Yandere Bruce Wayne/ Reader and a bit of Yandere Damian Wayne & Reader if you know how AO3 tagging works. From Dami's pov, so enjoy some unreliable narrrator.
Cute little drabble for yall, just 1132 words.
Damian held his ear to the door. He'd have simply watched instead, but Father had been especially possessive of the security footage since you moved in.
He didn't mind your company. You were competent and engaged him in intelligent conversation, a feat few were able to accomplish.
As well, you… seriously affected his father.
He'd never seen Father react so impulsively or have such strong misgivings about a person. Of course he had to ensure proper surveillance of you. If his father was treating you like you were priceless, he reasoned there was some hidden function or authority you held that made you a much more valuable asset. Keeping such value secret was the obvious strategy.
You had even been residing in his father's room for a few nights now, and he could only imagine the proximity held some kind of strategic benefit. After all, Father only acted with diligence and proper discretion.
Your voices leaked through the door to him, and he listened closely.
“-I don't know how he'll take it though, Bruce! He'll see it as a scandal. I don't think he likes me. He'll think I'm trying to replace her. I don't know, maybe we should just-”
“Darling, what are you going on about? What are you trying to say should we do?” Father’s voice was commanding. Damian imagined his own would be just as deep and powerful after adolescence as well.
There was the sound of a stomp or feet falling over each other. “Bruce…” Damian almost threatened to make noise with how hard he pressed his ear to the door now, but he still couldn't make out a bit of what you said until your volume returned to normal. “We should break up.”
Break up? What? Some kind of organization? Were you threatening to dissolve an important project or association based on this so-called scandal?
“You've got it all wrong. Damian, well, he can be difficult at times. But I've seen how he treats you. He appreciates you,” Bruce reassured. The silence hung in the air as Damian could only imagine what he was doing or gesturing to you. Perhaps an elaborate diagram of the plan for the organization hung on the wall or he had contracts and documents on his desk.
“I don't think we should, Bruce-”
Another crash. “Don't. Don't leave me. Please,” Father was… pleading to you? He sounded hurt.
Damian’s legs moved before he thought, and he burst into the room.
There was no elaborate diagram. There were no contracts or legal documents on the table. He finally understood. There was no corporate maneuver or organization you propped up. It was something much deeper that Damian still didn't understand.
There was you. And his father. And you were in his arms, held by your waist and another hand on your back.
And his father's eyes.
It was like Damian was drowning in that gaze, like the apocalypse was afoot and that was the only warning he'd get. He'd only seen that look in his eyes one other time. When he told Damian about Todd’s ‘death’.
Father had never looked so close to doing something desperate.
Then he looked at Damian, and a sense of shame crawled up Damian’s skin. He was invading their privacy. “I thought someone had been hurt,” he weakly justified.
You turned around in Bruce’s arms, allowing his father to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin over your head. “Oh, Damian, I'm so sorry,” your voice trailed off.
The silence hung in the air, a noose of Damian’s own making. “Was I… a problem?” Damian asked.
True shame was rare for Damian, reserved for truly failed missions or objectives he had only barely missed. And Damian rarely missed.
“Oh, sweetheart. You could- Bruce, let me-” you wriggled a bit, gaining a bit more freedom as his father’s arms loosened around you, allowing you to caress Damian’s cheek. “You could never be a problem. I'm sorry. I’m getting in the way of your family.”
You had such a sad smile on your face.
That was the face of someone about to leave. That was how Grayson looked before leaving for Bludhaven for long periods as Nightwing, how Todd had looked before donning his helmet and returning to his safe houses or crime rings. When Mother first dropped him off at the Manor.
He never wanted any of them to leave. He couldn't have stopped them before though.
But you. You were weak. A civilian. You may have some hidden ability he wouldn't be able to anticipate…
But he could keep you here.
He could keep you from leaving. From leaving the family. From leaving Bruce. From leaving him.
He lunged.
You were sandwiched between the two of them, unable to move. Bruce tilted your head towards him, looking at you with that same look you had once mistaken for kind. It was satisfaction, possession, the knowledge you were trapped.
“See? You should have just asked Damian to his face. He loves you too,” Bruce murmured, thumb tracing circles on your cheek. “We love you. I love you. Everyone wants you here.” His lips pressed to yours, though you futilely attempted to pull away.
