Tay

Pairing : Steve Rogers X F!reader

Theme : Sad + Fluff

_________

The last time Steve had seen you had been 3 days ago. 

When you had practically thrown him out of your apartment after another bad argument.

It seems like - to both of you - that the only thing you guys do is fight, break up, make-up and makeout. In that exact order. That exact cycle.

It sounds crazy. America's favourite old fashioned hero, a gentleman, the dream guy, could ever be in a relationship like yours. 

Well, you never truly know somebody until you date them. That’s what you've always believed. Why change now? It’s not wrong. 

You had never been the perfect girlfriend either. All the arguments you and Steve had were always without a doubt, started by you. 

Whether he forgot to close the screen on the window or came home 10 minutes late, it didn’t matter.

You’re angry. Very angry. 

You aren’t wrong to be. The world is an unfair place and you've never had an entirely easy life yourself. But that is no excuse. At least you know you're an awful girlfriend. That's somewhere to start, right?

But just because the world is an angry place, that does not give you an excuse to be angry with others. Those are the exact words Steve had told you before you shoved him out of your apartment with a duffle bag shoved full of his clothes. 

You were expecting him to go for a drive on his motorcycle and cool down. Come back with flowers and to just repeat the cycle. Fight, break up, make-up, makeout. You were supposed to be moving onto stage three by now. 

But he never came home that night. Or the next. Or the next. 

The apartment has not been the same. By the way you've been moping around, people in the building would assume he left you months ago and you've never recovered. But it has not been months. It has been 3 days.

3 days of the apartment feeling empty without such a big presence taking up the space. 3 days of sleeping in an empty room and walking the dog up and down Steve's favourite street because of all of the artwork plastered on the side of the buildings. 

_________

Today has been especially rough. It’s just been a sad day that you couldn’t wait to be over so you could curl up with the dog on the couch and watch Modern Family.

You're standing in front of the bathroom mirror, really looking at yourself.

Your hair is up in a towel, still dripping wet from being straight out of the shower, your eyes are dull and sunken but still slightly puffy after crying all day. 

But what can you do? Nothing. That’s right.

You finish up your bedtime routine, not doing much and just wanting to start your binge of the show you’ve seen a million times.

Your bare feet shuffle across the hardwood floor into the dimly lit kitchen. The dog immediately perks up when he sees you at the stove, fully believing you’re cooking and maybe feeling generous enough to give him a little treat of human food tonight. 

But unlucky for him, you’re not cooking. He nudges your bare leg with his nose, giving you his famous puppy eyes that Steve falls for every time.

_________

“Alright Buddy, one more. And then that's it. You want to keep coming with me on runs right?” You hear Steve’s deep voice say from the room over.

You quietly make your way into the kitchen, peeking from behind the wall to watch your 2 favourite boys.

Steve is holding a piece of chicken above the dog's head with one hand as he cuts up some vegetables with the knife in his other hand.

“Sit..” Steve’s voice commands the dog who immediately obeys, tail wagging with a mix of impatience and excitement. 

“Good boy.” He says after a second, finally giving the chunk of food to the dog who immediately takes it without second thought.

‘Man, if someone ever offered him a treat to get in their car, he’d do it without even looking back.’ You think to yourself until Steve’s voice calls you out.

“I see you, baby” He says softly with that gruff but sexy voice.

“Actually both of us saw you. He just didn’t call you out because he’s..” Steve pauses, looking down at the dog who is still begging at his feet, “a bit distracted..”

You glance down, letting out a small laugh as you hop up on the counter in front of steve.

“You’re lying. He did not see me” You insist as Steve laughs along with you before gently placing a kiss to your forehead.

_________

You’re brought out of the memory by the sound of your screaming kettle to which you quickly pull off the burner. 

Wow, you really do seem like a desperate ex. 

As you move around the kitchen, the motions of making your tea feel automatic—muscle memory at this point. The kettle, the mug, two packets of Splenda, more milk than anyone would probably consider reasonable.

Steve used to give you a look every time you made it like this. Raised brow, quiet judgment. He never trusted the “fake stuff,” always sticking to plain sugar like it was the only acceptable option.

But one night, after enough teasing, he tried it.

