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miedei · 18 days ago

Text

bringing you back to earth

a stressful day has you running to clark, and he knows just how to set you straight.

a/n: more superman hehe i have so much motivation all of a sudden

cw: clark kent x fem!reader, established relationship, smut mdni, comforting, thigh riding, praise, pronebone <3, finger sucking, putting r in a headlock, he's soooo nice and soooo horny

wc: 2.3k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Bang.

The door shuts harder than you intended, but you can barely bring yourself to wince. Feet aching, you kick off your heels, shoving them haphazardly into the shoe rack by the door. Roughly hanging up your coat and bag, you shuffle into the living room in socked feet.

Your head’s killing you, a hand drifting up to rub at your temple. It’s like you have no awareness of anything around you, exhaustion narrowing your focus until all you can think about is this no-good, shitty day.

Clark looks up from his spot on the sofa, and the weight on your chest lifts for a moment, but everything still suffocates. He can tell immediately, of course he does, lifting an arm to beckon you over as he puts away his book.

You pad over without preamble, collapsing like a pile of limbs in his lap. A soft sigh leaves him, chest rumbling against yours as he rearranges you, biceps bulging as he lifts you into straddling his thighs, pulling your arms over his shoulders.

There’s silence for a few seconds, Clark gazing into your eyes as you look off into the middle distance, mind stuck on everything but this moment.

He squeezes your waist lightly.

“What is it, baby?”

It takes a beat, but the words slowly come.

“I don’t— I don’t know why I’m all… like this, but…”

He rubs an encouraging hand up your back, bringing stinging to your eyes.

“I just had a shitty day. That presentation to the board was all messed up, the projector didn’t work and then I think they all got an email because they weren’t paying attention, then my manager gave me so much to do in like, less than a week, and—”

The all-consuming pressure starts up again, and the words dry up.

Clark’s hands have migrated up, cupping either side of your face with a tenderness that makes you want to melt into him, if you could. His large thumbs swipe away the tears that drop to the apples of your cheeks, bringing a soothing heat with them.

“Oh, honey…”

He’s more than experienced with all of your moods, but this one has only come up a couple of times in your relationship. When you get like this, stuck too far in your brain to be able to crawl out alone, you can be coaxed in different ways.

“What do you need? I’ll give it to you, anything.”

He lowers his forehead to press it against yours.

You might need slow comfort, a bath with his searing-hot chest against your back. Or you could want to stay still, listen to his breathing until your quickened breaths slow to match his. Otherwise…

“Can you… Can you fuck me? Please?”

The plaintive request is followed by a heartbreaking sniffle, and he all but liquefies for you.

Right. Sometimes you need to be overwhelmed by him, so much so that no other thought can even penetrate your mind. You need him to take the reins for once, to let you ride it out until even the notion of stress evaporates.

He can’t lie, he relishes when you let him take care of you like this.

“Yeah, baby. Of course I will.”

Just the assent seems to relax you a little, your shoulders dropping just a little from where they were nearly touching your ears.

A rush of pride runs through him. Knowing that he can have such an effect on you is a heady, intoxicating feeling.

With a kiss to your temple, you feel his hands slip down to your thighs, wrapping your legs securely around his middle. With a soft grunt, he maneuvers up off the sofa, fingers tightening indulgently on the plush of your ass over your slacks as he guides you both into the bedroom.

For a moment, all you feel is the warmth of his hands on your body, his hips against your pelvis. Once he lays you back on the sheets, you’re yearning for him, for him to get you better.

“Please, Clark, want you to fix it.”

He nods down at you, laying his body over yours with careful precision. You love the feeling of his weight pressing against the length of your body, but you know he’s being cautious, making sure enough of him is braced on his elbow and knee so he won’t crush you.

“I will, just gotta be patient. Can you do that for me?”

His words have slowed, the enunciation much more pronounced. It causes your back to straighten subconsciously, your body reacting to his implicit command without a thought.

