clvdheart

drabbles from the void

[clvdheart]

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐*ೃ༄

welcome to clvdheart!

- she/her !

- 19 !

- black writer !

- political science major!

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- jjk!

- aot!

- clarkkent!

- nightwing!

- jasontodd!

- ateez!

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- marvel!

- wwe!

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tap any link to explore:

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thank you for being here ♥︎ be kind, and enjoy!.

[clvdheart]

Girl your writing is GOODDD… scratches just the right itch in my brain 🥴

AWWWWEEE THANK YOU SO MUCH !!

[arcanumnyx]

getting older is all about getting weirder and sexier and more perverted and gluttonous and intelligent and blunt and eloquent and spontaneous and skilled. i love that for us.

[clvdheart]

teacher’s pet.

dom!clark | professor x student | tension | tenderness | praise kink

warnings/tags:

mdni | dom/sub | praise kink | gentle dominance | desk sex | romantic undertones | aftercare | size kink (light) | tension | emotional intimacy | brat tamer

synopsis: how far can you push professor clark until he shows you him at his breaking point?

word count: 1,519

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just imagine professor clark. him in his usual white dress shirt rolled up to his forearms, hair all messy with just gel and water. his desk is very simple, a sleek black bottle that contains hot cocoa, his laptop, lesson plans, extra pens, and pencils, because we know he cares for his students. speaking of which, of course, he has pictures of himself and his past students on his wall, filtered in black and white. 

he’d take time with his powerpoint slides, trying to get them as aesthetically pleasing as he could, with his fair share of corny memes and dad jokes on every other slide that somehow tied into the lesson. 

the way his back muscles flexed every time he’d write something on the board, or his puzzled expression and folded arms, highlighting his biceps when he’s trying to answer a question. that dreamy smile when he goes on his tangents about god knows what. the way his big figure swallows a person when he leans over your desk or hovers behind you.

and somehow, he never loses his composure. even with someone like you, who likes to.. test his limits…

it was fun! it was like a goal to you, it was so easy for you to get him a bit riled up! 

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“actually, professor, that’s not entirely correct.”

many pairs of heads turned, and clark kent froze mid-sentence, chalk hovering an inch from the board.

his shoulders straightened slowly. “is that so?”

you twirled your pen, feigning innocence. “well, you said the league of nations responded decisively to the manchurian crisis, but if you’re grading on effectiveness, I’d call that… generous.”

clark set the marker down and turned fully toward you, arms folding over his chest, “so you’d have handled global diplomacy differently?”

“i’m just saying,” you shrugged, leaning back in your chair, “words don’t stop invasions. maybe they should’ve tried a little less talking, a little more doing.”

his eyes narrowed, a faint spark beneath the lenses. “you prefer action to rhetoric?”

“depends on the action,” you said, meeting his gaze. “but if the goal was results, Professor, history’s pretty clear—you’re defending failure.”

clark’s jaw ticked once. a slight smile formed at your lips. 

he turned back to the board, grip tightening on the chalk. every time he wrote, muscle shifted beneath the fabric, impossibly distracting. you can’t help to stare.

clark’s voice rose, calm and final.

“see you all friday.” 

the room emptied in a blur of chatter and scraping chairs. 

you swung your bag over your shoulder, halfway to the door when—

“Uh-uh.”

you turned. “What?”

“you stay.”

he sat at the edge of his desk, legs stretched out, hands gripping the edge on either side. the posture was relaxed, but the muscles in his forearms flexed every time his fingers shifted; the fluorescent light caught on his glasses.

“do you like getting a rise out of me?” he asked, tone low but even.

you blinked, playing innocent. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh, don’t play dumb with me,” he said, leaning back just slightly. “you know exactly what you’re doing.”

you tilted your head. “then tell me—what am I doing?”

he pushed off the desk, walking toward you with slow, measured steps, like he was dissecting the moment as he moved through it.

“you like to test me. correct me. watch how i  react. you want to see if i’ll lose my temper.”

his eyes met yours, steady. “is that what you want? For me to lose it?”

you opened your mouth, but no sound came out. the silence pressed in until you felt it in your chest.

“oh,” he said quietly, almost surprised, “for once you have nothing to say.”

he stopped just short of you, hands in his pockets now, gaze searching. “is that all it takes? just being called out?”

“i don’t want anything to do with you,” you muttered, more defensive than convincing.

he raised a brow. “is that why your heart’s beating like that?”

your brows knitted. “how do you—”

“i can tell,” he said simply, moving one hand up to brush a strand of hair away from your face—barely touching, careful. “tell me what you want.”

you blinked at him, words catching somewhere between your throat and pride.

“tell me,” he said again, quieter this time.

you let out a boastful laugh, turning as if to leave, but he caught your wrist—not hard, just enough to stop you. his voice softened. “i’m a gentleman. but keep testing me, and that might start to slip.”

you stared at him, pulse a storm beneath your skin. then you yanked your wrist free and smiled—a sharp, knowing little curve of your mouth.

“you know what i want, mr. kent?” he waited. “you.”

“lock the door.”

you tipped your chin. “touch me.”

his palm slid along your jaw, thumb fitting beneath your cheekbone like it had been carved for you. the first kiss was not hesitant—it was patient. he kissed like he taught: layered, precise, each angle learned, each pause intentional. 

you made a noise, small and unruly. you felt him smile against your mouth, felt the smile break when you tugged his collar and bit his lower lip just to hear how quickly he could forget patience.

“brat,” he murmured, breath warm, and the word tumbled down your spine and pooled low.