He didn’t like it—you could tell by the way his face shifted almost immediately—but he didn’t say a word. Just gave a small shrug and handed the mug back to you, letting you have it the way you liked.

That was Steve.

Not the biggest fan but he keeps his mouth shut because he knows that you like it and that is all that matters to him.

After taking the first sip of your tea, you begin to hear the jingle of keys and the rattle that the old apartment door makes when someone is unlocking it.

Could it be?

Before you can think for too long, the door opens and Steve stands there, pink flowers in hand and all.

“Steve..” You say with a massive sigh of relief and a growing smile as both you and the dog quickly run towards him.

The second you’re within arms reach, he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your waist with the flowers still in hand.

“God, I missed you. I’m sorry I didn’t call. There’s been something going on..” He says, adding the last part pretty hesitantly.

That is when you pull away, really getting a better look at him and that is when you realize, he’s in full uniform.

“I-is everything okay?” You ask shakily, unsure if you even want the real answer. Maybe if he lies and tells you yes, you can force yourself to believe it just enough to get you through the mission you know he has to leave for.

He doesn’t even have to say there’s a mission. It is obvious.

“Yeah.. Yeah, baby. Everything is fine” He says softly with an obvious fake smile but at least he’s trying, right?

He moves you both inside a bit more, shutting the door with his foot so he doesn’t take his eyes off of you for even a second.

One cold summer night, you find yourself curled up with Clark in his truck bed. A bit of chatting later and you notice Clark letting his guard down.

Pairing : Clark Kent X F!reader

Theme : Soft Clark, all fluff! 🤍

The truck bed is cold as you press your fingers on the tailgate while Clark helps you climb up. The summer nights in Smallville always seem oddly cold opposed to the nice weather during the day.

You lie back first, hands resting by your sides, fingers fiddling with the fabric of your coat, staring up at the endless Kansas sky. Stars spill across it—too many to count, too bright to ignore. The air smells like cut grass and dust and summer.

Clark settles beside you, leaving a polite inch between your shoulders.

“You ever notice,” he says quietly, “how Smallville looks bigger at night?”

You turn your head toward him. His hands are laced together on his chest, eyes fixed on the sky like it’s safer than making eye contact with you. “Bigger?”

“Yeah. Like… during the day, everything feels small. Everyone knows everyone. But at night…” He exhales. “Feels like you could disappear up there. Or just anywhere.”

You smile softly. “Is that something you want to do? Disappear?”

Clark hesitates. You can hear it in the pause—see it in the way his fingers tighten together.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “But then I think about uh… people I’d miss.”

Your heart skips. “People?”

He finally turns his head, just enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. The stars reflect faintly in his gaze, making him look softer somehow. Younger. More unsure.

“Yeah.”

The silence stretches, comfortable but heavy, like there’s something pressing against it, waiting to spill out. Nature makes its subtle noises around you both; a cricket chirps, a dog barks way off in the distance.

You sit up on your elbows. “Clark,” you say gently, “you know you don’t have to pretend around me, right?”

His breath stutters.

“I know,” he says. “It’s just… pretending’s kind of my thing.”

You laugh quietly, then soften. “You can find a new thing. Like being the sweet farmboy you already are”

He laughs.

Clark sits up too, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes dropping to the floor of the truck bed. “I don’t know how not,” he says. “Everyone expects me to have answers. To do the right thing. To—” He stops himself, jaw tightening.

You reach out before he can sit up, your fingers brushing his wrist. He freezes at the contact, like he always does, but he doesn’t move away.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” you say. “Just… something. I want you to be able to trust me, Clark”

“I do trust you!” He says - his cheeks turning a touch pink at the accusation. He would never want you to think he doesn’t trust you.

Clark swallows. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks again.

“I just.. feel like I’m always holding my breath,” he says. “Like if I relax for even a second, something bad will happen. And it’ll be my fault.”

Your chest aches.

“You don’t have that kind of power,” you say softly.

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You’d be surprised.”

You study his face—the worry etched into it, the kindness, the way he carries the weight of the world like it’s his responsibility alone.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” you ask.

He looks up, startled. “What?”

“Someone who cares too much,” you say. “Someone who’s scared of hurting people. Someone who tries so hard to be good that he forgets he’s allowed to just… be.”

