleeves of her dress, sometimes her hair to make his presence known, as if she would ever need a reminder.

She giggled at the last line as if it were a joke, but I was sure she secretly liked the idea. “And?” She looked up at me, “I’m a bit needy, I’ve been told. But I like spending time with the person I’m with. Not just once a week.” “I told you I wanted to stay,” I replied, half-joking. “Have you ever heard about love languages?” Ripley asked, twirling her finger against my chest. “No,” I replied, “is that like a sex thing?”

I'm good,“ I finally said, slowly removing her hands from my face. The last thing I needed right now was to have a fuss over my mood and expression. She got other important things to be doing, for example, telling me where she'd been and how the fuck did she meet Roland. I looked over her shoulder at Hailey and she flashed me a smile. I nodded at her and my gaze was back at Hara. “What are you doing out here?“ She asked, trying to touch my face again. I caught her hand in the air and slowly brought it down. Don't get me wrong, I'll give anything to have her touch me. But touching, kissing, smooching, and holding hands were my love languages. I wouldn't do that with a woman who I have no feel

Goosebumps poured all over my back, opening my neck for his caressing voice. I swallowed to stay focused on the conversation but blurted the first thing that sprang up. “What's your love language?” I could barely whisper, my mind absorbed by his thick digit gliding along my loveline. “Guess,” he said, his voice huskier than a second ago. And I could no longer ignore his burning gaze. The intensity of his desires scorched my insides. Those blue sapphires shackled me as he licked the deep V between my fingers, the hot tip of his tongue dipping in….

Did I even mean anything to him? “Whenever I felt down or distressed or sad, Fredrick always showed up with something in his hand.” I tell Roman. “I thought his love language was giving gifts or something like that. A bottle of water on a hot day here, hot chocolate on a rainy evening there, soft kisses that steal my breath away. Mind you, that is also a symptom.” I shake my head. “Early morning coffee, afternoon flowers, late night sex.” Is it because my memories seem like they all occurred yesterday? I think I miss him.

She told me about a dream she had—running through a field with our child, laughter echoing, wildflowers in her hair. I told her about mine—just sitting on a porch swing, her hand in mine, gray in our hair but peace in our hearts. We didn’t need to speak every fear. Some love languages are spoken in silence. --- “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?” she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the wind. I didn’t hesitate. “You already are.” Her tears fell silently. I wiped them away with the pad of my thumb. “This child is lucky. They’ll know what it means to be loved. To be chosen.”