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oneshot

corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend both work for the daily planet. yourself being a photographer. your boss insists you find a good photo of superman. luckily for you, he so happens to be your boyfriend.

tags: 18+ , MDNI , NSFW , smut , cowgirl , yearning clark , creampie , p in v

a/n: i liked this one a lot

theme: redbone

"Clark, please, just like three pictures?" You tugged on his sleeve, voice soft but insistent. "No one can ever get a clear shot of Superman. The paper's running that 'Hero of the Year' feature next month and all we have is blurry cellphone garbage. One good candid set and Perry will finally stop breathing down my neck."

Clark's cheeks went pink the second you said the name. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to smile too wide or blush too hard.

"You know I can't just… pose," he mumbled. "It feels… unnatural."

You scooted closer, sliding your hand up his arm until your fingers brushed the soft black tee he was wearing.

"I'm not asking Superman. I'm asking my boyfriend, who happens to be the strongest, fastest, most ridiculously handsome man in Metropolis, to let me take a few quick candids. For the paper. For journalistic integrity." You batted your lashes, knowing exactly what that did to him. "Please, baby? It'll be fast. Then we can go right back to this crap."

He let out a shy little laugh that turned into a nervous exhale. "You're impossible." But he stood up anyway.

You grabbed your camera, the good one, not the Daily Planet issue, and waited for him on the open space between the couch and the windows.

Clark waddled to the bedroom, tussling with his hero costume, before revealing the familiar blue and red suit hugging every perfect line of his body. His boots hit the hardwood floor as he emerged from the dark hallway. The red cape hung loose down his back, the big gold "S" gleaming in the low lamplight. His hair was already slightly mussed from pulling the suit on, and without the glasses his blue eyes looked almost too intense.

Clark shifted his weight, suddenly awkward in the bright overhead light of his living room. "Where do you want me?"

"Well it's going to be an interview type candid, so sit on the couch." You stood up from the place you were sitting on, and motioned for him to take your spot.

Clark nodded, a shy little smile tugging at his lips as he moved past you. He lowered himself onto the couch with that carefulness he always used when he was trying not to break anything. The cushions dipped under his weight, and the suit stretched deliciously across his broad chest and thick thighs as he settled back.

You stared at the way he subtly spread his legs, before catching yourself and backing up to line up the shot. You raised the camera, heart beating a little too fast for what was happening.

Click.

First shot: him looking slightly to the side, thoughtful, the hero listening. The lamplight kissed the sharp line of his jaw and the strong column of his throat.

Click.

Second shot: you told him to lean forward a little, elbows on his knees, like he was about to answer a serious question. The position pulled the blue fabric tight over his shoulders and made the red trunks sit even lower on his hips.

Just then, Clark let out a shy chuckle, letting his head fall into his hands. "This is so... silly."

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you at the sight of him. Big, powerful Superman with his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with that adorably embarrassed chuckle.

"It's not silly," you said, lowering the camera just enough to meet his eyes when he peeked through his fingers. "You have no idea how good you look right now."

He rubbed the back of his neck again. "You always say that," he mumbled, voice soft. "But sitting here in the suit on our couch while you take pictures… it feels ridiculous. Like I'm playing dress-up or something."

You stepped closer, still between his spread knees, and gently pulled his hands away from his face so you could see those beautiful blue eyes. "It's not dress-up. It's you." You placed your palm flat to his chest, pushing him back against the couch. "Now come on, lean back again for me."

He looked up at you, neck craned to look at your face. His eyes looked so soft, so pleading. He looked adorable, and sad. Like a puppy.

Without thinking, you raised the camera.

Click.

Clark blinked. "Wh-What was that for?"

You smiled down at him, slow and warm, flipping through the camera's gallery to find the picture you just took.

"That one was just for me," you murmured, voice dropping softer. "Because you look so sweet right now." You raised the camera to look at the photo closer. "And you look hot too. Like super hot I wanna do not so nice things to you on this couch."

He shifted on the couch, the suit pulling tight across his chest as he tried, and failed, to hide how much your words affected him. "I'm not… I mean, gosh, you always do this to me," he whispered.

You smirked. "Okay, just like one more." You backed up again, aligning yourself on one knee to get more depth. "Sit up right."

Clark hesitated, slowly sitting upright. He crossed his leg over his knee, one hand settling just over his crotch.

You paused, looking up from behind the camera lens. "What are you doing?"

He blinked, "I'm... sitting upright?"

You sighed. "Uncross your legs, I need one of you just looking relaxed."

Clark's blush deepened instantly, spreading down his neck. He uncrossed his legs with a shy little nod. He tried to settle his hands casually on his thighs. And when you looked back into the camera, you could see how he was obviously tenting in his red trunks.

You swallowed hard, lips parting for a second before speaking. "Are... are you hard?"

Clark froze on the couch, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. His hand twitched where it rested on his thigh, quickly covering the area.

"I… um…" He let out a nervous little laugh. "Yeah… gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to… happen so fast. It's just, you're kneeling there, looking up at me through the camera like that, and saying those things about wanting to do not-so-nice stuff… it's a lot. You're really pretty when you get that focused look, and I-" He cut himself off with a shaky exhale, thighs shifting. "I can't help it. I start thinking about you and I just… get like this."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a flutter mixing with the low heat bubbling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but your fingers trembled slightly on the camera as you kept it raised,

You bit your lip, voice coming out softer than you intended. "It's… okay. I mean, it's not bad. It's just… really obvious." Your gaze flicked down again despite yourself.

You swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper, cheeks flaming. "Can I… take a picture of this too? Just for us. Not for the paper. I want to remember how you look right now…"

He nodded so fast it was almost comical. "Yes, of course."

You slowly raised the camera again, only letting his lower half be seen, focused in on the visible strain in his trunks.

Click.

You stared at the gallery a second too long, heat flooding your face. Your own shyness made your pulse race, but you couldn't look away.

"Does it… look bad? I feel so exposed like this." He kept his thighs parted for you, blue eyes fixed on your face with that heartbreaking, yearning look.

