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You’ve always been one to uplift others, and that’s part of what Clark loves about you. So when you went out in a pair of extremely short shorts, constantly pulling the pant legs down, trying to cover all of the cellulite they weren’t supposed to, he figures it’s time to lift you up. You fiddle with the shorts again, picking them out from between your thighs, when he says something. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”You immediately brighten. “Yes! I’m sorry, I haven’t been as talkative lately, huh? How far away is the cafe? They have a strawberry cake I really want to try! And a chocolate one too! And I think there’s a meringue a friend of mine says is really good! I hope they have a sampler…” You trail off, furrowing your eyebrows. He laughs. “I’m sure they do. Or if they don’t, we’ll just order one of everything you want. I meant, are you okay, wardrobe-wise. You keep pulling your shorts down, like they’re not fitting right. I thought you wanted to wear those ones out today.”Clark knows you’re confident with the way you look, you’ve made it abundantly clear that you love how fat you are. You take a deep breath and nod, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. “You’re right, baby. I look good, I feel good, I should just let it be. I just saw a couple of girls give us dirty looks a block back and got self conscious.”You squeeze his hand and tug him along. You walk with an air of confidence, one hand gripping his tightly, the other tucked into the pocket of the shorts, which are pulled up over your stomach. Clark hears a couple of men catcall you, but you ignore them, thinking they can’t possibly be calling out to you. He feels his eyes start to heat behind the glasses and blinks, keeping his eyes closed until the feeling passes. The two of you manage to get to the cafe, where you do order a sampler, and Clark orders himself some apple pie (it’s a weird tradition of his. He has to compare every apple pie he comes across to Ma Kent’s). He sticks with coffee, but you get a smoothie, pineapple-peach. As you sip and talk animatedly about the cafe, about something a friend was talking about, even an article you read earlier in the day, all he can do is stare at you. If it was physically possible, hearts would be popping and floating above his head. \Women in the cafe try to catch his eye, get his attention, but it’s all for you. They don’t understand how someone like you, with thighs that will surely have chair marks on them from where they’ve overflowed and pressed into the metal, got a catch like Clark, built like a brick shit house, smart as a whip, and sweet as can be. When the two of you finish and pay for the desserts (getting a whole fruit tart to go), you stretch, your arms jiggling as you shake a little with the stretch. The two of you walk home, you leaning against Clark and looking up at him dreamily. “We should go there again. I had fun.”“We should,” He agrees. You pass by a clothing store, their new spring clothes being displayed in the window. You perk up, whacking Clark on the arm repeatedly. “Oh! That reminds me! I bought some crop tops during a clearance sale a couple of months ago! I can’t raise my arms very far in them though, my boobs pop out if I do, but I thought they were super cute!”Clark’s face goes red. “W-would you mind modeling them for me when we get home?”You smile deviously. “Maybe I could do some stretches while I model for you.”It takes a lot of inner strength not to fly the two of you home.