thank you ao3 for being an archive and not an algorithm. thank you for letting me like things without consequences, thank you for being free with no ads, thank you for having lawyers to defend our freedom of speech. thank you tag wranglers. thank you to all authors and thank you ao3
people getting mad at ao3 for rightfully being firmly against censorship and allowing dark fics that depict taboo subjects in explicit details to be on their platform is so funny to me because ao3 was created specifically to be a fuck you to capitalism and censorship. the point of ao3 is that it’s a place to host and archive any fanwork, which includes fanwork about taboo topics that are not allowed on other platforms like wattpad or fanfiction.net
the whole point of ao3 is that it’s a safe space for all fics, and that includes fics about taboo subjects
ao3 has always been firmly against censorship since the day it was created, that’s why it’s run by fans, for fans, on fans’ donations, why it’s a nonprofit organization, that’s also why it has no ads or algorithms or any of those capitalism bullshit
if you have a problem with that, go to fanfiction.net or wattpad. no one forces you to stay in the house made specifically for the (affectionate) freaks
they teach you the golden rule, treat others how you want to be treated, but in a pinch you can apply the silver rule (be kinda selfish because you’ve earned it) or even the bronze rule (manipulate others purely for your benefit).
Y’all falling for it with the heated rivalry parody is what really gets me. It was an episode where they laughed at queer representation basically. They are legit mocking us by lifting up something written by a terf who has made it her mission in life to attack trans people. Like are we serious right now? You see him do a skit about Harry and Ron being gay and suddenly it’s the gayest episode of SNL in history? Please. Kristen Stewart already had that title when she was kissing Vanessa Bayer in a pizza rolls parody. The heated rivalry parody was making fun of a queer show and of bylers let’s be real. They reduced all bylers to being straight girls who fetish two guys which isn’t true but that’s what they were trying to push. I love Byler and I’m not a girl and I’m not straight. (Not all straight women who love gay ships have a fetish. A lot are actually allies who are fighting for our stories to be told!) if y’all think it was a good skit that’s one thing. It’s y’all claiming that it was an episode for the gays that gets me—as a fellow gay I rebuke that shit.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. clark’s busy spoiling his sick boyfriend with cookies and cuddles—until things heat up when someone decides a kiss (and more) is the real cure for a cold.
𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 6.0k ].
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 corenswet!clark 〳 established relationship 〳 sick!reader 〳 christmas!au 〳 sexual content: top!clark, bottom!reader, belly-bulging, breeding, rimming (r!receiving), praising, body worship, clark can alter the temp of his body (and dick).
Snow fell softly outside the apartment, blanketing Metropolis in a serene hush that contrasted sharply with the sound of sniffling from the couch. Clark’s living room was cozy, aglow with the golden twinkle of Christmas lights strung up around the windows. The faint scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of gingerbread baking in the oven, though the stuffy haze of your cold dulled the sharpness of both.
You sat bundled in a mountain of blankets, a tissue box on one side and a half-empty mug of tea on the other. Despite the misery of a congested head and the scratchy soreness in your throat, you couldn’t help but watch Clark with a mix of amusement and adoration.
In the kitchen, he moved with a carefree confidence, humming along to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas as it played softly on his phone. He had insisted on baking cookies for the evening, declaring it the perfect way to boost your holiday cheer. Not that you needed much help in that department—his reindeer antler headband, bouncing with every step he took, was doing most of the work.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms, and his glasses had fogged up slightly from the warmth of the oven. Even with the goofy apron he wore—a red and green monstrosity with “Santa’s Favorite Helper” embroidered across the front—he looked unfairly attractive.
Clark glanced over his shoulder at you, a soft smile spreading across his face as his gaze met yours. “You okay over there?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Need more tea? Another blanket? A better boyfriend?”
You groaned theatrically, flopping back into the throw pillows. “What I need is for my head to stop feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton.”
And stones—your flair for drama only worsened the throbbing ache from the sudden movement.
Setting down a tray of freshly baked cookies, Clark wiped his hands on a dishtowel and made his way over to you. He knelt beside the couch, one hand reaching up to take the temperature from your forehead while the other rested lightly on your knee through the blanket.
His touch was warm, steady, grounding.
“Still running hot. Sorry you’re feeling this way,” he said sincerely, his brow furrowing just a little. “If I could punch a cold in the face, you know I would.”
You laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Clark was at your side in an instant, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back until the worst of it passed. “It’s so unfair that you never get sick,” you rasped, your voice rough and strained. “You’re just… immune to everything. Meanwhile, I’m over here melting into a Christmas puddle.”
“Wow. This is the thanks I get for baking you cookies? My boyfriend wishing ill on me?” He chuckled, resting his elbows on the edge of the couch to stay level with your gaze. "If it makes you feel better, Krypto would probably be thrilled to drink you up if you were a puddle! Likes his water from the spring... spoiled dog."
His grin was boyish and a little smug, and you rolled your eyes at him, though the corners of your lips twitched upward.
“What I’m saying is… we could’ve been sick together,” you muttered, “But I can’t even enjoy them. Look here.” You picked up one of the gingerbread cookies Clark had carefully decorated earlier, the icing swirls and tiny candy buttons a testament to his painstaking attention to detail.