"It doesn't look bad," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks were burning. "It looks… really good. Really big. I can see everything."

You lowered the camera just enough to meet his eyes. "Can... can you take off the suit, just below here?" You motioned with both hands, slicing horizontally just below the greater trochanter of the femur.

He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and gave you the tiniest nod. "O-okay," he whispered, voice low. "If that's what you want."

He shifted on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. With careful hands he peeled the blue fabric downward, slowly sliding the suit past his narrow hips and thick thighs. The red trunks came with it just enough to stay on, but the motion left the entire upper half of his body exposed. Powerful arms, the deep V of his hips, the solid planes of his chest, and most importantly, his cock.

It sprang up fully now that nothing was restraining it, thick and heavy, flushed dark with arousal. Clark's breathing had gone shallow, his chest rising and falling faster.

He looked devastating like this. Superman unzipped, sitting on your couch with his thick, leaking cock completely bare and throbbing in the open air while he watched you with soft, pleading blue eyes.

You stared, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it with his super-hearing.

"Gosh…" Clark breathed, shifting his hips. The movement made his cock bob. "I feel so… exposed. But the way you're looking at me right now… it's making it worse. Or better. I can't tell anymore."

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the slick ache between your own thighs. "It's… really pretty. You're really pretty like this, Clark."

He let out a soft, embarrassed whimper and spread his legs a little wider without being asked, offering himself to your gaze. "I like when you look at me. Even when it makes me this hard. Especially when it makes me this hard."

You raised the camera again, hands still shaky.

Click.

The shot framed his bare cock perfectly. Thick, glistening, resting heavy against his abs while the blue suit bunched around his powerful thighs.

"I want you... to touch yourself. For me." You whispered, just barely peeking from behind the camera lens.

He breathed, voice shaky and sweet. "You really want that?"

You nodded, too shy to speak again right away.

Clark swallowed hard, then gave you the smallest, most earnest nod. "Okay… for you. Anything for you."

His big hand moved slowly, almost hesitantly, down his body. He wrapped his fingers around the thick base of his cock, and the moment he touched himself a soft, embarrassed whimper slipped out of him. His grip was gentle at first as he gave one slow stroke from base to tip, spreading the slick pre-come down his shaft.

"Oh…" he gasped, hips twitching upward into his own hand. "It feels… different when you're watching."

You kept the camera raised, but your own breathing had gone shallow.

Click. Click.

You clicked once, then again, capturing the way his large hand looked wrapped around his cock, the way his abs tensed with every slow pump.

Clark's eyes never left your face. His cheeks were flushed dark red, neck burning, but he didn't stop.

"Like this?" he whispered, voice hoarse.

You bit your lip hard, trying to ignore the insistent throb between your own legs. "Yes… just like that. You look so good, Clark. So hard for me."

He let out another soft whimper, the sound so needy it made your stomach flip.

You lowered the camera slightly, unable to resist reaching out with your free hand. Your fingers brushed his thigh first, then slid higher until they rested just below where his own hand was working his cock. Clark shuddered at the light touch, his strokes faltering for a second.

"Keep going," you whispered, shy. "Don't stop touching yourself."

Click.

You lowered the camera, and let your other hand reach up higher, replacing Clark's own hand with your own.

"Can I…?" you whispered, voice barely there, cheeks burning hotter than ever.

Clark's breath hitched. His blue eyes were wide and glassy. He nodded so eagerly. "Yes," he breathed, voice cracking softly. "Please. I want your hand instead of mine."

You gently pried his fingers away and wrapped your own around the thick, heated length of him. He was even hotter than you expected.

Clark's head tipped back against the couch with a broken, sweet moan. "Oh… gosh, baby…"

The sound went straight between your legs. You tried to ignore the heavy throb of your own arousal, but it was impossible with him spread out like this.

You angled your camera back up again, capturing your hand, fresh set of french tip nails carefully stroking him base to tip.

Click.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing even as heat flooded your face. You kept stroking him, slow pulls that made wet, obscene sounds fill the apartment every time your hand moved over the slick head.

"You're… leaking so much," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. You twisted your wrist gently at the top, letting your nails graze lightly along the sensitive underside, and Clark shuddered hard.

"Ah, sweetheart," he gasped, head falling back against the couch again. "That feels… really good. Your hand is so soft and warm and-" He was cut off by his own whimper when you rose to your feet, slowly easing your touch off him.

You set the camera down softly on the coffee table, and rustled with the button of your jeans.

Clark's head lifted instantly, blue eyes widening as he watched you. "Sweetheart…?" His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper. "Are you…?"

You didn't answer with words. Heat burned across your cheeks as you pushed your jeans down your hips, letting them pool at your ankles before stepping out of them. You climbed onto the couch, straddling his thick thighs carefully. You reached behind you, and picked up the camera again.

You sat just on his thighs, his cock positioned right at your pubic symphysis. Your panties were still on, but you'd probably soaked your way through them at this point.

You lifted the camera with slightly shaky hands, angling the lens down to capture the filthy sight. Your soaked panties stretched over your pussy, Clark's thick, leaking cock pressed flush against the damp fabric.

Click.

You bit your lip hard, trying to steady your breathing even as fresh heat flooded your core. You rocked your hips slowly, letting his thick length slide back and forth against your soaked panties, the friction teasing both of you mercilessly.

Click.

Clark moaned softly, a needy, embarrassed sound that went straight between your legs. His hands finally settled on your hips, gentle but trembling with restraint.

You finally hooked your fingers into the waistband of your soaked panties and tugged them down your thighs, kicking them off completely.

Click.

You set the camera on the arm of the couch, no longer able to focus on anything but the feeling of his thick cock sliding through your folds. Bracing both hands on his chest, you lifted your hips just enough to line him up with your entrance.

Then you sank down.

The stretch was immediate and perfect. But so intense you fell over onto him, chin on his shoulder, trembling on top of him. You whimpered into his ear, "Clark... you're so big. I- can't..." In all fairness, you were not used to being the one on top.

Clark's big hands instantly sliding up your back to hold you gently. "Shh, sweetheart… it's okay," he whispered, voice so incredibly tender. His lips brushed your temple. "You're doing so good for me."