When you parted, you looked at Damian, guilt in your eyes. You protested, “But he'll be upset I'm replacing his mother!-”
“That is not a concern. I am not a feeble child. I understand you and my mother are different people. If it would… be beneficial for Father to take you as a permanent associate… I… would not protest. Tt,” Damian admitted. You had become part of the Manor’s normal, just like Alfred or Grayson was.
“You aren't upset I'm like… trying to date your father?”
Oh.
Oh.
…He probably should have guessed that after Father had kissed you.
“I wouldn't mind having you become the next Wayne consort either, I suppose,” was his only response.
A slow, rich chuckle emanated from Bruce’s chest as he rearranged his grip to hold onto you both. It had already been settled. You were family now. “Look, dear. Nothing to worry about. It's just as I told you. Where would you even try to run off to anyway? Your job replaced you a day ago, your friends and family have forgotten you. Do you want to return to your terrible life where no one appreciated you?” The mere thought filled Damian with a simmering rage.
There were those who hadn't accepted you, replaced you, yet you were worried about being replaced by them and thinking of returning to that life? He wouldn't let you. Neither would Father.
Father continued, and with each word, you relaxed more into their embrace, realizing where you truly belonged, “Everyone you love is here. We accept you. We want you.”
Summary: After Clark comes in contact with a psychoactive plant while off-planet, he experiences the side effects of Sex Pollen.
Tags: Sex Pollen fic, Ryn makes up stuff about sex pollen, embarrassed Clark, NSFW (18+), unprotected piv sex, rough!Clark, Clark drops the f bomb (scandalous), Clark blacks out and fucks HARD, clothes ripping, boob sucking, creampie, tear-licking, dirty talk, mutual orgasms, aftercare <3
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: I saw the talented @maiamore write a sex pollen fic, and I couldn't get the concept out of my head, so I had to try it for myself. I've never written this trope before, so I lowkey made stuff up LOL. Also, @corens0ups enabled me writing this, and I appreciate her for that. Enjoy, friends <3
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Something isn't right. This isn't right — none of this is normal, none of it makes sense. He was so careful, so intentional with where he stepped and what he touched…
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He should have stayed at The Fortress of Solitude, he realizes that now, now that you're driving back from work and he can smell you despite the fact that you're still ten minutes away.
Clark grips the bathroom counter lightly — well, lightly for him. If he were to hold it the way he wants to, it would be crushed between his fingers. His eyes are closed, and sweat forms at his hairline as he tries to get his heart to stop beating so rapidly. It's to no avail.
The Superman Robots have already told him what he needs to do, but he's sure that he doesn't have enough time to do it before you get home. And besides, he doesn't know what will happen when he does do it — how the heck does 'Sex Pollen' even work, for crying out loud!?
Clark pinches the bridge of his nose. This is so awful. What are you going to say when you come in here and see him like this? What is he going to do when he sees you?
Clark shudders at the thought and tries to cast it away. He has enough self-control to give you a brief, non-frightening explanation before he will leave for the…night? For the weekend? For the week? Oh, gosh, how long will it be? How many times will he have to climax before it's out of his system? The Superman Robots were extremely unhelpful — "It could be once, or it could be one-hundred times. It is impossible to tell," they had said.
When Clark opens his eyes, he reaches out a shaky hand to open the bathroom door, intending to head to his office in order to write you some kind of note — perhaps he shouldn't even be here when you get home. It's best if he just leaves now, despite the fact that this is cutting it close…you'll be home any minute now. He grabs a pen and immediately crushes it on accident.
"Shoot," he breathes, then reaches for another one, now more aware of his strength in this heightened state of his.
He begins to scribble out a note, something half-hearted and light…something to let you know that he'll be alright, but he absolutely cannot be approached by you in any capacity until this has worn off. He'd rather deal with it by himself than risk hurting you. Gosh, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he hurt you…
Suddenly, he hears keys at the front door. Clark's heart lurches in his chest, and he rushes to the door of his office and slams it closed just as the front door opens. He locks it in a hurry, then holds his breath and hopes you didn't hear the slamming of the door.
"…Clark?" comes your soft, sweet, concerned voice. Clark's head falls forward. Shoot. Trembling, he runs a hand through his hair. Your scent is so strong, so powerful, so…alluring. Oh, gosh, what perfume is that? Are you even wearing any?
"Y-Yeah?" he calls back, then decides that a pathetic yeah? is incredibly suspicious, so he adds on a, "hi, hon!"
A pause. He smells you getting closer.
"…You okay, baby?" you ask.
"Yeah! I'm good!" he says weakly. He can sense your hesitation, your concern.
