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

Wind Carries | Jon Kent x Reader

Description: Jonathan Kent has trouble with flying, or believing he can fly at all. Y/N L/N-Wayne doesn't mind helping with that.

Request:The requests are still open? Well, if they are, I'd like to request something from Jon Kent. I would like a oneshot or hc (as you like) of Jon constantly bringing his s/o to help him to fly, or to let her know about his advances with his powers, his adventures with Damian or Superman, even to tell her how stressed he feels about being the son of Superman, or how sad he feels for not having all the powers of his father ¡Until he learn to how fly! Something super fluff with a little angst please? - Anon

Words: 2132

Notes: I love Jon Kent. Have I said that yet? Because I do. I LOVE HIM SO EFFING MUCH OKAY DON'T TOUCH ME

_

"Slow down," You laughed melodiously. At first, he imagines it's the wind when he feels something smooth back his hair, but then your fingers are entering his vision and sweeping his bangs out of his eyes."You're talking too fast. Start over."

The wheat fields were golden in the fading light of the sun. Each straw reached toward the sky and waved in the wind like a crowd during the final song of a concert; in unison and to a beat. The pink sky and sunlight had converged on the horizon to paint it a deepening orange, that Kara always said reminded her of Krypton, the red sun's rays stroking her skin from her bedroom window. Jon can see her in the distance—just a dot to anyone without supervision—working to finish repairing the fences of the horse's pasture. If he closed his eyes and focussed he could hear her hammer striking nails into wood and feel the vibrations of the movement.

You looked out into the distance, which was like the most beautiful landscape painting come to life in your pupils. Jon gently propped his foot against the chipping white paint coating the porch's railing. Resting his ear on your lap and sighing as your fingers worked through his Lane-inherited curls, Jon gently began to push his foot to sway the porch-swing.

"Sorry—I." He sighed again, looking for a summary of his super-speeded rant. When he inhaled the world smelled of grains and fertilizer."Everyone's—Everything has been stressful lately, I guess."

But that sentence couldn't properly summarize just how big the mountain settled on his shoulders was.

Firstly, he hadn't seen you in months—it was rare that your father didn't need you for some task, bat-related or not. It could also be that Batman didn't like the idea of any scenario involving the words Jon Kent and Y/N Wayne-L/N. He had told Jon that it wasn't the boy's fault or anything he did ("You come from a good family, son." Jon recalled Bruce saying.), but simply that he didn't think Y/N was old enough to date. Which, in all honesty, was a great lie. You and Jon were both 16... meaning that Batman just didn't want his little kid to grow up. Regardless, he could at least stop glaring at Jon whenever he hugged you goodbye.

Then, there was the ever-looming possibility revolving around his powers. He could fly. Or at least he hoped he could, because every time it seemed like he was he always landed on the ground at gravity's request instead of his. He didn't need super-hearing to catch his mother's worried murmurs, or his father's sympathetic glances. He was supposed to be Superman's son, which meant that he had Superman's powers... but he didn't. He could "leap tall buildings in a single bound", was (almost) "faster than a speeding bullet", and was "[about as] powerful as a locomotive". He was supposed to be Superman's son, which meant that he had Superman's powers... or most of them anyway.

Like most of the Bats, you had the odd skill of reading people and situations like an open book. You had taken one look at him sadly stirring his fruit-salad at lunch and stole him away just before dinner. When tending to Krypto had failed to rouse his joviality as it always did, you decided that something more relaxing would make do; porch swinging at sunset it is. You frowned when it seemed your attempt had only been mildly successful.