morguemikey

[morguemikey]

i need him so bad its concerning at this point

[morguemikey]

Oh so we just got FED as male readers 🙂‍↕️🫶

an architecture of need.

clark kent x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. he doesn’t just love you with his words. he loves you with the full strength of him. over and over again.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. headcanon / blurb collection [1.7k].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 corenswet!clark 〳 established relationship 〳top!clark 〳 bottom!reader 〳 cockwarming 〳 size kink 〳 belly bulging 〳 cumplay 〳 overstimulation 〳 deep penetration 〳 worship (of reader’s body + clark’s body) 〳 soft dom!clark 〳 dirty talk 〳 fingering 〳 muscle kink 〳rimming (r!receiving) 〳body worship 〳 post-sex intimacy 〳 reader has a gaping, cum-leaking hole 〳 clark cums a lot

What the Body Remembers

He kisses you like he’s sorry he wants you this much. Fucks you like he never learned how to stop needing. Clark Kent isn’t unaware of his body—the strength of it, the size, the way people look—but he never uses it to dominate. Not unless you ask. Not unless you beg. When he’s inside you, he’s not a god or a weapon. He’s a man. One who loves you, fills you, touches you like a prayer said every night in private. One who breaks your body open with reverence, and then makes pancakes. This is what it’s like to be undone by Superman.

Muscle Memory

He fucks you slowly at first, like he's afraid of being too much. He knows how big he is, how your stomach bulges when he presses in just right. He sees the way your back arches, the way your mouth parts, trembling and breathless, already stuffed so full of him. And he still asks if you're okay. Always. Softly. A kiss at your temple, even while you're shaking. But then there's the moment he hears your breath hitch and sees you look down. Sees you watching your own belly stretch with the obscene outline of his cock. Something flips. That quiet awe in his chest turns into hunger. He rocks into you harder, the bed frame groaning under both your bodies. He watches your thighs start to quiver. Watches your hands scrabble for anything—him, the sheets, your own cock— and he doesn’t stop. Just breathes heavy and praises you, voice thick with arousal. “You take me so good, baby,” he whispers. “Every time, I swear, you fit around me like you were made to. Just perfect.”

Worship

Sometimes he’ll slow down just to admire you like this. Not during foreplay—no, during. When you're already panting under him, hips slick and hole drooling with the stretch, and his cock keeps pressing deeper. He palms your thighs with reverence, kisses down your chest like you’re some sacred thing. Big hands spreading your legs wider. Thumbs digging into the softest parts of you. He’ll murmur things under his breath that make your skin feel hot and holy. “Love your body,” he says. “So soft. So pretty. All mine. And when you clench around him at the praise, he fucking smiles.

Making His Mark

He cums too much. Always has. The first time he stayed the night, you woke up sore and leaking and still full—because you’d passed out before he’d even finished cleaning you up. Kryptonian stamina. He apologized with breakfast in bed and a guilty smile, but when you told him you liked it, he blushed so hard it reached his ears Now it’s become part of the routine. Every time he finishes, he stays inside, grinding in shallow, greedy circles like he’s trying to fuck it all in deeper. The sheets stained, your thighs sticky, your hole raw and red and dripping down the curve of your ass. He watches you try to crawl away, boneless and overstimulated “You can’t just… fill me like that,” you mutter, dizzy. “You’re right,” he says. “I should do it again.”

Spent

He loves looking at you after. Really looking. Your chest rising and falling in slow, wrecked rhythm. Your lips parted, your eyes glazed, your thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. His cum leaking from your hole in thick, messy ropes, all down your skin, soaking into the sheets. You always look ruined, used, perfect. He touches you like he’s not sure he deserves the sight. Just drags a hand down your chest, your thigh, breath caught in his throat. You’re gaping, still stretched wide around the memory of him, and he swears under his breath every time. He brings a hand between your legs and drags two fingers through the mess. Shudders when you whimper from the touch. “Jesus,” he whispers. “Look what I did to you.”

Muscle Memory II

Clark’s a big man. And when you worship him—really let your hands explore the stretch of his abs, the thick strength of his thighs, the wide expanse of his chest—he gets flustered. Because he doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t think you see him like that. But you do. You kiss the line of his stomach, trace your tongue up to the cleft between his pecs, and he sucks in a breath every time. “You’re beautiful,” you say. He huffs out a laugh, ducking his head. “You think so?” You palm him through his briefs—heavy, half-hard, already huge— and smile up at him. “I know so.” When you finally get him naked, you take your time. You kneel between his legs, run your hands across every inch of that body, skin warm and golden under your palms. You stroke his cock slow—long, thick, flushed pink at the tip—and tell him how good he looks like this, hard and wanting for you. “I want you inside me,” you whisper. “Want you to fuck me open with this big fucking thing. Want you to fill your boyfriend with all that cum until it’s dripping out of me.” His breath hitches. And then he gives you exactly what you asked for. "Sweet heaven."

