I love that Jimmy Olsen is exactly the type of photographer Peter Parker pretends to be. Just bat-shit insane.
Whenever someone asks Peter how he took a picture he's like "Oh! I uh-, climmed a flagpole. Totally"
And very mortal, normal-human Jimmy is like "See, Clark, is not that weird"
I mean, look at this nutjob.
The world could be ending, lava on the streets and Jimmy would be out there photographing away. No powers, no sense of self preservation. Just khakis, a camera and a dream.
I like to imagine Peter meeting Jimmy and immediately being mortified about it.
Jimmy: –and so luckily I was able to take the picture before the building collapsed on me... Superman was super pissed at me but, photographer to photographer, it was totally worth it.
Peter: Right, no– See, this is actually my first time hearing how fucking insane that sounds. No wonder people at work look at me weird.
Summary - Returning to Smallville after years away, you expect to find the same awkward farm boy who was once your best friend. What you don't expect is realizing somewhere along the way, Clark Kent got… really hot.
Warnings - Smut (Unprotected PIV, praise kink kinda, perv!reader, hyperspermia), Bulky farm boy Clark, fem!reader, a lil oblivious!Clark, pre-Superman | WC: 4.3k!
A/N: Thank you, everybody, for all the support. My other hcs are blowing up, and I'm so so grateful. I'm like two followers away from 200, and I want to write something special, so give me any ideas or requests! Roommate!Clark full fic coming soon, enjoy, I used lots of the Birthright comic book while writing this! <3
╰────-·-ˋˏ-༻༺-ˎˊ·-────╯
Back in the day in the little town of Smallville, nothing but childish games, laughter, and running through the fields during summer mattered. When you visited your aunt’s house for the summer, befriending the shy little boy across the way, who always offered you his coolest toys and helped you climb trees. Back then, nothing could break the inseparable bond you both had, despite not seeing each other for months at a time.
Every time he knew you were coming back to Smallville, Ma Kent helped him put together a little bouquet for you. He’d jog—or maybe dash like a blur—over to your aunt's home. He’d say hi to the old border collie, whose fur around the eyes was only getting grayer and grayer by the day. Then, he knocked on the front door, holding the pretty flowers to his chest hopefully. His advanced eyes would focus on the pollen-filled air as he gave a big smile, his front tooth missing and big blue eyes eager to play. When your aunt answered the door, she grinned. “What do I owe you for this pleasure?” she asked, a warm laugh bubbling from her chest as she stepped aside to let him in. “Is she here? Can she play?” Clark asked excitedly, holding the flowers out to your aunt. “I brought these for her; Ma helped me make them!” Your aunt's heart melted at this eager little boy, giving him a nod. “In her room.”
The summer stayed like that. Where you’d sneak into his room after you’d been strictly told not to, making shadow puppets with a flashlight; sometimes he’d even bring you on a small fly. Of course you knew about his powers; you were his best friend. His favorite friend. You’d cling to his back as he flew into the trees, listening to you giggle as the birds scattered away from their perches.
At least, summer stayed like that until you both hit freshman year of high school, when you moved away from Kansas to a bigger city with more opportunities. No more 3-hour car rides down to the farm. It was the end of a lifelong era. Saying goodbye to everything you’d ever known, Kansas was a big difference compared to Metropolis. Everything there was frozen in time—at least in your mind. Clark would still be the same scrawny kid, with big blue eyes and nerdy. Someone who faded into the background.
Life went on.
Clark thought about you a lot, but the letters between you started to fizzle as you both grew into different people. He was the nerdier type, not a lot of friends, but that was nothing new to you. You prospered in the city, finding solace in socializing, babysitting events, and trying new things around the city. Like the world was your oyster. In many ways it was.
He still saw your aunt a lot; Ma and her had kept in touch, having dinner together once a week. Clark was still deciding his future, where he should go, studying at a nearby university as he helped do all the farm work at home. He’d ask about you sometimes, only to get vague, unfulfilling answers.
In the comfort of your own room after long days of studying and working, you’d let your mind wander to him. Wonder about what he was doing. Had he picked up on journalism? Writing? Astronomy? He could do anything if he really set his mind to it.
After long semesters of studying, your parents surprised you with a trip to your aunts for the summer. Ditch the city life and hang out in the quiet for 3 months; allow your brain to relax.
