Hunger for Me
clark kent x f!reader
summary: Clark Kent discovers he likes that one nickname a little too much—based on this ask, gimme those million dollars, hehehe.
cw: smut (MDNI, 18+), (brief) handjob (m rec), oral (m rec), daddy kink, kinda sub Clark but only cause he loves his girl sm that he’d do anything for her, bratty(ish) reader, public filthiness, unspecified but legal age difference.
wc: 2.2k
a/n: lowkey have to admit I don’t usually see clark with a daddy kink, but this was still sm fun to write! hope you enjoy!
now playing: Father Figure – George Michael
He was doing it on purpose—teasing you with gentle touches that lasted just a few seconds, exchanging looks over mulled wine and Christmas cookies, whispering against the shell of your ear as you passed him.
The Daily Planet’s annual Christmas party was in full swing, Michael Bublé’s voice filling the room, while everyone shimmered under twinkling lights. Clark kept glancing at you, not at all subtle. He’d turn to you briefly, then leave you standing on your own just to give you a chance to see how his shirt stretched tightly across his back. He knew exactly what he was doing—the way those rolled-up sleeves affected you. Just a glimpse of his strong underarms, muscles shifting as he shook hands with coworkers or passed out champagne—you felt your panties dampen.
You could turn this around, you knew you could—make his slacks tighter with a few well-chosen words or by bending over just enough to reveal the curve of your breasts, barely hidden by your dress. Honestly, you were surprised HR hadn’t caught on yet—your low-cut bustline did little to cover your curves.
Maybe you’d been lucky enough to stay under their radar since you were the youngest and newest reporter. And that’s wherein your problem lies—why you and Clark kept your relationship secret.
No one knew for sure. Lois guessed, and Jimmy made the occasional joke, winking pretty blatantly, but no one asked outright. So neither of you confirmed anything.
With your hand hovering over the cookie platter, you looked around for Clark again. Cat and Perry stood across from you, heads tucked together, probably gossiping. Lois was busy on her phone while Jimmy once again attracted a group of women who worked on the floor below. They chatted eagerly—lip gloss sparkling, lashes fluttering. That man was a total chick magnet. Lucky for you.
You weren’t the only one noticing how absorbed your friends were in their own conversations. You felt his breath on your neck before you even heard him.
“Hey,” he murmured. Clark’s deep, raspy voice sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned back a little, your back brushing against his chest.
“Hi,” you replied, still watching the crowd. No one paid attention to you two, but you couldn’t suppress the flutter in your chest—the thrill of almost getting caught.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, his hands twitching slightly. His fingers traced the dip of your waist, feeling the satin fabric and, more importantly, your shape underneath. Your breath hitched slightly, and even though you weren’t facing Clark, you could tell he was smirking.
“What? Am I not allowed to compliment my girl?” he asked in a low, teasing tone, making your skin prickle.
He leaned in a bit more, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your head.
God, he must have known how much it killed you that he was so close, yet you couldn’t touch him the way you wanted.
“Not here,” you whispered. Turning your head, you met his eyes over your shoulder, and your resolve nearly left you. He was close enough that you could count every eyelash—those you secretly envied. No man more handsome than Clark walked the Earth, and every freckle on his perfect face made your knees weak.
“C’mon,” he whispered, “You look like an angel—” he inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, “—Gosh, you smell like one, too.”
His hand slid around your waist, pulling you against the noticeable bulge in his dress pants.
Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively pushed back against him, making him twitch. The slickness pooling in your panties had him groaning—he could’ve smelled you from miles away.
“You’re killing me with that dress, you know?” Even his dirtiest words sounded desperate, the soft roll of his hips and his breathy tone revealing just how needy he was beneath that smug facade.
“You don’t like it?” you played along, a ditzy smile curling your lips.
“’Course I do. I wanna rip that dress off of you and- and get lost in you until neither of us can walk,” he confessed, lowering his volume towards the end of the sentence. The shiver that ran through you made him groan, his hips twitching against yours. “Dressin’ like that— ” he went on huskily, “—that’s just sinful, honey.”
You rolled your eyes, the low lighting catching in the glitter of your eyeshadow. “Since when do you tell me what to wear?” you taunted, cocking your head challengingly.
“You know I’d never do that,” he mumbled earnestly, fingers digging deeper into your hips until you were sure you’d still feel them tomorrow, “I’m just sayin’ maybe you should save those outfits for my eyes only.”
You huffed in mock-annoyance. You’d never admit it, but nothing was more attractive than when Clark let his more possessive side shine.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you replied, “Keeping me all to yourself, hmm? Make me dress for you, or better yet – dress me however you want? Isn’t that right, Daddy?”
“Jeez,” he whispered. His eyes closed as his cheeks reddened. The visible bobble of his Adam’s apple had your thighs pressing together. Seeing him struggle to keep it together made you want to push his limits even more. “You got quite the mouth on you,” Clark continued. Once again, his hips tilted so that you felt his hard-on quiver, rubbing into the plush of your ass.
“Wanna see what else that mouth can do?” you teased.
His self-control snapped.
Warm fingers moved from your waist to your upper arm, and before you knew it, he was dragging you out of the busy foyer. Despite his urgency, he remained gentle as he guided you past your colleagues who were smirking to themselves. The hallway was empty, and you half thought he might not make it to a more private area before he had to get his lips on you.
His muscles quivered with restraint as he pushed you into the next best coat closet, then pulled the door shut behind him with a slam. You turned around with a cocky smile on your face, rather proud of yourself, but before a smug comment could spill from you, he already had you caged between his arms.