He stayed perfectly still, buried halfway inside your tight heat, letting you adjust.

"It's fine, I just need a second..." You whimpered again, face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling the clean, warm scent of him. "I want you all the way inside," you admitted softly, voice muffled against his skin. "But… it's a lot like this."

Clark pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head. "Then let me help you, baby. Just a little." His hands simply guided you, slowly easing you down the rest of the way until your ass met the bunched fabric of his suit and he was buried to the hilt inside you.

You both moaned out in sync, Clark hissing through his teeth, and yourself burying your face into his neck.

"Gosh… baby," Clark whispered. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you close while he stayed perfectly still, letting you adjust. "You're so tight… so warm."

You whimpered again, lips brushing his neck. You lifted your head just enough to look at him. His face was flushed dark red, blue eyes glassy and locked on yours. You braced your hands on his broad chest, the gold and red "S" emblem under your palms, and started to move. Slow, careful rolls of your hips that dragged his thick cock along every sensitive spot inside you.

Clark's head tipped back against the couch, a sweet, needy whimper escaping him. "Yes… just like that. You're riding me so well, baby." You rode him deeper, a little faster, the bunched fabric of his suit rubbing against the backs of your thighs with every downward stroke.

Clark's hands slid down to your waist, holding you tenderly as he whispered against your ear. "You're so beautiful like this… taking my cock. Taking Superman's cock."

You moaned into his neck, hips rolling faster as the pleasure built. "Who knew... Superman was so generous to his fans."

Clark let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "Gosh… don't say that," he breathed, cheeks burning as he tilted his head to nuzzle against your hair. "You're not just a fan. You're my girl."

You braced your hands more firmly on his chest and started riding him with deeper rolls, lifting until only the thick head remained inside you, then sinking back down slowly, letting him feel every tight inch of your walls dragging along his cock.

Clark's head fell back against the couch with a sweet, broken moan. "Oh… baby, yes. Just like that. You're taking me so deep. I can feel you squeezing me every time you come down. It's- gosh, it's so good."

His hands slid up your sides, then back down to grip your hips with careful reverence. "You're so wet for me… I can hear it every time you move."

You whimpered, hips snapping a little faster, the pleasure coiling tighter in your belly. The bold "S" under your hands a constant reminder of exactly who you were fucking. Your sweet, dorky boyfriend who also happened to be the strongest man alive.

Clark's hands trembled on your hips as he fought to stay still for you, eyes never leaving your face. "Baby… you're getting close, aren't you?" he whispered. "Please don't hold back."

You buried your face in his neck again, hips moving faster, chasing that building heat as Clark held you close, whispering sweet, filthy encouragement against your ear.

"Clark…" you gasped, voice cracking. Your hips snapped faster, chasing the edge that was rapidly approaching.

Clark's hands slid up your back, one tangling gently in your hair while the other held your waist, helping you keep the rhythm. "You feel so perfect," he panted against your ear. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."

The coil inside you snapped. You cried out softly into his neck as your body twitched with the pulsing waves of your orgasm. Your thighs trembled violently against his suited hips, your heated walls clamping and squeezing his length. "Ohhh, fuuuck-" You whined right into Clark's ear.

Just as you slowed, Clark's grip on your hips tightened and he started to move with you. Short, sharp thrusts upward that met your ass. "Oh- sweetheart," he panted against your ear. "I can't- I can't hold back much longer."

You whimpered at the new intensity, your sensitive walls still fluttering around him as he fucked up into you from below. You moaned into his neck, nodding frantically as you rocked down to meet his thrusts. "Yes- Clark, please. Come inside me."

With a soft, broken moan of your name, Clark buried himself to the hilt one last time. His cock pulsed hard inside you as he came, thick, hot spurts flooding deep into your pussy. He held you tightly against his chest through every twitch and shudder. Ensuring you couldn't escape, not that you wanted to anyways.

Clark's arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand gently stroking your back as he pressed soft, reverent kisses to your shoulder and temple.

"You okay?" he whispered. His cheeks were still flushed, hair tousled. "Was it too much? I tried to be careful… I didn't want to hurt you."

You smiled against his neck, still catching your breath, and kissed the warm skin there. "It was perfect," you murmured. "My sweet, generous Superman."

Clark let out a shy little laugh. "You're the only fan Superman would give his special services to."

You couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped you. "Lucky me," you teased gently.

oneshot

corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend decide to spice things up in bed.

tags: 18+ , MDNI , NSFW , smut , cowgirl , cuffs , yearning clark , creampie , p in v

a/n: sorry for my absence!

theme: freak

Clark was intently staring and simultaneously typing away on his laptop. The living room in his apartment was dimly lit by one warm lamp that sat next to him. Though, the bright light from his laptop screen was surely enough to illuminate everything anyways.

You peeked up from your phone screen, watching the way his brow furrowed while he worked. He was wearing something as plain as possible, sweats, a little too snug white tee, and fluffy socks, ones that matched the ones you were wearing too.

You sat just across from him on a single sofa arm chair, knees pulled close to your chest. Something about the way he was literally doing nothing stirred something deep inside you. He was adorable when he was focused.

You set your phone down and stood, padding over quietly across the hardwood. Clark's eyes flicked up the second you moved.

"Hey," he said softly, voice warm like always. "You okay? Need anything?"

You didn't answer with words. Instead you climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs. His hands automatically settled on your waist, thumbs brushing nervous little circles over your shirt.

"Hi," you murmured, inches from his lips.

"Hi there," he said back, shy as ever.

You kissed him slow and deep, tasting the faint sweetness of the coffee he'd had earlier. Clark melted instantly, a needy sound vibrating in his chest as his fingers flexed against your sides.

When you pulled back just enough to speak, your voice came out a whisper. "I've been watching you work… and all I can think about is riding you right now."

He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and let out a soft, shaky little laugh. "R-right now?” he stammered. "Gosh, I- I mean, yeah. Yeah, absolutely. Whatever you want, baby."

You grinned and slid off his lap, taking his hand to tug him toward the bedroom.