You stepped out of the car, stretching your legs after the 2-hour car ride from the airport to the farmhouse. You took in a deep breath as you stretched your arms above your head, the sweet smell of freshly cut grass and flowers, and then the unavoidable tinge of cow manure blowing in the wind. Your uncle grabbed your suitcase from the trunk, your thick tote bag slung over your shoulder as you walked up the creaky steps.
Everything was just as you suspected—frozen in time. The mailbox had a small lean to it, the old dog sleeping on the porch, dwindling to his last year or so. The porch paint was peeling, but the house was well painted. Your uncle had hurt his back, so you wondered who did it. “Looks good…” You comment, stepping in and slipping off your shoes. Your aunt gives small thanks as she wraps you in a tight hug. “Thank you, been getting some help on the farm. Polishing it. I miss you,” she said, pressing her face into your hair before releasing you. “Your room is the same. Go freshen up; we have dinner at the Kents tonight,” she said, arms crossed.
You couldn’t help but perk up at the last name, the idea of Clark flashing your mind before you could stop it, and your aunt gave a knowing smile. “Yes, Clark is there. He’s still studying, helping Jonathan out since his back's starting to get like your uncles. We didn’t tell him you were coming.” The proud smirk on her face gave you all you needed to know. They had been planning this for weeks, keeping it just hush enough to dodge his superhearing.
So you freshened up, excited to see your forever friend. You milled over the minor details, wondering if his hair was still dark and if his eyes were still bright. Then you wondered if he still looked through his telescope every night or if he spent his nights flying among the stars when he couldn’t sleep. The image you had of him was meek, still imagining the sweet and shy Clark Kent who needed a night light to sleep even though he had ten times the strength of an average man.
You wore a pretty spring dress that went to your mid-thigh, one that showed off your smooth skin, showing old birthmarks you used to cover. Wherever they might be. You wore your hair nice and simple, making sure to do some light make-up before stepping down into the mudroom of the house. You held a casserole in a blue dish with a top lid, waiting for your aunt to be ready.
The wait got too boring, so you went for the door. “I’m gonna start walking over!” you yelled, stepping out onto the familiar path that led up to the Kents' house. Your cowgirl boots crunched in the gravel beneath your feet as you watched the sun start to dip in the sky. It was your favorite walk, a short 5 minutes but beautiful. Unless you were in hot weather—then it was miserable. Tonight was nice, slowly cooling down.
You walked up the dirt path, hearing two voices discussing a car's engine, one you recognized as Pa Kent, and the other… well, you weren’t sure. It was deeper, soft and reassuring. Soothing. Pa Kent was under the car, and a tall man was standing, holding the car with one hand like it was nothing, his tight t-shirt doing nothing to conceal the strain of his bicep in the fabric. It made you dizzy when you noticed it. You could see the print of his abs through his shirt, his shoulders bulky, making him all the more a local beefy Kansan. He was tall, nearly casting a shadow. It wasn’t until he quickly turned his head to look at you that you realized who this boy—no, man—was.
You saw the thick, silky black head of hair, curled and wild on his head. The laughter bubbling from his chest at his father's rambling. Lethally blue eyes, ones that displayed every emotion inside them.
Clark Kent was standing in front of you with the piercing blue eyes, making your stomach turn into knots as you tried to keep your jaw off the floor and the casserole in your arms all at once. He wasn’t scrawny or loser-ish. He was handsome. Alluring. Hot. When had this happened? It was making your head spin, your heart stutter, and his super hearing picked up on every miscalculated beat.
“Golly, long time no see!” he exclaimed, the excitement flooding his tone like it used to. Clark still had that sweet boy deep in there. The big puppy Kansas boy overflowed from his big heart that was being protected by his massive pecs—maybe that’s what they were for. To protect his big heart. “Hi…” You say shyly, watching his eyes run over you. Were you drooling?
He couldn’t imagine you looking this good; he knew you were pretty, but he was just taking guesses at what he remembered. Clark remembered your sparkling eyes and big smile, but now you were everything he had imagined and more. A dream in front of him. Pa made a grunt of irritation as Clark was slowly lowering the car, too distracted by you to remember what he was doing. “Son.” Clark did not answer, the car lowering another inch. “Clark!” Jonathan reminds. “Oh!” You gave a small giggle as Clark raised it again.
