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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
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
These Faded KeysOf all the keys I click
As we speak each day,
It's the back arrow
That's faded most
These white letters
Would surely tell you,
I reply to everything -
But the key reading "enter"
Will be the one to explain
Why it still looks new
I want you to know
Just how much I care,
But I don't want to be close
Out of the fear of losing you
But please remember:
I dedicate these words to you,
Sharing them to the world
Rather than clicking away
At the faded key ~
Echoes we are like
in the middle
but not quite
what we truly
Tonight, I finished a roll of toilet paper
that I had started
a month, 8 days,
two hours, and 21 minutes ago.
Its genesis, June 11th,
one of the worst nights of my life,
I took a roll from my small bathroom,
and silently tucked it under my arm.
I couldn't let my girls know.
They couldn't know
I was going to use this as my broom.
They couldn't know
that I swept my shattered heart
under my bed.
And I wept.
My pillow taking my abuse,
my suffocation and my attacks.
My fingers squeezing it for dear life
and my knuckles as I punched it,
imagining it was her.
Then hugging it.
I only cried that hard
when I was about 6.
She was gone.
And so was I.
I cried every night
which would've marked
our 7-month anniversary.
And in the late days of that month,
I lied to myself.
And for that,
I regret every moment.
I wasn't ready.
At least I stopped it,
before we drowned each other
like the last woman.
Two weeks lat
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