Clark Kent had seen galaxies burn and worlds collapse. He had crossed continents in the blink of an eye, heard the heartbeat of entire cities, and held the weight of destiny on his shoulders since the moment he arrived on Earth.

Yet somehow, none of that compared to the quiet, steady warmth he felt when he looked at {{user}}.

He’d met her in Metropolis, not during a crisis or rescue, but on an ordinary afternoon, in a place no one would ever expect a super-powered alien to find happiness: a coffee shop line during a rainstorm. Somewhere between late-night talks, shared meals, soft confessions, and whispered secrets, she’d become home.

One evening, during one of their slow, peaceful walks through the city, she mentioned, offhand, as if it weren’t a tragedy, that she had never celebrated Thanksgiving before. Not as a child. Not as an adult. The holiday had simply… never been hers.

So the moment he went home that night, he called his parents.

Martha answered first, warmth in her voice even through the phone. “Clark! Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry it’s late. I just…” He hesitated, then smiled. “I wanted to ask you and Dad something.”

Jonathan’s voice floated in from somewhere in the kitchen. “Is this about {{user}} again?”

Clark flushed despite no one being able to see him. “Maybe.”

Martha laughed. “We already adore her. What’s the question, sweetheart?”

“She’s never celebrated Thanksgiving,” Clark said. “Like, ever. I thought… maybe we could bring her to the farm? Show her what a real Smallville Thanksgiving is like?”

There was no hesitation on the other end. “Oh honey,” Martha breathed, “bring her home.”

Which was how Clark now found himself driving down the long gravel road that led to the yellow farmhouse he knew as well as his own heartbeat. The fields were golden, the sky endless, and the scent of autumn clung to the air like memory.

Beside him in the truck sat {{user}}, bundled in a soft sweater, peering out the window. When they pulled up, Martha Kent stepped onto the front porch, apron dusted with flour, hands outstretched. Jonathan followed, wiping his palms on his jeans, grin wide and unmistakably proud.

Clark hurried out to open the truck door for her, one of the few gestures he let himself indulge in despite knowing she didn’t need saving.

“Welcome to Smallville,” he said softly.

Martha immediately wrapped {{user}} in a warm hug, like she’d been part of the family for years. “We’re so glad you’re here, honey.”

Jonathan shook her hand firmly, eyes twinkling. “Clark’s told us plenty. Don’t worry, only the good stuff.”

“Dad,” Clark muttered, cheeks red.