“make me behave,” you said, shamelessly.

he didn’t pin you,he arranged you. his hands guided you onto the edge of the desk, your knees parting for him without question. wood pressed solid under your thighs. he caged you in his arms, braced on either side.

“you’re going to listen,” he said, kissing your throat once, a stamp of heat, “for once.” his hand traced down your ribcage, not possessive, mapping.

you nodded too quickly. he stilled. “Words.”

“yes,” you said, breath catching. “i’ll listen.”

“good.” his knuckles skimmed your jaw, a reassurance. “you’re shaking.”

his laugh was soft and disbelieving. then he kissed you like he was trying to prove a point.

your hands found his forearms, thumbs dragging over muscle as it bunched under your touch. the texture of him made you greedy. you chased the sound he made when you tugged his sleeves higher, when you mouthed at the inside of his wrist and felt his pulse kick.

“you’re going to be the end of me,” he said into your mouth.

“promise?” you pressed closer, wrapping your legs around him, allowing him to step fully into the mess you were offering.

“say what you want,” he told you, lips at your ear, voice scraped low. “don’t be smart. ask.”

“i want your hands,” you said, dizzy with honesty. “i want you to hold me there—” you guided him, shameless, where your body ached for pressure “—and tell me i’ve been driving you insane.”

“that,” he said, obeying, heat and weight flooding in exactly where you needed, “you don’t need me to tell you.”

“say it anyway.”

his mouth found your jaw, your throat, the vulnerable place below your ear where you were already fireworks. “you’ve haunted my lectures,” he confessed, voice rough. “you sit in the third row and watch me like you’re cataloging my weaknesses. i write on the board and feel your eyes. you correct me, and i spend the rest of the hour imagining how to make you speechless.”

“clark—” his name slipped out, on accident, before you could apologize—

“that’s better,” he said, and dragged you closer, and the world narrowed to his hands and your breath and the rhythm you built together, slow then urgent, careful then not at all. 

every sound was yours, his startled inhale when you tugged his hair, your broken little laugh when he cursed softly and told you to be good, as if you’d ever learned how.

your orgasm came rushing through you, your fingers pressed white into the back of his shoulder. he held you through it, solid, present.

“you okay?” he asks, stroking your hair.

his voice is softer now—none of that sharp, commanding tone from earlier, just warm silk and quiet concern. you nod, still catching your breath, the edge of his shirt balled in your fist. his thumb brushes along your temple, lingering like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops.

“good girl,” he murmurs, the words almost reverent. you melt into his touch, all fight gone, only the steady rhythm of his hand grounding you. when you finally look up at him, “you sound worried, professor,” you murmur, the corner of your mouth curving. “didn’t think you cared that much.”

he exhales through his nose, a low laugh that sounds more like surrender. “always got something to say, don’t you?”

you tilt your head, smug even in the wreckage. “well, if I didn’t, you’d get bored.”

his thumb pauses in your hair. the look he gives you is half warning, half fondness—the kind that says he’s one word away from reminding you who’s really in control.

“careful,” he says, quiet but laced with heat.

you grin. “see? you’d miss me if I behaved.”

[gabriellalxm]

ITS FINALLYY KINKTOBER👅

[clvdheart]

CANT WAIT

[clvdheart]

October 1st: Overstimulation.

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mdni | rough sex | overstimulation | begging kink | crying kink | slight praise kink | possessive tone | primal play (light) | restraint (wrist pinning) | slight degradation | semi-consensual vibes (pushed past limits) | tears | dirty talk | power dynamics | sub reader | dom male

Your body is already a mess—shaking, slick, every nerve screaming—when his hand presses flat against your stomach, forcing you down into the sheets.

“Don’t run from me,” he orders, voice dark, breath hot against your ear. His tone makes your spine arch helplessly, even though every part of you is crying out for relief.

“I—I can’t,” you gasp, tears slipping down your temple. “Please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he cuts in, rough and merciless. His grip on your wrists tightens until you whimper. “And you will. You’ll take every damn second of this.”

Your thighs quake, trying to clamp shut, but he pries them open, pushing you to the edge again and again. Each stroke, each press, sets fire to your already-overworked body. The aftershocks haven’t even died down before he’s pulling another one out of you, dragging you up the cliff with ruthless precision.

You sob, arch, twist, but his weight keeps you trapped. “Stop—please, I can’t—oh my god—” Your voice breaks into high, jagged cries, but he only laughs low, cruel.

“You hear yourself? You’re beautiful when you beg,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. Then, sharper, commanding: “Count them.”

Your mind stutters. “W-what?”

“Count. Every. One,” he growls, thrusting harder, faster, until you’re keening. “I want to hear you choke on the number while you fall apart.”

You try, you really do, but your voice splinters, numbers slurring into sobs as another orgasm rips through you. “Three—f-four—” you cry, your body convulsing so violently your legs shake against the bed.

“That’s it,” he praises, though his tone is anything but gentle. “Keep going. Don’t you dare stop.”

By the sixth, your throat is raw, your nails leaving crescents in your own palms where he’s holding your hands down. By the seventh, you’re incoherent, reduced to nothing but whimpers, tears, and trembling flesh under his command.

Finally, finally, he slows—but not before bending down, lips brushing your ear as you sob beneath him. “Look at you. Wrecked. Ruined. Perfect.”

