— Your boyfriend is a sweetheart, the sweetest of sweet. From the wild curls that never look the same, to the deep dimples that appear with the smallest of smiles.

Clark is kind to everything and everyone. He buys coffee for everyone in the office, he’s got their orders memorized and engraved in his brain. He carries dog treats in his jackets just in case he sees a homeless dog, he brings an extra umbrella on gloomy days just because. Moral of the story, Clark Kent is a sweetheart.

The only downside to that sugary personality is the physical aspect of your relationship. You already know that Clark is Superman, he’s too trusting for his own good and decided to tell you a month into your relationship. He knows how strong he is, and he second guesses every decision when he’s alone with you. Holding your hand? He’s barely holding on, just incase he gets nervous and squeezes too tight. Kissing you? He stops every thirty seconds to make sure you’re still okay. Even when you’re cuddling on the couch, you have to be the big spoon because he’s afraid of smushing you.

It was supposed to be a simple night, just you, him, and a movie. Your legs ended up in his lap, tucked between his legs, one of his hands rubbing up and down your calf. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you against his side. It would be perfect, except for the fact that you’d been giving him “kiss me” eyes for thirty minutes to no avail.

“Clark.” You whispered, reaching out to grab his jaw and direct his gaze onto you. His brows furrowed, on alert for something that might be wrong.

“What is it, honey?”