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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
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
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,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
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
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
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.
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
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.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More