And when he releases your wrists, you collapse instantly, limp and broken on the sheets, your body twitching with aftershocks. He smirks down at the sight, satisfied—not because you begged for him to stop, but because he decided you were done.

author’s note: I’m so sorry I’ve been inactive, I’ve been juggling school and work but, i’ll be here this month ;p

[clvdheart]

“Quiet, Baby—They’ll Hear Us”

— a clark kent x reader oneshot  

dom!clark | office sex | risk of getting caught

warnings/tags:

mdni | oral (f. receiving) | praise kink (subtle) | dom!clark | size kink (light) | possessive/jealousy undertones | dirtytalk | creampie | mild degradation | crying from pleasure | 

Synopsis: Late afternoon at the Daily Planet. Lois has gone home. Perry’s yelling in another hallway. And Clark’s girl—his sweet, sinful little temptation—just waltzed into the bullpen wearing the skirt he told her not to wear in public.

Word count: 1350-1500

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You know what you’re doing when you walk in.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

Your heels click on the floor. The air conditioning flutters your mini skirt just enough. His shirt—buttoned only halfway, tied at the waist—shows the edge of lace underneath.

Clark’s trying to focus. Glasses on. Tie loose. Typing an article like he’s not dying to bend you over his desk and forget the world.

When you pass behind him, your fingers graze the back of his neck. Light. Teasing.

He stills.

“Sweetheart,” he warns under his breath.

“Yes, Clark?” you purr, leaning down by his ear. “Need help with your… article?”

He exhales slowly. Controlled. His fingers clench into fists.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish,” he mutters.

You smile sweetly. “Who said anything about finishing?”

His chair rolls back with a soft screech. He grabs your wrist gently—firm, but still that loving Clark touch—and pulls you into his lap. His arms wrap around your waist, one hand already creeping under your shirt.

“No panties?” he whispers, voice strained. “You came to my job with no panties?”

Your smile fades into a gasp when his hand finds you.

“Soaked,” he growls. “ You came here already dripping.”

He glances around. The floor is mostly empty. It’s late. Perry’s door is shut. Jimmy’s gone. No one’s within sight.

And then—he flips the lock on his office door.

“You’re in trouble now, sweetheart.”

He lifts you up and sets you down on his desk. Papers scatter. His laptop slams shut. The lights stay on.

“I should punish you,” he says, dragging your legs open. “But I’m too damn obsessed with you to wait.”

He drops to his knees.

And he devours.

He doesn’t tease this time. Doesn’t slowly warm you up. No, no. He’s feral the second his tongue meets your center. Moaning into you. Gripping your thighs so tight they might bruise.

“You’re gonna cum quick,” he pants, breath hot against you. “You’re already shaking. Be a good girl. Give it to me.”

And you do. Your orgasm crashes over like a wave, eyes forced shut, head tilted back.

With you biting your lip to keep quiet. Your hips buck as he growls into you, drinking every drop.

He stands, face glistening with your slick and his saliva, pupils blown wide behind those damn glasses.

“I’m not done,” he says.

He frees himself from his slacks, thick and heavy and aching. You reach for him, but he swats your hand away.

“No,” he says. “You walk into my place of work dressed up like that?  You just sit there and take it like a good little girl.”

You gasp at his words.

His cock twitches. “You look so fucking good in this little skirt,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “God, baby, were you just imagining this? What I’d do to you, hmm? Were you this wet, this ready? So ready for me?”

He pushes in.

You cry out—but he kisses you, swallowing the sound as he begins to thrust.

He’s deep.

The kind of rhythm that makes your spine curl and your mind go blank.

“Can’t be loud,” he whispers, slamming into you. “You want the whole office to hear you sounding like a bitch in heat?”

“C-Clark—”

“You want Perry to walk in and see me stuffing my cum into you?”

You shake your head desperately, tears welling from the stretch, the pace, the heat.

He grabs your jaw. “Eyes on me.”

You look at him in desperation, tears forming in your eyes.

“You came here to be filled, didn’t you?”

You nod.

He fucks you harder, the desk creaking beneath you. The air smells like sweat and sex and ink.

You’re sobbing now. The pleasure is too much. His words push you over every edge you’ve ever known.

“I’ll marry you in this building,” he growls. “Right in front of Lois and the others. Just so they all know you’re mine.”

He grips your thighs and slams in once—twice—and then spills into you with a strangled groan.

“Take it,” he pants. “Take it all..”

And then—

A knock at the door.

You freeze.

He grins, sweat dripping from his brow, still buried inside you.

“Guess we’re not done.”

[clvdheart]

mdni 18+ | size difference | size kink | manhandling | creampie |  light degradation | mirror sex | riding | overstimulating | light breeding|

| Your big, strong husband.|

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜

He’s just big. Too big. Broad shoulders that feel like walls—mountains you cling to when you’re on top, desperate for leverage, desperate for him. His arms flex when he pulls you closer, biceps straining against your body, wrapping you up like you’re something small, something fragile. His hands cover too much at once, palms so wide they could swallow your waist whole, fingers digging into your skin until you feel branded.

When you ride him, it’s those shoulders you hang on to, nails clawing into the solid curve of them, your cries muffled against his neck. He doesn’t mind. He never does. He just groans, low and wrecked, holding you steady as your hips stutter. “I know,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and warmth, “I know, baby. I know that dick is big.”

 Effortlessly. He picks you up like you weigh nothing, your legs still trembling around his waist, and sets you on the bed without breaking rhythm. His frame eclipses yours, back broad enough to cover you entirely, blocking out the world until all you can see is him, feel is him.

The mirror on the ceiling doesn’t lie. It shows how small you are beneath him, his body spilling over yours, swallowing you whole. Every thrust shakes through you, every roll of his hips forcing you deeper into the mattress. He doesn’t just fuck you. He drowns you—blankets you with his size until you’re gasping his name, pulling him closer, begging for more. 

