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!
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.
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.
vaporwave
pixelskylines
stormborns
jacobvanloon
amandla
andulkaphoto
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
