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Smallville drabbles

Chapter Text

In his life, he had very few things that were his and his alone.

As a child and adolescent, friends were bought and paid for by his parents, like toys. And that’s all they were: toys. He formed no true attachments and easily discarded them when he grew bored.

Each girlfriend he brought home had to meet his mother’s standards—none ever did.

The boys he never brought home provided little relief, and were dropped quickly.

His room did not reflect his interests, but what his mother believed he should like. She handpicked his clothes and meals; he ate out as often as he could.

And his father was more of his mother’s pawn than he’d ever been. If the man’d ever had a brain of his own, Genevieve had destroyed it long ago.

.

Jason hated his mother. Hated her more than he could articulate. Hated her for controlling him, for dictating every move he ever made.

He’d had everything anyone could contemplate wanting. The best clothes, best food, trips around the world. Money and power, a bright and glorious future.

But he did not have freedom and he did not have joy. He did not have a life of his choosing.

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On his fifteenth birthday, his mother came to him.

Her smile was gentle, and her touch—the kiss she pressed to his forehead felt so wrong

“My darling,” she whispered and kissed his left cheek. “My sweet boy,” she murmured and kissed his right cheek. “Jason,” she said, pulling back to meet his eyes for one endless moment, before kissing his lips.

No, nothing Jason ever had was his own. Not friends, not partners, not the opportunities offered a son of wealth.

But Jason didn’t hate his mother until he became hers in every possible way.

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He always hated the word darling after that, because he knew it really meant toy.

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When he was eighteen, he fled to college. Moved out of his home, if home it could truly be called. He partied, played football, fucked anyone he wanted, and aced each class.

Then he got injured and benched and college stopped being such fun.

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Jason knew he was gorgeous. Knew he was smart, talented—his mother had made sure he knew. And also taught him to take advantage of each.

He hated his face. Almost as much as he hated the people who gave it to him.

Finally he turned twenty and his first inheritance came to him, money from his father’s mother that his parents couldn’t touch.

When his mother gave her blessing to the trip, Jason actually contemplated not going. She called him darling and traced her fingers down his cheek, and he wanted to smash her head into the wall. She smiled at him and said, “You might meet a nice girl, Jason. Go. Have fun.”

She pulled him down and kissed his lips and he wanted to die.

.

Nothing ever truly belonged only to him. Not even Lana, who he’d thought was the best thing to ever happen to him. Not the coaching position at Smallville High—bought with talent from his genes and money from his grandmother.

He thought he’d escaped from his parents, but he’d only floundered in their invisible net.

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Jason is his mother’s son. He can deny it till the end of the world, but each denial will taste false on his tongue.

He has her weaknesses and strengths, and the tether that binds them will never fray.

He thought he’d escaped.

When Lana tells him Genevieve is in Smallville, he can feel the hangman’s noose.

.

Nothing ever belonged to him.

Chapter Text

She’s never been afraid of him. Despite everything he is, everything he can do… she’s never been frightened by him. She found him (he found her) as a little boy, already stronger than Jonathan, than anything she’d ever seen before. He didn’t even know his own power, but he never hurt her. Something in them connected.

(He only wanted a mother—she only wanted a son.)

And on that day of terror and pain, she got her dearest wish. She got a little boy she never had to worry about; car wrecks and disease could not touch him. All the things a mother feared, she could brush under the carpet and not give a second thought.

He’s her baby boy, even as a man grown. He’s still that boy she found (that boy who found her), that child she fell in love with in a scarred cornfield.

Chapter Text

Hope isn’t something he’s ever claimed to have in abundance, but his supply is all used up.

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He can remember the first time he met Lionel Luthor, at age seven. It was a social function, the kind his father detested, the kind his mother always dragged him to.

“Jason, darling,” she’d say, “you want to make me proud, don’t you? You’re such a beautiful boy—I just want to show you off.”

