#oc: niah foxx | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bludovebunny · 11 days ago

Text

✧ ☽ ✫. moonlight ✩.

✧ in a quiet garden ♡︎.

. ✧ that is her beauty ☾

pairing ღ Lex Luthor x fem! oc/reader

chapter one .

ღ Summary ღ After suffering through a few personal troubles in the City of Metropolis, Niah Foxx ventures to live with her grandparents at their homestead within the warm, quaint town that is Smallville. Although instinctively a sweet, warm-hearted woman who frolics in the realm of dreams way too often, whisked away between the pages of books and poetry to escape reality, there presents a cynical point of view towards society as a whole as she struggles to find a place of belonging and people to rely on. Her reserved nature is quite apparent, as is the wisdom gained in the quietness of solitude and mere observation. And, unbeknownst to her, catches the attentive eye of the young heir of LuthorCorp with an infamous reputation. It only begs the question: In what way does a dove break loose from the coils of a snake? If it wants to escape at all? ღ Themes ღ emotional vulnerability obsession unrequited feelings slow burn friends to lovers height difference loyalty angst fluff poetry opposites attract romance loneliness survival of the fittest strength vs weakness

a/n i'm excited to post this story! i been working on this fic since the beginning of january, so here's to hoping you'll enjoy the angsty fluff journey between these two! Warning: Lex is flirty lol Anyone is welcome!

Miles stretched on ahead as the old truck drove down the road, feeling the interior space rumble around her as Niah sat quietly in the passenger seat, window drawn up to prevent the cool morning air from slipping in. The young woman is found not without company, as her grandparents join her on this early quest towards the Farmer Market: Morris sitting at the wheel while Mary sat snuggled between them in the middle seat. During their journey, deep brown eyes observe the occasional sight of cattle that graze along the pasture, basking in the radiance of this chilly morning where wet dew softens the ground beneath their hooves.

Far off in the distance as the sun decorates the sky, painting upon the blue canvas a blend of pink and purple hues with its own rays of golden light. She is reminded there is love in creation, even in cold mornings like these where the wind is absent, and small clouds float scattered far and in-between. For a moment, she catches the ghostly reflection of her face in the glass window, and contemplates the short time she’s been there, arriving merely two months ago to get away from the city to live within the vicinity of this humble town.

Niah felt fortunate for once in her life, that her grandparents allowed her to seek refuge under their wings, like a baby chick quickly huddling beneath the feathers of its mother when its raining on a dreary day. “Stay as long as you need, baby girl. As long as it takes.” Their words of reassurance nestled between the broken cracks of her heart as she steadily settled into their quiet home, especially so once the plush comforter encircled around her tired body that evening in Smallville. And that first night, tears soaked the pillow, and she curled her spine into a fetal position and never left that spot, even past midnight till touches of morning sunlight peeked through the blinds.

It was out of her nature to ask for favors. She initially didn’t wish to impose into their lives so abruptly–they’ve reached the prime of their old age, their energy once abundantly rich as grain in the field, has grown meager as the seasons merged on to the next. But the urgency to separate from the stresses of her environment surmounted that fact, and they in turn bestowed a gift in the form of mercy.

Smallville. A rural town with plenty of space to reset her mind. Nothing but cornfields that stretched far and wide underneath vacant blue skies.

Somewhere fresh and new.

Perhaps the start of a new beginning.

In the tall grass, she spotted a herd of deer prancing wildly. They danced amongst the thick vegetation, hooves kicking up soft dirt in their joy, without care in the world.

The rustic area spoke familiar to the essence of her inner child, reminds her of a childhood friend she visits to see every year in the summer of June. It’s early October, and the air lacks its tender warmth she’s grown accustomed to. But it was fine, no reason to complain. Although not particularly new to her surroundings, there were pleasant memories stashed away that would flicker in her mind’s eye when she recognized a popular landmark. And there were other memories that swam to the surface from something as simple as a scent that carried along in the breeze, or rather, earthy eyes falling upon a certain plant native to the area.

Honeysuckle; oh, how often she desires to suckle upon its sweet nectar when given the chance.

Nostalgia had an inconspicuous way of evoking a river of emotions to burst within her, and the water would often overflow past the shoreline, soaking grains of sand with tears and bringing forth messages in a bottle.