The cookie felt firm yet inviting in your hand, its edges slightly crisp and still warm from the oven. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, hopeful that even through the fog of your cold, some of the sweetness might break through.
Instead, all you got was the texture—a faint crunch that dissolved into a soft crumble on your tongue. The spice you knew should be there, the warm bite of ginger and cinnamon that normally screamed Christmas, was muted to the point of nonexistence.
You frowned, swallowing the flavorless bite with effort. A sharp, scratchy sting flared in your throat, the dry irritation making each swallow feel more uncomfortable than the last. The lack of taste was almost offensive, a cruel reminder of how thoroughly your cold had robbed you of simple joys.
Clark’s eyes flicked over to you, catching your expression as you set the rest of the cookie down with a defeated sigh. “Nothing?” he asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.
“Absolutely nothing,” you muttered, your voice still scratchy. “I might as well be eating cardboard.”
Clark chuckled softly, getting up on his feet to sit beside you. “Guess that means more for me, huh?” He reached for a cookie, his teasing grin faltering when he saw your pout, but his craving persisted nonetheless. “Hey, don’t worry,” he added, nudging your shoulder gently. “Once you’re better, I’ll bake you a whole new batch. Extra ginger, just the way you like it.”
“Yeah…”
Clark bit into a gingerbread cookie with gusto, clearly enjoying his own handiwork as he snuggled beside you on the couch.
“Mmm,” he hummed dramatically, his eyes widening as he made a show of savoring the bite. “Oh, wow. These might be my best yet. Sweet, spicy, perfectly baked—chef’s kiss.” He gestured extravagantly, grinning like he’d just won a baking competition.
“Not saying these aren’t good, but I’m pretty sure the last time you made cookies, Krypto got more excited than I did."
You were about to roll your eyes at his antics when you noticed a speck of icing clinging to the corner of his mouth and a small crumb nestled in the dimple of his cheek. It was such a ridiculously human detail—charming in its imperfection—that you felt a sudden pang of affection bloom in your chest.
“Here,” you said, laughing softly as you reached up and brushed the crumb away with your thumb, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. His skin was warm, and the bashful smile that tugged at his lips made your stomach flip.
“Didn't stop you from cleaning out the cookie tray...” he murmured, his cheeks pinking slightly as he quickly licked the icing from the corner of his mouth, completely oblivious to how endearing he looked. "Thanks."
You shook your head, biting back a grin. “You’re a mess,” you teased, but your voice was far softer than usual, betraying just how much the sight of him—unpolished, sweet, and so effortlessly Clark—had utterly disarmed you.
Clark’s smile softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. His lips lingered for a moment, warm and impossibly tender against your fevered skin. When he pulled back, he looked at you with that impossibly earnest expression that always made your heart twist.
“It’s nice, though, isn’t it?” Clark murmured, his voice soft and warm, like the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off his glasses. “The cookies, the Christmas specials, the decorations… being snowed in together. Like a Hallmark movie, but… not terrible?”
You could see the flicker of nostalgia in his eyes as he spoke, his tone carrying a quiet sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way. The soft crackle of the digital fireplace playing on the TV and the distant hum of holiday music only made the moment feel more intimate, as if the world outside had disappeared entirely.
A warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with fever. Clark had this infuriating knack for making everything—even being sick—feel like a kind of blessing, as long as he was beside you.
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice rough but laced with affection. “Talking like I’ve got only two months left to live…” You tried for sarcasm, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.
Clark’s grin softened into something more tender, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. “Yeah,” you admitted quietly, letting out a small sigh. “It’s nice. Really nice.”
The weight of your words hung between you for a moment, and the corners of Clark’s mouth twitched upward again, this time into a bashful little smile. He didn’t say anything more—he didn’t need to.
Instead, his hand found yours beneath the blanket, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles, as if to say everything he didn’t put into words.
You knew he was the strongest man in the world, but it was these quiet moments—his sincerity, his kindness—that made you feel like you were the one holding something unbreakable.
Clark squeezed your hand gently, his expression melting into something tender and a little uncertain. He studied you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. “I mean, really okay? I know I’m supposed to cheer you up, but I don’t want to push too much—especially if you’re not feeling great.”
You leaned your head back against the cushions, exhaling a soft sigh. “Clark, I’m fine,” you said, your voice still raspy but carrying enough exasperation to make your point. “I mean, yeah, I feel like I’ve been hit by a snowplow, but it’s not like I’m about to collapse.” Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile as you tilted your head toward him.
“Besides, you’ve already gone above and beyond. The cookies, the mistletoe, the cozy speeches… you’re basically an elf on the shelf who magically transformed into the perfect boyfriend overnight.” You reached over, your other hand settling on Clark's broad shoulders as you gently rubbed them, a silent gesture of appreciation.
Clark chuckled at that, but the faint blush on his cheeks deepened. “Well, I don’t know about perfect…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in that adorably bashful way that made your chest tighten.
“Perfect,” you repeated, a little firmer this time, giving his hand a squeeze. “Even in that ridiculous apron.”
He let out a breathy laugh, and the sound sent a flutter through you. The way his smile lingered—soft and boyish, but edged with a quiet intensity—made your stomach flip. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles on the back of your hand, and though the gesture was small, it felt impossibly intimate.
“Clark,” you mumbled, leaning in slightly, the hoarseness of your voice making his name sound heavier, more charged. “Stop worrying so much.”