"Where are you?"
"U-Uh…" Clark looks around the office, glancing at the note he was writing, then back at the door. He swallows harshly. "The office, but don't—"
"Are you—?"
You get closer to the door.
"Stop!" Clark says, almost frantically. He can hear your breath catch. Gosh, he's so sensitive, so tuned in. He can hear you clearly despite the fact that you're still in the hallway. His cock is hard, throbbing in his underwear. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. "Don't come down here."
"You're scaring me, Clark," you say.
"No," Clark says, guilt roiling in his gut. "I'm— I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to scare you—"
"What's going on?" you ask firmly.
"I…I caught something while I was off-planet."
He would be able to sense your suspicion a mile away; you don't believe him despite the fact that it's not technically a lie…
"You caught something?" you ask, clearly confused. As you should be, Clark supposes. He's never been sick a day in his life. "Something like what?"
"W-Well…"
"Open the door," you say, storming down the hall. You try the doorknob, but it's still locked, and Clark nearly gets lightheaded with how quickly your scent washes over him.
"Clark Kent," you say firmly. "Open the door."
"I can't."
"You can."
"Honey, I…I came in contact with something—"
"Something like what?" you ask again.
Clark hesitates. He's freaking you out, he knows that. But he's so embarrassed, so ashamed of his carelessness. This isn't like him, he doesn't just come in contact with stuff. How could he have let this happen?
"…Some kind of…I don't know…psychoactive plant?" Clark manages.
Silence.
Clark lets out a soft breath, his body hot with want. He lets his forehead thud against the door.
"Meaning what, Clark?" you ask finally. "What's happening? Are you hurt?"
"No, I—" Clark huffs. "I'm not hurt, I just…I'm not me right now."
"Let me in."
"No."
"Clark, I'll get the key. Let me in—"
"The Superman Robots called it 'Sex Pollen'," Clark blurts out. His cheeks get hot immediately. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Sex Pollen," you repeat.
"Yes."
"…So you're…horny?"
"You could say that," Clark says miserably, looking down at the wet spot on his underwear.
"Well, then let me in so I can help," you tell him. Clark shakes his head.
"I could hurt you," he says. "I could black out, it wouldn't be me. I don't want to hurt you."
"Just come out here, baby. Let me talk to you face-to-face," you say. Clark senses you step right up to the door. He presses his hand against the wood. He's so close to you yet so far… "I want to help you, Clark."
"I know you do, and I appreciate that—"
"You do so much for everyone. Let me do this for you," you say. "Please. I'm not scared of you. Just open the door. Let me see you."
Clark hesitates, his hand hovering over the lock. He says your name softly, desperately. Gosh, he's never wanted anyone so badly in his entire life. He's a live wire, a lit sparkler. His body is hot and flushed.
"Clark, please," you say. "It's alright."
Slowly, he turns the lock and opens the door. He doesn't look at you when he reveals himself to you, instead staring down at the floor. He's clad in a pair of black underwear and nothing else. A sheet of sweat coats him, covering his chest and face. You reach for him, and he backs away.
"I really think I should go," he breathes, barely containing himself. You're right here, right in front of him looking as beautiful as ever, and he feels himself getting dizzy as your scent reaches him. "I can stay at The Fortress for the night, I can figure this out—"
"Clark," you say softly, gently. You take another step closer. "I know you won't hurt me. Even if you, y'know…aren't fully in-control, I know that it's still you. It's still my Clark."
Clark lets out a soft, shaky breath.
"I don't know how many it'll take," he admits quietly. You shake your head.
"I don't mind. Believe it or not, I enjoy having sex with you."
Clark's throat bobs as he swallows.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks, looking at you at long last. His pupils are blown wide, leaving just a small ring of blue around them. You've never seen his eyes so dark. You nod.
"I'm sure."
He steps up to you, then, closing the space between you two. He smooths his hands along your hips and presses his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in, then lets out a soft hum. You reach up, running your fingers through his curls as he lifts you up into his strong arms.
Right away you can tell that something has shifted. This isn't Clark, not fully, anyway.
You wrap your legs around his hips, and he carries you down the hall into the bedroom. When he lays you down, Clark begins to kiss along your throat, humming and sighing as he does so.
"You smell so good," he breathes. You sigh softly, arousal blooming between your thighs. He's ravenous.
"What do you need, Clark?" you ask, running your hands along his broad shoulders. "Tell me."