The room quiets until all you can hear is the drone of downtown Metropolis outside, and Clark’s slow, measured breaths. His hands have started to wander, broad, sweeping strokes up and down your side until his deft fingers meet your waistband.

“Taking off your pants, sweetheart.”

You nod automatically, hips raising so he can pull off your slacks and panties in one go. His mouth has lowered to your jaw, lips brushing over the sensitive skin, making you shudder.

“Want your shirt on or off?”

It’s muttered against your jaw, teeth scraping softly against you after his question. You need a few seconds to process it, but your answer comes quickly.

“Off, please.”

He nods his assent, fingers slipping under your shirt and pushing the fabric up your chest. Raising your arms before he can ask, you allow him to shuck off both the shirt and bra, leaving you bare below him.

His hands get to work immediately, greedily grabbing handfuls of flesh wherever he can. Groping at your chest, your stomach, your thighs, your thoughts follow him, reacquainting yourself with your body.

His mouth has returned to your jaw, travelling the expanse of your neck to settle on your collarbone.

“My smart girl, aren’t you? Always working so hard.”

He bites your skin softly, as if punctuating his statement. It prompts you to arch your back, pressing your body to him as hard as you can. You want him to get to it.

“I know, I know. Be good, I’ll give you what you want.”

You’re expecting him to shift so his hand can snake down to the apex of your thighs, but he grips your waist firmly instead. In a sudden movement, he flips your positions on the bed, rearranging you so he’s the one settled against the many pillows, your legs spread to accommodate the bulk of his thighs under you.

“Clark?”

Without responding to your question, he shifts you again, so your bare cunt is angled over one mouthwateringly wide thigh.

“I want you to get yourself there like this, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You’re a bit caught off guard, having expected him to lay you down and do the work for you, like he always does. But you can’t lie, his thigh does feel good pressed up against you, and you trust him.

“I… Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

He shows his appreciation with a firm squeeze to your ass, lips curling up into a smile against your neck.

You begin slowly, dragging your hips against the rough texture of denim over muscle. You’d expect it to be harsh, but every shift sends sparks up your spine, pleasure tinged with pain slowly bringing you back down to Earth.

Clark doesn’t part from you, his large hands helping you move along his leg, mouth practically glued to any inch of skin he can access.

It’s like you’ve fallen into a trance, tunnelvision until all you can think about is his thigh under you and his hands on you.

“Clark, Clark, I—”

He soothes you with a soft cooing sound, lips travelling up to your forehead.

“I know, baby. Feels good, huh? That’s good!”

His hands spur you on further, hips bucking wildly against him. There must be a wet patch on his jeans by now, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You deserve to feel good, deserve— You deserve everything.”

His voice is ragged, as if he’s the one getting off right now. Judging by the size of the tent in his pants, you suppose he is.

You’re single-minded now, your only goal being getting yourself there. That just-out-of-reach, intangible climax that you’ll do anything to get. Clark seems to understand, his hands forcing you down further in his lap, grinding his thigh up until you cry out.

He’s hit a perfect angle, pressing deliciously against your clit while giving you enough friction to want to hump him like a bunny. You’re damn near doing that anyway, hips moving incessantly against him.

You’re cresting, getting higher and higher until, all at once, the wave comes rushing towards you, and you crash. Pleasure continues to arc up your spine, and you realise Clark was right.

Your mind’s returned to you, and you feel more yourself than you did half an hour ago. It’s frankly overwhelming, and you choose to bury your face in his chest.

Clark laughs breathlessly, a hand coming up to pet your hair affectionately.

“Yeah? Feeling better?”

It takes some time before you’re recovered enough to come out, peering up at him with your chin pillowed on his chest.

“Yeah…”

Your thought’s unfinished, though, and he knows it. He waits patiently for you to pipe up again.

“But Clark?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can we still fuck?”

He can’t help but laugh, chuckles vibrating his chest until you join him in his mirth. It takes him a moment until he can sober up, but you know he won’t deny you.