Thick hot ropes of cum fill up your sore pussy, He pushes himself deeper into you, which makes you claw his back with your nails, moaning in pure ecstasy. “You're gonna cum for me again, right, my slutty girl?”

And he gives it, again and again, until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

[clvdheart]

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[clvdheart]

 camgirl

— a Gojo x reader oneshot  

dom!gojo | sextape |

warnings/tags:

mdni | slight oral (f. receiving)  | slight praise kink  | size kink (light) | possessive streak | overstimulation | creampie | Primal Play| leaked | sextape | degradatioin | voyeurism |

Synopsis: The camera never lies. It caught every moan, every tear, every time you scream his name.

Word count: 2120

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜

Gojo stands at the foot of the bed, camera in hand, lens fixed on you. “You wanted to show off for me, huh?” his voice dropped low, your legs parted, slow, lips curling to a slight smirk as your arms down to your already aching core. He moans at the sight, “ C’mon, pretty girl,” He urged, voice thick with desire. “Show the camera how desperate you are for me.”

Your fingers pumped faster, desperate, chasing your high. Your head tipped back, and a ragged moan broke free. “T- Toru, f-fuck, please, I-I need you.” 

Gojo’s grin widened behind the camera, pale eyes glittering as he zoomed in. “Aww, you need me, are your fingers not enough?” Gojo crawls onto the bed, slotting himself between your trembling thighs. His hand dragged up your leg, stopping at your knee, thumb stroking lazy circles.

“You need Daddy to take over, huh? Need me to fuck this little body until you forget how to use those fingers?” Your walls clenched tight around your fingers at his filthy words, a sharp cry tumbling from your lips as your thighs threatened to snap shut.

“Mmhm, keep going.” Gojo drawled, his tongue trailing his bottom lip.” Sweetheart, don’t stop just because I’m watching.” His free hand pressed to the bulge in his sweats, a low groan slipping out as he watched your face contort with pleasure. “Fuck—look at you. Falling apart for the camera already.”

Your rhythm falters, hips jerking helplessly, chasing that high you can’t touch. The moment your thighs start to close around your hand, his voice cuts through—smooth, commanding, leaving no room to protest.

​​“Stop.”

The single word cracked through the room. His hand shoots out, catching your wrist mid-stroke. The camera dips, lens zooming on your soaked fingers trembling under his grip.

“Oh, you’re not allowed to finish with your hand.” He mutters as he tilts the camera to your flushed face. “Not when I’m here.” He cups your jaw, stroking it with his thumb, “You rather me fuck this cock into you, isn’t that right, love?”  You nod, eyes trailing down his body to his visibly hard cock. Your chest heaves, lips parted, breath stuttering. “Satoru, please—”

He smirks, thumb pressing harder into your jaw. he drags your hand away from your heat. “Nah, sweetheart. Beg harder. Tell the camera whose pretty little cunt this is.” 

Heat forms at your cheeks as you can feel the camera recording every second of your humiliation—the wet sheen of your fingers, the quiver in your voice, the desperate flutter of your thighs as he keeps you empty. 

Gojo shifts his grip, one hand steady on the camera, the other forcing your wrist against the sheets. His cock strains against his sweats. He groans softly, head tilting, pale eyes burning you with hunger.

“Say it,” he commands, sharper now. “Or I’ll make you watch yourself fall apart without ever getting me inside you.”

Your hips bucking uselessly into the air, wrist pinned hard to the sheets. The lens hovers inches from your face, unblinking, he’s so so mean.

“T-Toru, please, I can’t—” Your voice breaks on the words, throat closing around a sob.

He leans down, smirk sharp, tongue darting across his lip as if tasting your desperation. “You can’t what?” His tone drips mockery, but his grip doesn’t ease. “Can’t think? Can’t breathe? Or can’t cum without me?”

Your thighs tremble violently, shame burning as the camera zooms in on your ruined face. He knows you’re seconds from unraveling.

“Say it,” Gojo growls, voice suddenly harsher, rough edges slicing through the playfulness. “Say you’re mine. Say who you belong to, or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, your voice a shattered whisper: “I’m yours, Toru. I’m—fuck—I’m yours.”

The tension in his smirk cracks, blooming into something darker, satisfied. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, groaning as he finally releases your wrist.

The second you’re free, his hand replaces yours, fingers sinking inside you with a merciless thrust. The camera dips to catch it all—his long fingers working you open, the way your body arches, the broken cry that rips from your throat as relief floods your veins.

“Look at you,” he rasps, voice ragged with his own arousal, “Can’t handle the second I touch you. Keep your eyes on the camera, sweetheart. Don’t you dare look away while I show everyone how a needy bitch you are.”

Relief floods so hard it almost hurts. Gojo’s fingers are thick and long, so long that they reach that gummy spot you could never on your own. Just as the rhythm builds, just as you're right there, he stops. Pulls out slowly, tapping your clit, making you clench on nothing.

The camera catches the way your hips jerk up, desperate.

“Aw, you poor thing.” His laugh is cruel, a sense of mockery. He sets the camera beside him, angling it so it can see all of you. “Already twitching, so needy to cum, and I barely did anything.”

Your voice manages a shaky whisper, “ Fuck you.”

He clicks his tongue, mocking. “Oh, what had happened to your manners? Are you upset, hmm?” he taps your cheek. “You’re upset because you can’t cum without me?” He fights back a smile at you pouting at him. “I hate you.” You choked out. 