"Wanna be in you," Clark grunts, capturing your lips with his. You feel his tongue prod against your bottom lip, and moments later, it makes its way inside your mouth as he kisses you eagerly. "Mm. Wanna fill you up."
"I'll take it all," you breathe, kissing him back as your hands find his cheeks. Before you can process what he's doing, Clark pulls back and rips your blouse open.
Buttons clatter against the floor, and you gasp as he rips your bra in half effortlessly. He's on you in an instant, gripping your breasts and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. He's salivating, and the wet heat of his mouth is intoxicating.
You gasp once more as he presses one of his large, warm hands between your thighs.
"You're ready for me," Clark breathes. "I can tell…"
You hurry to undo your pants, and Clark follows you as you wiggle out of them and throw them aside. Clark yanks your underwear down and throws them aside. He moans as he kisses you again, and when he moves back and you look down, you realize that he's pulled his cock free from the confines of his underwear.
He's hard, so hard that the tip of his cock is almost purplish. Pre-come dribbles from his slit and runs down along his shaft, and you practically moan at the sight. You spread your legs for him instantly.
"Please," you breathe. "Fuck me, Clark."
"You're gonna take it so well," he breathes. He's babbling, muttering to himself in a way you've never really seen him do. He presses in completely, and you gasp at the fullness. His cock rubs right up against your g-spot, and when he begins to rock his hips, you moan.
"O-Oh, god," you sigh. He quickly picks up the pace. The bed creaks and groans from the sheer speed at which Clark is moving his hips. You moan, clinging to him as you wrap your legs around him. "Oh, fuck!"
"There we go," Clark breathes. He kisses you again, sloppily. "Taking it so well…so good for me…"
You moan. That's all you can do. Moan, and moan, and moan some more. Your head is spinning with desire and pleasure. Your head falls back against the pillows, your body jolting as Clark fucks you. You didn't know he could move like this — you didn't know he could pound you like this.
His hips piston against yours, and when he reaches down between your thighs to rub your clit in quick, tight circles, tears form in your eyes.
"Oh my god," you manage. "Oh, god, yeah, Clark!"
"Such a good girl," Clark breathes. "A-Are you gonna take my come?"
You nod instantly, your climax rising, rising, rising. Clark groans as he watches tears of pleasure run down your cheeks, your eye makeup leaving streaky, dark lines on your skin. He leans down and licks up one of your tears with a hum.
"I-I'm so close," you sigh, gripping his shoulders and surely leaving indentations with your nails. "Clark, please…"
Your orgasm washes over you suddenly. Your body tenses and you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut as your core floods with arousal. You let out a long moan, brows furrowed in pleasure.
When Clark feels your pussy clenching and spasming, he falls right over the edge himself. He groans as his seed fills you in hot, thick ropes.
"Oh, fuck," Clark breathes. You shudder, waves of residual arousal pulsing through you when you hear him curse softly. His hips slam against yours, gradually slowing. His come seeps out of you and sticks to your inner thighs.
Clark lets out a shaky, relieved breath as he presses his forehead against your shoulder. You throw your arms around him weakly, your body loose and blissed-out as you hold him.
"Did I hurt you?" Clark manages. You touch his cheeks, making him look at you. His pretty blue eyes stare back at you, full of concern and fear, and you smile.
"No," you breathe, smoothing his curls down. "Not at all."
"Are you crying?" Clark asks, wiping away your tear stain gently. You shake your head.
"It felt really fucking good."
"Gosh, really?" he asks, cracking a small smile. You nod.
"Really," you say. "Do you feel better?"
Clark nods.
"Yes," he says. He kisses you gently, kindly, lovingly. "Thank you. You're sure you're okay?"
You nod.
"More than okay," you tell him. "You should be rough more often."
Clark chuckles, then presses his face into the crook of your neck and kisses along your throat lightly.
"I'll do my best."
"Hey," you say.
"Hey."
"I love you."
Clark smiles widely.
"I love you, too."
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
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rynwritesstuff - 2026. Do not copy, steal, or repost my work.
hello!! i love ur writing sm... i was wondering if i could request damian wayne x spidey!reader 👀
Hey, baby, won’t you look my way?