“I can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low murmur. His eyes flicked to your lips before darting away, a faint flicker of hesitation passing over his features. “You’re sick. I don’t want to… you know… make it worse.”
You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, though it quickly turned into a cough. Clark’s expression immediately shifted to concern, but you waved him off, catching your breath as you gave him a lopsided grin.
“Clark, I’m not made of glass. And for the record,” you added, your voice softening as you leaned in just a little closer with the support of your elbows, “I think kissing you would make me feel a whole lot better. Best medicine and all that.”
His ears turned an impressive shade of red, and he ducked his head slightly, his grin both shy and disbelieving. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.
You shrugged, your grin turning sly. “And yet, you’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” he echoed softly, his voice carrying a weight of affection that made your heart ache in the best way. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink, the soft glow of the Christmas lights casting him in a golden halo.
Slowly, tentatively, Clark leaned in, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw. “If you wake up tomorrow feeling worse,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, “I’m blaming you.”
“Noted,” you whispered back, your breath mingling with his as you tilted your head to close the distance between you.
Strange. You hadn’t noticed the scent of cinnamon when he first brought out the cookies, but now, with your lips inching closer to his—like two cookies spreading and melding into one—you could almost convince yourself you were cured. Almost, if not for the stubborn stuffiness in your nose.
The kiss was gentle at first, as if Clark was afraid you might shatter beneath him. But when you let out a soft, contented sigh and threaded your fingers through his hair, his restraint wavered.
He deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a warmth and intensity that made you forget all about the congestion and sore throat. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his other hand pressed lightly against your waist beneath the blanket.
You tugged him closer still, your lips parting to let him in as the heat between you began to build. Clark’s kisses were like him—steady, powerful, and infused with an overwhelming tenderness that made your head spin. When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you were breathing harder, the warmth of the moment erasing the chill of the winter night.
“Feeling better yet?” he asked, his voice teasing, though the worry flickering in his eyes betrayed him. It wasn’t just concern over your condition—it was something deeper, a quiet struggle to hold himself back. Not when you looked so effortlessly beautiful, your disheveled state a product of his presence.
“Better,” your voice came out in a whisper, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm before traveling around his torso to untie his apron. “But I think I might need a few more rounds just to be sure.”
Clark let out a soft laugh as you tossed the fabric to the floor, his thumb grazing your cheek in a tender gesture. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but this time the words were thick with affection. His teeth caught his lower lip as your hands lingered at the waistband of his pajama pants, your intentions unmistakable with the gentle tug at his drawstring.
“You sure?” he asked sincerely, large, calloused hands pressing all over your body, but mainly your bare stomach, where he began mapping out heat zones over the plane.You could feel the strength of his abdomen beneath the thickness of his sweater as your hand gently traced his body in admiration. Biting your lip, you reached up to remove his glasses and nodded.
"If you don’t mind taking care of me tonight.”
There was something about the way Clark watched you during moments like these. You couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of his touch or the intensity of his gaze that made you feel so small, so vulnerable. Either way, you savored it—the sensation of being his entire focus, the apple of his eye, and nothing else.
Your stomach sank when he slid his third finger inside of your tight hole, joining his twinned index and middle.
“I can never get tired of this…” you mumbled, unbuttoning the rest of your pajama top when the pressure below heightened your body temperature.
“I’ll say,” Clark hummed, a growing mass forming large in his pants as he was knelt on the bed, gently working you open. The sound of his lubed fingers twisting and curling deep inside of you made his cock jolt, your cheeks reddening as a result of his attraction.
Clark had always been patient, but when it came to having you submit under his touch, he seemed to relish every second. His hands moved slowly, pressing and kneading at just the right spots, his fingers curling deep and slow to the rhythm of your heart while his other hand rubbed small and smooth circles over your stomach.
It wasn’t just about easing your tension—it was about watching you. The way your breath hitched when he found a tender spot, the subtle flutter of your lashes, the way your lips parted with a moan when he spread his three digits—it all captivated him.
He couldn’t help but grin softly as his hands worked their magic, savoring the reactions that only he could coax from you. For Clark, the real reward wasn’t just in soothing your aches—it was in seeing your face completely melt under his touch, your body reacting wantonly because you craved for more.
And with that, Clark went on to give you more. Knowing how sensitive your body’s condition was in the moment, he carefully pushed your legs up, his large hands stabilizing you by the thighs, and replaced the fill of his fingers with his inquisitive tongue.
Like his fingers, he started out slow and deliberate, tracing the swollen ring of muscle to sample the fresh layer of artificially-flavored lube dripping out of your hole. He licked you with a casual ease, but the look in his eyes was anything but.
“Smells like coconut,” you sniffled softly as he lifted his head to press a few kisses to your inner thighs. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin, but your attention caught on the sticky sheen smeared across his cheek, a glistening trace of slick that made your cock twitch.
“Close… coconut cream pie. More vanilla than I was expecting, if I had to be honest…”
A tender smile curved your lips as your fingers found their way into his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingertips. You began to pet his head gingerly, your touch slow and soothing, grounding both of you in the moment.
“Love you.”
Clark leaned into your hand instinctively, a low hum of contentment rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, the tension in his broad shoulders melting under your touch, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away entirely.
“I love you too, (M/N).”