Clark’s eyes search yours, like he’s looking for a crack, a joke, something to deflect with. He finds none.

“I don’t feel like that guy,” he admits.

“Maybe,” you say, “but you are.”

The wind shifts, brushing against you both. Clark’s shoulder presses lightly into yours now, the space between you gone without either of you noticing when it happened.

“I don’t tell people things,” he says after a moment. “Not real things.”

“I know.”

“But I want to,” he adds quickly. “With you. Of course.”

Your breath catches.

He turns fully toward you this time, knee brushing yours, face close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, steady and grounding. His voice shakes.

“I don’t know what the future looks like,” he says. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be yet. But when I’m with you… it feels quieter. Like the noise around me finally stops.”

Your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

You reach up, resting your hand against his cheek. He leans into it instinctively, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

When he opens his eyes, they’re full of something fragile and hopeful and terrifying all at once.

“Promise?” he asks.

You nod. “Promise.”

Clark leans in slowly, giving you time—always careful, always gentle. When your lips finally meet, it’s soft and hesitant, like he’s afraid the moment will disappear if he presses too hard.

But it doesn’t.

During your closing shift, Clark stays to make sure you’re safe—leading to lingering glances and feelings neither of you are ready to talk about.

Pairing : Clark Kent x F!reader

Themes : Completely smitten Clark, protective, fluff, tension.

The Talon always sounded different after closing.

During the day it buzzed— with chairs scraping against the scuffed hardwood floor, the espresso machine hissing and laughter bouncing off brick walls, there’s never a dull moment. But at night, once the Closed sign is flipped and the lights dim, the café feels smaller.

You find yourself wiping down the counter for the second time in an hour, more out of habit than a necessity. The clock behind the bar ticked loudly, counting down the minutes until you could finally lock the doors and head home.

Then the bell chimed.

You looked up, already smiling because of course you know who it is. Who would come in 10 minutes before closing?

“Hey, Clark.”

Clark Kent stood just inside the doorway, his usual flannel jacket half-buttoned, hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He always looked like this when he came in late—like he hadn’t planned to, like he’d just ended up here.

Which you both knew wasn’t true but neither of you acknowledged.

“Hey,” he said, softer than usual, like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet. His eyes flicked to the empty tables, then to behind the counter into the staff room, then back to you. “You’re closing alone tonight?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Sam swapped shifts with me.”

His jaw tightened—just a little. You’d started to notice things like that. The way his shoulders stiffened when he realized you were alone but the way relief quickly crossed his face once he saw you were okay.

“Well,” he said quickly, “I figured I’d keep you company. If that’s okay.”

You raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “You figured, huh?”

A faint blush crept up his cheeks but he just tried to ignore it, praying you wouldn’t notice. “I mean—only if you want. I can leave if you’re busy. Or if—if you already have plans.”

You laughed softly. “Clark, I’m wiping down counters for fun. Please stay.”

His smile came instantly—warm, boyish, a little too bright, like the cutest puppy dog that you've ever seen. If a golden retriever had a human face with a jacked body, it’d be Clark Kent. .

He slid into his usual seat at the counter, the one closest to the register. Always close enough to talk. Always close enough to watch you.

You grabbed a mug from behind the bar. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” he said, then hesitated. “Unless you’re out.”

“I’d never run out on you,” you teased mostly just to watch his ears turn pink.

As you poured the coffee, you felt his gaze on you—not uncomfortable, just… present and very aware. Clark always looked at you like he was afraid the moment might disappear if he blinked.

You set the mug down in front of him, your fingers brushing his for just a second.

He sucked in a quiet breath.

“Thanks,” he murmured, like it meant more than coffee ever should.

You leaned against the counter, watching him take a sip. “So,” you said casually, “what brings you to the Talon at…”—you glanced at the clock—“nine forty-seven on a school night?”

He shrugged, staring into his cup. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You smiled softly, deciding to keep teasing him a bit. “Funny. You always can’t sleep on nights I close. And I don’t think that coffee is gonna help much.”

He looked up then down into his cup, startled, like he’d been caught doing something he didn’t realize was obvious.