“Sorry, Pa. Can we do this after dinner?” His dad stood up slowly with a grunt and raised a weary eyebrow. “I won’t be able to see later.” Clark gave a quick reply, “I can see in the dark, Pa.” The older man shrugged, shaking his head and grinning at you. Jonathan pulled you into one of his familiar bear hugs before heading inside. Some people just seemed to be immune to time.
You heard the thud of the old truck hitting the ground again, and before you could blink, Clark quickly took the hot casserole dish away from you, talking away as he went inside. He told you all about what you’d missed. Or he tried. It had been four years after all. Clark wasn’t very shy anymore, or maybe he was just eager for your attention after being away from you for so long. This was going to be a long summer. That’s for sure.
Dinner was filled with familial chatter, old friends catching up. They told you embarrassing stories of Clark, watching his cheeks burn red. You watched as his forearms flexed as his knife glided through the baked potato on his plate. How his Ma told a corny joke, and he still threw his head back in laughter. How focused his eyes were, sweet with a pleading undertone when he asked for the salt, or the vegetables. You've got to tell your city stories, about all the chaos that contrasted the Kansas tranquility.
The night ended with a blackberry pie and vanilla ice cream that everyone ate too much of. Clark was first to thank his mother for the food, his hands in his lap and grinning. His dimples were working overtime, and you felt your stomach tingle. Had he always had dimples? Surely they had just appeared out of nowhere…
—------------------------------
The summer was filled with much fun, and you and Clark’s prospering friendship. You guys spent hours together, walking your old stomping grounds like no time had passed at all. He still stole vegetables off your plate, called you nicknames, and tugged on your braids gently. Clark was gentlemanly too. Fixing your necklace for you, helped you rebraid your hair, unaware how it made your gut stir and flustered you.
How could he be so attractive and sweet all at once? You just wanted to repay him in… inappropriate ways. Clark just kept flirting like it was nothing, and he was oblivious to how his southern drawl and kind smile could make anyone weak in the knees.
Dinners at the Kents’ led to bonfires that Clark conjured up with his… heat vision? He said he was working on the names for all of it; you giggled, watching him gently blow on the fire to get the flame crackling in the pit. “So, Clark. Besides school, what have you been up to?” you asked, watching him set logs into the pit, little pieces of saved newspaper in the bottom. He shrugged, looking up at you from his spot on the ground. “Helping Pa on the farm, exploring. I’ve been writing too! I flew up to Africa, kinda exploring their roots and connecting with their heritage,” he explained, totally nerding out.
You watched as he talked with his hands, getting distracted from the fire that had now sputtered out. His lower lip jutted out in a pout, and you giggled, making a smile break loose on his face. He just couldn’t help it when it came to you. “Very admirable, Clark,” you said. Your praise made him straighten and smile.
Clark noticed a change not long after that. Suddenly, he found himself fixing his hair before coming to your place. The other day, he had struggled for ten minutes alone to pick a shirt. This had never happened before! Sure, he had crushes, big ones even. But this one was different; he felt the need to impress you, be bold. Oblivious to how you were already drooling over how he looked.
Every time you smiled or laughed, he felt the air get kicked from his lungs. He felt his stomach twist in knots every time you wore a pretty dress. Clark had also remembered you with dirty knees and missing teeth, and to see you dancing by the fire to an old country song, or licking the batter of a spatula in the kitchen with his Ma, he felt warm. Different.
He looked up from milking the cows, his eyes landing on you through the big window over the kitchen sink. Clark saw his mother, then you. The whole conversation buzzing in his ears. Martha saw you look out the window, and she had seen Clark look at you across the dinner table a thousand times now. “Funny, isn’t it?” Martha asked, turning to look at you lick the spatula again. The dough melting into your tongue. Your head tilted to the side and your nose scrunched in confusion—the motion reminded Clark of a bunny, and it made his heart warm upon seeing it. “Growing up, I mean.” You looked at Martha, then out the window at Clark, who quickly pretended to be milking the cows. You understood what she meant, giving her a nod and then a knowing smile. Martha returned it, kissing your cheek and heading to the porch.
It wasn’t long before you and Clark were in tune with each other’s bodies again. It was like you knew when he entered the room, and he could pick out your heartbeat again. It was a little quicker than it used to be when you were kids. You looked at each other when laughing, and late nights were spent in your quilts as you told stories like you were kids. Some nights it was down by the pond, the moonlight bathing it.