Once you had him in the bedroom, you pushed him gently onto the bed. Clark sat on the edge first, then scooted back when you gave him that look. He watched you with those big blue eyes, nervous and eager all at once, as you pulled the soft leather cuffs from the nightstand drawer.

His breath hitched. "Oh… those?"

"Mhm." You climbed over him, straddling his waist again. "Tonight I want you all to myself. Hands up, Kent."

Clark's cheeks turned red, but he obediently raised his arms, letting you loop the cuffs around his wrists and click them to the metal bed rails. The chain gave him just enough slack to move a little, but not much. He tested them once, lightly, then looked up at you.

"Good boy," you purred, and his stomach fluttered at your praise.

You took your time peeling his shirt off, kissing down his chest as you went. Every little touch made him shiver and whimper. When you tugged his sweats and boxers down, his cock sprang free, slapping his abs. Clark let out a soft whine, hips twitching up instinctively.

"Easy," you teased, wrapping your hand around him and giving one slow stroke. "Look at you… so worked up already."

"Y-Yeah," he gasped, head falling back against the pillow. "Feels so good when you touch me. Please don't stop…"

You stripped yourself next, slow enough to make him watch every inch. His eyes were glued to you, mouth slightly open.

When you were fully naked, you crawled back over him and positioned yourself right above his cock, letting the head brush against your soft folds.

Clark's wrists pulled lightly at the cuffs, the chain rattling. "Baby… please. I need you. I wanna feel you so bad-"

You grabbed the base from under you, lined him up perfectly, and sank down on him slowly.

The sound he made was pure heaven. A sad little whimper. You braced your hands on his chest and started rolling your hips, riding him slow and deep at first. Clark's eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open again like he couldn't bear to miss a second of you on top of him.

You started moving faster, hips rolling in a steady rhythm that had the bed creaking softly beneath you. Clark's breath hitched with every downward slide, his cock stretching you so perfectly it made your toes curl.

"Gosh… you feel incredible," he whined. "So warm and tight around me… I could stay like this forever. Please- keep going just like that."

You reached between your bodies and started circling your clit, and his blue eyes locked onto the movement like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Fuck... 'm gonna come." You moaned, head falling forwards.

Clark's breath caught in a high, whiny keen. "Yes- yes, please- come on me. I wanna feel it so bad. You’re squeezing me so good, gosh- I'm trying to hold back but you feel too amazing-"

Your thighs started to tremble as you rode him harder. Clark was practically vibrating underneath you, wrists pulling at the cuffs, metal groaning faintly under the strain he was trying so hard not to unleash.

The coil in your belly snapped. You cried out, clenching hard around him as your orgasm crashed over you, hips stuttering. Clark's mouth fell open in pure awe as he watched you come undone.

"Oh- oh gosh-" he whimpered, his own hips jerking up desperately. "I feel you- you're pulsing around me- it's so warm and tight- I can't- I can't hold it-"

Right as your climax peaked and your walls fluttered wildly around him, Clark's control finally shattered.

With a sharp metallic creak, the cuffs broke clean apart. His hands flew to your hips instantly, holding you down as he thrust up into you with deep powerful thrusts.

"Oh fuck! Clark!" You cried out, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life.

"Baby- I'm sorry, I couldn't- ahh-!" His voice was high and whiny. He was chasing his own release now, buried so deep inside you that you were seeing stars. "You feel too good- gosh, I'm coming-!"

His head tipped back against the pillow, glasses completely fogged and sliding down his nose, mouth open in a desperate groan. One last hard thrust and he spilled inside you. You cried, still trembling from your own orgasm, nails digging into his shoulders while he rode it out.

He kept moving through it, lazy little rolls of his hips as he emptied himself completely. "So warm… thank you, baby…" Until finally he stilled, chest heaving, arms wrapping around your waist.

Clark's hands stroked slow, soothing circles over your back. He let out a shaky, embarrassed little laugh. "Golly… I really tried to stay cuffed. I swear I did." He tilted his head to look at you, cheeks flushed dark pink, one hand coming up to sheepishly push his glasses back into place. "But when you came like that… I just- I lost it. Couldn't exactly hold back anymore."

You smiled up at him, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. "It was hot as hell, Kent."

He smirked. "Yeah? You’'re not mad I broke them?" He raised one hand up, the cuff link dangling from his wrist.

You laughed softly and kissed him, slow and sweet.

anyways fic dropping soon hang tight....

oneshot

corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

summary: you're one of the new, fresh, and young interns of many that were so lucky enough to be chosen for the Daily Planet. a very cute nerdy reporter catches your hungry eye. but he's unsure if bending a few moral rules is a good idea.

tags: 18+ , MDNI , NSFW , smut , age gap (reader is 22 kent is 35) , power imbalance , yearning clark , creampie , eating out , p in v

a/n: wow what an innocent fic

theme: teachers pet (formally inspired by)

"And this," Perry said, stopping just short of Clark's very own cubicle, arm extended, "Is where you will find your mentors."

Yourself and four other interns crowded together, shy, excited, eager.

Your heart did a ridiculous flip when Clark Kent looked up from his typewriter, yes, he still used one sometimes, the endearing dinosaur, and blinked in genuine surprise. He pointed a finger at himself. "Me?"

Perry didn't even glance back. "And Cat and Lois, and whoever else I forgot."

"Rude!" Jimmy called out from behind his own cubicle.

Perry waved a hand without looking. "Olsen, you're taking the one who keeps staring at your blank computer screen. Try not to traumatize her too badly."

Jimmy bounded over immediately, all freckles and enthusiasm, already extending a hand. "Hey! Jimmy Olsen, photographer extraordinaire, your official mentor starting… now. You like darkrooms? I basically live in one. We're gonna have so much fun."

You shook his hand, smiled, said all the right things. But your eyes kept sliding sideways.

The very endearing dark haired man that just radiated some kind of gentlemanly masculinity. Clark Kent. He was already shaking hands and introducing himself to his own mentee.

She was striking. Tall, dark hair swept into a low ponytail, sharp cheekbones, the kind of effortless beauty that made other women unconsciously smooth their skirts.

