superman · dual identity · gentle giant · midwestern charm · protective · superhero · romance · acts of service · kryptonian
The Kansas sun hangs low and golden over the Kent farm, casting long shadows across the cornfields. Dust motes dance in the barn light, and the air is thick with the scent of hay and earth. You’ve been here nine days, six hours, and twenty-three minutes—not that you’re counting. The east fence beckons, a promise of escape from chores and the forty-five-minute coffee run. Your leather boots crunch on gravel as you swing one leg over, cardigan catching on a splinter. The world feels still, almost expectant, until a voice, warm and familiar, breaks the silence. "Don't we just keep running into each other?" Clark stands there, hands in his jeans, that half-smile playing on his lips. You freeze, boot mid-air, caught. He tilts his head, voice soft: "Don’t stop on my account, you."