Give us 22 with our boy osamu 😭🌷
22 with osamu… comfort 🥺
Your nails dig into your palms as you stare, blankly, at the book in front of you. You haven’t absorbed a word in the past twelve minutes, and it’s a book you haven’t touched in months. You should feel invested.
But you don’t. And it’s killing you.
You’re not quite sure why, but the happy whistling coming from Osamu has a well of tears flooding to your waterline, the books words start melting together and your breathing picks up at his happy, “hey baby.”
When you ignore him, you feel his gaze bore into you. “Uhh… babe? You okay?”
“Mhm.”
“You… positive?” He says, and you screw your eyes shut. “I don’t want to prod you, but you seem tense, and I don’t like it for you.”
“Im fine, Osamu,” you grit your teeth. The next thing you know, a cup of juice gets placed next to your book, and he’s next to you, a warm hand on your back as he rubs soothing circles and god, you don’t want to take this out on him. Not when he treats you so good, not when he cares so much about you.
Not when you can’t do anything right, and yet he’s right there to love you.
“Talk to me,” he whispers, and you screw your eyes shut and shake your head. “Please? Let me in.”
You take a deep breath in and can’t help the wobbling in your voice, “I can’t… even… read correctly.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t read correctly!” You repeat, this time in a sob as you throw yourself into osamu’s stomach, his head immediately cradling the back of your head. “I’ve been trying and trying for the past twelve minutes, and I’ve retained none of it! My back hurts and my eyes keep vibrating, and I can’t even read correctly, for the love of god!”
He shushed you softly as his thumb gingerly rubs over your head, letting you cry it out for a bit in his shirt. You feel his breath pattern even out as an attempt to encourage you to do the same. You finally are able to stop crying long enough to breath, and he clears his throat.
“Are you doing your best?” He asks.
“What?” You ask.
“Are you doing your best right now?”
He’s not talking about reading. His words are carefully crafted to not just be about reading, and you wail into his stomach again. You nod, and he clicks his tongue, “then that’s okay. It’s okay to feel frustrated right now. But you know how to read, baby. You know how to open a book and retain every word that’s printed- you know that.”
You nod against him, and he continues, “you’re doing your best right now, and that’s plenty. I’m proud of you for all you’re doing. It’s enough- I promise you.”
“I don’t feel like it is,” you sniffle. “I don’t feel like it is enough.”
“It’s plenty,” he repeats. “Dont sabotage yourself into thinking otherwise.”
“Okay,” you whimper. You pull back to flick your eyes up at him, “I want to stop reading, please.”
He chuckles and grabs your bookmark to slip into the page, “what do you want to do?”
“I want to stay here, and cry more.”
“I can do that,” he promises, fixing his stance to be firmer and he guides you to rest your head back on his stomach. “Anything, for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Any time, babe. You know that.”
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Want a soft cuddle session that leads to more. His hand slowly dipping under the fabric of my shirt so that he can hold me closer, tighter. His head buried in my neck as I hold him too, my fingers tangled in his hair keeping him so close it's hard to breathe. And then for the closeness to drive us insane, because we to be closer. Layers of fabric torn away and his cock inside me as we slowly fuck. A slow grind between two people so desperate to be closer to each other, and neither of us want it to end.
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