His gaze flicked to yours, a sudden spark of mischief between the blinds of his eyelashes, before he paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, and kept a watchful eye on you while he slowly pushed out his spit to drizzle it over your wet hole.
Then, with agonizing precision, he pushed the remainder of the saliva into the center of your opening, the wet, methodical slck of the motion sending a jolt of heat down your spine.
“Fuck…” Your fingers curled into his hair until they were grasping, pushing him and his tongue deeper into you while simultaneously rutting your hips against him.
Clark was a hungry man. He made sure to clean up any traces of his spit and lube with that thick tongue of his, slurping the remnants before adding onto it again with a generous amount of spit. Every time you thought the trail of saliva was dripping dangerously close to the bed sheets, Clark’s intuition was strong enough to blindly guide him to the leak, deftly licking it back up and kissing your flesh in passing.
He would never waste a single drop.
A quiet, satisfied moan escaped him, low and drawn out, as if savoring the sweetness of the lube and your flesh was a private indulgence. His eyes never left yours as his nose rubbed at your taint in midst of his devouring, The smile that curled at his lips—glazed and glistening—was a challenge, a silent dare that made the air between you feel heavy.
Heavier, when he found the right rhythm of flicking his tongue to make your body writhe under him.
“Clark, please…” you whined, one hand massaging your loose balls while the other toyed with your nipple, pleasuring yourself not only to the sight of Clark indulging in the warmth and taste of your flesh, but also his naked torso.
His chest rose and fell steadily, each inhale making his broad shoulders flex, the faint sheen of sweat catching the light. The planes of his abdomen looked carved, every ridge and dip inviting your eyes to linger, compelling your cock to leak out of sheer astonishment.
His arms were just as mesmerizing—thick and powerful, with veins running along his forearms that seemed to pulse with quiet authority, especially so when he’d alternative between working your hole open with his fingers and tongue again.
The strength they promised wasn’t just physical but protective. Those arms of his were built to shield and hold you.
When he finally pulled away, his gaze lingered, watching as you panted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling, desperate for him to finish what he had so teasingly begun. The tension hung there, thick and electric, like the moment itself had slowed just for the two of you.
He took off the remainder of his clothes before sprawling himself over you, his broad frame hovering just above yours while you seized the opportunity to thank him of his service. Between gentle kisses that Clark needed to get out of his system before he would lose himself in your body, you generously applied a glorious amount of lube on his large cock, though not letting Clark’s kisses answer to nobody.
His muscles pressed gently against you, the solid strength of his chest rising and falling with each breath when you took a couple of moments to thoroughly layer him in slick—to silently appreciate him for his efforts in lifting your spirits throughout the week with firm strokes.
The weight of his cock in your hands was satisfying, hefty enough to make you pause and marvel at the sheer size of it. You couldn’t get used to it, nor did you want to.
“You comfortable? Need more pillows? Tell me if your body starts hurting, okay?” Clark asked, suppressing his moans by showering your neck and face in small, lithe kisses.
His hands roamed your body at their own free-will before they began fixating on your arms, where your goosebumps were discernible. His brows furrowed in concern.
“Little cold…” One arm looped around to caress Clark by the nape, holding his forehead flushed to your own, while your other hand continued to stroke him between your collective hip grinds. You shivered again, despite being nestled so close to him, the draft still biting at your skin.
“Give me a moment,” he murmured softly, the heat of his breath brushing your ear.
You looked up at him, puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Clark pulled back just slightly, enough to give himself space to move. Without a word, he began to shift, his body warm and powerful as he adjusted his position. A flicker of surprise passed through you when you saw the subtle concentration on his face, but before you could ask again, you felt it when he pressed himself on top of you again, lowering his hips.
Clark’s body temperature seemed to rise—slowly, but steadily, until you could feel a gentle heat radiating off him. It was as if he was adjusting his own internal warmth, shifting it just for you. Your eyes widened in disbelief, but the shiver running through your body eased, the cold gradually melting away as his warmth enveloped you.
“You should be good now,” he said, his voice low and calm while he pulled you back into his arms, his skin now perfectly heated against yours.
You nestled against him again, finally able to relax as the cold left you entirely. “Not even going to ask,” you graced him with a kiss, reaching between your pelvis and his to adjust his cock against your hole and nodded. “I’m good to go.”
“Love you so much…” He took you by the jaw and slotted his lips into yours once more, grounding the wavering of your breath with his protection before he pushed his hips forth.
“It’s so… big, C-Clark—“ you groaned, clenching your eyes shut through the bittersweet tension of his large cock opening you up.
Clark whispered several I know’s over your lips, a strong effort in placating the pain surging beneath you, while taking a few pauses for you to catch your breath, for Clark to catch his because—you were so tight.
"You're so tight..." Clark seemed to have admitted in a whisper without realizing.
You felt yourself swell within seconds, the crown of your insides clenching him and pushing him out all at the same time, but Clark remained resilient, pushing, and pushing, allowing you to feel the slow, deliberate pressure inside of you, until he was finally deeply rooted inside of you to the hilt, earning himself a deep guttural groan from you as a reward.
“You feel so good, baby. So, so good. Taking me so well…” He peppered your whimpers with soft kisses, his words soothing you as his boyish smile remained, warm and comforting, easing you with each gentle touch and praise.