“I—well—” He cleared his throat. “I just… wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

There it was.

The excuse he always used. The reason he never missed a late shift. The way he insisted on walking you to your car, even though it was only a few blocks away. The way his truck was always waiting, the engine already warm.

You met his eyes, something gentle settling in your chest.

“That’s really sweet, Clark.”

His smile was small now. Nervous. Earnest.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just… like being here with you. It’s nice.”

And in the quiet glow of the empty Talon, with the coffee cooling between you, it felt like maybe that was the most honest thing he’d said all night.

The last of the coffee in his cup had gone cold by the time you flipped the Closed sign on the door.

Clark stood as soon as you did, like he’d been waiting for that moment.

“I can help,” he said quickly. “If you want.”

You smiled. “You always say that.”

“And you always let me,” he replied, the ends of his lips curling upwards ever so slightly into that famous Clark Kent smirk.

He moved behind the counter right after and you handed him a clean towel and pointed toward the tables in the back of the cafe.

“If you could just get those ones while I do the ones up here then we should be ready to go after”

He nodded, already wiping them down with a focus that made you smile.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

There was something peaceful about it—about the soft scrape of chairs, the low hum of the lights, the way Clark moved through the space like he belonged there. Every so often, you’d glance over and catch him watching you.

He never looked away fast enough even with his supernatural reflexes.

“You’re staring,” you said gently, walking behind the counter again for what feels like the 80th time today.

He froze. Then laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” you said. And you meant it. “I’m rather flattered.”

You locked the register, the drawer clicking shut a little louder than necessary. Clark jumped.

“Still not used to that sound,” he admitted with an embarrassed laugh. “Gets me every time.”

You grabbed your jacket from behind the counter. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” he said instantly.

You killed the lights one by one, the Talon dimming until only the glow from the street lamps filtered through the windows. Clark held the door open while you stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

He locked up behind you, keys jangling softly.

For a moment, you both just stood there— close, but not quite touching.

“Thanks for staying,” you said. “It gets lonely closing by myself.”

His expression softened, something unspoken settling in his eyes.

“Anytime,” he replied. “You know that.”

Clark is careful—too careful. Every touch, every kiss is restrained, making you wonder what he’s capable of if he ever stopped holding back.

Pairing : Clark Kent x F!reader

Warnings : NSFW 18+!, Clark getting rough, implied bedroom activities, choking, pining?, degrading, implied size k!nk!

A/N : Okay last re-upload! Enjoy!! 🤍

The apartment glowed softly in the early evening, the kitchen lights turned low so everything felt dipped in honey but like it lurked in the shadows.

You stood at the counter in socked feet, a ribbon-tied apron brushing your knees as you stirred a pot that didn’t really need you, the steam fogging the window above the sink until the city beyond blurred into something distant and unreal.

Garlic and butter warmed the air, clinging to your clothes, your hair, the walls—proof that you had been here, waiting.

You moved carefully, almost reverently, as if too much noise might disturb whatever fragile balance kept the night intact: checking the oven, wiping your hands on a dish towel, smoothing the lace at your wrist when it slipped down- just anything to keep your hands occupied and your mind busy.

The clock ticked louder than it should have, each second stretching thin, and though you told yourself Clark was only late—he was always late—you found yourself listening anyway, heart hitching at every sound in the hall.

There was comfort in the thought of him arriving, of the way his bright presence filled a room, but beneath it lingered something quieter and harder to name—a small, persistent awareness that when he stepped through the door, the world always seemed to follow.

Another 20 minutes pass until Clark finally puts his key through the lock and opens the door. Breathing out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding- you step away from the pot.

“Welcome home baby” you greet as per every other evening- a warm meal, a kiss on the lips and a happy presence. It doesn’t take much to keep either of you happy. Well, that’s what Clark thinks.

Now listen, you love Clark more than anything but.. he treats you so delicate. It’s great at times but it’s like he’s holding back. Holding back in every aspect. Even the one place you need him to just go crazy. The bedroom.

Clark’s giant, calloused hands automatically find their way to your hips, fitting perfectly into the natural curves of your body as if he was molded to you perfectly.