“Of course, baby. I’m never going to say no to that.”

With that, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing, filthy kiss that puts you in a haze.

Even within that haze, you’re eagerly moving, knowing exactly what you want.

He watches you get off his lap, watches as you stretch your legs out with a languid moan, and watches as you settle on your stomach on the sheets next to him, looking up with a cheeky grin.

“This okay?”

Your Cheshire-cat grin only widens when you see him scramble to tear off his clothes, feeling him settle on his knees between your parted legs.

You know he loves to have you like this, lying prone under him as he gets to overwhelm you with everything he’s got. But this is also for you. The feeling of him laying all his weight on you from behind never fails to ground you, and this will do wonders for bringing that last bit of you out from the cold.

He lays his body over yours gingerly, pelvis pressing to your ass as he makes sure his weight is distributed evenly over you. It pushes a satisfied sigh from your lips, feeling rooted to the spot in the most wonderful way.

It doesn’t hurt that you can feel the fervent heat of his cock, nestled between your thighs. You can feel that one vein of his pressed up against your slit, shuddering with anticipation as you recall how it feels inside you.

One arm is laid on the bed next to your head, forearm so close that you could bite it. His other arm moves down, down, until he can grab himself, lining him up with your dripping entrance.

With a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, Clark pushes forward.

The burning stretch is blissful, the weight of his body on top of yours even more so. The gasps and moans leave your mouth unbidden by you, unable to resist the allure of his slow, solid thrusts.

The vein is nudging perfectly against your walls, and the near-suffocating feeling gets your head right.

“Good— God, you feel good. You good, baby?”

“Y-yeah, feels so good, Clark,”

You can’t finish your sentence, a particularly dirty grind of his hips against yours robbing you of the ability to speak. Each knock of his pelvis against you leaves you openmouthed, craving just a little more.

His hand is right there, by your face, if you could just…

It’s like he can hear your thoughts, moving his left hand so he can cup your jaw a little.

“What is it, babe? Y’want something… Oh.”

You don’t bother asking, craning your neck so you can envelop two fingers with your lips.

The rough pads of his fingers brush against your tongue, and you feel sated, finally. He smells exactly like he should, soap, sweat, and something uniquely him that has you humming around his digits.

A deep, guttural groan looses itself from his throat as he feels you suck on his fingers, sending yet another shiver down your spine. As if possessed, his free hand moves up to your neck, the length of his arm carefully wrapping around your most vulnerable area.

He’s put you in a headlock, and you’ve been sent to heaven.

Crowding you even further into the sheets, Clark lets loose, drunk on the sight of you. Gone are the slow, soft movements. Instead, he’s rutting feverishly into you, chasing the high that you’re approaching as well.

With the cumulative pressure of his fingers on your tongue, his bicep digging into your throat, and the sounds of his moans, it’s no surprise that you’re falling apart nearly immediately. Tremors run through the length of your body, and you know your leg would be shaking if he didn’t have you pinned down.

Clark, ever the giver, reaches his peak at the first sight of yours. His hips stutter once, twice, against you, until he pushes in as deep as possible, as if to ensure you’ll stay right there.

You have no reason to leave, not when the stress that weighed you down has been lifted off your shoulders with his careful hands.

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bamsara · 1 year ago

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I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

#small rant brought to you by: listened to my younger sibling's friend be very upset today because an original story she wrote gets bashed #the story itself is fine maybe a little fast paced but overall she was happy with it's progress #and there is this one dude who keeps trying to tell her that her story needs to go another direction to 'make sense' and it changes the end #after she's repeatedly explained she's happy with the outcome and does not want to expand on that plot point any further #dude says she's 'unreceptive to criticism' no dude you're just being a dick #constructive criticism helps the AUTHOR reach THEIR intended goal #not steer the story in the direction a reader wants to see it go #sara shush #pls don't reblog with any 'but i take unsolicited criticism all the time' this isnt about you. your boundary is not other people's boundary

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