Where You Go Softest

There’s something about your body that Clark loves with aching intensity. Your thighs, especially. He says they’re his favorite place to rest his head, his hands, his mouth. You’ve seen him fuck himself stupid just from the sight of you spread open, thighs trembling, your cock flushed and leaking against your belly. He grabs handfuls of your ass while he thrusts, steady and deep, burying his face in your neck to muffle the sounds he makes. Sometimes he just moans your name like a broken prayer. “Could stay inside you forever,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. Squeezing me like that, fuck.” And when he’s just eating you out? Forget it. He’s obsessed. Tongue buried in your hole, big hands pinning your hips down, leaving finger-shaped bruises across your ass as he devours you like he’s starved. He doesn’t stop until your cock’s twitching untouched on your stomach and your thighs are shaking around his ears.

Without Harm

When he holds you down, it’s not with force. It’s with care. Clark cradles your waist with one hand, the other under your ass to angle your hips up, and it’s almost absurd how easy it is for him to manhandle you. He could bend you in half with one arm, pin your wrists above your head with a single hand, keep you in place while his cock drills deep. But he never rushes. Even when he’s fucking you hard: sweat beading at his temples, his broad chest slick and flexing over yours—he checks in. A hand brushing your cheek. A kiss between thrusts. A question, murmured against your throat. “Still good, baby? Can you take more?” You always say yes. Even when your body’s shaking. Even when your hole is raw and stretched wide open, swallowing him deeper than you ever thought you could take. He presses a hand to your lower belly and moans when he feels himself inside you. “God. That’s me.”

Overflow

Clark doesn’t need toys. Doesn’t need anything but you on your back, legs spread, begging him to go slow while your body contradicts you and sucks him in. He’s thick from tip to base, flushed and heavy, the kind of cock that curves just enough to ruin you. You’ve never been able to take him all at once, not without working up to it. He helps; spit, fingers, gentle coaxing—and still, every time, your body trembles when he breaches you. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, rocking his hips. “Let me in. Let me fill you up.” And he does. You feel him for hours after. His cum drips out of you long after he’s pulled out—thick, cloudy, sticky strings that leave you ruined between the legs. Sometimes you can’t even close your thighs properly. Sometimes he doesn’t pull out at all. You’ll feel it trickle out when you’re washing dishes or putting on pants, and he’ll catch you pausing with a faraway look in your eyes and murmur, “Still leaking?”

Evidence of Him

He never tires of seeing you like this. Sprawled out beneath him, wrecked. Limbs slack. Hole gaping. His come dripping out in slow, shiny streaks down the curve of your ass and the inside of your thighs. Clark watches. He runs his hand down your spine, dips his fingers between your cheeks, and hums at the sight of your trembling rim, twitching open, pink and raw and leaking. He never says much. Just soft sounds of awe. A whispered “Christ,” maybe, or “You look perfect like this.” Sometimes he spreads you open again just to see it. To see how loose you are. How thoroughly he’s fucked you. How your hole flutters like it misses him already. “You need me again?” he asks, almost innocent. Thumb still dragging through the mess he left. You nod. Of course you do. He’s already hard again.

The Unravel

It doesn’t take long to unravel. Clark can take you standing up, bent over the sink, pressed against the wall, or face down in bed with a pillow under your hips. Every angle stretches you in new ways. Every time feels like the first time. Sometimes it’s fast. You’re soaked already, hungry for him, and he’s in you with one smooth thrust. Sometimes it’s slower. Long strokes, deep grinding, his hand around your cock while he fills you. Your body doesn’t know what to do with him. It tries to reject the stretch, even as your moans get louder, your back arches, your legs shake. And when you come: ruined, overstimulated, voice cracking from how hard you cry out. Clark follows with a deep, full groan. He never pulls out.

Rest, Ripe, and Heavy

Afterward, he’s always starving. You’re still trying to catch your breath, still aching and loose and wrecked, and Clark’s already pulling on a pair of sweats, padding barefoot into the kitchen. You call after him. “Can you give me like five minutes before you start making dinner?” He pops his head back in, cheeks pink, curls messy. “I wasn’t gonna make dinner,” he says. “Just a snack.” You laugh, rubbing your stomach. “You just blew my back out.” He shrugs, sheepish. “I’m still a growing boy.” You roll your eyes and tell him to come back to bed, and he does, climbing under the sheets with you, hand pressed to your belly, whispering he’s sorry for how sore you’ll be tomorrow. He’s not sorry.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[morguemikey]

‘m revamping + redesigning my profile and posts, so if something disappears or I’m offline for a while, that’s why!! (Also I just graduated and it’s summer vacation before college/I work full time!)