And she’d smile at him, kiss his cheek, and he’d sit through the entire adult’s party, just barely standing all the looks from both men and women that he didn’t fully understand but felt were wrong.

Sometimes his mother would leave him unattended for too long and a man or woman—usually a man—would take his hand, gently lead him away.

That time, the last before his eighth birthday, it was Lionel Luthor. “You know,” he’d begun, kneeling next to Jason, “I have a son about your age. He’d be bored silly by now, bouncing off the walls.” He smiled at Jason and continued, “I bet your parents are proud of you for being so well behaved.”

Later, Jason knew exactly what the feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling he felt every time an adult took him away, was. Later, he knew how completely wrong the majority of these parties were.

Later, too fucking late, he knew his mother had known.

Lionel leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I know where there’s a fun room, just waiting for you. Want me to take you?” He pulled back and grinned engagingly.

Jason thought for a moment, then smiled. “Sure,” he said, jumping to his feet. He hadn’t yet learned that all the ‘games’ the grown-ups played with him were evil and wrong and sick.

Lionel, at least, gave him some pleasure instead of just sating himself

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He can remember the first time he met Clark Kent.

He’d heard about the Clark, of course: Lana hadn’t been able to shut up about him, kept ranting about the secretive farm boy, kept saying Clark did this or Clark liked that or even, Clark would never have done this.

When they first met, Jason didn’t know she was only seventeen. He himself had just turned twenty.

It was their third date before their ages came up, and all the childhood fucks had damaged his social knowledge.

Lana was beautiful and Lana was kind and Lana was an easy fuck. By their fifth date he had her top off and by the sixth he’d fucked her through the carpet.
“Clark would never have done that,” she gasped after and he kissed her forehead like one would a child.

So then she fled back to Smallville and he’d become bored with Paris anyway, so he followed, did the whole romantic thing, dodged calls from his mother, and used connections he pretended he no longer had to get a job at Smallville High.

Despite all the hatred he felt for his mother, he never denied her was her son, down to the core.

Jason informed Lana he was now a coach at her school, began kissing her, and quickly they separated as someone walked in.

The someone turned out to be the Clark Kent he’d heard so much about. Jason quickly studied the farm boy covertly: certainly attractive, certainly large—and certainly something off. Lana had mentioned secrets and lies; one raised as Jason was learned very swiftly how to tell when things were being held back.

He decided then that though it was Lana who brought him to Smallville it would Clark who kept him there.

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Lex Luthor was very much like his father, though a much better fuck.

Sometimes over the course of the years, Jason wonders if Lex knew of his father’s penchant for little boys. If he ever suffered because of it.

“Don’t hurt Lana,” Lex hissed into his ear as they undressed each other, and Jason laughed.

“What is it you think we’re doing?”

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Jason ponders often now. Not much else to do. Sometimes the Clark-who’s-not-Clark enters and talks with him. Sometimes fucks him. Sometimes beats him. Sometimes stares at him.

Some people say beauty is a gift. Jason knows it’s a curse.

“My god, you’re so beautiful,” NotClark says a lot. “What was God thinking, creating something like you?”

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Jason remembers the first time he met NotClark. NotClark had stared at him like he’d never seen him before, swallowed Jason with his eyes. He’d said he was quitting the football team and shut the door in his face.

And later that night, as Jason left the Talon, NotClark grabbed him, threw him against the wall, and proceeded to brand Jason as his own.

“I remember now,” NotClark had purred into his ear as he tore off Jason’s pants. “You were such a beautiful little boy. Who knew perfection could be improved?”

“Lionel?” Jason asked, using long practice to distance himself from the pain being inflicted on him.

Hot breath tickled his ear as NotClark—Lionel Luthor—whispered, “So glad you remember.”

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He woke in a room he hasn’t left in what he’s been told is two years. He has books and a computer; food is brought by the same woman everyday. He’s tried talking to her but she never responds; and he tried charging to escape, but was quickly overpowered. His room is connected to a bathroom with a toilet and shower.