“You’re so warm too…” you muttered into the palm of his hand, kissing him at the calloused skin before you returned back to his plush lips.
Your breath caught in your throat as you shifted, the feeling of being filled growing deeper, fuller with every inch of Clark’s large cock moving inside of you. Clark’s large palm rested on your stomach, caressing over the bulge that seemed to move in conjunction with his slow, methodical thrusts.
He had never mentioned it, but you knew it was a sight that he secretly loved. Clark's eyes softened with admiration as he watched, his gaze lingering on the subtle curve of your stomach. It was unmistakable, the way it had begun to gently bulge with every rut of his hips, becoming more prominent depending on the strength, the fullness a natural sign of the way your body had been affected by what you’d taken.
And what you had taken was Clark’s love and devotion to you—his thick cock making you gape and swell from beneath.
It wasn’t easy, not by any means, but there was an undeniable pull in watching your stomach swell from his cock—an almost desperate craving for the mixture of pain and pleasure, for the way it made your body react even though your mind wavered between wanting to resist and wanting to surrender completely.
He couldn’t help but marvel at it, his fingertips lightly grazing the curve, tracing its outline with a reverent touch. The way your body had responded to him, the way it molded to the shape of the intimate moment, filled him with a quiet awe. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against your skin, his voice low and hushed. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, a hint of wonder in his tone, as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight before him.
Clark was never one to boast, but in this moment, the glint in his eyes spoke volumes. He’d never been so proud of having someone like you—someone so determined—take all of his girth with such unwavering focus despite the tears in your eyes. Happy tears, to which he’d only create more of, when he gently pressed on the bulge in your stomach and sandwiched his cock within your insides, plunging himself deep inside of you until the only sounds that came out of your throat were guttural.
“C-Clark—oh, god…” your cock was dripping in pre-cum, throbbing to the weight of his cock hollowing you out as he sped up his hips and pushed you deeper into the bed on instinct. You held onto his muscular shoulders as he clutched onto your waist and rocked you back and forth along to his deep thrusts.
“God, I’m so deep inside of you. Is this okay, baby? Is it okay that I’m making love to you like this? I’m being selfish, aren’t I?”
“No-please! I l-love it so much, Clark. Fuck. Keep fucking me like that… wouldn’t want anything more—”
“Like this? You like how I’m so deep inside of you to the point where your tummy’s swelling? So… good. You look so good for me…”
His forehead connected to yours again, panting over your mouth and taking a moment to marvel over how he had rendered you speechless before he could muster up the energy to kiss you again, to draw out another sound from you with his tongue.
The warmth of his mouth was almost feverish, his breath mingling with yours in a tangled, wet dance. Each movement was smooth and sensual, your tongues exploring, tasting, tracing the contours of each other’s mouths with growing eagerness. The wetness of it—the gentle press of his lips, the slick glide of your tongues—made the kiss feel all the more intoxicating, as if every flick and sweep brought you deeper into him.
Clark’s body temperature only seemed to have gotten warmer, affecting you from the inside and out as his cock was synchronous.
You could feel Clark’s dick heat you up from the inside, seemingly softening your guts to make the ease of fully wrecking you all the more easier. With each kiss, praise, and thrust, your body melted further, feeling as soft and pliable as butter left out in the warmth. The tension in your muscles faded, replaced by a liquid sensation that spread through you, leaving you entirely at ease and whimpering in his hot embrace.
The faint sheen of sweat gave him an undeniable rawness, a physicality that made your heart race. You were mesmerized by the way it clung to him, the way the droplets caught the light before sliding slowly down his torso.
Each movement he made only seemed to draw you in more, the heat radiating from his body intensifying the pull you felt. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, infatuated not just by his strength, but by the way he looked so alive, so real—like the sweat was proof of his effort, his focus, and the raw intensity of how he was making love to you and that tantalizing hole of yours.
“You’re fucking me so good, Clark. I could come like this, baby—just like this…”
“And when you make a mess—not if, but when—I’ll treat you like the prince you are. I’ll clean you up with my mouth, let you watch me lick every drop away with my tongue, and then I’ll kiss you, giving you a taste of your love for me.”
His skin, damp with the effort of his keen need to wreck you, left a trail of warmth and moisture as he pounded you, a strong, animalistic friction that made every touch feel more intimate and passionate, that made the current position of him mounting you and bending your knees till they touched your chest despite your condition well worthwhile and all the more rewarding.
It was a sound that matched the intensity of the connection between you both—no words needed, just the symphony of his sweaty skin meeting yours, and his cock hollowing you out until you two had made a permanent imprint on the mattress.
Clark’s breath hitched as he watched you, his eyes soft and filled with admiration contrasting with his hardened thrusts. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “Just… so perfect.”
His hand moved to your stomach again, evidently in love with the way you swelled from his cock, the weight of the moment sinking in with the aid of the bed creaking, and Clark’s sweaty skin slapping against you.
Every word he spoke, every gentle press of his lips, seemed to soften you, coaxing out of the cold that had been restricting you. It was as though you were being molded by his touch, the heat of his affection spreading through your veins, leaving you pliant, relaxed, and willing to give yourself entirely to him.
All sensation coursing through you was a tangled mess of pleasure and overwhelming intensity. Your body was on the verge of unraveling with every deep thrust of Clark’s. You could feel him swell, veins throbbing inside of you, his balls twitching as he was nearing his high just as you were.