Niah Foxx was always labeled a sensitive person, possessing abundant care toward things, even things of little insignificance, than should be required for her heart to take. At times, she observed how it contributed more affliction to enter her life, the pain of feeling oh, so, intensely, it splinters the fragile heart made of ceramic. And yet, she embraces it for everything it is, for how should she be, rather than be herself?

Suddenly, she was pulled away from her thoughts when she felt her hand being squeezed. But when she turned to look, she realized it was only Mary, and that comforting smile of hers that Niah was so familiar with. “You doin’ alright, sugar plum?” Hand on her lap, another gentle squeeze was offered.

“Yea, I am, thanks.” Voice soft and low, like the small smile she returns in kind, almost poignant. Niah knew the meaning behind Mary’s concern. “Jus kinda wondering how far we are from the market is all.”

“It won’t be too long now.” Morris chimed in. “I’d give it about six minutes till we get there.”

She hummed in response, and returned her gaze back to the passing scenery behind the window. Somewhere high above the sun, a star twinkled brightly.

They eventually reached their destination, the Farmer’s Market finally coming into view before pulling into the parking lot. They searched for an available parking space, but Niah was somewhat distracted by the number of people carrying basketfuls of their own homegrown produce towards their booths. She hadn’t anticipated seeing such a big crowd hustling and bustling this early in the morning already, but she suspects it shouldn’t come as a surprise considering farmers woke every day at the break of dawn to tend to duties around the farmyard. Nonetheless, she could feel a spark of newfound energy surge straight through her, teeming on the brink of excitement. It’s been a long time since she’s attended a Farmer’s Market; she could faintly recall going a few times in her life when she was younger, many of which were fun experiences as she fondly remembers the pony rides.

When Morris switched the gear to park, Niah practically jumped out of the truck with Mary following suit before shutting the door. It wasn’t long before they began unloading a few things from the trunk. While on their way to where the rest of the vendors prepared to get their booths set up, Niah spotted a few familiar faces amongst the crowd, delightfully surprised to see Martha and Jonathan Kent assembling their own Gazebo tent.

The Kent family were dear old friends of her grandparents. They lived five minutes away down the road from their house, so they occasionally ran into each other from time to time–either Mary presenting one of her famous sweet potato pies on the table when Martha visited, and two glasses of sweet wine cradled in their hands while they engaged in their own sophisticated version of girl talk, or Morris and Johnathan cracking a simple beer as they idled on the porch where they discussed topics befitting macho men: Football, basketball, fishing, motorcycles, or typical farm work.

“Pawpaw, look, the Kents are here already.” She angled her head in their direction, catching his attention as he spared them a glance.

“Aw yea,” He smiled. “looks like they gettin’ ready for a big day jus like us. Let’s get on now, we’ll be left in the dust if we don’t catch up.”

“We could probably set up close by.” She suggested, thinking it’ll be nice to be around familiar faces.

Niah, who frequented Smallville a few times a year with her mom as a child, never quite developed a close relationship with the Kents beyond acquaintanceship due to them being, well, full grown adults–possibly in their 40’s at the time-but that didn’t mean Niah dismissed her manners in their presence, behaving politely and cordial in the way her parents raised her. Niah stood fairly younger, older but a bit closer in age to their son, Clark. A shy flower bud of a kid. The little chestnut-haired boy would follow her around as they explored her grandparents’ property, whether playing hide and seek behind one of the old sheds, trees or bushes, and overturning big rocks to discover a slimy world of tiny insects that resided underneath or rescuing helpless worms trapped on cracked cement.

As far as she knew, the Kents were friends of the family, their memories reflecting in bits and pieces of her life.

They ended up assembling their tent two booths away. While her grandparents finished the final arrangements with one of the last pieces, Morris sent Niah off to the truck to start gathering the produce together, and she took off on a light sprint with not much issue. But seemingly in no rush, her feet slowed to a steady pace as she decided to take in her surroundings. More than the typical farmer was setting up to vend on this special day, as she also saw souvenirs and other items that delved into creative artistry being hung on display. Food carts that sold snacks were starting to roll in. And she noticed a section on the far side where people were wrangling farm animals within their own enclosures, setting up for children and adults alike to hitch a short ride on a pony, or pet a docile lamb or an unruly goat. Llamas and alpaca’s were also present.

It seemed like the day was off to a smooth start. She had a feeling it would be a fun day. Maybe during a short break she could check out the farm animals.

“Niah!”

