|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

Wind Carries | Jon Kent x Reader

"Boy, do I understand that." You smirked. Jon offered a smile that wasn't as bright against your legs.

When he didn't give a vocal response, you opted for prodding. That was an amazing thing about Jonathan Kent. While your brothers, sisters, father, and close family friends were usually guarded and not the talking type, Jon came from a family of people who shared and healed together... sometimes reluctantly, but at least he was willing to spill his answers to your questions.

"Is this about your powers, honey?" You questioned just over the gentle purr of the breeze against Jon's face.

This time Jon does smile. It's not all-encompassing as it usually is, but it still manages to make you feel like you hadn't ever seen places like Gotham City, or met people like the Joker. Jon nodded slowly, the frail wood of the swing creaking when he rolled onto his back. That smile flickers on and off his face, trying to make a decision on whether he should show you just how worried he is, or hide it as not to make you—a child of the Batfamily—uncomfortable with so much emotion.

Sweetly, you thumbed his cheek,"You know I believe you can do it. And if you can't fly or catch bullets, you can still save people. You wanna know how I know that?"

Jon gave another nod of his head, inviting.

"Because it's not about who you come from." You smiled."I mean, look at my family. My dad's a total asshole and I'm—"

"—The most beautiful, kindest, perfect person I know?" Jon finished with a grin. You rolled your eyes and tried to brush off just how red your face was, delicately swatting off his comment. That was yet another reason why you jumped at the chance to visit Jon or even the Kents in general.

When you returned home from school, you were often greeted with,"I'm busy, Y/N." Or worse,"I promise I'll be at dinner." And then you would find a note on the dining-room table with a half-assed excuse, and the lights of the Bat-signal would fill the darkness as you ate by yourself. The late nights alone flashed behind your eyelids and you squeezed them shut out of annoyance.

Then you met Jon Kent through your twin Damian, and suddenly you found yourself being flown into the fields of the farm, a warm hand on your back and another offering you fresh foods and beverages. Bruce Wayne didn't want you dating Jonathan Kent—but really, he was the factor in this game that brought you so close.

_

"Honestly," Jon huffed. He clamored down on the rooftop of the Kent residence, failing to realize that his family was asleep underneath him. That's what he thought anyway; if you knew any better, Clark and Lois were probably debating if they should finally call Bruce for an intervention of some kind. Judging by how hard Kon's face was when you passed him on your way in, and how Kara's fists were bunched at her sides, they must be apart of this debate as well. You didn't blame them for their concern and you probably never will; if a teenage girl showed up to your door for the fifth time in the last three months, you would try and solve the problem as well. Especially if that problem involved childhood neglect.

"How can they just—ignore you like that?" Jon frowned, looking down at his hands guiltily. When he took note of how you hadn't sat down, he offered a sad smile, pat the seat beside him, and welcomed your ear on his shoulder when you did.

"The mission." You said simply, like that was a better excuse than the ones they scribbled on post-it notes. When you shrugged Jon's brows furrowed. There was a long moment of silence in which you expected many things. The sound of cars or sirens, the hum of a phone going off, or noise in general that meant someone was leaving. But you are greeted by crickets and cicadas chirping from the depths of the property. If you close your eyes, it is so quiet you can hear the creek smoothing rocks as the marker for the distant forest. It is a silence that it's still somehow alive, so unlike the empty echoes of your feet on marble in an empty Manor. It is almost... calming.

Or maybe "calming" had been the wrong word. It was more moving than anything else, and something stirs in your stomach that all of your instincts tell you aren't welcome. But you invite them in. Make them your own. And then you realize that this feeling is sadness, and that the reason your eyes are burning is that you're crying.

Jon's body language changes entirely in seconds. His body unclenches and his hands unwind, melting into something that is definitely not just sympathy. It's empathy. He may not be able to relate, but he can certainly adapt to your feelings and make them his own, in the way he somehow recognizes you need. You don't need a cool-down period, or a brooding session like any of your kin would require to lighten up. You need comfort, a connection, and the crush that had been building and burning in Jon's chest reawakes.

"We'll talk to them, Y/N," Jon promised.

You shake your head and sighed. The sound was shaky and weak, causing you to wring your fingers in frustration,"That's not what I want, Jon... No matter what any of us do, there's never going to be a change."

"Don't say that." Jon chided tenderly. Gingerly, he raised one of his supporting arms and allowed it to comb against your other shoulder. Your ear fell back against his arm with the action, and something warm grew in Jon's chest.

"We both know it's true," You said. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the corner of the blanket Lois had given you. Out of nowhere, your gaze raised and turned to his. From so close your eyes were more E/C than Jon had ever imagined, and the few stars scattered across the heavens reflected in your irises. With a smile and a shake of his head, Jon got to work on swiping away any tears you had missed. You copied his visage but with a softer, more broken version."But I don't need them for that anymore. I have you."

When Jon's face flared and he grinned, you swiftly and awkwardly brushed off,"—And uh, Kara, and Kon, your parents... I have you guys." You corrected yourself. Jon still didn't stop smiling, but it calmed again and drifted into something kinder. Apprehensive.

"No, no. You're right," Jon's hand raised to cup your face, his fingers hooking under your ear and his thumb catching on another falling teardrop.

Desperate for a connection, for comfort and a presence that wanted your company, you looked at Jon's face and bobbed your head in a single nod of consent. His lips met yours somewhere in between. You almost cry out in relief at his sweetness, at the pure unaltered kindness pressing from his kiss. The reason why you're kissing or crying doesn't go unforgotten, but blurs as Jon enters your new point of focus.

When you detach from each other, and Jon is closer than before and startlingly so. He flashes a smile,"You do have me."

_

You smiled at the memory and brush back the curls in Jon's face again. While you were half-daydreaming, he had propped himself up on his elbow, side still laid out on your thighs and foot still rocking you both. With the change of angle, you are granted access to his face. So when you hook your fingers beneath his ear and stroke his cheek with your thumb, he smiled and realized what you had been remembering.

"I know that you can save people without your powers because you're you, Jon." You smiled and prodded Jon's heart gently,"Sure, being a hero is in your blood. But you made sure it was in your heart, too. So you'll find a way even if you can't fly or shoot lasers out of your eyes."

Jon gave your words some thought, staring deeply at your expression. Gently, he gave a nod,"Yeah. I suppose you're right."

"I know I am." You smirked. Jon laughed, shaking his head and knotting his face in the cute way he always did when he was expressing mirth. He waved you closer with giggles escaping his lips that you suddenly wanted to kiss,"C'mere." Jon whispered, and you do a lot more than just that.

His kiss is as warm as the sun and as inviting as your blankets at night. His hands encase your neck and then your face like the protective petals of a flower, and suddenly everything is moving again and his apple-cinnamon taste is slipping from your tongue. You open your eyes with the swing stops swaying.

You connect the hands cupping your face to strong farm-built arms, and then a body that is floating above the porch and clinging to you by the shoulders. With a booming, roaring laugh, Jon Kent is flying.

He grins at you with wide eyes,"Holy shit!"