Your eyes fluttered closed, the edges of your vision blurring the harder he pounded into you like an animal, like he was beating away at your cold, and you could feel yourself slipping into a blissful madness.
It was almost too much, yet it felt like the most real thing you’d ever known. Your body trembled from the weight of his body on you, from the girth that Clark was destroying you open with. Every muscle was tight with anticipation, yet you managed to hold onto a smile, the corners of your lips twitching despite the storm raging inside you, your cock throbbing and leaking in overdrive in warning.
“C-Clark..!“
Your hands instinctively found their way around Clark's neck, pulling him closer as if to anchor yourself in the moment. The kiss you pressed against his lips was desperate, full of need and grounding, a silent plea for him to steady you in the chaos as your balls tightened up into your core.
With each breathless press of your mouth to his, you found a sliver of control, a tether to the reality of his presence, even as the pleasure threatened to send you into pure blissful madness.
“I know—me too—“
Your smile lingered, your mind teetered on the edge, savoring every second, every touch, every thrust, and every heartbeat that connected you both, until the very moment where Clark’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless gasp.
“Clark—“
The tension had reached its peak, and when it finally broke, it was like a wave crashing over you, overwhelming and all-consuming. You came in a shared, fervent release. All muscles in your body was taut with desire, the culmination of your love for him unraveling in the form of thick white ropes shooting out of your cock, decorating your bulging stomach with layers upon layers, some splattering onto Clark’s body from the sheer amount of power and arousal.
Clark’s grip on you tightened, his body shuddering against yours as he gave into the same release, his breath ragged in the wake of it. His name left your lips in a soft, trembling sigh as he spilled his warm, thick seed deep inside of your raw hole. He left you breathless, thick, and steady, flooding you in ropes that seemed to never end. It was a powerful, consuming feeling, filling you completely, each pulse of his cock deep and unwavering, decorating your insides with a thickness that left you in awe of how much he had to give, like his body had held nothing back.
Your bodies moved together in those final moments, each thrust and touch sending shock waves through your system as Clark rode out his orgasm. You could feel every inch of him, raw and exposed. The warmth spread through you with each movement, the thick fluid of his cum filling you to the brim, a steady stream that didn’t seem to have an end leaking out of you that would surely have your flesh glued together with his.
Nothing else listed but the two of you—completely undone, unraveling together and leaving behind nothing but the sweet, tender echo of your love for each other.
The room was still, save for your breathing, as Clark’s forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath, tangled together in the beautiful, but sweaty aftermath.
“Are you… feeling better?”
His fingers traced along your skin, over the mess that you made of your stomach to let the sticky substance seep into his own palm, while he caught the remainder of his breath in the crook of your neck, fully collapsing on top of you.
“I…” You groaned, the lingering sensation of pleasure making it hard to find words. But despite the exhaustion, a sly smile tugged at your lips.
You rubbed his broad back in soothing circles, whispering in his ear, “I think I might need another prescription, Doctor.” Your voice was breathless, a mischievous glint in your eyes as the desire still simmered beneath the surface.
nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!
genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship au
summary: the dysphoria hits you as you're getting ready to go out with your friends but jungkook is there to make you feel better.
warnings: a little breakdown because of dysphoria, mentions of a gender-affirming surgery, jungkook calls you love because i'm a SLUT for that petname.
wordcount: 2.7k
note: hey 👀 so... i'm aware that there's not a lot of male!reader and trans male!reader content here so i wanted to try and write a cute little drabble for people who might want to read this type of content. i hope you like it a lot !!!
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"can i borrow one of your shirts?" you ask loud enough for jungkook to hear from the bathroom after having no luck finding a nice shirt in your side of the closet.
"of course you can," jungkook replies with his voice a little muffled and you turn to the open bathroom door, he's brushing his teeth. "you don't even have to ask." he adds.
"okay, thanks babe." you blow him a kiss and he winks at you before moving back to the sink.
you quickly find a nice oversized soft pink shirt with a darker pink drawing on it. you don't waste any time, taking your shirt off immediately and put his on, walking towards the mirror to check the look. it's a cute look, jungkook's shirt looks good with your baggy light blue jeans with wide pockets.
but you hate it. you like the fit but you hate how it looks on you. and it is all because of the same thing as always, your chest. your stupid chest that always ruins everything. you can see the curve on your shirt from your boobs even with your binder on and you fucking hate it. you hate it so much that when you look up to see the reflection of your face in the mirror you can notice how miserable you look all of the sudden.
it's not always like this. usually, you just suck it up because there's nothing you can do about it for now, but sometimes the dysphoria hits too much and it feels like you're drowning in all of your insecurities.
"ah, isn't that shirt cool?" jungkook speaks behind you and you turn around to look at him. his smile completely fades away as soon as he sees you. "what happened?" he asks, his wide eyes suddenly filled with worry.
you're so lucky to have jungkook, just one look at you and he already knows something is up. he always knows.
"i... i don't..." the worst thing is that you feel embarrassed to say it out loud.
jungkook has been your boyfriend for over two years. you met him when you had just started transitioning and he always supported you, right from the start. you know he will always be there to listen to your worries and insecurities because he loves you, so you shouldn't be embarrassed about things like this. but even after everything, it is still difficult.
you turn back to the mirror and take another look at yourself, slightly turning to check your profile. your shoulders drop and you sigh in disappointment when you can clearly see your stupid chest through the shirt.