She laughed at something he said, and Clark ducked his head with that shy half-smile that should have come with a warning label.

Your stomach twisted. Not jealousy, exactly. More like… territorial panic. Like watching someone else hold the thing you'd been quietly starving for. Even though you had no real claim on it.

He glanced up, pure reflex, and caught you looking. You looked away first. Heat crawled up your neck.

Jimmy was still talking. "-so anyway, if you ever need to develop film the old-school way, I'm your guy. None of this digital nonsense. Real photography has soul, you know?"

"Yeah," you breathed out. "Soul. Totally."

The next few days were exquisite torture. You caught glimpses of Clark everywhere.

Leaning over his mentee's shoulder to point at her laptop screen, sleeves rolled to his forearms, voice pitched low so only she could hear.

Carrying two coffees back from the break room. One for her, one for himself, because of course he noticed she took hers black.

And every single time he sensed your eyes on him, he looked. Held the contact a heartbeat too long. Then broke it like it physically hurt him to do so.

You even tried going to him for help more than your own mentor. Which Jimmy quickly caught onto. "You know i'm your mentor, right? Not nerdy old Kent."

You'd forced a smile, mumbled something about "just double-checking facts," but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. Jimmy had rolled his eyes good-naturedly and gone back to developing prints, but the point landed.

Still, you couldn't stop. Clark noticed.

Those stolen glances had turned into something heavier.

"Mind if I…?"

You slid the page toward him without a word.

He leaned over your shoulder and braced one hand on the back of your chair, the other flat on the table beside your elbow. His forearm brushed yours. You felt the warmth of him immediately, the faint clean scent of soap and newsprint and something indefinably him. He adjusted his glasses with a knuckle, scanned the text, then pointed to a sentence halfway down.

"Here. The attribution's buried. Move the quote up, lead with the source. Readers trust names they recognize early."

You tilted your head just enough that your temple nearly grazed his jaw. "Like that?"

"Mmm." He swallowed. "Better."

You didn't make any effort to move away, or move much at all. You just stared up at him through your lashes, catching the sharp line of his jaw, his adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. You could hear his breathing.

"Kent! You flirting with my intern now?" Jimmy shouted, clapping him hard on the back.

The hand on the back of your chair tightened for a fraction of a second, enough that you felt the wood creak, before he straightened like he'd been caught holding something dangerous. His ears went faintly pink and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in that nervous gesture.

Jimmy stood there grinning, arms crossed. "I mean, I get it, she's cute when she's pretending to listen to me. But hands off the merchandise, Smallville."

Clark cleared his throat. "I was just, helping with structure. The lead was weak." He rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously.

"Uh-huh." Jimmy's grin widened. "Real charitable of you."

By nine-thirty the floor was nearly empty again. You'd volunteered to finish labeling a batch of archived contact sheets. Another one of Jimmy's "learning opportunities" that felt more like charity and ended up back in the fifth-floor storage closet.

You were balanced on a short step-stool, reaching for a box on the top shelf, when the door opened behind you.

No knock. Just Clark. He didn’t step all the way inside at first. Just enough to let the door ease shut and cut off the hallway light.

You didn't turn around right away. You kept your arms raised, fingers brushing cardboard, pretending the sudden heat in the room was from the poor ventilation.

"You shouldn't be up there without someone to spot you," he said quietly.

You lowered your arms. Turned slowly.

Shoulders tense. Looking at you like you were the craving he'd been trying to avoid.

"Jimmy's gone home," you said. "Said I could lock up when I'm done."

"I know."

You stepped down off the stool. Lightly brushed off the dust from your palms. "So?" You notched your head to the side.

Clark stayed by the door, one hand still on the knob like he might bolt at any second. "I shouldn't be here," he said. "You're... you're an intern. I'm—"

"Old enough to know better?" you finished for him, stepping closer.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking to the floor then back to your face. "It's not just the age. It's the position. Perry would fire me on the spot, and he'd be right to."

You slowly crossed your arms, purposely pushing your chest up with the motion. "Then why'd you follow me in here?"

His gaze dropped to your crossed arms, then quickly, snapped back to your face.

"To check on you," he said. "That you might need help moving the heavier boxes. Professional courtesy."

"And was it?"

"No," he admitted. "It wasn't."

Silence.

"Every time you look at me like that…" He dragged a hand through his hair, mussing the neat part he always tried to keep. "It's like you're asking a question I've spent weeks trying not to answer."

"Then answer it now." You fully stepped up now, right in his space.

He subconsciously stepped back.

"I want to," he said quietly. "God help me, I want to. But you're-what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? I'm thirty-five. I've spent my whole life trying to do the right thing, and this…" He gestured vaguely between you. "This isn't right."

You looked him up and down, slowly raking your eyes back to his face.

"Twenty-two." You corrected.

Clark's eyes widened fractionally behind his glasses. He took another small step back until his shoulders met the closed door. He exhaled dramatically, "Gosh... That's… barely out of college. You're just starting your life here, and I-"

"And you what?" you asked gently, refusing to let him retreat any further into guilt. "You're going to tell me that makes this impossible?"

He swallowed hard. "It makes it… complicated. Immensely complicated." His voice dropped to something almost pained. "You look at me like I'm something worth wanting. That alone is enough to keep me awake at night wondering if I'm losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind," you whispered. "You're just feeling something real. And so am I." You flicked your eyes up to look at his. He was 6'4, you were 5'4.

All that followed was his labored breathing like he just ran five miles. You stepped closer again, caging him against the door, letting one of your hands reach out to touch him, only to be caught by his massive one.

"I can't," he said, so quiet it almost disappeared. "I can't let this happen."

"Clark." You said, almost fed up. "I'm not a child."

"I know you're not a child," he said, barely above a whisper.

You didn't pull your hand away. Instead you turned it slowly in his grasp.

"Then stop treating me like I don't know what I want," you said quietly.

His eyes closed for a long moment. When they opened again they were glassy, conflicted, aching. "I've thought about this more than I should," he confessed, so softly it felt like a secret he’d never meant to speak aloud. "Very not so nice things. Thing's a respectable man should never think of, let alone with a coworker, a younger one."

