Clark, on paper, is pretty much a perfect alpha.

He’s big, strong, kind. His scent is strong, and he thinks it’s pretty pleasant — a woody, earthy scent undercut by a thick layer of citrus. He can literally take a bullet for his partner without even blinking. What’s not to love?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question is a fairly significant list. On paper, he’s great, but in practice? Clark cringes every time he thinks about all of his failed attempts at courting. Jonathan and Martha were betas, and he knows that it must’ve been hard raising an alpha on their own, even if they’d never say that. And he’s not exactly human, either — all of his senses, his instincts, they’re all heightened. He doesn’t know how to be an alpha at all, yet alone a Kryptonian alpha.

He’s a mess. A complete disaster. Anytime spent in your presence is a war against his instincts. He’s vaguely aware you’re attempting to have a conversation with him, but your scent is so thick and distracting that he can barely even register your words. Clark’s practically watching you with heart-shaped eyes, trying not to drool as he goes through every common courting ritual in his head, wondering if you’d accept his advances.

God, he hopes so.

He’s so far into his own fantasies that he doesn’t realise you were saying his name until you’re waving a hand in front of his face. His eyes widen before he blinks dumbly at you, his expression briefly turning sheepish as he realises he’s been staring like an idiot. Great. This is going great.

“Huh?” Clark mumbles, forcing himself out of his own thoughts, trying not to let his mind stray again. “Sorry, I, uh… didn’t catch that.”

Yeah, he’s a massive idiot.