“Jump in with me, Clark,” you begged, eyes big and sweet. He hesitated, tilting his head. Gosh, he was so cute. “It’s cold, and we don’t have any clothes,” Clark replied, rubbing the back of his neck, his arm stretching and showing his muscle. “It’s not cold! You're immune to cold, aren’t you? Just get in!” You said, not giving him a chance to protest as you wiggled out of your jean shirts, jumping off the creaky dock in your oversized t-shirt and silly polka dot underwear. Before he could think any better, he was tugging his shirt off, letting his jeans fall to the ground as he jumped in, clad in only his boxers. The quick glimpse you got of his abs (and the hard-to-ignore imprint through the fabric) was enough to make the cold water worth it.
That night you stumbled into your aunt's kitchen, giggling like school kids again. You popped open a bottle of wine; Clark just watched as you brought it to your lips, soaking all over the kitchen floor. He couldn’t bring his eyes off of you as you swayed, humming along to your own tune. The giggle was the sound of your soul, and maybe his too.
All this time with you made him realize just how much he liked you. And now, with the wet t-shirt sticking to your skin, your hair damp over your face, and getting tipsier by the second, he pressed his lips to yours. He laughed against your mouth as you hummed into the kiss. Your body was electric, as you had been waiting for the moment. His overgrown stubble was brushing your slick skin.
Maybe this is what dreams were made of.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while…” You whispered into the kiss, pressing the wine to your lips again. You offered it to him, and he shook his head. His hands finally reached your hips, firm yet gentle palms keeping you in place. His back leaned on the counter, looking down at your smug smirk. He was enamoured by your drunk smile. The alcohol hadn’t hit your system yet, just drunk on the kiss alone. “Would you believe me if I said I had been too?” he asked, eyes full of adoration as he searched your eyes. A grin spread across your lips, shaking your head. “No, you’re so nice to everyone, and you always have that dopey look in your eyes. I thought I was just another girl…” You admit, taking a final gulp from the big bottle.
Clark takes it from you, setting it on the counter behind him. He tugged you in, leaning in closer to your lips. His eyes flicked down to them, licking his own lips as he prepared for another kiss. “And the whole time I was just wondering when you got so good-looking… and how you could be so devastatingly hot and be so oblivious to it!” He closed his eyes, wishing his lips were on yours instead. “I was in turmoil too, scared to feel these things about my best friend. Couldn’t stand how pretty you were,” he admits. A small kiss to your lips, before diving in for another.
You let your hands roam his skin, the abs on his stomach that you had been dreaming about for weeks. You felt the undeniable outline of his excitement for you under his wet boxers. His hands were pulling up your wet shirt, tossing it somewhere into the kitchen. Your heartbeat was the only thing in his ear, other than your whiny noises of desperation.
The familiar scent of your sweet arousal washed over his senses, everything in his mind clicking. For weeks he had been smelling it, mistaking the rich smell for your perfume. It had been your telltale sign of how turned on you were. Now he realized how you were wet, watching him do mundane tasks around the farm or his subtle attempts at flirting. “Oh, sweetheart,” he moans into the kiss, your lips leaving no mercy.
“Smell so good…” he adds, opening his eyes to take in your everyday bra and those polka-dot underwear. Had you known you were gonna get laid, maybe you’d picked something different. But now it didn’t matter. “Smell?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you move your lips to his neck, the tough Kryptonian skin taking no damage as you sucked and kiss. “I can smell you… when you’re aroused,” Clark whispered. His hand went to your hair, tugging you away from his skin.
Your face flushed, and you gave a guilty grin. “I wish I was more embarrassed than I am right now…” You mumble, unhooking your bra, letting him take in your breasts, how they sit on your chest without the confines of your bra. He was getting harder and harder by the second. “No need to be embarrassed. It’s sweet; thought it was your perfume.” His eyes devour you like you're something ethereal, a higher being.
He picked you, pressing his hard-on against your throbbing cunt. It fluttered at the idea of taking his alien dick. You could feel the heft of it, and his thick, beefy thighs against yours. “I need you…” You begged, hands grasping at his sloppy curls. “In your aunt's kitchen?” he asked, apprehensive at first as he slowly lowered you to the ground. The tile was cold on the skin of your back, making you gasp. The alcohol was catching up to your system, making your stomach warm and bubbly. You nodded quickly, “Full circle…”
That made him laugh, shaking his head as he hooked his fingers onto your panties, tugging them down and allowing the cold air to hit your pussy. His boxers were next to leave before he grabbed your hips, the hard floor the last thing on your mind as you took in his length. 10 inches with a thick base, precum leaked at the tip, and he throbbed from how hard he was. Everything about him was big as you had expected. In the mornings, you had tried not to peek as he bulged through his sweatpants in the mornings, trying to hide it with blankets or pillows.