She swiveled her head towards the person in question and smiled as her eyes landed on a tall figure. Clark. He quickly reached her before falling in step next to her.

“Hey sweetpea,” she greeted sweetly. “I was wonderin’ when you was gonna pop up.” Her arm wrapped around his waist for a side hug, and he returned the affection with his much longer arm around her shoulders, giving her a nice tight squeeze. “I saw your parents earlier, but you was missing in action.”

“Oh, I must’ve been at the truck at the time you guys first came in.”

“Ahh makes sense. I thought it odd you was jus gonna let your mom and dad do all the work while you slacked off somewhere.” When the mood strikes her, one of her favorite pastimes was finding a way to tease the hulking teenager.

A breathy scoff left his lips as it curled at the corner, and with a playful roll of his eye, he responded in a sardonic tone. “Funny, funny�� says the girl who’s abandoning her poor ole grandparents to fix a tent while you go wander around the market. As if that’s any better.”

That one made her laugh. “I’m actually heading to the lot to start unloading some of our stuff, if you must know. I’m actually doing what my paw told me.”

“Well, I’m here to give a hand.” He shrugged. “My dad said I could help ya’ll out for a bit, you know, make things a bit easier for your grandparents since they’re…you know…uh-“

She craned her neck to look up at him, concern flickering in her gaze as she met his eyes for a moment. She understood the implications of his words, the hint of worry in his green eyes, even if he strained to properly vocalize it. “Getting older? Yea….” It formed in the pit of her stomach, that special type of heaviness to witness the way vitality of ones you hold dear gradually diminish over the years.

Morris and Mary Lewis weren’t getting any younger. The Kents were well aware, which is why they often lent Clark to assist around their homestead and vineyard when it was required to help lighten their load. They needed all the help they could get, even if their pride won’t admit it.

“Thanks, boo. You’re a real hero. I know they appreciate you.”

A blush of red streaked across his face. And always in denial of his noteworthy deeds, he shook his head. “Naaah, I’m no hero.”

She shot him with a look of disbelief, stopping in her tracks as they finally reached the vehicle in the parking lot. “Clark, you not only help out my family when they need it, but, you literally jus saved someone’s life the other day from drowning in the river. What do you think a hero is? What it means?”

The news made the paper in town. Niah couldn’t conceal her astonishment once she got word that her friend rescued a man behind the wheel from drowning in the river. The name of the man slips her mind, again. Some, reckless son of a billionaire coined with the last name: Luthor. It’s a wonder how he even survived the crash, since photos of the incident demonstrate the wrecked condition of the car.

One life could’ve been lost that day, but by some unforeseen miracle, the result didn’t end within the throes of tragedy.

His hand reached for the back of his neck to rub against, bowing his head in a weak attempt to hide the blush on his face that only deepened at her praise. “It was nothing really.” Clark said, lifting his head at the sound of her lowering the lid of the trunk door. “I must’ve been gifted with, um, fast reflexes from my real parents…doesn’t mean I’m some type of hero.”

“Aww,” she tilted her head at him, and smiled wide in a way meant to lightly tease him further, “when did my little pipsqueak get to be so modest?”

Ever the shy farm boy, she observed over the years how Clark would rather downplay certain accomplishments he attained than bask in the overwhelming applause of extolment. To receive attention of any sort wasn’t exactly his forte. And as much as she sometimes poked fun at him, Niah understood the plight of embarrassment that followed after praise was thrown his way. They shared similarities in this regard, as Niah inclined to withdraw away from undue attention herself.

Clark frowned down at her. His suddenly stern expression of disapproval was a comical sight and worth the light teasing. He gripped one of the biggest, longest tables and began dragging it out of the trunk. “Why do you keep calling me that?” He complained, clearly peeved by the term. “I’m like, a foot taller or more than you now.”

As if she needed to be reminded. Two years ago. Niah recalls that late summer day she came into town to discover Clark had turned into Paul Bunyan overnight.

She grabbed a basket filled with big, juicy apples, and spoke absentmindedly. “Don’t know… maybe when you grow a mustache, beard and–oh, chest hair. But don’t worry, I won’t say it in front of your friends.” Of course, she would be kind to preserve his dignity before the judgmental gaze of his adolescent peers. “By the way, will some of them be coming today?”

“Mm, just Chole and Pete. They should be here pretty soon–can’t say I know who else will be here.”