"love." jungkook speaks with that gentle and careful tone, like he's thinking about what he could say to comfort you because of course he knows what's wrong. but he doesn't really say anything, he just walks up to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and looking at you through the mirror.
"what?" you avoid his eyes as yours go down to your chest, then to his arms wrapped around you. he has strong arms and they make your body look so small when he holds you like this. you kinda wish you were also big and strong like him, the only thing that's keeping you from having another dysphoria breakdown over not being bigger is how nice it feels to be held by him.
"you look really cool." your boyfriend says as he looks up and down your body but you can only sigh.
"i look stupid." you say.
"you don't." he lifts his head from your shoulder to instead nuzzle against your neck, leaving a sweet little kiss on it.
"i do," you insist and jungkook's breath hits your neck from how he sighs. "i don't even know why you..." you shut your mouth before finishing the sentence because it would hurt too much to say it but jungkook looks up from your neck with a frown and rests his chin on your shoulder again, never breaking the backhug.
"why i what?" he asks curiously, his eyes narrowed as they look straight into yours through the mirror.
"i don't- i don't know why you like me." the knot in your throat almost doesn't let you finish the sentence but you somehow do.
"what?" jungkook frowns, he looks at you like you've said the craziest thing he's ever heard. "literally what the hell are you talking about?" he actually sounds mad and you flinch a little at the tone of his voice but he instantly turns you around to face him and he cups your cheeks with his hands. "can you please tell me why you think that?"
"it's not that i think you don't like me," you clarify, suddenly feeling even smaller. "but i don't know... you like boys, and i don't look like a boy. it feels like i'm not... manly enough." you mutter, your voice so quiet with embarrassment that you're sure jungkook wouldn't have heard you if he wasn't so close to you.
"are you a boy?" jungkook asks simply.
"jungkook-"
"are you?"
"yes."
"then why are you saying those things?" he brushes your cheeks with his thumbs. "i could not care less about what's under your clothes and if you look more or less manly, whatever the hell that means."
"but i care," you say and immediately look down when your voice breaks and the first tear rolls down your cheek. you can hear jungkook sigh, not an annoyed sigh but a defeated sigh, you know this is not easy for him either and you can't blame him. "i'm so tired." you put your hands over your face as you start crying and jungkook wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him in a warm hug.
"it's okay, love, i'm here." he rubs your back as you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head on his chest, not having half a mind to feel bad for wetting his shirt with your tears.
"i just want to feel good with myself, it's all i've wanted for years, but it's so hard." you sob against his chest.
"i know it is." jungkook hums and holds your head to his chest with one of his hands, slowly brushing your hair to try and calm you down a little.
"i go out and strangers refer to me as a girl, i look in the mirror and i don't see a boy, my body sucks... i fucking hate it." you're full on sobbing now. you're crying like a baby and jungkook is so gentle with you, he holds you until your sobs have turned into little whimpers and a little headache is starting to bother you. that's what you hate about crying, the headache after.
"look at me, y/n." jungkook speaks softly, as if not to disturb you.
you look up at him and he quickly brings his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks gently and starting to wipe your tears away. "i'm sorry." you sniff and he frowns.
"why are you sorry, love?" jungkook leans down and leaves a kiss on your forehead that makes you feel a little giddy even in your current state.
"i don't know," you force a chuckle. "for crying over something so stupid."
"it's not stupid," he shakes his head. "it's something that is upsetting you, that's never something stupid."
"i love you." you say and feel a little better when he smiles.
"i love you too," jungkook gives your lips a little kiss. "and you look fucking cool with this fit." he adds.
"i don't," you insist and ignore the way he rolls his eyes to turn around again and look in the mirror. "i'll wear a big hoodie or something, anything that covers this." you point towards your chest in frustration.
"it's really hot outside, if you wear a hoodie you're gonna melt into the ground." jungkook says and sits on the edge of your bed, not taking his eyes off of you.
"i don't care," you say. "those are the types of things you have to endure, but you wouldn't understand," you turn around to gesture at him with your hand. "you already have that flat chest, you have nothing to worry about."
"don't hate the player." he puts his hands up and you can't help but chuckle a little.
"stupid..." you mumble as you go back to look for some other clothes in the closet.
"also, not to brag but i might have more boobs than you." jungkook jokes and you throw your head back in laughter. you appreciate that he knows how to make you laugh in moments like this.
"yeah, if you don't stop going to the gym." you say, going through his clothes.
"you want me to stop going to the gym?" he asks and you turn around to look at him. jungkook is looking at you with a dangerous smirk and a cocked eyebrow.
"careful," you warn him and he breaks in a laugh. "you know i don't want you to stop going." you walk towards him until you're standing between his spread legs.
"i know," jungkook hums as you run your hand through his soft hair. he puts his hands on your thighs as to keep you in place, his fingers playing with the side pockets of your jeans. "you love using my chest as a pillow, of course i would know." he says, making you laugh.
"they are really squishy." you bring your free hand to his chest and poke one of his pecs, making him squirm away from you.
"stop!" he giggles, grabbing your wrist to pull it away. he ends up intertwining your fingers together.