Aged up! Damian Wayne x Spidey! Reader
I got u bae and I made the reader pretty gender neutral but kind of leaning on the feminine side
Yo this got a bit angsty but don’t worry it’s mostly fluff
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ You and Damian met when he was in his civilian persona. He was caught in the middle of a mugging he was about to deal with before you swooped in, webbed the perpetrators to a wall, and then proceeded to pick him up and swing him away from the crime scene.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ It was a very interesting first impression for him. Meeting the infamous web slinging vigilante that has recently shown up in Gotham made him determined to find out your secret identity. So of course he tried to find you in the bat computer just to find nothing.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ So like any normal person he started basically stalking you as Robin well to be fair it’s normal in his family. He thought you were just a quippy and almost full of your self hero but he soon realized you weren’t like that at all. He saw you save cats, children, and anyone who needed help. Even saw you help a kid track down their lost dog.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ You of course knew he was following or that at least someone was so you made it a point to never go home or take of your mask until your senses tell you they are gone.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ That all comes crashing down one day when you are badly injured by one of your villains and you find out the person following you was Robin. He swoops in to save you and you give him the directions to your apartment. You tell him you know he was following you and he asks why you didn’t try to stop him and all you say is “I didn’t sense danger from you”.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ After that you both become close friends and Damian realizes just how lonely you actually are and how you put all of yourself into your hero work leaving little for yourself out of the mask.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ The grand reveal of both of your identities is actually not that big. Just a quiet night where you tell him your troubles and he offers to take off him mask with yours. You recognize him as the person you saved that one day and he recognizes you as the spidey of his dreams.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ You both date soon after that night and you both help each other with realizing you both aren’t monsters but human.
💭 : dreaming about giving clark kent a head as his birthday gift 18+ mdni
“i’m really sorry,” you say, hands clasped behind your back, head slightly dipped as you looked up at him innocently. “i was going to get you something but i forgot.” you’re almost embarrassed, this is fucking clark kent.
clark sits there at his desk, twirling a pen between his fingers, leaned back against his chair, its making it hard for you to sound apologetic at this point. his glasses are crooked slightly, and his tie is loose, and here you are, just a woman looking at her work crush.
its really not even fair.
this is the same person you’ve been eyeing since the first day, same fucking man you’ve been rubbing yourself to every night.
“that’s really alright, sweetheart.” he says, setting his pen down. “it’s not that i really even mind, it’s just a gift anyways.”
“but it’s your birthday,” you state the obvious.
clark smiles, a lopsided grin, making your heart go giddy again. then he makes a face of mock disappointment, feigning a face of deep thinking. “hm, now that I’m thinking about it, it sounds quite bad.” your face drops, oh no, what if he’s actually mad at you?
“but there are certain alternatives too,” his hands loosen his tie, your breath catches.
“like?”
like sucking his dick, is what he meant.
on your knees, hands on his thighs as you give him a head, he’s quite happy with his gift. your head is bobbing up and down, choked noises erupting at the back of your throat as you take him.
his hand is tangled in your hair, the other resting on his chair as he guides your head up and down. “thaaaats it, take it like a good girl,” he lets out a sigh of content. “fuck— yes, right.. aaa-”
he’s dirty talking, just how you imagined in your fantasies. you look up at him, eyes on his and he moans at the sight. how could he not? mouth stretched around his fat length as he guided your head, saliva dripping down.
he’s getting pleasure hearing your choked sounds, what a masochist. what a hot man.
he’s now thrusting up into your mouth, each one more desperate for release than the last. “mm, yeah, angel-” he groans.
his thick seed flows into your mouth, the taste salty on your tongue as it goes down your throat. clark pulls out, the hand in your hair now on your jaw. “thanks for the gift, darling,” you swallow at that.
you clean yourself up, heading for the door after that when he stops you. “hey, did i mention it’s my birthday tomorrow too?” clark’s teasing voice rings in your ear.
summary: you and clark wake up together on a lazy sunday morning
tags: domestic fluff :)
a/n: hi i’m back!! this is the first bit of writing inspo i’ve had in a while. pls pls pls send me suggestions, it keeps me writing!! much love xo
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the ivory sheets were warm from sunlight as you turned over in your sleep. the light cascaded through the open window, the sounds of a metropolis morning flowing through from far below your shared apartment. you pulled the comforter up to your chin, nuzzling into your pillow and the safety of your superhero husband.
last night was tiring. you and clark went to a bar with a group of other daily planet staff and spent the night drinking, and dancing, and unfortunately, riding the mechanical bull. fortunately for clark, alcohol didn’t really have an effect on his kryptonian body. but you on the other hand…
clark had carried you bridal style into the apartment as you babbled incoherently. he sat you on top of the sink as he gently swiped makeup wipes across your soft skin, trying to remove the night’s makeup. he was impossibly gentle, almost caressing your face as he cleaned you up and forced you to take a sip of water before depositing you in bed.