“I think Lana will.” Niah chirped. “She said she’ll swing by to support, the last time I asked.”

Clark quickly turned to look at her for a moment. “Oh–oh really?”

Working as a new employee at Nell’s flower boutique shop, there were many pleasant encounters with the highly esteemed young girl, Lana Lang. Niah suspected Clark harbored feelings of some sort, particularly evident when he’d become extremely attentive at the mere mention of her name in conversation.

She soon realized that even the art of discreetness when it came to his romantic interests was also not his forte.

“Yea, but I’m sure you’ll see a few of your classmates today. I mean – it’s the weekend with nothing to do, to be honest. What else is there to do in town other than go to the Farmers Market?” It was the latest event of the fall season in Smallville. Any other special events that came to mind took place in nearby cities.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Only three hours passed since every vendor set up shop. The sun hitched higher in the sky with each passing lonely cloud. And the entire market continued to frolic with activity, flourishing with local residents of the small town. Niah and her grandparents spent the majority of their time behind the tables, switching between conversing with potential buyers who strolled by their booth or completing the transaction of a successful sale. Easy for the most part.

She was no salesperson by any means, nor did she ever consider herself a fluent talker–to engage in small talk was highly unfavorable. But there exists a small ounce of contentment felt when a genuine connection was established during interactions with people.

On occasion, she would take a breather and observe from a distance to find the Kent’s were just as busy tending to customers. Even Clark’s classmates, Chole and Pete, arrived to offer a hand to the family. It was lovely to see he found friends who showed up for him.

Friends he could rely on. Friends he could depend on.

Niah was never quite as fortunate in that area. Not always. Her heart was an incessant revolving door – people made a habit of exiting her life as quickly as they came. But as far as she could conclude, since moving into the area, to draw a comparison of authenticity between the community of Smallville and the citizens of Metropolis still stood on the line of uncertainty, but she reckons that the harsh reality of experience will surely taunt her once more, remind her that heartfelt connection most desired was unattainable for a reserved woman of her melancholic condition.

Maybe by some stroke of a miracle, some mysterious soul might prove to be different. But she no longer entertains the notion of high hopes anymore.

“Bye, ma’am! Thanks for stopping by.” She waved at an elderly lady who recently bought a container of blueberries. The fruit was one of the most popular choices by far, along with the apples and strawberries.

After watching her walk away, she sucked in a deep breath and blew slowly, trying to relax her muscles as she rolled her shoulders. Admittedly, weariness was beginning to seep into her muscles from standing on her feet for such a long period of time, and chatting with multiple individuals for a few hours only continued to sap at what energy she preserved for the day. She debated on telling her grandad she needed a break, a short one to get through the next two hours before they got ready to pack up shop.

Before a decision could be settled, she startled when two little kids rushed past and bumped against the table, knocking a few apples out of the stacked arrangement she placed them in. A deep groan left her throat with a sink of her shoulders, but it wasn’t a huge mess that couldn’t be amended, thankfully. As she went about rearranging the apples once more, an unknown presence slowly drew close to the booth, moving like a shadow in broad day light.

And a deep, silken voice suddenly penetrated her ears, too close in range to be far away. “These are some nice pickings you got set up here. A lot of variety to go around.”

Now interrupted by a potential customer, her attention drew away from the fruit to focus on the latest person to stop at their booth. Her gaze wandered and fell upon the lean figure of a male. The man stood tall, looming on the opposite side of the table with his hands tucked securely in his pants pockets. His head was slightly tilted to lock eyes with her, noting the soft intensity of his steel blue orbs that, with a mere glance, could send shivers down a person’s bones–cool, in comparison to the warm hue of her own eyes of earthy brown.

The stranger somehow stuck out more than any person she’s encountered thus far. Even amongst the herd of people who wore the typical flannel and steel-toe boots, his choice of wardrobe was to wear a suit, pressed and thoroughly ironed, an outfit more fit for formal affairs than it would be an outdoor market in a rural environment. A tie was missing. She assumes he must be a resident of Metropolis–business related. But what struck the most was his bald head, an interesting alternative that left him distinctly unique from the rest of the crowd. Yet, his baldness only accentuated his angular features and drew attention to the brightness of his eyes–somehow, they seemed to glisten in the shade.

She then saw the man smile softly, lip quirking at the corner at her quietness. The small shift of his expression prompted her to blink, suddenly realizing she must’ve been staring. Supposedly it couldn’t be helped, granted that, at first glance, his appearance as a whole was quite striking, at least to her.

