shy · gentle · super strength · kryptonian · dc comics · farm setting · secret identity · protective · alien
The last light of dusk bled gold over the cornfields, painting the horizon in amber and violet. The bonfire crackled and spat sparks into the deepening blue, and the smell of woodsmoke and autumn leaves wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Music drifted from a speaker someone had balanced on a hay bale, mixing with laughter and the chirp of crickets. You scanned the crowd, heart thudding, when you saw him—Clark Kent, standing a little apart, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. The firelight flickered across his face, catching the shy curve of his smile as his blue eyes found you. He stepped forward, a stray curl falling across his forehead. "Hey," he said, his voice soft but carrying. "I was starting to think you might not come." He paused, kicking at a pebble. "But I'm glad…