NotClark has told him everyone he knew—Lana, Chloe, Jonathan, Martha, even Lex—is dead.

“And my parents?” he’d asked, only concerned about his father.

“You’ll get them soon,” NotClark—Jason knows he should call the bastard Lionel but can’t bring himself to—said, then began licking his ear.

Jason never refused, never fought. Maybe it made him a coward; maybe it made him twisted. But futile fighting has never interested him.

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Sometimes NotClark would lie in the bed after and pull Jason to him, thread his fingers through Jason’s hair.

“How’d you kill Lana?” Jason asked one night (well, he assumed it was night, but had no way of telling).

“I incinerated her with this amazing heat vision Kent had,” NotClark replied.

Jason knew about Clark’s powers courtesy of NotClark, so he calmly processed that. “Cool.”

Maybe it spoke badly of him, but his morals flew out the window long ago.

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After another two years, NotClark trusted him enough to let him out. Jason stood in the sun soaking up the warmth for over an hour.

“C’mon, Beautiful,” NotClark finally said, grabbing his hand. “It’s time you saw my empire.”

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Jason knew that NotClark made many mistakes. The greatest was letting Jason in on Kent’s one weakness.

NotClark had decided one night for some unfathomable reason to see how many beers it took to get his alien body drunk. He had Jason sit with him to keep count. They got to five hundred and twelve before any affect showed at all. And it was another two hundred and twenty-five before NotClark began spilling secrets, including the green kryptonite he tortured out of Jonathan.

Jason filed that away, of course, and made no move for a long time.

NotClark was cautious, wary, arrogant, and cruel. Jason played the good little puppy, obedient and happy to serve.

It was ten years after NotClark had taken him that he finally fought back, and it was silent revolution.

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NotClark laughed the night he died.

He’d asked Jason what he regretted most and when Jason replied, “Not telling my parents about the parties,” NotClark laughed.

“Your mother knew, Beautiful,” he chortled and Jason shook his head.

“No. Even she wasn’t that cruel.”

NotClark reached out and cupped Jason’s face. “Every time someone fucked you, m’boy, a sizable donation found its way into your mother’s savings account.”

Deep inside Jason something broke. He lunged forward, attacked NotClark, kissing and biting and punching, and NotClark laughed again, letting Jason finally be the dominant one.

Out of all the mistakes he made, that was the final one.

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Jason found where NotClark had stashed NotLionel. “Your body’s dead,” he told him and felt only a smidge of pity as NotLionel wilted.

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He’s never wanted much for himself. Now all he wants is vengeance. But his mother’s dead, and NotClark, too, and all his hopes dried up long ago.

His innocence died before he could remember, and his ability to love never really flowered. He never really had faith, but hope—he had that, once, a long, long time ago.

Now he rules the world, a consort without a king, and it’s a cold comfort to know he’s ruling better than NotClark ever could.

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Hope isn’t something he’s ever claimed to have in abundance, but his supply is all used up.

Chapter Text

He remembers looking at Clark and thinking, Please just tell me. Please. Because Lex Luthor is not stupid. And if Clark had just told him –

But Clark never did. And Lex might not be stupid, but he must surely be a fool because it still hurts.

Superman. Lex reads Lane’s articles, watches the interviews and media coverage, and he remembers being a boy, ever seeking his father’s attention. Whatever his father gave him, he was grateful for.

Lex is not stupid. There is much he could do with his knowledge – but.

He doesn’t really want to hurt Clark. Just attention.

Chapter Text

They say, in near-silent whispers during the dead of night, that once he was a hero. That once he saved instead of killing, that once he preserved instead of destroying.

They tell their children stories of the savior, of the one sent to save them, to heal them, to... do anything but what he does. They barely hold back the tears, clutching their babies close, murmuring that the good side of him will take over again, will return, will make everything better.