“I'm–I’m sorry, ha,” a quick apology ushered forth, cheeks a tad warm, her hands going back to fixing the formation of the apples into their proper place. “I was bit distracted by these little guys and then you, uh–“ words trail as her gaze slowly lifted to his face.

A shoulder was cocked in a smooth manner, his lips curling up a tad higher. “It’s not a problem. I tend to get that reaction every once in a while–no big deal.” He reassured, a sense of calm permeating his voice like untroubled waters, lulling her worries as she returned a nervous smile. Rather than taking offense of her initial staring, he seemed more amused than anything else. Casually, he removed a hand from his pocket to pick up an apple that had strayed from the rest, laying his eyes on the fruit to inspect it for a moment, before responding. “It’s almost flattering more than anything.” He met her gaze once more and placed the apple on top of the pile, completing the decorative display. His hand slid back into its pocket.

“Oh, um, thank you.” She muttered as she looked down, rubbing at her pant legs as an excuse to escape his stare. The man possessed an air of coolness in the way he stood before her. Calm and laidback. But she could see traces of amusement that pranced across his expression as he looked at her with an interest she couldn’t decipher. The stranger’s presence stirred up shyness within her.

“But um,” her tone uttered soft as she tries to find her voice, remembering she had a job to do, “yes, we’ve got a lot here to choose from. Would you like a sample of anything? Maybe you have a favorite fruit you’d like to try?”

His eyebrows jumped at her offer, a glint in his eye. The stranger barely spared a glance at the fruit in front of him. “Hmm, I’m willing to give anything a fair chance. It wouldn’t do me well to keep my options closed to new experiences in taste. What would you propose I try?”

“Well…” Full lips press together in a second of thought, then she turned to reach for a sampler container and opened the lid. Deciding to play it safe, she offered up a slice of apple on a pick, clenched firmly between her index and thumb. “I’m sure you’ve had apples before, but these ones taste pretty good, at least in my humble opinion.”

He smirks. “Thank you, I’d say your opinion is worth a shot.” When he goes to grab the sample, his fingers brush over her smaller ones, his palm almost enveloping her whole hand as he carefully attempts to slide the pick from her grasp. She couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose or not. But as he drew back, a wave of tingles warmly erupted upon the skin where he made contact. Withdrawing her hand, she massaged it with her other to soothe away the odd feeling.

Whatever feeling his touch inspired.

The sample was gone in one bite as he chewed, and his eyes widened for a split second. Niah felt a sense of pride swelling up in her, as she’s seen the same response all day from people who sampled their produce. “That taste pretty amazing. Exceptional, actually.” The man sounded impressed, as if he hadn’t expected it to actually taste good. “I assume it must be your favorite, then?”

Her smile grew a little wider. Shy. “Oh um…I don’t know, it’s kinda difficult to choose.” Thoughtfully does her head tilt to the side, tip of her finger gently pressed against her cheek. “But I, uh, I kinda maybe lean towards the strawberries and blueberries a bit. Well, I really love watermelon, but they aren’t in season at the moment. They are usually sold in the summer season.”

He acknowledges her words with a small hum of his throat, considering his options of plentiful fruit at his disposal. “Mind if I sample a strawberry?” he asked with a slight drawl. “If it’s not too much trouble, I mean.”

“Oh, of course.” She chirps as she grabbed another sampler. This time she makes sure to let him choose his own pickings.

Big brown eyes watches expectantly as he popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly to savor the sweet flavor. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and licked his lips before shooting her a small, flirtatious smirk, simply said. “It tastes sweet. Like you.”

The compliment was so sudden. She had no clue on how to respond. Her lips parted as warmth flooded her body, her mind immediately scattering in an effort to formulate words. Taken aback and absolutely dumbstruck. She must’ve looked like a fool in front of him. “Th-thank you. I, uh. Ha.” words stumbled forth as she forced a laugh. Bashful. Nerves wrecked. “I grew them myself.”

The man seemed to smile to himself, as if pleased by her reaction. “Ah, well, that makes all the more sense--seems to me you’ve incorporated some your attributes into your produce. Y’know, the quality of the creation is usually contingent upon the cultivation of its nurturer. The labor and love are clearly there. Think I’ll take two containers of strawberries and five apples. I think you’ve quite outdone yourself, miss?”