he coddled you burrito-style in the sheets as he settled in beside you, making sure you would sleep soundly. “goodnight my dear,” he whispered, as he tucked you in and rolled over onto his pillow.
now, the early fall breeze passed through the bedroom through the open window, the sun causing you to wake up. you rubbed your eyes, adjusting to the room’s light. as you sat up in bed you could tell a headache was brewing. mental note: have clark remind you to stop drinking after 3 martinis.
you adjusted clark’s old tshirt on your shoulders, far too big on you. you checked your phone. about 9:30ish. you were working on your morning scroll as you felt clark wake up beside you.
“good morning, honey” he grumbled, as he yawned and stretched his muscular arms. “mornin’ clarkie,” you responded, ruffling his already messy hair. his dark locks felt grounding underneath your fingertips.
“how’d you sleep?” he asked. “you were pretty out last night.”
you wiped the sleep from your eyes as you responded. “yeah i can feel a headache coming, but other than that i’ve had worse hangovers.”
“yeah baby, i remember,” clark chuckled. you picked up a throw pillow from the bed and chucked it at him, clark falling over dramatically.
clark got up from the bed and stretched once more, the rise of his fitted t-shirt lifting just enough for you to see his v-line. “i’m gonna go get you some more water and ibuprofen, okay honey?”
you nodded as he padded over the floor and made his way into the kitchen. you resumed your morning scroll on social media when you suddenly stopped on a local post. ooh, a nearby fall festival!
“CLARK!!” you yelled from the other room.
“yes, honey?” he answered, startled.
“we should go to the fall festival in town today. and we can get lattes and walk around and get lunch.”
“sounds good to me, lovey.”
“yay!” you squealed, as you jumped up from bed to get dressed. suddenly you couldn’t really feel your headache anymore, and you couldn’t wait to spend autumn with your adoring husband.
pairing: afab!hades!reader x persephone!clark kent
summary: When Clark, the God of Spring, gets punished to the Underworld for 6 months as part of a scheme set by the Upper Olympians, he is expecting the months to go by like torture. So, of course, you go against his, and every other mortal's, assumptions.
it’s the fifth month of clark staying in the underworld with you. it’s been a month after you received the first, but not the last, letter from olympus. as clark continues to settle into the underworld, into your relationship, olympus refuses to be ignored any longer
The dining hall had been warm and lively, the way it had been since his relationship with you had been put out there. Having stopped trying to hide the open affection you and Clark have for one another, the rest of the Underworld's population accepted it, accepted him, and rarely since has there been a quiet night.
Clark had let himself relax into it, enjoying the staff's laughter, the quiet ease of routine, the way your presence lingered even when you weren’t sitting beside him. It had started to feel like something dangerously close to home. A thought that would have sounded ridiculous to him when he first arrived, but now sounds better and better.
Clark raised his glass to enjoy some of the sweet wine you always make sure is served at meals, specifically for him since you learned he preferred it.
“They’ve been sending letters for weeks, haven’t they?” The comment was casual, spoken offhandedly by one of the attendants carrying a tray behind him.
Clark froze at the new piece of information, straining his ears to hear more. Letters? Distantly Clark remembers seeing letters being passed to you discreetly, across several different weeks, always dismissed as more work. Could this be about those?
“They say Olympus is furious! Something about their golden boy being long overdue. Heard they’ve already started punishing the lower courts to make a point—”
A tray clattered. Clark didn’t even realize it was his until the sound echoed through the hall.
“What did you say?” He whispered, mind processing fast as he filled in the blank. That's him, 'Goldenboy,' the moniker that Olympus had given him; a way to mock him, to demean him and the joy he brought to the people. His people.
People that are now supposedly being tortured because he's been busy down here drinking wine and falling in love. Growing plants and flowers that provide no value, only joy for him, but benefits no one as a whole.
The room quieted instantly, conversations died mid-sentence, eyes turning toward him as his chair scraped harshly against the stone floor.
The attendant faltered. “I— I thought you knew—”
Clark’s chest tightened, something sharp and cold twisting under his ribs. Weeks. They’d been suffering for weeks.
And you— You knew.
His mind moved too fast, spiraling into something ugly and immediate. Of course you knew. You ruled the Underworld, nothing slipped past you. He remembers the various times you were gifted messages and you grabbed then, quick to disappear to handle it immediately. And if Olympus was desperate enough to hurt their own people—
Then you had leverage. Him.