His hand returns, trailing lightly over your swollen folds; it's more torture than pleasure. He lowers himself closer to your throbbing cunt. He drags his tongue across your clit, which makes you groan loudly, reaching your hand to stroke his hair. He grabs your wrist and pins it to the bed. “Unt, Unt, you don’t get to touch me.” He says, focusing his fingers around your slick, dripping down. The wet sounds fill the air, caught by the camera mic, so obscene. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice darkens, sharper now, as he brings the camera closer to you to zoom in on your wrecked expression. “Show them how needy you can get. Spread those legs for me—wider. That’s it. Keep them open, or I’ll tie them down.”

Your thighs shake violently, obeying, with another broken moan. He pushes two fingers back inside, curling them just enough to drag another cry out of you—then withdraws again, leaving you aching, clenching, undone.

“Every time you think I’ll let you finish,” Gojo murmurs, he grins, “I’ll take it away. And you’ll thank me for it.”

The camera trembles slightly in his hand, catching the sharp rise and fall of your chest, the tears streaking your cheeks, the raw need written all over your body.

“Look at the lens,” he commands, voice low, final. “Let everyone see how desperate you are when daddy won’t let you cum.”

He slams his fingers back inside you, no warning, no mercy. The sound of your wetness fills the room, obscene, caught perfectly by the camera’s unblinking lens. His hand moves roughly and relentlessly, dragging a scream out of your throat as your body arches clean off the mattress.

“Look at you,” he growls, thumb pressing cruelly against your clit while his fingers pound deep. “Falling apart so easily for me. Pathetic little slut—can’t even hold back for me.”

Your cries climb higher, choked and frantic, but he doesn’t slow. He leans close enough for his words to scrape against your ear, camera tilted down to catch the way your thighs shake, your cunt fluttering around his hand.

“Cum,” he orders, voice breaking with his own groan. “Right fucking now. Let the camera see who owns you.”

The orgasm tears through you violently, unrestrained—sobs ripped raw from your chest as you clamp around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you come down. His pace is brutal, merciless, forcing aftershocks until tears streak down your cheeks.

“That’s it. Cum for me again,” he snarls, eyes glittering. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Mine to ruin. Mine to record. And I’ll wring every last drop out of you until you can’t even say my name.”

The camera wobbles slightly in his hand, but never turns away—it captures everything: your wrecked face, your spasming body, the way you break again and again under his command.

His fingers finally pull free. His chest heaves, the way his cock strains painfully against his sweats.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice ragged. The camera lowers, set on the nightstand at just the right angle to catch you both. His pale eyes never leave you.

He yanks his waistband down in one motion, cock slapping heavy against his stomach, flushed and leaking. Your whimper breaks the air, but he doesn’t give you time to recover—doesn’t even let you breathe.

Hands spread your thighs, forcing them wide again, ignoring the violent shake of your legs. His tip drags through your soaked folds once, twice, just enough to make you twitch before he slams forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

Your scream splits the air. His groan answers it, head falling back, sweat-dark hair clinging to his forehead.

“Goddamn—” he pants, hips snapping again before you can even adjust. “So fucking tight after cumming all over my fingers. This pussy was made for me.”

“You wanted daddy to fuck you, huh?” His words are sharp, guttural, punched out in rhythm with his thrusts. “Now take it. Take every inch and let the whole world see who you belong to.”

Gojo groans low, head tipping back, jaw slack with the raw relief of finally being inside you.

“Fuck—you feel that? God, you’re choking me out. So tight, so perfect.”

The camera’s red light blinks on the nightstand, mercilessly recording the way his cock disappears into you, the wet slap of his hips against your thighs. He angles his body so the lens catches everything—your trembling legs pinned wide, the way you’re already coming undone around him.

His hands grip bruises into your hips as he pounds into you, pace unforgiving. Each thrust jolts through you like a shockwave, your cries mixing with his ragged groans.

“You begged for this,” he spits, sweat dripping from his temple onto your chest. “Begged daddy to fuck you, and now you can’t even take it. Look at you—squirming, shaking, like this cock isn’t the only thing you were made for.”

Your hands claw at the sheets, nails tearing the fabric, body thrashing helplessly under his weight. But he only laughs, cruel, snapping his hips harder, deeper, until your voice breaks into a sob.

“Look at the camera,” he commands, fisting a hand in your hair to yank your gaze toward the camera. “Look. Don’t you dare look away while it catches you falling apart for me.”

Tears streak your cheeks, your body spasms, and the orgasm rips through you violently, unrestrained, milking him in tight waves. The sound that tears from his throat is guttural, almost feral.

“Fuck—yeah, that’s it. Cum all over me, sweetheart. Show the camera how you lose yourself on my cock.”

He doesn’t stop. Even as you convulse, even as your voice breaks into hoarse whimpers, his thrusts keep coming—brutal, merciless, each one dragging another scream from you.

“Again,” he snarls, hips slamming forward. “I’m not done wringing you out. You’re mine to ruin, mine to record—and I’m gonna keep fucking you until this tape is nothing but your screams.”

Your body seizes around him once more, overstimulated and raw, and that’s all it takes for him to finally break. His groan shatters the air, hips grinding deep as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you to the brim.

The camera records the final thrusts, the frantic grip of his hands, your body twitching under his, until he collapses forward, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours.

The red light still blinks. Capturing every second of your ruin.

Gojo stays inside you for a long moment, hips pressed flush, chest rising hard against yours as he catches his breath. The room smells of sweat and sex, air heavy, broken only by the faint whir of the camera still rolling.