A hand lifts to touch delicate upon her face. Her cheeks now burned beneath her palm, still warm. “Niah. Just Niah.” She breathed, were the only words she could muster, and her fingers brushes away a dreadlock strand from her face. To receive such commendation had always been overwhelming to bear, especially since this was her first time selling at the market, nor had she expected to gain a positive response from many people in just one day. She immediately began gathering up his order.

“Lex Luthor. Just Lex, though.” He teases lightly, mimicking her choice of words, something almost playful in his sharp eyes. “Who cares about surnames in this small town anyway.”

Her brows softly furrow at that, as the mention of his name causes her to pause and stare at him. Any small trace of bashfulness that once inhabited her demeanor suddenly vanishes once realization sets in of the man standing before her. The accident. Luthor, as in…

“Wait are you��” she starts slowly, “you’re the guy who crashed on Loeb bridge the other day.”

Lex raises his eyebrows, muscles in his shoulders growing tense, as if caught at being found out in an act of wrongdoing. But no implication of accusation could be detected in her words, nor in her voice. Only simple curiosity, her interest piqued. And she sees his tongue wet his lips again before they press together in a fine line, followed by a long exhale that releases through his nose, as if he’s been holding it in all this time.

“You’re close.” Languidly he remarks, and cast his gaze off to the side, seeming to recall the events that took place that day. He looks relaxed, but she can see strain in his neck, the shifting of his jaw. “But I’d say it was more like hurling down into the river, adrenaline high, blood pumping hot, ready to face imminent death, more like.” Self-deprecating the way he smiles and returns his regard back upon her. “Interestingly enough, a bystander–a kid nonetheless, jumped in and saved my life. Ironic sometimes how fate tends to play out differently for all of us.”

She regards him with eyes that had softened considerably, sympathetic in their weight as he holds her stare. “Yea…the kid. Clark, he’s actually a friend of mine.” At his look of surprise, she carries on. “He’s a good kid. I’m glad he was there at the time to be of help. It’s scary to think what would’ve happened if he wasn’t there.”

A dash of redness dappled at his cheeks, the image seeming uncharacteristic of his person by how stiff his movements appeared as he shifted his weight. He quickly cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to cause so much trouble. It wasn’t exactly part of my schedule to go driving off a bridge that day.” Oh, she realized he must be embarrassed, even remorseful of his actions.

“I know. I know.” She nodded and offered a small smile; one she hoped would be reassuring enough. “Don’t worry. I’m just glad no one got killed. You’re alive… I think that’s what matters more than anything. Anyone would feel the same way.”

His face straightens at that, and for a few seconds, Lex says nothing. And he analyzes her with a quiet, attentive eye, his countenance slipping on an expression that resembles skepticism, as if the concept of anyone imparting some essence of compassion towards him was unheard of. Unthinkable–a stranger whom he just met more or less who speaks gentle of him in earnest, is what she imagines. It wouldn’t have been such a profound of an observation if his silence hadn’t stretched on the way it did as she waited for a response.

“I gotta say,” he finally remarks, curiosity hinted in his tone with a arch of a brow, “you definitely took this in good stride in comparison to most people I’ve come across with in town.”

“Really? What are some things people said to you?”

He shrugged. “Drive slower. And that one was the nicest among them all. The others weren’t soo, I’d say, amicable in nature–is the way I’d lightly put it.”

“Well, I know there’s truth in that.” She agreed, and went about collecting up the produce he ordered. “I wouldn’t want you to get tangled up in another accident and lose your life…or endanger someone else’s.”

“Of course. It would’ve been most unfortunate had I lost my life before coming to my first Smallville Farmers Market. I might’ve missed the chance to pass your booth and sample your amazing apples and strawberries. Suppose you can call me fortunate this day.”

His words elicit a small, dainty laugh to breeze pass her lips–tickled by his charm as the anxiety from earlier melts away. “Oh, I’m sorry. This wasn’t all me. My grandparents own the booth and grew most of the crops here. Some, I’ve helped while others I did on my own. But–y’know, everything is a team effort to get the best results that everyone can enjoy. Hopefully.”

