#03— dainty smiles .ᐟ

[artyandink]

dainty smiles .ᐟ.ᐟ

↳ SYNOPSIS: CLARK always happens to get distracted when you come up to his barn with your guitar and a half finished song in your notebook. you claim it’s cause his ‘fortress of solitude’ helped you think, well, he didn’t mind it, as long as he got to sit here, and help you and maybe zone out while gazing at you being so passionate about something you love. Or… maybe not.

↳ PAIRING(S): clark x bonnie

↳ WARNINGS: fluff, implications of sex :)

↳ RADIO STATION:

↳ thinking out loud by ed sheeran

↳ stargazing by myles smith

↳ can I be him by james arthur

wanna meet everyone again .ᐣ.ᐟ click here

The pen hung between Clark’s lips kind of just… dropped, when he heard the familiar click-click of your cowboy boots on the worn wood of his barn, replaced by a wide grin, cause he knew what this meant. That you were here with another incomplete song that his barn gave you inspiration for.

“Your ‘fortress of solitude’ is inspiring,” Was what you’d said to him with a bright smile.

Chemistry homework on his lap was kind of just pushed aside, cause when you’d just walk in, sit on his barn’s bed and just let him see the magic of your songmaking, well, he couldn’t focus on anything else, it was rather difficult.

“Hey, sweet boy.” You grinned, reaching the top of the stairs, guitar hung by the strap you’d clipped onto it, and it was the one which had the signatures of him, Pete, Chloe, your mom, your dad, his mom, his dad and Logan’s on it. In your other hand was clutched a notebook and pen— he knew it, he thought, and couldn’t help the twinkle in his eye either.

“Hey, Bonnie.” Clark patted the space beside him, and when you took off your guitar and slumped down, he quickly kissed your hair. As usual. “Another song?”

You pointed a finger at him as if to say ‘bingo’, then he had to move the chemistry work out of the way for your head to fall into his lap, for which he started scratching your head.

Ah, a slump.

That was no bueno.

Clark chuckled softly at the sight of you laying your head in his lap, running a gentle hand over your pretty hair and twirling one of your curls around his finger, not missing the adorable pout on your lips as you huffed and closed your eyes.

”What’s not working?” He questioned, still running his fingers through your hair. It was a frequent struggle that Clark had seen a few times before— he knew how much you loved songwriting, but he knew you hated getting stuck in a slump when the lyrics didn’t come easily.

“The writing.” You rubbed your face with a sigh. “Sat there for ages in my room— not one word, like, c’mon.” You went ahead and grumped.

Oh, yep. Definitely a slump.

Clark winced at your words, not liking how frustrated you sounded, and pouted. He hated when you got like this, stuck in a slump where no words would flow— it made you frustrated and it made him frustrated cause you just got so cute when you were grumpy. He took a brief moment to watch you grump, amused slightly.

“S’not coming at all?” His hand found your cheek and rubbed a small circle into your skin with his thumb, wanting to comfort you.

“No.” You shook my head, climbing to sit curled up on his lap, head tucked in the crook of his neck— you were both five year olds with each other. Well, you were to music blocks as Clark was to seeing Lana with other guys— you tended to get a little overdramatic and lose hope for the world and what’s in it, but he was always the guy who could get you out of it.

When you made a home for yourself on his lap, he let out a breathless laugh and quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close against him, finding comfort in your warm body against his. You were always so good at this— making your way into his arms, it had become a regular little occurrence now.

Clark pressed a kiss to your forehead, still rubbing small, soothing circles into your skin with his thumb. “You okay?” He questioned, resting his chin on the top of your head, taking comfort in the way you fit so perfectly against him.

“M’not a musical genius, Clark.” Ok, You were being dramatic, but still. “What m’ I gonna do with my life?” You sniffled, very dramatically.

You. Dramatic? Say it ain’t so.

Clark rolled his eyes at your theatrics, biting back another laugh as you sniffled against his neck, finding it cute but also feeling for you on a serious level— having a passion for something and then experiencing a block on that passion was the worst feeling. He pulled you closer against him, holding you tight against his broad chest.

“Hey, hey, calm down there, Bonnie.” He began quietly, nuzzling into your hair with his nose. “You are a musical genius. Sometimes things just go a bit wrong, that’s all.”

“But it’s going really wrong.” You were definitely being overdramatic, sometimes you were a bit too passionate for the arts. You sniffed into his unreasonably soft jumper.

Dramatic, passionate, artistic.

Yeah, that was you in a nutshell. Clark chuckled softly, finding your dramatics a little amusing before focusing back on trying to comfort you and soothe the pain of the slump in your work. He gently patted your back, rubbing the skin under your shirt with the tips of his fingers as you sniffed into his jumper.

”It just means you’ve got writer’s block.” He murmured against your head, burying his face in your hair. “S’not the end of the world.”

You looked up to him with big eyes, fingers curled into his jumper. “Y’sure?” See, only Clark could bring you out of this kind of ‘dramatic episode’.

