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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
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, yes i do.
i may not see the moon, but
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
surgeryi promised not to scar
my skin. so i cut out my
brain and hurled it into
just like cancer, the worst of me is dead.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
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