Unbeknownst to her while she rambles, Lex takes his time as he looks her up and down, studying her while she packs two containers in a paper bag. He slightly turns his upper body sideways, a quiet hum leaving his throat as he brings a soft, closed fist on top of the table, lightly taps the surface of it with his finger. “Hmm, she’s not only a sweetheart, but she so happens to have a stroke of modesty. Virtues aren’t always easy to come by where I hail from.” This time, something implicit in his tone hints at a seductive quality lurking beneath the surface, and the notion was emphasized when she caught his eye and held her gaze for a solid moment. Almost transfixed the way she couldn’t look away.

“Had I known they had women like you in a quaint town such as this, I’d probably visit much sooner...”

Deliberate intent that bespeaks of an interest inclining far from the innocence of platonic endeavors.

And her heart starts to beat rapidly. She gulps.

Wait.

It was at this point it dawned on her that he must’ve been flirting with her. Lex Luthor. Throughout their entire conversation. All this time. How did this observation fly over her head? From the intense eye contact. The accidental hand hold–although she couldn’t blame him based on the conditions of the incident–the compliments. Praise. And other little tidbits he threw about in the wind.

But Niah, she should embrace honesty of her conscious, she’d profess it all came down to denial. She had her share of experience to recognize interest and subtle desire that reflected in a man’s gaze. Infatuation: A temporary fascination with the object of the eye. It’s better to not acknowledge it. Any interest he exhibits is merely ephemeral. Fleeting.

Memories filter through her mind then. And there’s a sudden ache in her heart.

The air feels dry when she swallows, again, and a shift occurs in her demeanor when she speaks, the warmth that once inhabited her voice now flows tepidly off her tongue. Quickly, she averts her eyes from his. “Yes, well… I think modesty is a common virtue among honest farmers and the like, y’know? At least the ones I know anyway.” His flirtatious remark goes unacknowledged as she then proceeds to state the cost of the produce.

Lex gives a slight turn of his head, eyelids a tad low, a calculating stare, as he detects something different in the air around between them. And she only hopes he’ll take the hint. But to her surprise, when Niah chances another look at him, the smooth smirk he wore had slithered higher on his face, an expression similar to a snake, as if finding more amusement at her lack of interest, entertained by the difference in their dynamic.

A challenge.

Maybe.

“Ah, I can see that.” Reaching for his wallet in his inner coat pocket, he flips through a couple of bills, the texture fresh and expensive. “Maybe by chance I’ll get the opportunity of coming across more like-minded folks around here. Being in the company of honest-hearted people may do me some good since it seems my circumstances have led me to take up residency in Smallville.” He drops the game, a temporary break–allows it to rest in his resignation.

Lex apparently knew when to take a hint. And she finds herself grateful.

“Oh . . . where you from then?” Curiosity tugged at her for some unknown reason.

“Metropolis.”

“Funny. I actually thought that when I first saw you. The only thing really missing is a bowtie, though.”

His hand lifts to touch his neck where the particle of clothing was meant to be. “Oh, right, I left it at home in the basket along with the rest my dirty laundry.” He joked, offering a lopsided smile, far too charismatic than he needs to be. And again, somehow beyond her control, the sight prompts a demure smile of her own, though she tries to fight against it by looking away. Gosh, she was bad at this.

It was unfair.

Lex smoothly hands her a bill between two fingers – twenty-dollar sharp. He tells her to keep the change before she could protest. Then she remembers he’s a billionaire, of course, and she gives him the paper bag with his order. Another fruitful sale.

He moves slow as he takes a single step back from the booth, his cerulean gaze lingering upon her face for a moment longer. “Well. Niah, it was a pleasure talking to you. ‘Suppose–I’ll see you again sometime.” The way he framed his words doesn’t end with the mark of a question; it sounded like a promise.

A dash of hope that dangles between them.

But her eyes fall low with a gentle shrug of her shoulders, and she turn her attention back towards the apples, hands delicately rearranging them back into presentable order. She’s been messing with them all day, but she relied on the distraction of her hands to ease her nerves. “Who knows? Only time will tell if our paths will cross again.”

Lex Luthor is a playboy billionaire. What should she expect. And she clings onto the belief that the possibility was highly unlikely. “Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Luthor. Have a nice day, okay?” It made things easier.

He offers a quick nod, flashes her one last smile before sauntering off down the lane of other vendors, her gaze following his form until he disappeared within the crowd.

As soon as he left, her lungs released a breath of relief, and her limbs go slack, her hands bracing on the table’s surface as she leans against it. That interaction drained more of her energy than she formerly realized.

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