The thought hit like a betrayal before he could stop it. He was running through the hallways faster than he had before, his mind racing, thoughts too fast for him to truly understand any of it. He’s focused on his feelings, his gut reaction, his insinct. And he’s on alert, he feels betrayed, and oddly alone in ways that he hasn’t felt in months.
Clark paced inside your office , running a hand through his hair, trying to breathe past the rising panic clawing at his throat. You weren't here, and now he's trying to plan where next to check. Clark has to talk to you, has to see you, ask you for the truth.
His people were suffering because of him. Innocents were suffering. While he was dancing, and laughing and enjoying life. Because he dared to—
“You found out.” Your voice was soft. Clark turned sharply to see you stood at the doorway, composed as ever, but there was a heaviness in your eyes, something tired.
“How long?” he demanded. “How long have they been asking for me?”
You didn’t deflect, knowing there's no benefit in doing so. “Long enough,” you admit quietly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question broke out of him, raw and aching. “They’re hurting people, and you just—what? Decided I didn’t need to know?”
For a moment, something flickered across your face, regret.
“I needed to be sure,” you answered. “Olympus does not ask without motive. I wanted to know what they would do when you returned. What they expected from you.”
Clark laughed, bitter. “So you kept me here instead? Your turn to puppet the 'golden boy'?” His tone mocking as he says his moniker.
The words hung between you, ugly and wrong, but he didn’t take them back. He was hurting, and why shouldn’t you?
Your shoulders stilled, and when you spoke again, your voice was quieter.
“I would never keep you where you do not wish to be. I would hope that you would know me and my character better than that by now.”
Clark’s breath hitched, as he adverts his gaze for a second. He’s feeling like the ground is slipping out from under him and he doesn’t understand how they got here this fast.
Just last night, they sat in the garden talking about what activity they should do with the kids for the upcoming spring equinox as a celebration.
You stepped closer, trying to give him space to retreat if he needed it. He didn’t.
“I know what they’ve done to you,” you continued. “I know what you would be walking back into, the pain and the mind games, and who knows what else they've concocted. And I—”
You paused, just for a moment, but long enough for something vulnerable to surface before you buried it again.
"I can't protect you while you're up there. I couldn't just give you this information without verifying it. Olympus is very good at giving companies fake information to get others to face to their demands. I didn't want you going in blind."
“I wanted you to have a choice,” you finished.
Clark’s chest tightened painfully. Choice. When had he ever truly had one?
"And is it true?" he asks, hope slowly trickling in that maybe his people are safe and maybe he doesn't have to le—
With a firm shake of your head, Clarks let's that dream die. It was stupid of him get his hopes us like that.
"I recieved confirmation today, was planning on telling you tonight." It's silent between you two ans you both take in what this means for your future. You're staring at him, taking him in before breaking the silence with a question, almost resigned to the outcome.
"When do you want to leave?" you ask softly, knowing that Clark wouldn't want to stay in the Underworld for much longer with other's in danger.
Clark closes his eyes, feeling tears build regardless. Of course youo knew him well enough to know he's leaving. Your easy acceptance of it, of him and his choices breaks his heart a little firther. Especially when he so quickly assumed that you had betrayed him when he first heard the news.
"As soon as I can." he says, tears finally escaping, making you cross the room quickly, hands coming up to frame his face, thumbs brushing away his tears.
"No, don't cry it's okay. We're okay." you tell him, trying to reassure both of you. Clark's hands come up to grab your wrists, keeping you close when he can hear the pain reflected in your voice.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I—" His voice breaks into a sob as he pulls you into him. "I don't want to go, I—" He tells you, arms tight as if he's trying to convey his sincerity with his strength.
You couldn't hold it anymore, breaking in his arms, letting the tears fall as you lay your heart above his heart, doing your best to remember the heartbeat of the only man you've loved so dearly.
And it's because you love him, his heart and his endless capacity of caring that you know you could never keep him hear with you. Could never deny him the pportunity of making his own choices, especially after everything he's told you about his time above. You couldn't make this a cage for him, wouldn't be his jailor.
A part of you always knew something like that would happen. Afterall, you're Hades, ruler of the Underworld. Happy endings are meant for you.
But for now, you're just a woman in love. And so you two stayed wrapped in each other's embrace, trying to engrave the love you have for the other the best you can with the limited time you had left.
-
The castle felt different that night, quieter, as if the palace itself understood what was about to happen.
