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Massages with sugar (USAxReader)
A strong smell of sugar is released by Alfred's fingers, while these are placed on my neck starting to massage it gently. "Al!" I exclaim amused, trying to relax. "What the hell...?"
He smiles at me, without interrupting his work. "Donuts. I did it for you, baby."
I arch an eyebrow, turning to look at his sticky fingers. "For me?"
"Exact... so you've got a great massage with sugar." Alfred points out to me giving me a kiss on the forehead.
I shake my head, trying not to giggle, raising my eyes to heaven.
Massages with sugar... these Americans don't ever contraddict themselves.
Massaggi allo zucchero (USAxReader)
Un forte profumo di zucchero si sprigiona dalle dita di Alfred, mentre queste si posano sul mio collo contratto iniziando a massaggiarlo dolcemente.
“Al!” esclamo divertita, cercando di sciogliermi. “Ma che diavolo…?”
Lui mi sorride, senza interrompere il proprio lavoro. “Ciambelle. L’ho fatto per te, piccola.”
Inarco un sopracciglio, voltandomi a guardare le sue dita appiccicose. “Per me?”
“Esatto… così hai un fantastico massaggio allo zucchero.” mi fa notare Alfred dandomi un bacio sulla fronte.
Scuoto la testa cercando di non ridacchiare, alzando gli occhi al cielo.
Massaggi allo zucchero… questi americani non si smentiscono mai!
"Oh, Ivan!" I exclaim, bringing my attention to the small TV in front of us. "All this for the day of victory? How nice!"
Beside me, the boy nods with a smile that shines with pride as I admire the parade that’s taking place in the capital. "Da." confirms me happy.
Before I can realize it, he goes behind me, pulling me to him, wrapping his scarf around my neck. "So, dorogaya, seen that you like me so much, become one with Mother Russia, da?" he blows in my ear, holding me without letting me go.
I blush suddenly, while I look up. "I-Ivan..." I mutter scared. "Let me go..."
"Nyet." he replies without moving. "At least not until you won’t give me an answer."
"About... about what?" I ask, trying to loosen his grip.
"Become one with Mother Russia." repeats Ivan, giving me a kiss on the neck while moving my hair on the other side.
It follows another one, while I try not to give in to his touch on my skin.
At the third, things begins to be worse: I feel my defenses give i
“Oddio, Ivan!” esclamo, riportando la mia attenzione sul piccolo televisore davanti a noi. “Tutto questo per la giornata della vittoria? Che bello!”
Accanto a me, il ragazzo annuisce con un sorriso che brilla d’orgoglio mentre ammiro la parata che si sta svolgendo nella capitale. “Da.” mi conferma felice.
Prima che me ne possa rendere conto, lui mi passa alle spalle, attirandomi a sé avvolgendomi la sua sciarpa attorno al collo. “Allora, dorogaya, visto che ti piace tanto, diventa uno con madre Russia, da?” mi soffia all’orecchio, premendosi a me, senza lasciare la presa.
Arrossisco improvvisamente, mentre sollevo lo sguardo. “I-Ivan…” mormoro spaventata. “Lasciami…”
“Nyet.” replica lui senza muoversi. “Almeno finchè non mi darai una risposta.”
“Su… su cosa?” domando, cercando di allentare la sua presa.
“Diventa uno con madre Russia.&
My roommate is sleeping on the couch when I dab nervously the pencil on the big drawing book in front of me.
Sensing my movement, Heracles wakes up, remaining a few minutes to doze without moving. When he hears me snorting again, he stretches slowly, reaching out a hand to stroke the cat next to him. "Still the art class?" he asks, getting up and going to get something to drink in the fridge.
"Yeah..." I reply, crumpling the paper on which I had jotted down a few ideas in my brain-storming session.
"Can I help you?" asks me the boy, opening a bottle of water and taking a sip from it.
I blush slightly, while admire his muscular physique with a glance. "Oh, Heracles, thank you, but I wouldn’t...”
"Come on!" he interrupts me with a wave of his hand. "What is it?"
The redness on my cheeks becomes more evident. "Anatomy ..." I admit, trying not to stare with that stupid look I’ve when in front of me there are beautiful boys. "Eh... we need to illustrate an abstract concept
Il mio compagno di stanza sta dormendo sul divano quando picchietto nervosamente la matita sul grande album da disegno che ho davanti.
Avvertendo il mio movimento, Heracles si sveglia, rimanendo qualche minuto a sonnecchiare senza muoversi. Quando mi sente sbuffare nuovamente, si stiracchia con lentezza, allungando una mano ad accarezzare il gatto appisolato accanto a lui. “Ancora il corso d’arte?” mi domanda, alzandosi ed andando a prendersi qualcosa da bere in frigo.
“Sì…” replico, accartocciando il foglio dove avevo annotato un paio di idee durante la mia sessione di brain-storming.
“Posso aiutarti?” mi domanda il ragazzo, aprendosi una bottiglietta d’acqua e prendendone un sorso.
Arrossisco leggermente, mentre gli allungo un’occhiata ammirandone il fisico muscoloso. “Oh, Heracles, ti ringrazio, ma non vorrei…”
“Avanti!” m’interrompe lui con un gesto della mano. “Di che si trat
How to be Populardon’t talk
go to parties
listen to friends
go with the flow
drink some more
don’t let them see the tears
as you cry yourself to sleep
for the most important thing
is to be popular
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
The sound of silenceThe sound of silence,
Is so deafening,
That it makes my ears ring,
With the cacophony of my own insanity.
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
DNAyou are content
because every day
you have the opportunity to
hug both sets of your DNA.
however, i am not content.
half of me is missing
and the other half
is hardly ever here.
Red Riding HoodI want to believe people so badly when they say they won’t bite
that I contemplate climbing into their smiling jaws
thinking that it might be better to be split in two than left hanging.
But always, I draw my red hood and flit back into the forest
running in the shadows of pathways, never stepping into clearings
because I’ve spent my whole life in the wilderness
and I still can’t tell the wolves from the woodsmen.
You Were Not An Aquarium BoySea-glass became your bones,
brine your blood, and seashells
melded into your skin.
You were not quite an ocean
when you said "This is your sign to love me."
My body was like a building;
tall, cold, almost unbreakable.
I was metallic and sharp,
towering over your waters.
I remember taking your hand in mine,
conch and coral shells scrubbing
my skyscraper wrists, and laughing
about how one day you would
submerge every last bit of me.
Your lips, riddled with argonauts,
found my cheek and I cringed
at the coarseness.
You asked if they bothered me
and I finally told you "I
think I love you."
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