They tell themselves one day the hero will return to the husk that wears his face, to the monster in his skin, will resume control and make amends. They tell themselves over and over that one day everything will be alright again.

They don’t know what happened, what changed, what went wrong inside him. They don’t know where he came from, what he is. All they know is that he used to protect them, used to care for them, and now... he doesn’t. Now he is cold and ruthless and wants only to rule. Wants only to command and sow discord where once he kept the peace.

Once he was a hero, and they’re deluding themselves if they think he’ll become one again. Once he stood for good and hope and love—all those happy things, those things of the Light.

Now... now... darkness descended on the world when he ascended to power. Pain and death flow, along with blood through the streets—perhaps, more than a few of them wonder, this was his destiny all along.

The tyrant look suits him.

.

There was a darkness in Lex Luthor’s soul. In the past he’d tried to deny it, to overcome it, to suppress it. His father never tried to help him defeat it; instead, he catered to it, with every lesson on why Luthor’s are better and why it’s fine to take what you want.

Lionel was one of the first to die, and he died knowing Lex learned his lessons well.

That explosion in the lab was the best thing to ever happen to Lex—though, he goes by Alexander now. Only Kal-El and Jason can call him Lex, and only during their games. And that’s when Alexander calls Kal-El Clark.

Kal-El explained everything, happily, once Alexander had given Clark the red ring. All the powers, the ambitions Clark had hidden, the plans. Together, they’d written their own destinies, attained their own ends.

Martha and Jonathan, Lana and Chloe—they had to go, and they did, days after Lionel. Kal-El had made Martha and Jonathan’s end quick and painless, because they had protected him, after all. A minute part of him still remembered them fondly. But only a tiny bit of him, and Alexander took care of Lana and Chloe—Kal-El had watched from the shadows, as Alexander gently explained why they had to die. Even to Kal-El it seemed twisted, but Alexander made it so attractive—plus, Clark had always been interested in psychological torture. He’d just hidden it well.

It’s funny, all those memories of being told he was a terrible liar—he’s probably one of the best in the history of Earth. Of course, he can’t beat Alexander. Or Jason.

Jason. Now, there was a surprise. Not five weeks after he dropped off the face of the planet—during the whole Lex/Alexander thing—and missed all the fun—death and mayhem and taking what was always theirs—he came back. Stormed into Alexander’s office, where Kal-El and Alexander were discussing their next move in their take-over. Stormed in and plopped down in one of the chairs, smirked that infuriating smirk and said, “Thanks for killing that bitch for me. I was starting to worry I’d have to do it myself.”

Alexander and Kal-El shared a glance. Alexander poured another drink and walked over, handing it to Jason. “Really, now? And here I thought you loved her.”

Jason laughed, taking a sip. “You can love someone and not like them very much, Alexander,” he said. “Don’t the three of us prove that?”

So he joined them. Together the three of them planned the perfect way to eventually rule the world.

Kal-El pretended to be Clark Kent, worked at the Daily Planet, consoled Lois for the death of her cousin, and lulled everyone he used to know into a false sense of security.

Alexander and Jason took over LuthorCorp and all of Genevieve’s holdings. They became a major player in the business world, slowly but surely taking root.
Genevieve had vanished while Jason was gone. Just... disappeared. Foul play was suspected, but nothing could be proved. Neither Kal-El nor Alexander had inquired, but both were fairly certain Jason had ended her. Probably painfully.

Kal-El and Alexander danced around each other, still somewhat in thrall to the memories of Lex and Clark, who had never acknowledged their attraction. Jason was a comfort-fuck for both of them many times, a role he certainly didn’t mind.

Kal-El, as Clark, began Superman’s ascent, getting the world used to a super-powered being. He saved and rescued and taught children right from wrong. He smiled aw shucks, ma’am at cameras, he gave it was nothing interviews nervously, and he embarrassedly courted Lois Lane.