Soon he was pushing into you, skin to skin as he took you on your aunt’s kitchen floor, not caring about the risks. Right now it was just you and him in the moment. You squeezed tight as he glided into you, the stretch making you cry out—you’ve never taken something so big. Even toys didn’t compare to this. Tears pricked your eyes as your wet folds accepted him greedily, your stomach bulging with his size. Small gasps and moans slipped from your lips, sounding like heaven.
When he bottomed out, he caged you with his arms, each hand on either side of your head. Clark paused. Your breathing mingled, and his chest heaved. “Please… Tell me how good I’m doing,” he whined. You clenched around him in surprise, but somehow more aroused at the thought. This big, broad-shouldered man needed to be praised for being the good boy he is. Just a puppy at heart. “You're doing so good, baby. Move your hips for me,” you insist, throwing your head back as he gave a slow thrust. You felt every good spot inside you being hit by his massive dick.
A whine broke free from his lips, surprising you again. Clark started to rut into you like a dog in heat, each roll of his hips even greedier than the last as he took in your sweet praise like music to his ears. He can’t believe he’s finally living out his wet dreams with you. “O… Oh! Clark! Right there, please! Such a good boy, filling me up better than anybody!” Another broken whine broke from his lips as he continued to drag his cock in and out of you, occasionally dipping his head down to take your nipple into his mouth.
He nudged the sweet spot inside you, repeatedly as slurred words of appreciation slide from your mouth. Your sweaty bodies move against each other, your hips starting to move with the rhythm of his as he tries to find your sweet spot. “Feel good?” he rasped, reaching a hand down to rub your sensitive clit, your pussy sensitive and puffy from how he was bullying it. You nodded, a quiet moan slipping from your lips as he buries himself in you before pulling almost all the way out, crashing back in again.
Your eyes roll back as he rubs circles into your bundle of nerves, feeling you clench around him. “That feels so good, Clark! Please, harder!” You insist, forgetting to keep your voice down. His hips begin to move faster, the slap of skin on skin filling the kitchen. It wasn’t long before you were going over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you, making your body shake as he continued to bully that spot, his lips catching your moans. His stomach burned with the familiar bubbling feeling, knowing his orgasm was approaching rapidly.
“Where do you want it?” Clark asked, trying not to spill inside you from how hard your clenching him, your fluids building a ring around the base of his cock. You bumble incoherent words before blurting, “Stomach!”
Quickly, he pulled out, his cum shooting over your stomach, even your breasts, breathy moans escaping him. It just kept coming; you hadn’t ever seen someone cum so much. He was a mess above you, his hair messed up, his tip leaking with the aftermath, and sweat on his temple. Clark was the most beautiful man you had ever seen, so impossibly human and vulnerable. Even when he wasn’t human.
“Oh thank you, baby,” he whispered, your name following as he ducked down and gave you a kiss. Clark gathered your clothes, then you from the kitchen floor before starting the tub inside your small bathroom in your room. Where you laid against his chest as he ran a hot soapy rag over your body. The wine sat warm in your belly, and your legs were a perfect amount of shaky from the results of you and Clark’s love making. “Who knew all it took was a night swim?”
You shook your head slowly, a small giggle bubbling from your lips. “It was more than that and you know it. Your irresistible,” you teased, closing your eyes as you leaned back. Clark shook his head, a blush creeping up his ears. The hot water steamed from your skin, and the bubbles were up to your chin. He spent the next 20 minutes drying you, rubbing lotion on your body, then tucking you into his chest as you packed his 6’4” and 240 pound frame on your full bed, your face buried in the crevices of his chest.
The next morning it was painfully obvious what you had done to both your families. You were both more touchy, the looks lingered, and your walk was a bit off-kilter despite your efforts to hide it. Martha and Jonathan of course gave him a firm talking to about the consequences and all that stuff, making him protest and squim in his seat.
It wasn’t long before he was packing up his stuf to move to Metropolis with you—beginning his Superman debut, his reporter job and his first big relationship with you.
At one point she rage baits Clark. It's glorious, she walks into the hall of justice shit talks Guy Gardener and flys a spaceship. She's amazing. And is back to canon.