The crash of his mouth against yours almost knocked your head into the storage shelf, but Clark reacted quickly. He shielded the back of your skull with his large palm – and he didn’t even flinch at the impact.
He devoured you, swapping spit vigorously, and neither of you cared how messy it got. Your hands slipped down to his hips in an instant, pulling the carefully pressed shirt out of its neatly tucked away place. Greedily, you let your fingers drift over the hard muscles of his abdomen until he groaned into your mouth.
Clark only pulled away from the kiss once he worried that you weren’t getting enough air. Despite his superhuman lungs, he was panting, pupils blown so wide that his pretty blue irises were just a thin ring around an unbelievably circle of darkness.
“Baby,” he whined, “Please.”
God, he begged so beautifully. The gloss in his eyes, the trembling of his lower lip, the strain on his voice – it all went right between your thighs.
“Please what?” you replied. You knew exactly what he wanted – you could read him filth even on your worst day – but you wanted to hear him say it.
His eyebrows knitted closer, the words tangling on his tongue. Clark’s ability to speak always failed him once he got like this, desperate and needy for your touch. As much as he loved bringing you all the pleasure in the world, he grew oh-so weak at a single touch of yours. The good manners instilled in him by Ma and Pa Kent made it hard for him to say the filth on his mind aloud, but his lips parted nonetheless.
“I want your- your mouth,” he whispered. Shame directed all the blood flow – well, the one not needed downstairs at least – to his cheeks. He looked down at you, wispy curls coiling even tighter due to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“This mouth?” you asked sweetly before you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw. The shudder that rocked his body chased goosebumps up his arms. He nodded weakly, a quiet noise rumbling in his chest. He tightened his hold around you, pressing you deeper against him in an attempt to ease the pressure in his pants.
As your lips descended down his neck, your finger simultaneously got to work on undoing each button of his shirt. His skin emitted so much heat that no normal human would have been able to withstand it, and once again, Clark had worked himself up so much that he threatened to fall apart just underneath your fingertips.
Once the last button was popped, you pushed away the fabric to reveal his chiseled torso. You continued the sloppy downwards trail of your mouth with hot, searing kisses that had Clark whimpering your name. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, like he was tempted to press you further down. But he would never dare to do that.
You dropped to your knees all on your own accord until you were level with his crotch, and Clark’s finger slipped into your hair, kneading your scalp with familiar ease. Within seconds, you had him freed from the restraints of his pants and boxers. His cock was hard, painfully so. The tip flushed in the prettiest pink, with precum leaking in translucent droplets.
With your thumb, you smeared through the wet mess, spreading it down his shaft. Clark yelped softly, and his pelvis drew forward as you continued to work him until he thought he might explode from how tightly wound he was.
“Sweetness,” he gasped, “Please- no- no teasing, I can’t take it tonight.”
You smiled up at him, all innocent, with your eyes wide and cheeks warmed. “C’mon, Daddy,” you riled him up, “Let me play a little.”
He shook his head in desperation, but he could never say no to you.
You weren’t intending to be cruel, so you kept your torture short. The first press of your lips to his tip had him moaning your name so loud you feared someone might hear. But the taste of his precum chased away all worries. Salty and musky and so Clark, it bloomed across your tongue.
You parted your lips, then wrapped them around the thickness of him. Keeping your eyes on him, you began to bob your head ever so slightly. Clark’s fingers tightened in your hair – not in an attempt to showcase his strength but because he had to somehow anchor himself in reality. Tiny, involuntary thrusts had him rocking further into your throat. Once he realized what he was doing, he tried to pull out to ease the strain on you, but you followed him with your mouth.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he babbled breathlessly, “I’m sor – ah—” His apology was cut short by your soft humming around him. The vibrations travelled through his shaft, resulting in even more twitches.
He never lasted long once you got your mouth on him, but he was holding out as much as he could. While more and more of his thick cock disappeared down your throat, his fingers tightened in your hair. He caressed you like it might keep him in this realm.
Your favorite thing about giving Clark head was the breathy sounds he made once he got close. A choked growl grew in his chest, the prettiest bit of evidence of his pleasure. You took him deeper until you had to swallow around him, your throat stretching to accommodate his thick girth. His musky taste, almost a little spicy, spread throughout your mouth until he was the only thing on your mind.
The pulsing of his cock gave away how close he was before he could even tell you. “Sweetheart,” he choked out, “I’m – ah – oh golly, you—”
Only Superman himself could have kept you from letting Clark come inside your mouth, but he was a little busy. With one deep groan, he emptied himself all over your tongue. His climaxes always lasted long, shudder after shudder of translucent, pearly liquid coating whatever hole you offered him.
You pulled off of him so as not to overstimulate him. Clark sank against the wall, and you weren’t sure which one of you was panting harder.
“Jeez, my sweet, sweet girl,” he rasped out, “You – I – oh golly.”
At a loss for words, he slumped into himself. Your heart filled with warmth as you saw the wide smile spread across his face.
“You okay there, Kent?” you asked softly, your thumb brushing across his cheek. He leaned into your touch in an instant. The speedy thrum of his pulse against your skin made you match his smile.
“Gosh, yes,” he replied, “More than okay.”
He reached out to pull you in for a messy kiss. In an instant, his energy levels seemed to skyrocket, and he pushed you into the neighboring wall, his hands already working on the zipper of your dress.
“Your turn, darlin’.”
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