Finally, he leans back just enough to look down at you. Your mascara’s smudged, cheeks streaked, lips swollen from biting down on your own cries. He grins—soft, but smug, as if the wreckage of you is his favorite masterpiece.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, brushing damp strands of hair off your forehead. “You should see yourself. Ruined and shaking.”

You managed to form words, “I really don’t like you, Toru.” He chuckles, dropping a kiss to your temple. The press of his lips is warm.

 “You know, if anyone got their hands on that tape, they’d see the truth.” 

He reaches over and finally stops the recording. His hand finds your thigh, stroking absent circles.

“That you’re mine. And I’m yours.”

[clvdheart]

I’ll Be Gentle… I Swear

— a clark kent x reader oneshot

soft dom | praise kink | intimacy as devotion

warnings/tags:

mdni | oral (f. receiving) | praise kink | soft dom clark | size kink (light) | possessive streak | overstimulation | creampie | emotional intimacy | first time | aftercare

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Synopsis: Late evening, the golden hush of your apartment. The windows are cracked open, the breeze soft, the moonlight catching on his curls as he kneels between your thighs, looking at you like you’re the last prayer he’ll ever say.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

He’s been kissing you for what feels like hours—slow, intoxicating kisses that melt the world away. The kind where his lips linger just a second longer than they need to, his thumbs stroke over your cheeks, your waist, your thighs… so gently.

He lays you down like you’re fragile. Breakable. Sacred.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers, voice barely there. His eyes are searching yours, full of restraint. “I mean it, sweetheart. One word, and I’ll stop.”

You nod. “I don’t want you to stop, Clark. I trust you.”

He swallows. Something thick. His breath trembles, and he kisses you again—tender, like his lips are apologizing for everything you’ll feel later. He slowly undresses you, pausing after every inch of skin is revealed, whispering little praises under his breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve dreamed of you like this…”

And then he spreads your thighs. And time stops.

He just… stares.

You twitch under the weight of his gaze. “Is everything okay?”

His eyes are wide. Hungry. His mouth falls open slightly as he lets out the softest, most tortured groan.

“God, I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice strained. “You smell so—so sweet. I didn’t think I’d lose it this fast.”

He lowers himself, kissing your inner thigh first. Then the other. Gentle pecks. Nuzzling with his nose. Breathing you in. He hasn’t even touched your center yet and your toes are already curling.

“I’ll be gentle,” he says again, almost to himself. “I’ll give you the whole experience, baby. The slow kind. The right kind.”

And then—

His tongue flicks over you, just once. Testing. Soft.

Your hips buck, and he moans. A low, needy sound that vibrates through your core.

“Oh—oh my god, Clark—”

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, already dipping back in. “You taste so good—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—”

His mouth devours you.

What starts as slow licks—delicate, reverent—quickly turns into something else. He’s starving. His hands grip your thighs tight, but not tight enough to bruise, and his tongue moves with more purpose now, more heat. He groans into you again and again, the vibrations sparking through your stomach, down your spine.

“You’re so good,” he pants, mouth wet and glistening. “So perfect. I’ve never tasted anything like you.”

He’s apologizing through it. “Sorry, baby—I’m trying—I’m trying to go slow but you taste so—fuck—so sweet—I can’t—”

Your hands tangle in his hair. You grind against his mouth because the pressure is too good. You’re trembling, thighs shaking, gasping.

And then—you fall apart. Right there. Your first orgasm on his tongue, and he moans like he’s the one cumming.

He pulls back slowly, eyes wild, lips wet, chest heaving. “I didn’t mean to do it like that,” he says, crawling up your body. “I was supposed to take my time.”

“You did,” you whisper. “That was perfect.”

His forehead rests against yours. His hips press against your thigh—and you feel him. Thick. Hot. Rock hard. Still straining in his jeans.

“Are you ready?” he whispers.

You nod.

He undresses so slowly, so tenderly. His body is carved like a god, but it’s his eyes you can’t stop looking at. The way they burn for you.

When he settles between your thighs, he reaches down, stroking himself a few times before lining up. You brace for pressure, but—

Oh.

He’s slow. So. Slow.

You gasp, fingers curling into the sheets. The stretch is deep. Full. But so, so careful.

He watches your face the whole time.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, eyes watering. “It’s so much. But—I love it. Don’t stop.”

His breath shudders. His arms tremble slightly, like he’s holding back with everything he has.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he groans. “So warm. So perfect. I can’t—fuck, I can’t believe this is real.”

He rocks into you gently. Slow thrusts, sweet and shallow, his hand on your cheek, his lips kissing away every whimper.

But something’s building. In him.

He tries to keep it slow, he does—but your moans, the way your nails claw down his back, the way your hips meet him halfway—it’s breaking him.

“Please,” he begs, forehead pressed against yours. “Please, baby, I—I can’t hold back much longer. You feel so—god, you feel like heaven—”

He whimpers.

Yes. Whimpers.

His pace quickens. Still careful, but faster now, deeper. He holds your hips tight, trying to keep control. But it’s slipping. Every moan that leaves your mouth makes him lose a little more of it.

“I want to make you feel good,” he pants. “You do feel good. You feel like you were made for me. I can’t—please let me give it to you.”

You grab his face, breathless. “Then take me. All of me.”

And that’s it.

He snaps.

His hips slam into you, and you cry out—but it’s bliss. Pure, delicious bliss. He’s pounding now, feral, lips crushed to your throat, groaning into your skin.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “All mine. You hear me? No one else gets this. No one else can.”