“Mmm.. hey babydoll. I missed you” he hums contently, that signature Clark Kent smirk pasted on his lips. He has to lean down to kiss your lips but when he does, he’s ever so gentle about it.

And it drives you insane. You know he’s holding back. He can give you so much more. He can be the man you need. Gentle in the streets, freak in the sheets. But he’s just not!

“You know Clark.. you can be a lot rougher.. I won’t break..” You say, trying to sound as tempting as possible, hoping today he’ll give into your asks for once.

“I’m not sure about that, babydoll. You’re tiny. Fragile, even.”

That makes you roll your eyes- I mean, you’ve never implied that. Where is he getting this from? “Cmon Clarkie.. just fuck me like we both know you want to.. just once?” trailing your finger up his pecs, towards his shoulders then down his massive biceps, his eyes finally turn dark as if he’s lost himself with just one request.

Suddenly, you find yourself pinned against the wall with Clark’s massive hands wrapped around your neck, lifting you ever so slightly off the ground.

You’re tired of feeling like you’re being put second. There’s always something that has to come before you, but little do you know the reason.

Pairing : Clark Kent x F!reader

Themes : All fluff! A bit of arguing. Sad boy Clark. A bit cheesy but romantic!

A/N : Repost from my old account I got logged out of! Enjoy ! 🤍

Clark has been staring at the same spot on the carpet for nearly two minutes when you realize he isn’t listening.

The coffee you made for him has gone untouched on the table, steam long faded, a thin ring forming at the base of the mug and staining the oak table beneath.

You clear your throat and repeat yourself—something about this weekend, about your sister’s dinner and whether he can come this time—but his shoulders tense like you’ve asked him to move a mountain.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice careful in a way that already feels like distance.

That’s what starts it. Not the dinner itself, no, but the way he won’t look at you when he says it. Like he’s avoiding seeing the hurt in your eyes caused by his dismissal.

You tell him it’s always I don’t know or some last-minute excuse, and he finally drags a hand down his face, his rough and calloused fingers running along the stubble of his jaw.

Outside, the city moves too fast for the quiet moment happening inside your apartment.

A siren cuts through the quiet, and his head turns instinctively toward the window before he can stop himself.

“Can you not do that?” you snap, harder than you mean to, hurt slipping through anyway. “Just— try and be here with me for once.”

Something tight and fragile in his chest finally gives. “You think I don’t try?” Clark snaps back, standing too fast, words spilling out before he can slow them down.

“You think I choose to leave?”

You stare at him, confused, frustrated, and painfully human. “I don’t understand why everything else always has to come first. Before me, Clark. Before us.”

He swallows hard, jaw clenched, the weight of your words and the city pressing down on him like gravity itself. “That’s because,” he says quietly, voice breaking despite himself, “you don’t understand what happens if it doesn’t.”

By this point in the night, you’re tired of this constant loop.

To you, Clark never makes an effort to change; never makes an effort to even try and fool you for a moment with the silly thought that maybe one day, he’d put you before his need to save the little things.

“You think I don’t? Clark, I am in this relationship as well, sometimes I swear you forget that! And listen, I know I am being selfish right now but I don’t know how much more I can take of the late nights, not wondering if my boyfriend is going to make it home alive and feeling as if i’m put below saving fucking cats in trees!” You finally fully snap, letting all your built up thoughts out into the open.

Suddenly, the air in the room feels like it is closing in on you and the tension rises higher than Mount Everest.

You brace yourself for anything. Maybe Clark will storm out?

Maybe a big fight that results in the end of you two?

You close your eyes for a moment, take a deep breath and open your eyes, ready for the worst.

But.. the second your eyes open, they land on Clark. All 6 '4 of Superman sinking to the ground in complete silence.

“Clark?” You hear your shaky voice say.

Does he hate you now?

You take a step forward, lowering yourself until your knees hit the fluffy carpet beneath you.

Clark stares ahead- at that same spot on the carpet again. He finally snaps out of it to meet your gaze and when he does, you swear you can see tears in his eyes.

“Clark.. Babe.. I’m so sorry- I was just really frustrated an-“ your sentence is cutoff when he slams his lips into yours.

Your whole body goes soft again, the tension in your shoulders immediately disappears.

Good- He doesn’t hate you.

