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

Different | Teen!Clark Kent x Reader

Description: When Clark opened his palms and stared down at them in frustration, you saw them quiver with his breath, "I don't want to be a god, Y/N. I just want to be Clark Kent—not the kid from out there," Clark cast his eyes to the sky, "But their son. Your boyfriend." When his gaze fixes in on you, they are barely shining with angry tears, "I just want to be normal, Y/N."

Words: 2595

Notes: I have a lot to say about this one. First off, I've taken to clinging to certain nicknames that the characters give the reader (Jason with doll/babe, Damian with habibti/beloved) and I was thinking about Clark would do and then I was like oOH I COULD DO A METAPHOR THINGY so that's why he says what he does. Secondly, Clark just INSPIRES ME to write the coolest stuff and it makes me angry because like?? Why can't I do that with Dick or Jason, huh??? WTF?? Thirdly, I started watching Smallville and I have learned 2 things: 1, it's basically Superman's version of Gotham. 2, WHY TF DOES IT HAVE TEN SEASONS OML

Keywords: sunlight (no surprise there), different, laughter, crystal

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The dry, yellowed light of a dying sun filtered through the cracks in the roofing, spilling from the Kent Family's attic window and across the two figures sat beneath it. The attic smells like sawdust and wood, little particles falling like snow in the window's light. Old trunks and racks of clothing lined the walls, standing beside aged and three-legged dining chairs, piles of books shoved in dilapidated bookshelves. It is a room filled with artifacts that might still be useful one day. It is a room filled with chances of discovery and potential, much like the young man sitting before you.

Clark Kent twists the crystal in his hand, and you watch his eyes as they trace its edges and sharp ends. He inspects it under the sunlight, the fractal glittering the same shade of ice blue that his eyes are. You smiled when Clark guided you into his side to see it from his perspective. Together, you watch the gift Clark's parents—his real parents—had left with him.

"I always wondered," You murmured, a distracted whisper held between your bodies. "I mean, no normal guy can stick his hand in a woodchipper and break the woodchipper, but there was always something... special about you. Personality wise."

Clark smiled a little, but it was one of those smiles where he was trying to show he was happy even if he wasn't. You knew his smiles very well; the caught-off-guard, spur of the moment, mid-laughter grins that shine with something real; the awkward, boyish, closed-lip smiles he holds when becoming the subject of one of your photos; the secretive smirks when you whisper and tease in his ear, causing red to prickle up his neck and the tips of his ears; and the sad smiles, like the one currently conquering his expression now.

"And what's that?" He asked.

Clark turned his gaze on you, hiding the other-worldly item in his palm. Your faces were close. Close enough where you can lay your ear on his shoulder (which you do), close enough for him to smile when you rest you hand on his shoulder (which he does), and close enough where you feel like you can see through his almost transparent eyes. If the eyes are truly the windows to the soul, then you could read everything about Clark right here and now.

You sighed, pressing your lips together to think it over. It was hard to describe what about Clark made him different. Regardless of what his DNA or what his parents told him, Clark was very human—he acted like one, looked like one, spoke like one. He is human. But there was still something so ethereal to his character that made you look twice. Maybe it was how light he seemed to walk, where his steps fell without sound, like he was hovering a centimeter off the ground without your knowledge. Maybe it was how unconditionally giving he was, giving and giving until he had nothing left to lend anymore.