But at night he’d return to Alexander’s mansion, drink Alexander under the table, and go fuck Jason. He’d pretend Jason was Alexander, Lex, the man Clark Kent fell in love with, the man Kal-El couldn’t get enough of. Jason was fascinating in his way, a beautiful sadist Kal-El would never understand, broken in ways even Alexander couldn’t fathom, and he was definitely the one to complete their unholy triumvirate of evil.

Alexander’d wake the next morning with a hang-over to rival a nuclear explosion and crawl into bed with them. He and Kal-El, Jason said, really needed to get over whatever problems they had and get at it, already, but they just couldn’t. Jason shook his head and stumbled from the bed to the shower, where Alexander joined him and Kal-El left to go to work.

They weren’t evil, really, just wanted to rule the world.

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They say, in near-silent whispers during the dead of night, that once he was a hero. That once he saved instead of killing, that once he preserved instead of destroying.

.

But it’s funny, absolute power, isn’t it? Even the best intentions pave the road to hell.

Alexander was such a nice boy, back when his mother was alive. He was a bright ray of sunshine, a boon, a gift given hopefully to the world.

And Kal-El—back when he was Clark, he was the kindest, sweetest, most gentle of all boys.

Who knew onyx and red kryptonite could fuck over the world so well? Who knew childhood traumas could lead to world domination?

Alexander, with Kal-El—Superman—on one side and Jason Teague on the other, announced to the elite of the world that he was now the King.

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They tell their children stories of the savior, of the one sent to save them, to heal them, to... do anything but what he does. They barely hold back the tears, clutching their babies close, murmuring that the good side of him will take over again, will return, will make everything better.

.

Alexander, of course, was the leader of their trio. Kal-El wasn’t a fool, not by any means, and he had charisma, but he wouldn’t be able to command. Alexander didn’t underestimate him, couldn’t, but Kal-El, while a terrifying bastard and good general, was not a king.

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They tell themselves one day the hero will return to the husk that wears his face, to the monster in his skin, will resume control and make amends. They tell themselves over and over that one day everything will be alright again.

.

And Jason... oh, that was a horrendous thought. Jason was darker than any of them had ever fathomed, ever dreamed about. Genevieve was more evil even than Lionel, a twisted woman who twisted her only child. Jason cared only for himself, push come to shove, and then maybe Alexander.

If he was given the world, he’d destroy it, gleefully, just because he could. Which, none of them had seen, back in Smallville, back when Alexander was Lex and Kal-El was Clark, back when he’d followed Lana from Paris. Of the three of them, he was certainly the best actor.

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They don’t know what happened, what changed, what went wrong inside him. They don’t know where he came from, what he is. All they know is that he used to protect them, used to care for them, and now... he doesn’t. Now he is cold and ruthless and wants only to rule. Wants only to command and sow discord where once he kept the peace.

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Together they planned and together they took and together they rule. Of everyone in the world, they trust only each other. Of everyone in the world, they care only for each other.

Kal-El, Alexander, and Jason know each other completely, know the darkest parts, the deepest fears, what is desired most. There are no secrets between them, no chasms and gaps.

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Once he was a hero, and they’re deluding themselves if they think he’ll become one again. Once he stood for good and hope and love—all those happy things, those things of the Light.

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And the funny thing is, which only Kal-El and Alexander and Jason know, that he never was a hero. None of them were, truth be told. They were only ever fooling themselves, even as boys, when they played at being firefighters and pilots and the hero of the story.

They were never the hero, and never could be. Never will be.

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Now... now... darkness descended on the world when he ascended to power. Pain and death flow, along with blood through the streets—perhaps, more than a few of them wonder, this was his destiny all along.

.

They live in Alexander’s mansion, on the outskirts of Smallville. Alexander is the King, the president, the supreme ruler. Jason is his second-in-command, the charming snake who wooed the world. And Kal-El is the enforcer, the most feared of the three, because he was once Superman.

Even though, honestly, he never was.

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The tyrant look suits him.