You’re gasping his name, body quaking around him, and he thrusts harder, faster, each stroke sending you higher until—

You break again. Shatter. Crying out his name, clutching him as you cum for the second time. And when you do—he loses it.

He presses as deep as he can go, burying himself with a loud, desperate grunt, shaking as he cums inside you. His body trembles over yours, chest heaving, arms trembling, lips pressed to your cheek.

And then—it’s quiet.

Just the sound of your breathing. His heartbeat. Your fingers softly stroking his back.

He whispers your name like a prayer. Kisses your temple. Brushes your hair off your face with shaking hands.

“You okay?” he asks again.

You smile, blissed out, sore, full.

“I’ve never been better.”

He grins—wide, boyish, Clark Kent again. “I was gentle, right?”

You nod, laughing softly. “You were perfect.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[thenanamis-deactivated20251229]

“DID YOU JUST…?”

— when you squirt for the first time, and they’re the reason why

i tried something.... don't know if it's up to the mark or not... enjoy if you can :p

KENTO NANAMI

He had you in his lap — full weight, cock deep, legs spread open over his thighs as he fucked up into you with slow, brutal control. One arm around your waist, the other gripping your chin to keep your eyes on him.

"No squirming. You take it like a big girl."

And you tried. You really did.

But the angle, the pressure, the growling in your ear — it built until your body snapped without warning, a slick, helpless burst gushing down his thighs as your mouth fell open in a silent scream.

He froze.

Then looked down. Then up.

And grinned.

"Oh… that’s new." His voice dropped lower. "Did I just make you squirt?"

You nodded, dazed. He pulled you down hard on his cock again.

"We’re not stopping until I feel that again. Twice. Maybe three."

SATORU GOJO

You were sobbing, face-down in the mattress, arms shaking, ass up, Satoru behind you — shirt still on, cock pounding mercilessly into your soaked cunt.

"That’s it, baby. Cry into the sheets. You wanted this rough, didn’t you?"

But you didn’t expect the wave of pressure building so deep it hurt — until you gasped, clenched, and suddenly—

You exploded.

Not a climax. Not just a moan.

A full-body release, soaking the bed, spraying across his abs and thighs as your legs buckled.

He stopped.

Stared.

Then broke into a full-on, breathless laugh.

"Holy shit—" He slapped your ass. "You squirted. From me? God, I’m a fuckin’ legend."

You whimpered, still twitching.

"C’mere. Let’s see how many more times we can get that messy little pussy to gush for me."

SUGURU GETO

He had you bent over the couch. Face down. Hair in his fist. His cock buried to the base, dragging that spot deep inside with every grinding thrust.

"One more, baby. Give me one more. I can feel it in the way you’re clenching."

You opened your mouth to tell him you couldn’t—

But it hit you like lightning.

A raw cry escaped your lips as your body jerked, and suddenly you were soaking the cushions, slick pouring down your thighs, walls spasming around him.

He froze.

Blinking. Breathing hard.

"You’ve never done that before."

It wasn’t a question.

He turned you around, stared down at the mess between your legs, then kissed you rough.

"I want to see that again. Right now. No excuses."

TOJI FUSHIGURO

He was ruining you.

One leg over his shoulder, one hand on your throat, his cock hammering into your soaked cunt like he was angry — deep, brutal, relentless.

"Fucked you dumb already, haven’t I? Thought you could handle it."

And then—something inside snapped.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream. You just burst, hot slick gushing from your cunt like it had a mind of its own.

Toji stopped mid-thrust.

Looked down.

Then laughed darkly.

"Oh. You dirty fuckin’ girl." He grinned like a devil.

"No one else gets to see this. You hear me? This mess is mine."

CHOSO KAMO

It was supposed to be slow. Soft. He wanted to take care of you.

But the way your hips rolled? The way your thighs clenched?

He snapped.

Now he had you on your back, knees pushed to your chest, cock sliding deep and hard, forehead pressed to yours.

"Aughhhh.... can’t stop," he gasped. "Feels too good. Mmhhhh..."

You both cried out at the same time.

You clenched, twitched — and soaked him.

A messy, wet burst that covered his abs, his cock, the sheets beneath you.

Choso froze. Eyes wide.Breathing heavy.

"Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, breathless.

His cheeks went red, and then his lips parted, completely awed.

"You squirted… for me?"

He kissed your forehead, then slowly slid back in, whispering, "Let me try again."

RYOMEN SUKUNA

He had you tied up. Ankles to the bedposts. Wrists above your head.

His cock? Already buried deep.

"I know you can take it woman."

And he fucked you hard. Fast. With every ounce of aggression he could muster. Your tears, your begging — they only spurred him on.

Then suddenly—

You screamed. And gushed.

A thick, hot spurt soaked the sheets under you.

He paused. For once, speechless.

Then— a grin. A growl.

"You desperate little thing."

He slapped your thigh and fucked back in hard, making it wetter, sloppier, filthier.

"That was mine. You’ll do it again, or I’ll fuck it out of you."

[clvdheart]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

this is my first oneshot and first post! hope you enjoy :)

Title: “Heat Vision”

Synopsis: Your apartment, dim golden lighting, the city humming quietly outside, and Clark freshly returned from saving a crumbling bridge. You didn’t expect him this late. You didn’t expect him to look at you like this either…

Warnings, rough dom clark, unprotected sex

word count: 1188

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hear the soft whoosh before the knock. That’s how it always is with him—he’s quiet when he wants to be. But when you open the door, he doesn’t say a word. Just stands there with his broad chest rising and falling slowly under a torn, soot-smudged white shirt, the top buttons undone, collar wide. One sleeve clings to his bicep like it’s scared to let go. His glasses are missing.

