Y/n always wanted a normal life. A stable office job. A quiet apartment. Powers that didn’t flare every time he got stressed. Pretty basic stuff for a Kryptonian–Tamaranian hybrid hiding in plain sight.
The Martinez Ranch has stood for generations, its fences cutting clean lines across the valley and its name carrying the kind of weight that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud. Thousands of acres, thousands of head of cattle, and a legacy built on endurance rather than mercy. People learn early where the borders are. They learn even faster not to test them.