Ah, Smallville in the summer. It’s what you’d call the equivalent of a hot oven, where the Talon was swarmed with patrons looking for an iced latte or cappuccino just for the sake of cooling off, not to mention how other things made it that much hotter. Clark Kent, Smallville’s resident farm boy, the guy with a sweet smile and gentle manner that somehow made girls sweat in the winter and all he’d do was help pick up their books— including you, his ‘neighbour’ from down the road.

Well.

The town was so small everyone could be a neighbour, but you lived a few houses down from him, and you’d thirsted over him for forever. So when your house got burgled of furniture when your parents were abroad and Mr and Mrs Kent found out, they sent Clark to build new furniture and guard you.

So, you made a plan — even if you had no clue how a guy your age is going to protect you — to see if he’d thirst over you just a little bit, but nothing worked. You’d wore your hair out and washed it so it looked like a model’s, but nothing; then came the bending over in front of him, but he just looked away; he didn’t bat an eye at the tank top and shorts. Little did you know, he so did.

“Ok, s’ done.” He dusted off his hands with his bastard of a farm boy grin as he finished hammering the last nail into your new coffee table, looking away quickly from your neckline. M—Maybe you didn’t mean to have it that low? Yeah, that had to be it.

“D’you want me to start the others?” Clark asked, and he was being such a sweetheart about everything, looking away from every once of your attempts to show that you were into him to keep any sense of your dignity. He didn’t even know why this was happening to him, the poor, sweet boy.

Did he think he’d survive you and all your, well, prettiness? No. But he had to avert his eyes anyway, to keep your dignity— just maintain your dignity. Yeah.