"Clark," you said softly. "Look at me."

It took him a long second, but he did. Those blue eyes were stormy now, pupils wide, guilt and hunger warring openly.

"I've thought them too," you told him. "About you. About us. About what it would feel like if you finally stopped being so careful and just… took what you wanted."

"You shouldn't say things like that," he murmured, almost pleading. "It makes it so much harder to do the right thing."

"Then don't."

You rose onto your toes, closing the last impossible inch between your mouths.

For a second you thought he might pull away, might open the door and vanish down the hall. Instead he made a small, broken sound in the back of his throat.

And kissed you back.

It was careful at first. Lips moving against yours like he was afraid too much pressure would bruise you. But when you parted for him, when your tongue brushed his in silent invitation, the last thread of his restraint snapped.

He immediately picked you up like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. One large hand came up to cradle the back of your head, the other held the underside of one of your thighs.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your mouth.

"Dont apologize. Don't stop. Please." You gasped for air, threading your fingers through his dark hair, then down his white button up.

He exhaled shakily and carried you the few steps to the nearest low shelf. Your skirt had ridden up to which he immediately smoothed it back down over your thighs with both hands, like propriety still mattered even now.

Then he sank to his knees between your legs. He looked up at you through slightly crooked glasses. "May I?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers gripping the edge of the shelf. "Please."

The first brush of his lips against your inner thigh was feather-light, almost chaste. His fingers hooked under the lace of your panties carefully. He slid them down your legs slowly, then folded the delicate material neatly and set it aside on the shelf like it deserved care even in a moment like this.

He parted your thighs gently with both hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive crease where thigh met hip. "You're beautiful," he breathed, almost to himself.

Then his mouth found you. The first long, careful lick made your hips jerk. He immediately steadied you with one broad palm flat against your lower stomach. He hummed softly in quiet pleasure at your taste, the vibration traveling straight through you. Every swirl of his tongue was attentive. H drank in every small sound you made, and adjusted accordingly.

When your fingers tightened in his hair he groaned quietly against you and pressed just a little closer, tongue circling your clit. He never rushed. Never chased anything for himself. Just worshipped you with his mouth until your thighs began to tremble around his ears and heat coiled impossibly tight in your belly.

"Clark-" His name came out desperately.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, lips glistening, expression soft and earnest. "Yeah?"

"Fuck- I didn't tell you to stop."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "You're killing me with how perfect you are."

He ducked his head but didn't argue. His tongue returned to your clit with the same careful reverence, but now he added the slightest suction, lips closing around the sensitive bud in gentle pulses that made your hips lift off the shelf.

"May I use my fingers too? I'd like to feel you come around them… if you'll let me."

"Yes," you gasped. "Please, Clark-yes."

He pressed one slow, open-mouthed kiss to your clit before sliding two fingers along your entrance, coating them in your slickness. He eased them in, slow, careful, watching your face the entire time. Only when you relaxed did he curl them gently, stroking that perfect spot inside.

Then his mouth returned. The combination undid you. The dual sensation built fast, overwhelming. Your thighs clamped around his head. Your back arched hard against the shelf. Your fingers yanked at his hair as the coil in your belly snapped.

You came over his fingers, his mouth, crying out, louder than you meant to. He kept stroking you through it, tongue softening to gentle laps, drawing out every last tremor until you were whimpering.

Only then did he carefully withdraw his fingers, pressing one last tender kiss to your swollen clit before rising.

"Your turn," you breathed, fingers already fumbling toward his belt.

He caught your wrist. "You don't have to-"

"I want to." You held his gaze.

He only nodded.

The buckle came undone under careful fingers. Zipper lowered with a sound that felt deafening in the quiet room. He let the flaps of his pants fall open, so that you could see the visible print of him through his boxers.

You reached out slowly, fingertips brushing the waistband. His stomach jumped under the lightest touch.

"May I?" you asked, turning the question back on him with a teasing smile.

His laugh was soft, breathless. "You're asking me?"

"I learned from the best."

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. "Yes," he said quietly. "Please."

You tugged the waistband down, freeing him. He sprang up against his stomach, the tip of him flushed and dripping with his own pre.

He involuntarily flinched at his own friction.

"God, you're... huge." You nervously swallowed your fear down the best you could. Although, it was probably more excitement if anything. Your small hand looked delicate wrapped around the base, fingers just meeting.

"I know I'm… a lot," he said quietly, like he was ashamed. "We can stop right here if it's too much. I swear to you. I'd never ask you to-"

You cut him off by squeezing along his base and stroking upwards slowly, flicking your wrist at the very tip.

His hips jerked forward an inch on pure instinct before he caught himself. His hands flew to the shelf on either side of your hips, knuckles white.

"Sweetheart-" His voice cracked, hoarse and desperate. "Please… slow. I-I haven't… it's been so long."

You unknowingly parted your lips, like you might genuinely start drooling. "How did girls survive this? You?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I really don't know."

You bit your lip, slowly pumping him in your hand again. "Well I think I'm about to find out." You pulled him closer by his cock, notching him right at your pink entrance.

"Sweetheart," he rasped, voice, "I need you to tell me again. Please. I need to hear it."

"I want you inside me, Clark. I want all of you. I'm ready. I’m asking."

A long, shaky exhale left him. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

His hips flexed forward, the broad head of him nudging just barely inside you, stretching that first delicate ring of muscle.

"Too much?" he whispered, voice cracking like he might cry if the answer was yes. "Am I hurting you already?"

"No," you gasped, legs tightening around his waist to keep him there. "Don't you dare stop. I want to feel every inch of you. Slowly… but don't stop."

"Okay… okay… I'll go slow. I promise. I promise." The stretch burned sweet and bright. He sank another careful inch. Then another. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he let out a stifled moan and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Gosh… sweetheart…" His voice was almost babyish in its overwhelm. "You feel… you feel like heaven. I-I don't know how to be calm right now. I'm sorry. I'm trying so hard."