Your breath hitches. His eyes flicker down your body—slow, methodical, hungry.

“Rough night?” you ask, trying not to stare at the bruise blooming across his collarbone or the sheen of sweat still clinging to his temple.

He steps inside without a word, closing the door behind him with one hand, the lock clicking softly. His other hand? Already tugging at the ruined buttons of his shirt.

“Needed to see you,” he says. Voice low. Like thunder from a distance.

He shrugs off the shirt, and it falls to the floor. The golden lamplight sculpts every curve of his chest, the swell of his shoulders, the deep dip of his abs. His muscles twitch—controlled, but restless. Like he’s holding something back.

“I was just about to shower,” you murmur, stepping back.

His lip twitches. “You won’t need it.”

He’s on you before your next breath—one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your hip. His kiss is brutal. No hesitation, no gentle teasing. Just heat. Fire. His lips crash into yours like he’s starving, like your mouth is the only thing tethering him to this planet.

You claw at his back, trying to pull him impossibly closer, and he groans—low, guttural, the kind of sound that makes your knees buckle. But he catches you easily, lifting you as if you weigh nothing, pressing you hard against the wall.

Your thighs wrap around his waist instinctively, and that’s when you feel it.

He’s hard. So hard.

Thick, heavy, massive against your center, still confined behind his jeans, but clearly already pulsing for you. You gasp, a soft, stuttering sound that makes him grin against your jaw.

“You feel that?” he whispers, hot breath against your skin. “You’ve been driving me crazy all day. Could hear your heartbeat from five blocks away.”

“Clark—”

“I wanted to be gentle.” He presses his hips forward, and your head falls back with a soft moan. “I tried to be. But you make it so hard.”

Your back hits the wall again as he grinds up into you, slow and devastating. You can feel the zipper of his jeans teasing against your thin shorts, and it sends sparks straight through your core. His hands travel—down your sides, over your thighs, gripping the underside like he’s claiming every inch. You feel like clay in his palms. Fragile, moldable. And he’s sculpting nothing short of ruin.

He peels your shirt off without effort—one smooth pull, as if the fabric was nothing—and his lips find your collarbone, then lower, and lower. His mouth is hot. Too hot. His powers are slipping. His restraint is unraveling.

“I’ve been holding back,” he murmurs, sucking a mark into the swell of your chest. “You don’t know how much. But tonight…”

His teeth graze your nipple, and you jolt, moaning his name, fingers diving into his thick curls. He hums in approval, swirling his tongue slowly, torturously, until your breathing breaks into pieces.

“Tonight, I need you to take it.”

He carries you to the bedroom without ever breaking contact—hands full of your thighs, mouth devouring your neck. The second your back hits the mattress, he’s standing at the foot of the bed, eyes glowing the faintest red, watching you like prey.

Then, he peels his jeans down.

Good God.

He’s thick. Long. Veins running up the shaft like a promise, tip already slick and flushed dark. You clench around nothing, thighs pressing together in desperate anticipation. His smirk deepens when he sees it.

“You gonna be good for me?” he asks, slowly stroking himself. His hand looks almost too small wrapped around that size. He pumps once, twice, eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I’ll be so good.”

He’s over you in a flash—faster than your breath can catch. He pulls your legs apart and buries himself between them, tongue flicking over your inner thigh, teasing the edges of your soaked panties with his nose.

“So wet already,” he murmurs. “All for me?”

You nod, breathless, fingers tangling in the sheets.

He laughs—low and dark—and slides your panties to the side, exposing you to the cool air.

His tongue is devastating. Deep, slow licks that have your back arching and hands flying to grip his hair. He groans against you like you taste better than oxygen, like your pleasure is all he craves.

“Clark, I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he growls, mouth glistening, voice almost feral. “You will.”

Two thick fingers slide into you, and the stretch is unreal. You’re already so full, and it’s not even all of him. He works you open slowly, lovingly, but with that same simmering urgency.

“Ready?” he asks, settling between your legs.

You barely manage a nod.

When he pushes in, it’s slow. Excruciating. A stretch you feel in your soul. Inch by inch, he fills you, and by the time he’s all the way in, you’re breathless, clutching at his shoulders like you’ll fly apart otherwise.

“You’re so deep,” you gasp.

He bites his lip, sweat glistening on his forehead. “You’re so tight.”

He starts to move.

Deep, punishing strokes that make your vision blur. Your hands claw down his back, and he groans, hips slamming into yours harder. Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs and fills it with his name.

The bed creaks beneath his force. The headboard taps the wall. And still, he doesn’t stop.

“Say my name,” he pants, lips brushing your ear.

“Clark,” you sob, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. “Clark—don’t stop—”

“Good girl.”

The words are a growl in your ear as he slams in deeper, faster, grinding against your sweet spot like he was built to ruin you.

Which, let’s be honest… he was.

Your orgasm hits like a freight train. You scream his name, body trembling as you clamp around him. He groans—loud, primal—and keeps going, chasing his own release like a man possessed.

He spills into you with a broken gasp, head buried in your neck, holding you like you’re his whole world. His body shudders with the aftershocks, and he stays inside you, not pulling out, not letting go.

Minutes pass before he finally looks up, brushing the hair from your face.

“I broke the headboard,” he whispers with a sheepish smile.

You laugh—shaky and ruined. “You’re buying a new one.”

He laughs. “You okay?” he asks, voice soft again, gentle.

You nod, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Never better.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