"you use my chest as a pillow too." you say as you keep playing with his hair with your other hand.
"should i not?" he asks, voice a bit softer now as he gives your hand he's holding a little squeeze. you know he's still careful around certain topics sometimes.
"you can, it's okay." you shrug with a little smile because you find him so cute.
"okay." he nods and suddenly lets go of your hand to wrap his arms around your middle and pull you closer, his head pressed to your stomach.
"will you... will you miss my boobs when i don't have them anymore?" you ask quietly. both of your hands are on his hair now, playing with the soft strands between your fingers.
"huh?" he hums.
"i mean, i know you like them..." you trail off but he doesn't say anything so you keep talking. "i wonder if you would prefer me with boobs."
jungkook pulls away just enough to look up at you. "what are you talking about?"
"i don't know."
"love, i just told you i don't give a shit what's under your clothes," he says. "i fell in love with you, not with your boobs, you know."
a little smile grows on your face. "i fell in love with your boobs, actually." you tease him and he chuckles a little.
"okay, but seriously," jungkook continues. "i'll like you just the same when you have a flat chest. i'll like you even more because i know you're gonna be a lot happier."
"so you don't care that i'm not gonna have boobs anymore?"
"even if i cared, who gives a fuck what i think about it?" he frowns. "you're the one who decides what you want to do with your body."
"i know." you nod.
"so please, don't let those ugly thoughts cloud that pretty head, okay?" he says as he slips his hands under your (his) shirt and places them on your waist, just leaving them there like he needs that skin to skin contact. "in my eyes you're fucking gorgeous now and you'll be fucking gorgeous after."
you can't help but smile and bend down a little to kiss him, your hands slipping down from his hair to his cheeks.
"i love you." you say after breaking the kiss.
"i love you more," he smiles and gives you another kiss. "you're so handsome, love."
"okay, enough with the praises," you giggle as you stand up straight again. "i know you enough to know where this is going and i don't wanna be late."
"it's not my fault you're horny all the time," he pouts and you gasp, letting your jaw drop dramatically. "you know it's true, so don't even try to act offended."
"i hate you." you sigh and turn around to walk back to the closet.
"you don't." he says and you can hear the smile in his voice.
you take jungkook's shirt off your body and grab one of his favorite hoodies, putting it on and walking to the mirror. you check your profile and sigh in relief at how the thick material doesn't let your chest pop out as much as the shirt, but you're still a little disappointed.
"you know i've been promoted at work, soon we will-"
"jungkook, stop." you cut him off, already knowing where this is going.
"soon we will afford the mastectomy." he says either way and you sigh, turning to him.
"you're not gonna pay for it, jungkook." you try to sound as serious as you can because you know how stubborn he is. you actually know he's not gonna listen either way because you've talked about this so many times before so you don't really know why you keep trying.
"i'm not gonna pay for it, i'm just gonna help." jungkook replies easily with a shrug of his shoulders.
"this is my thing, i have to pay for it myself." you insist.
"love, you know you can't afford it."
"that's why i'm saving up."
"and that's also why i'm saving up too, because i wanna help you pay it." jungkook says.
"jungkook."
"if we save up together this will be over sooner, do you know that?"
you go quiet.
"it breaks my heart to see you like this, to see you so frustrated because you want something and you can't have it." jungkook stands up and walks slowly towards you. "just let me help you. i want to do this with you." he takes one of your hands in his and you lower your head to look at them. your hands look so small in his, but that's also something you kinda like.
"i don't want you to waste money on me." you mutter.
"i'm not gonna waste that money," jungkook says. "thanks to that money i'm gonna see you happier and more confident than ever, i can't fucking wait to spend that money on it."
you exhale through your nose and lift your head up again to look at him. "you're too sweet."
"i know." he sighs dramatically, making you laugh again.
"i love you."
"i love you too," jungkook whispers before kissing you again. "my pretty boy."
"stop..." you warn him and he chuckles.
"c'mon, go get ready." he gives your ass a little slap.
"do you think i look good like this?" you step back a little to let him see the look.
"you look great," jungkook says. "i love it when you wear my clothes."
"i love wearing your clothes," you smile wide and grab your phone from the nightstand. "i should get going."
"mh, okay." he nods as he walks out of the bedroom, you follow him.
"don't wait for me, i'll probably be out until late." you tell him and jungkook hums.
"okay, tell eunji happy birthday for me." he says and walks to the couch, grabbing the remote from the coffee table before sitting down.
"i will." you say while he starts looking for something to watch on the tv. your gaze goes down to your body, fixing the hoodie a little.
"love," jungkook calls you and you look up, he's already looking at you. "you look so good." he says.
"do i really?"
"yes," he nods. "so good that if you don't leave now i won't be able to let you go."
you throw your head back as you laugh. "okay."
"have fun, keep me updated if anything happens." he tells you and you just hum.
"love you!" you say as you disappear down the corridor towards the door.
"love you more, handsome!"
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A/N: i hope you liked this little fic !!! as a non binary person with craaaaaazy dysphoria this one has an important place in my heart, all of us live through these things in different ways but i hope you enjoyed this story. thank u for reading <3 let me know if you would like to read more about this couple in the future 👀
(also, i'm still working on the part two for basic needs so hang in there !! it's coming)
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