You threaded your fingers through his dark hair. "Don't be calm," you whispered. "Just move. Please, Clark. I need you to move."

He made another small sound and started the tiniest rocks of his hips. Barely withdrawals. Like he was terrified of hurting you and desperate to feel more of you at the same time.

You arched under him, trying to meet each barely-there thrust. "Deeper," you breathed. "A little harder, please."

A whine caught in his throat. "Harder? Are-are you sure? I don't want to-"

"I’m sure," you cut in, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please."

He groaned and obeyed. The rhythm stayed controlled but grew deeper, longer strokes that made your head spin. The shelf rattled faintly behind you. A few contact sheets slipped to the floor. He didn't notice. His hands roamed everywhere. Stroking down your sides, cupping your breasts through your blouse with the softest of touches.

"Feels good?" he panted against your ear. "Tell me it feels good, please. I need to know."

"So good," you gasped, clenching around him on the next deep thrust. "You're so perfect, Clark. So big… filling me so perfectly…"

A high groan escaped from him. His hips stuttered, then snapped forward harder before he caught himself with a frantic "sorry, sorry, sorry-"

"Don't apologize," you pleaded. "Do it again. Just like that."

He whimpered, actually whimpered, and gave you what you asked for. Deeper, a little faster, still careful.

One hand slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher so he could angle deeper. The new angle made stars burst behind your eyes.

"Right-right there?" he gasped, voice cracking again. "Is that the spot, sweetheart? Please tell me-"

"Yes-yes-Clark-don't stop-"

He stayed exactly there, not speeding up, and neither slowing down. Keeping the pace just as you requested.

Pleasure coiled tighter, unbearable. Your thighs started to shake. "I'm-Clark, I'm gonna-"

"Thank goodness," he murmured. "Because I-sweetheart, I can't hold on much longer."

You cupped the back of his neck. "Come with me," you moaned, looking right into his eyes.

A full-body shudder ran through him.

You shattered like tempered glass finally meeting its match, pieces cracking open in one large burst. Your walls fluttered and clamped around him, squeezing and tugging him deeper, if that was even possible.

Clark's rhythm broke completely. His breath came out harsh. His hands flew to the shelf on either side of your head, wood creaking dangerously under his grip.

"Sweetheart… oh gosh… I'm-may I-inside? Please, I'm so close, I can't-I need-"

"Yes," you gasped, legs locking around him. "Inside me. Come inside me, Clark. Please."

His whole body shook as he came, spilling hot and endless inside you, hips jerking in tiny helpless pulses. He kept rocking through it, whimpering your name over and over. Drawing out every tremor until he was trembling and empty and completely spent.

Then, so softly you almost missed it.

"…thank you."

You laughed breathlessly, carding fingers through his hair. "You're welcome."

"Are you… okay?" he whispered. "Did I… was I too much?"

You shook your head with a smile. "You were perfect."

You tugged him back down for one more slow, lingering kiss.

When you finally pulled away, you whispered, "Next time… my place. A real bed. And maybe you can stop apologizing every five seconds."

"Next time," he replied shyly.

series

corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

summary: a one night stand with a very humble reporter turns into way more than something the both of you never expected.

tags: sfw , mentions of pregnancy / hooking up

a/n: im so hyped to start this series ya'll don't even knowwwww this was formally inspired by @llillacwine and their series!

theme: lovergirl

You blankly stared at the blue screen on your computer. The frowny face taunted you while you anxiously eyed the 26% complete.

You groaned, leaning back into your office chair, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Great. Just great.

Your desk fan started to slowly turn towards you, blowing your file papers nearly off your desk. Metropolis in late summer was brutal. Humid enough to make your skin feel like it was wearing someone else's.

To make matters worse, the Daily Planet's air conditioning stopped working earlier this week. Which meant the building was a living furnace of overcrowded coworkers.

You opted to stare outside the window of your office. Being head of the photography department had its perks. You got a perfect view of the city from where you sat.

Metropolis sprawled out below like a living postcard. Gleaming skyscrapers catching the brutal afternoon sun, the distant shimmer of the river.

And just a few blocks down from the Daily Planet, your favourite bar. A bar you're far too familiar with.

The bar, The Lantern, had been your escape hatch for years. Dim lights, worn leather booths, the low hum of conversation that drowned out the city's constant roar. It was the place you'd gone after the kind of days that made you question why anyone chose journalism in the first place.

It was also the place where, six months and change ago, you'd met him.

Clark Kent had wandered in looking like he'd been dragged through a tornado. Glasses fogged from the sudden shift from air-conditioned newsroom to humid night, tie askew, hair mussed in that boyish way that made him look younger than he probably was. He'd ordered a beer he barely touched, sat at the far end of the bar, and somehow ended up next to you when the only open stool was the one you'd saved with your camera bag.

It was no surprise you knew who he was. Clark Kent. Master of getting interviews with Superman when no one else could. So how could anyone blame you if you wanted to suck up to him a little just to maybe get a non-blurry photo of Superman?

Conversation started easy. Complaints about the heat, eye-rolls at Perry's latest tirade, the way the city never slept and neither did either of you.

Then it got quieter. Closer. His laugh was soft, surprised, like he wasn't used to letting it out.

By closing time, the bar had emptied out except for the two of you and the bartender who pretended not to notice. Clark walked you home because "Metropolis at night isn't always kind," and when you invited him up "just for coffee," the coffee never got made.

It was one night. One perfect, reckless, thrilling night. He was gentle in a way that felt almost reverent, whispering your name against your skin like it was something he wanted to remember forever. You fell asleep tangled in sheets that smelled like him, clean cotton and something darker like cologne.

When you woke up, the bed was empty. He was gone. Probably out scouting for the next headline.

He left a note saying he'd be back later, and wished to take things a step further.

But you left before he did. After you realized how unprofessional this all turned out to be.

Because you were head of photography. He was the golden-boy reporter who somehow always got the Superman exclusive. Mixing those worlds felt like career suicide wrapped in bad decisions. So you'd slipped out, told yourself it was self-preservation, told yourself he'd probably wake up relieved you hadn't stayed to make things awkward.

