Whenever You Read A Good Book, Somewhere In The World A Door Opens To Allow In More Light.

what the hell is going on in this country?!

By: Marianna | 

i've been mia for a month so here's some random tampa roads

Still working on my essay on postmodern fiction, but I finally wrote the title yesterday so I feel like I’m nearly done. It’s really hot and sunny here which has been slightly distracting but it has also been nice to sit and work outside sat on the grass in the little campus garden :–)

“I want to be the last person who ever kisses you… That sounds bad, like a death threat or something. What I’m trying to say is, you’re it. This is it for me.”

—

Rainbow Rowell

⛈🍞💵🏝🛡🌀🛡🏝💵🍞⛈

Emoji spell for Puerto Ricans and Floridians to be shielded and safe from Hurricane Dorian and get resources they need. Like to charge and reblog to cast.

It’s the books you love the most that change you.

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT

Rick has a praise kink, but for when his person is praising him.

like when when he’s balls deep, you tell him how good of a job he’s doing and how good he’s making you feel.

that makes him damn near blow his load right then and there.

but when he’s taken his person on a date night and they tell him he’s real pretty when he smiles like that…well that just makes his insides go gooey

-💗

Praise Kink Drabble

Pairing(s): Rick Flag x Neutral!Reader

Warning(s): Language, smut, cum

[ A/N: Anon do you have the keys to my heart because all my switch!rick fantasies are informed by this beautiful thought from now on. ]

You've found that Rick reacts better when you're murmuring your praises directly in his ear.

"You look gorgeous smiling like that." You pull away to see the corners of his mouth quirk up further, his head dipping down to tuck that smile away, there in public. But you mean it— "So fucking pretty." And you run the pad of your thumb along his lower lip. Watch them part for you.

At home, you tell him to rest on his knees at the foot of the bed, while you sit there and run your hands through his hair.

He wants to please you more, to earn your praise some more, so he's inevitably nuzzling at your lap, and you tell him he's so good for knowing just what you need. So good for you. You tug at his hair and make sure to tell him what he wants to hear: "Yes, just like that. Fuck, yes, yes—" You vocalize what he's making you feel— How he knows just how to make you come.

He's nearly in pieces by the time he's entering you. His breathing is shaky, his hips stuttering as you shower him with affirmation; he tries to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

You moan in Rick's ear instead, "So good. You know just how to make me feel good." He thrusts into you faster, desperate for you to carry him over the edge with your voice.

Rick has been built and broken to take orders— He's made a life of taking orders from everyone, and of knowing only the reward of a mission accomplished— There aren't any thank you's when there's no record of what you've done. He doesn't need a thank you. It's not why he does what he does.

But he needs this. To hear you moan, and to know that it's him that's pleasuring you, making you come. To please you. You tell him how he's so perfect for you— How he's the one for you. Rick shutters.

You feel how enflamed his skin is to the touch now, how your words have flushed him hot and pink from his glistening chest all the way up his throat.

The sounds of him coming apart at your ministrations, how you wrap your arms around his head and scatter kisses along his jaw, leave him in ragged breaths against your neck.

He'd do this all night if you told him to— But he's so gorgeous like this, so close to the edge and so soon. You think he could come with just a little more talking.

He asks you— Begs you— To tell him where you want it. You grin. You tell him you love it when he paints your stomach; And he's pulling out of you, planting down a knee to run his hand up and down his cock eagerly. So close. You tell him you love seeing him so undone like this.

"That's it. You're my good soldier, aren't you, baby?" And he's groaning, coming onto your skin— thick white ribbons marking you from your belly up to your chest. His cum mixes with your beading sweat.

Rick Flag is panting slowly, his half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of you. You draw him back down after you wipe his seed from your stomach.

You wrap your arms around his large body, pulling him to yours as he lies beside you. You stroke Rick's hair as he comes down from his high, that subspace of his own pleasure where he's allowing your words to wash over him in earnest.

You run your fingertips lightly over his chest, over the smile still on his face as he drifts, spent. Its the kind of sleepy, open expression he hardly ever shares— One you consider you've earned, in a way.

He really is pretty like this.

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