He pulls away after the intimate moment between you two to meet your eyes once again. You meet his deep blue eyes.

Oh gosh.. those eyes. The ones you’ve grown so fond of and practically can’t live without- as cheesy as that sounds.

“Don’t apologize. You’re right.. I should be here with you. I-I just don’t know how to balance it. I promise, I would give up the world for you, baby. But, that’s hypothetical. Being real, I have to save the world in order to keep you safe. Everything I do is for you.”

You feel a small smile creep onto your lips, unable to hold it back. “No, Clark.. I was just being selfish.. you need to protect the world and if that means I have to be your second priority, well then, I’ll be by your side through it all.”

Clark’s breath stutters, soft and shaky, like the weight of your words has finally found somewhere to land. He cups your face with careful hands, forehead resting against yours.

“I don’t want you to be second,” he says quietly. “If I were just a man, I’d stay. I’d come home every night, cook dinner with you, argue over nothing, and choose you first every single time.” His thumb brushes away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. “But I’m not just a man—and that’s the part of me that keeps leaving.”

Clark’s lab partner is determined to get a good grade on their new project. She’s annoyingly sassy—but also the only thing Clark can think about. And the sparks aren’t only caused by the Bunsen burner. 🧪🥽

Pairing : SV Clark Kent x F!Reader

Themes : Teasing, slight back and forth banter. Season 1 SV Clark. Soft boy Clark. High school setting

A/N : First post on this account! S1 Clark is so baby I love him. Enjoy! 🤍

The hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint smell of chemicals fill the science lab, but Clark can’t focus on the periodic table in front of him. Every time he glances at you—your hair falling into your face as you scribble notes, your brow furrowed in concentration—he feels like he’s suddenly failing at breathing.

“Clark, are you even paying attention?” you ask, snapping him out of his daze. Your eyes lift from your notebook, catching his, and he almost forgets to answer.

“Uh… yeah, totally,” he stammers, ducking his gaze. His hands fidget with the test tubes in front of him, unsure whether he should start the experiment or just… talk to you.

You roll your eyes, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Because it doesn’t look like it. Maybe you should stop staring and actually help for once.”

Clark swallows, and for a second the room feels smaller, the air heavier. “I—I mean, I’m helping,” he says, but the words come out wrong, like they always do when you’re around.

And just like that, a spark—both literal from the Bunsen burner and something entirely different—flashes between you, and Clark’s heart lurches, reminding him that science isn’t the only thing dangerous in this lab.

The teacher continues his lesson for what feels like 4 hours but in reality was really only 20 minutes. By the end of it- your fingers are shaking from all the notes you've taken.

Science has never been your strong-suit but you're determined to get a decent grade and pull through for you and Clark in this lab.

Are you doing most of the work? Yeah. Clark is so distracted with who knows what today at this point.

You reach over the table, snapping your fingers in front of his eyes to get his attention. “Earth to Clark Kent.. What is on your mind? Because whatever it is, its going to be affecting our grade so cut it out.” You say, obviously over-exaggerating but trying to be as serious as possible.

Clark immediately snaps back into it with a small chuckle. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can—a tiny spark jumps from the Bunsen burner. It hits the edge of the tray with a soft pop, making both of you jump back.

“Clark!” you hiss, waving your hands in panic. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing!”

“I—I didn’t—” Clark starts, but you cut him off with a laugh that makes his chest tighten. “You’re going to blow up the whole lab!”

“I’m… uh… I’m just testing the… uh… flame dynamics,” he mutters, waving a hand vaguely over the Bunsen burner like it explains everything.

“Oh yeah! Just testing the ‘flame dynamics’ how silly of me to forget! Carry on! Make the flame bigger why don’t ya!”

He lets out another laugh but you hold yours back, not wanting his inability to pay attention and look so stupidly cute getting in the way of your work.

Clark bites his lip, wishing he could just say what he really wants: that he’s testing the effect of being near you on his ability to think straight. But instead, he grabs a pair of tongs, carefully picking up the test tube and hands it to you. Your fingers brush, and he nearly drops it again—this time, from distraction, not nerves.

You notice it immediately, a small, teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Clark… maybe you should stop helping me before you start a fire—or something worse.”