Weeks later the two pink lines appeared. You sat on the edge of your bathtub for almost an hour, staring at them until the edges blurred.

You told yourself you'd figure out how, or if, to tell him later. Much later. After the baby arrived, maybe. Or never. Clark Kent had enough on his plate without a surprise co-parent situation from a one-night mistake.

Now the hoodie you wore today felt like a cage. Suffocating you without even being tight fitting. Sweat gathered under your breasts, along the crease where your belly met your ribs. Twenty-eight weeks today.

You inhaled, and jumped out of your seat with such intensity it sent your chair rolling backwards into the windows behind you.

"Screw this." You muttered only to yourself, jamming your finger on the now elevator button you were standing in front of. You were so gonna chew Perry out for not getting those maintenance guys on the air conditioner.

The ride down felt eternal. When the doors finally parted, the lobby was a chaotic mix of reporters fanning themselves with folded newspapers, interns hauling ice buckets from the vending machines, and the security guard looking like he was one complaint away from quitting.

Your heels clicked with each step you took across the marble floor, diligently dodging each reporting darting back and forth. Sure, maybe you looked like a slob waist above, but that didn't mean your bottom half had to look the same upstairs.

You found Perry looking a little too jolly by some of the female interns, laughing a little too loud at his own joke probably.

You stomped up to him, letting the laughter die down before you started. "Perry. What the heck's going on with the air conditioning?" You groaned, tugging at the collar of your hoodie.

He adjusted his comically large cigar, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-something years under the fluorescent lights. "Boss got a call in to maintenance. Third time this week. They keep promising 'tomorrow.'"

"Tomorrow's not cutting it," you snapped. "It's a hundred degrees in here, Perry. People are melting. The equipment's sweating more than the staff. If we lose another hard drive to this sauna, you're explaining it to the board. Not me."

He raised both hands in surrender, though the twinkle in his eye said he was amused by your fire. "I hear you, kid. But if it's so hot in here, why don't you start by taking off that huge blanket?"

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing else could come out. You just exhaled deeply through your nose, staring Perry dead in his face like he insulted your family bloodline.

Jimmy popped out from his cubicle, smug as ever, "Yeah he's right, it wouldn't hurt to show some skin."

You just glared back at Jimmy, too pissed off to enjoy his antics.

Lois then appeared from behind both you and Perry, a pile of copies in her hand. "Jimmy, don't be a creep." She set the stack of copies down on a nearby desk with a thud and crossed her arms.

Lois’s expression softened into something quieter. "You okay?" she asked, voice dropping. "You look like you're about to spontaneously combust."

You let out a scoff. "That's one way to put it."

Perry cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in relighting his unlit cigar. "Right. Well. I've got… calls to make. Maintenance. Again." He pointed vaguely toward the elevators. "And Olsen, go develop something useful before I assign you to the pet-show circuit."

Jimmy opened his mouth, caught the look on Lois's face, and wisely closed it. He slunk back toward his cubicle with a muttered, "Geez, tough crowd."

Just then the golden man himself stepped through those revolving doors, late as always.

Clark Kent looked like he’d been running. Tie half-undone, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, hair more disheveled than usual. His glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose, and there was a faint flush high on his cheekbones that had nothing to do with the heat outside.

He quickly sauntered over to where you, Jimmy, and Lois stood.

"Hey," he said, mainly to everyone but he was still looking at you. His gaze flicked over your face first, then dropped to the way you were still tugging uselessly at the collar of the hoodie, the way you were helplessly fanning yourself with your hand.

He set his jacket and the messenger bag he'd been carrying down on the nearest desk without looking away from you. "You don't look good."

You tried for a laugh. It came out thin and breathless. "Flattering, Kent. Really."

He didn't smile back. Instead he reached out pressed the backs of his fingers to your forehead, then your cheek. The touch was cool against your overheated skin.

"You're way too warm," he said quietly. "And you're shaking. When did you last drink water?"

"I-" Your tongue felt thick, clumsy. "I had some… earlier. I think." You said, pulling back from his touch though something in you wanted to lean into it. "Whatever it's fine. I'm fine, it's just hot as hell in here."

Lois exchanged a glance with Clark, who seemed to mouth, do something.

Clark tried to reach forward again, "Here, maybe if you take off."

"No!" You said, loud enough Jimmy peeked his head out of his cubicle again. "I mean- No, I'm fine."

Clark froze mid-reach. His hand hovered for a second, open, then slowly dropped back to his side. But his eyes never left yours. "Okay," he said softly. No push. No demand.

Your eyes refused contact with anyone's, so you turned around completely. "I'm going back to my office. There's too much shit to do." You said, pinching the bridge of your nose. "And you three-" You said, turning back to face the jolly trio, "Get started on those projects. I emailed you all some leads. Please try to come up with a draft by tonight."

You turned on your heel, the motion too sharp for how unsteady you felt. The lobby spun for a second, but you forced your legs to move. One step. Two. The click of your heels sounded too loud in your own ears, like they belonged to someone else.

Behind you, Clark's voice cut through the low hum of the room, quiet but firm. You were too in over your own head to make out what he said.

So you kept on walking, more like staggering, towards the elevator. You tripped once, catching yourself on the wall of a cubicle, breathing out short shallow breaths.

The world narrowed to the glowing elevator call button twenty feet ahead. Your only goal, your only thought. Just get upstairs. Just get away. Just breathe.

By now, some people had stopped to watch you, but of course, none stopped to offer their help. Typical Metropolis.

Your heel caught on nothing. Nothing at all, and your ankle rolled. The marble rushed up. You braced for impact. Hands catching the cold floor, knees following shortly after. You were barely able to hold yourself up.

Clark and Lois immediately rushed up, Clark the first one to kneel by your side, obviously.

Lois gasped suddenly, holding her hands out above you. "Seriously, are you-"

"I'm fine-" You rasped, holding a palm out, refusing help. "Just need to-"

The sentence didn't make it out of your mouth before your vision tunneled, closing until all what was left was pitch black. And before you knew it, you were passed out cold on the floor of the Daily Planet.