Xoxo as always <3

[morguemikey]

Wifey material :(!

clark kent is the kind of guy to plan out his entire future with you while he’s balls deep and absolutely pussy drunk. his body is pressed against yours with his head buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily while making scarcely comprehensible promises in your ear. the fantasies swirl in his mind, becoming more vivid as he gets closer and closer.

“ ‘m gonna marry you, a-and we can have a farm of our own, ah- and a big house with kids, fuck…jus’ want it all with you please.” and then in true clark fashion he gets a tad embarrassed about what he said after he’s done, but you both know he really means it.

[morguemikey]

Mechanic! Frank!/NSFW!/ Use of the word “daddy”/ FTM reader/ Female anatomy is described, so use of “pussy, cunt,” etc!/

________________

Muscle, that’s what you saw first. Covered in motor oil, flexin’ and grunting under under the engine of some stupidly fancy car on the rolling stretcher. You’re fathers garage was big, loud, dirty- filled with rowdy men. Good men, most of ‘em, but your father was protective of you. Didn’t like you coming around often. No doubt because of men like Frank. Dangerous and handsome and always ogling pretty things like you.

He’d seen those pretty legs of yours walk by in the summer heat, depositing the lunch your father forgot on his desk, and then strut right by again. You were one of those cute little things whose daddy’s spoiled ‘em and gave them fancy sports cars for their 18th birthdays. Pretty things like you that Frank stayed away from because you were the most dangerous kind for him. Perfectly his type. But there you were, walking that pretty ass on by.

The day you officially met it was hot. Sweat soaked and coated in oil he was sliding out from being bent over the hood of a car when he caught you looking over. All dressed in your expensive clothing, carrying a little metal lunchbox for your father, and looking *right at him*. He tilted his head, a brow raised. He watched as you mimicked his movement. You were teasing him, weren’t you? Waiting for your father’s appointment to be over and standing like a lamb waiting for a wolf to come and gobble you up. Oh, he could be that wolf. Just for you. The conversation had been so easy, makin’ you laugh and charming you. He had to be careful, he knew, flirting with his bosses much too young for him kid. But how could he resist?

He certainly couldn’t when you fit so perfectly around his cock. Driving his hips deep into you as he plowed load after load into you with his hands in the headboard while you whined and mewled under him. Did your daddy know his perfect little baby was so *dirty*? How you arched that back so sweetly and begged for *more*? That he was the one making you limp into the shop that next day? That one “come over, baby” text had you running.

He shouldn’t have done it, not even he was getting attached. But you got so sweet and easy on him with his cum dripping down your thighs. Not when he hadn’t gotten this close since Maria. Telling you all his secrets in the sex filled haze of his bedroom. Hands carding through his hair he’d coax out your secrets too, how lonely you got, how he was the only one who understood you.

He needed that so badly. And he regretted it everyday.

It didn’t stop him from showing up to your doorstep when your dad was away, towering over you when you opened the door. God, he nearly knocked over that pretty vintage vase pinning you against the wall as you moaned into his mouth. “Show me your bedroom, baby. Been thinking about you all day.” He groaned against you as his hands rubbed over your waist. “Missed my bunny.” Your hands dragged him upstairs so fast he nearly fell over himself. Pushing you down onto the plush bed he took his time.

“Oh, bunny-“ it was a mocking, condescending tone as he gently pressed two, thick fingers against your damp panties. “You’re just soaking, sweetheart.” The fingers dipped under your waistband and tugged off the flimsy fabric within a second. Cute, a little swollen with need, and *soaked*. You’d been a little shy at first, giving’ up to him, but he knew your body. Didn’t give a damn what that cute little pussy looked like, he *wanted* it. Like now, expertly rubbing over your clit with those two fingers as his face pressed into your thighs. “This okay, honey? Gonna let your daddy give your pretty pussy a kiss?” The mewl you let out was all he needed- that little “yes, daddy,” and he was done. Dipping his head down, he pressed his tongue against your clit and licked his lips, suckling gently between slurping his skilled tongue over each fold until he could lap at your hole too. Again and again, he would lap and suckle, his nose pressed against your mound, eyes staring up at your flustered expression ad your mouth fell open into a little “o”. The pleasure he could provide was overwhelming. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a little cruel.

When he felt it- the fluttering of your inner walls, the way your legs started to hike up- he pulled away. “Nuh uh, bunny.” He grunted as he sat up. “Been too long now, you know I wanna make you cum on this dick instead, yeah?” He was bulging in his briefs as if he was just throbbing and wanting. No amount of whining about how close you were was gonna get you anywhere when we was pulling himself out- heavy in his own palm, leaking at the pink tip- as he gripped your thighs. Opening you up, wide and open, slapping that perfect cock onto your mound without preamble.