Looking down at the puppy eyes you were giving him, he couldn’t help but to bite back a smile as you looked up at him. You always knew how to play him like a fiddle, cause all you had to do was give him those puppy eyes and a tug on the sleeves of his shirt, he’d be at your beck and call.

He lifted a hand and pinched your chin between his fingers, bringing it up a little further so you were looking directly at him. “Of course I’m sure. Writer’s block happens to the best of us— take Chloe for example.”

While Chloe, though, you could also say that she had a never-ending supply of stories with all the weird in Smallville. “Ok.” You grinned, kissing his cheek. “Mood lifted. Now, I can help you with this Chem homework.” You grabbed his work like it was yours, holding it up for both your eyes.

Clark’s heart did a backflip in his chest at the touch of your lips on his cheek, and he chuckled softly at your enthusiasm that had suddenly returned. He ruffled your hair affectionately, watching you grab the Chemistry work he had all but forgotten was laid on the bed beside him.

“You’re a lifesaver, seriously.” He said with a laugh as he leaned back against the pillows again, adjusting you so you were more comfortably sat on his thighs, pressing a kiss to your temple affectionately and brushing back your hair. “This stuff always falls in front of your face.”

“This stuff happens to be my glorious hair.” You laughed, poking his own messy hair— courtesy of you, you loved playing with it. “So you, my friend, need to respect it.”

Clark scoffed loudly, pouting at the mention of your hair being glorious— which it was, of course— before frowning when you pointed out his own messy hair, all due to you and your wandering hands. He batted your poking hand away, grabbing it as it reached for his hair again. He raised your hand to his lips, laying a kiss to your knuckles before pinning it to his chest. “I feel the need to mention your obsession with my hair.”

“It’s soft, I don’t know what conditioner your mom buys for it, but I want it.” You hugged him and nuzzled his temple with a giggle. “Spill the secrets.”

Clark rolled his eyes in amusement at your obsession with his hair— you’d spent far too much time with your fingers in said hair, running through it, pulling it, twirling it, the list went on. He chuckled softly at your nuzzling, closing his eyes as you pressed your face into his temple.

“You’re obsessed, seriously.” He said quietly, grinning, with a laugh escaping his parted lips. “S’just conditioner, Bonnie. You’re acting like Ma’s got some secret formula for it.”

“Yes, it’s a secret formula, and I need the secret. Or your water.” You plopped your hand in his hair and played with it, typical. “Now focus, you’ve got Chem.”

Clark groaned loudly, rolling his eyes at you as you placed your hand in his hair and gave it a quick little ruffle again— yep, typical you. You’d probably end up doing this all night if he left you to your own devices— no, not probably, definitely, his hair was way too soft to ever keep your greedy little hands out of it. At least it felt nice.

He leaned his head back against the pillows with a huff, opening his Chem book again as you ordered him to ‘focus’. “Yes, mom.” He teased in response.

“Do I need to call your actual mother?” You joked, then winked and waggled your brows, implying something. “Unless she’s busy with your dad.”

Ok. Gross.

Clark’s lips curled in a grimace at the mere mention of his parents and the implications of what they might be doing, a sound that resembled a hiss falling from his lips as he leaned back again.

“Jesus Christ, no.” Clark muttered under his breath, screwing up his face as he tried to focus back on his Chem work— or at least, tried to, before your wandering hand started fiddling with his hair again. He jokingly placed a hand over your mouth, trying to stop any more gross comments from coming out of your mouth.

You removed his hand, snickering. “What? They’re consenting adults— plus, I know my mom and dad do it when Logan and I are out of the house. Poor Nutmeg.”

Yeah, poor Nutmeg.

Clark let out a low groan, his cheeks heating up slightly at the mere mention of his parents, well, doing it. It was gross enough to think about, but for you to say it out loud? Gross.

“Oh, come on. Please stop talking.” He said through gritted teeth, trying not to laugh at your giggles, finding you extremely cute when you were in a joking mood. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment while you sat on his lap. “Please, for the love of all things good in this world, change the subject.”

As much as you wanted to continue being a little shit, you just decided to smile, peck his temple, and just keep swimmin’. “Ok, Chemistry.” You settled back against his chest again, humming. “Atomic structure’s easy. Electrons in outer shells, nucleus has neutrons and protons in it.”

Clark was more than thankful for the change in subject— thinking about his parents doing the do was the biggest mood dampener ever, and getting you to change the subject to your genius brain was a complete relief. He rested his chin on the top of your head, wrapping his arms a little tighter around you.

“Yeah, exactly that. Electrons, protons and neutrons.” He said with a small nod, running a hand over your back while you spoke, maybe as a form of feeling your warmth.

You were both unreasonably warm.

“And the atomic number shows you the electrons in the shells. Max 2 in the inner shell, and 8 for every outer shell.” You turned your head. “Got it?”

Clark nodded as he listened intently to every word you said, loving the way your knowledge was just seemingly endless and he admired you for it. He knew there was a reason he loved having you this close and in his lap whenever you started talking about something intellectual.

”Got it.” He whispered softly, pressing a quick kiss to your hair before shifting so he was more comfortable.

Somehow he’d managed to distract you from your work, not the other way round.

𝒇𝒊𝒏 ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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