“Stop that whinin’, boy, daddy’s gonna take care of you. You know that.” He grumbled as he gave a few slides of his heavy shaft over your pussy- chuckling when you mewled at the friction. “I know, I know,” he crooned when he began dipping inward, the thick stretch burning in your thighs. He was always so damn big in every sense of the word. “I know, atta boy, you can take it.” His grunt was in your ear as he forced his cock inward. “You’ve taken it before, can do it again.” Your poor pussy was just getting absolutely bullied by the movement, lips spread open, poor little hole just aching. But when he bottomed out? Oh how it was bliss. He hovered over you for a long moment with a sigh- savoring the feeling of you clinging to him so tightly on the inside as well as the outside- letting you adjust to his size. His thrusts were slow, plowing deeply inward, hearing the squelch of your cunt oozing around his cock as you milked him. “Ah, Mh, feels real good, baby. My bunny been keeping his little pussy right just for me?” His voice was gruff in your throat with each thrust, each smack of his heavy balls against your skin.

Ducking his head just enough, he leaned down, cupping at your chest, fondling the fat there just enough to suckle a nipple between his lips. Sloppy and slick was salvia he drew his tongue over the sensitive nub before moving to the next, his cock rubbing so deep inside you. Cute little thing, you were, legs locked over his hips, crying out and each thrust. The coil in your tummy was tightening up and could feel it. His fingers slid down, rubbing tight circles on your clit, his burner low. “C’mon, bunny. You gonna give it to me? Show daddy he’s making you feel good.” The encouragement, the praise, the everything- it sent you over. Like a good bunny, you came all over his cock, your head tilting back with a moan as he thrusted again and again as your pussy constricted him. “Oh baby, he was hungry for that one, wasn’t he? Looking so cute all dumb on this dick-“ his hands gripped your waist as he continued his steady movements. Biting down on his lip, his cock twitched, his groans growing louder after a moment before he grit his words out. “Gonna cum. Okay? Gonna cum in this pretty fucking hole-“ his load was warm and thick as it stuffed you full, his thrusts weak and uncontrollable as he humped his cum into your hole while you cling onto him in a haze.

Poor thing. You’d be here a while.

[morguemikey]

I just KNOW Franks the type of guy to hold you down from behind when you fuck. Like chest to your back, holding your arms, pressing his hips deep against you. And you know what? I fuck with that heavily.

[morguemikey]

I love your work so much please don't go bald 💚

You’re so funny please don’t die 😞😞 (thank u sm for the love, pookie!!)

#❤︎

[morguemikey]

This isn’t a request but I just want you to know how much I appreciate your work🙏 we need more ftm readers!!

aaa, thank u! This means so much to me :(! Definitely not enough content for us boys out here! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

[morguemikey]

Sorry, nobody can tell me that Frank isn’t absolutely obsessed with eating pussy. Trust that any time he’s got the chance to get his face between those thighs? He’s going fucking feral. Licking ‘n groaning because he just loves it so much :(

plus, with all that scruff, the man knows it’s extra sensitive, scratching you up between those thighs. Every time you try and pull away, he’s got those big rough hands around your hips that drag you back against his mouth. Hands on your hips, fingers digging in as he drags the flat of his tongue against your sensitive clit, just lapping up all that wetness until his face is shinin’ with it.

(Promise I’ll write a full fic soon, I sweeeear <33!!)

[morguemikey]

Just thinkin’ about rough! Frank Castle !

I mean, he’s so rough. Grabbing onto your pretty hips as he pounds you from behind after a long night out. God knows he just craves that sweet hole when he gets stressed, you just squeeze him so good like your made just for him. After all, he just cherishes hearing those pretty mewls you make! ‘N Frankie is so big, physically, it’s so easy for him just to pin you down and take what he wants . Practically crushed you against the bed as he cages you between his arms, his hips snapping back n fourth as he drags his big dick in and out of your pretty cunt just to hear that wet plap! just cause he’s fucking filthy. He nearly splits you open with how thick he is as he ruts the tip against your walls. Rushed, too, not even out of his suit! Just takes his belt off, just enough to get that pretty cock out, and fills you to the fucking brim like an animal in heat with his face in your shoulder blade as he pants and grunts. That low groan of “Fuuuck, almost there baby, gonna cum” is so low and muffled into your skin, too, and you gotta be good and take it. He knows you can. ۶ৎ

[morguemikey]

✮⋆˙HE/HIM ✮⋆˙FTM READERS ✮⋆˙MULTI ✮⋆˙ THE INTERNET 'S EMO PUPPY BF ✮⋆˙

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⋆˚࿔8teen + 16+ blog! ⋆˚࿔ TW for possible dark themes! ⋆˚࿔