Clark stood at the center of his room, dressed once more in the colors of Olympus. The fabric sat too clean against him, too sharp, unfamiliar now. It felt like stepping back into a version of himself he had already begun to outgrow.
He adjusted the collar once, twice, then let his hands fall uselessly to his sides. Does it really matter? They'll criticize him regardless of what he does. A knock came at the door, and he didn’t need to ask who it was.
When he opened it, you stood there in your full regalia; crown settled, robes flowing, power humming quietly beneath your skin. Every inch of you was the ruler of the Underworld.
And yet, your eyes gave you away. But maybe that's just because of how well he knows you now.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Clark swallowed. “You didn’t have to walk me out.”
Your lips curved faintly. “I know.”
You stepped inside anyway, the door closing behind you with a soft click that felt louder than it should have. Final. Guess that's the theme of the night.
Clark shifted, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, his voice, himself. “I—” He stopped, exhaling roughly. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Like what?” you asked gently, taking his hands into yours.
“Like I’m leaving a part of me behind.”
Your gaze softened, and for a second, your composure cracked — just enough for him to see the truth underneath.
Silence pressed in again before Clark stepped closer without thinking. “I didn’t mean— I mean, I do mean—” He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t want you to think that I’m choosing them over—”
“Clark.”
Your voice stilled him instantly, thumbs rubbing comforting circles on his wrist. Something you've learned he finds calming.
“You are choosing yourself, your values.” The words were soft and certain, somehow making this worse by your care.
Clark’s jaw tightened, seemingly wanting to saw something but resigns himself with only, “Yeah.”
You turned toward the door first. “We should go.”
Clark nodded, though it felt like something inside him fractured as he followed. The walk through the castle was slow and deliberate, filled with staff lined the halls in quiet respect, heads bowed as you passed.
Clark barely registered any of it. All he could feel was the absence already forming between you, even as you walked side by side, close, but not touching.
By the time you reached the gates, the air had shifted. The path beyond shimmered faintly; a thin fracture in reality itself, alive with lightning.Barry stood there, uncharacteristically still, hands shoved into his pockets. He gave Clark a look, a look of knowing and sympathy, before glancing at you.
“I’ll, uh… give you a minute,” he said quietly, stepping back.
Clark turned to you. This was it, no more time to pretend otherwise. Your gaze met his, steady and unwavering.
“Go,” you said softly. He didn’t move, not yet.
“I—” His voice broke slightly. “Take care of yourself.”
Your lips curved faintly. “I always do.”
Clark huffed a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.”
Another beat, another moment neither of you wanted to end.
Before he leaves, he grabs your hands firmly, almost frantically, saying the words before he loses the nerve to say them. “I can stay. Hades, I don’t have to go; I can stay here with you.”
You tsk softly, stepping closer to him as you gently grasp his face, thumb gently running over his facial features in a desperate attempt to engrain them into your memories. “Oh, Clark, you could. I’d love nothing more than an eternity with you. But I won’t be another cage to trap you. I will not be something you resent,” you said quietly. “Not now, not centuries later.”
His breath hitched, eyes pained, head always shaking in disagreement. “I could never—”
“You could,” you interrupted gently. “And you would hate yourself for it. For staying, for not saving them, for hating that you resent me.”
Your voice trails off as your eyes wander over his face. "I've been graced to be able to learn your heart, Clark. I'd never forgive myself if I were the catalyst to tainting it."
Clark’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining out of him. “I don’t know how to leave you,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.
Your hand tightened just slightly around his wrist. “Then don’t make it harder than it already is. Beyond Olympus's threats, you don't wish to stay. I've seen the way you sigh at the thought of the actual sun hitting your skin. The interaction with life and creation, sprawling green hills and cloudless blue sky—things that aren't here. You want more, and I can’t bear the thought of denying you your greatest wish.”
At your words, something in Clark breaks, tears pouring down his face. He didn’t want to verbalize it, but somehow despite knowing you for half a year, you know what his heart desires more than anything. He meant what he said; he’ll stay in the Underworld with you, gossiping with the other staff at the castle and running around with the people every other day. Nights in the garden after days spent with you.
But to be up where everything is thrumming with a sense of life, a sense of possibility. Being able to help the people, and see their smiles grow as their plants grow. Seeing how people find santuary with his creations, giving back and earning just as much.
Clark crushes you to his chest, as you soothly run your hands up his back, before tangling into his hair, as your own tears flow down your face.
“You know I love you, right? If it were about love only, I would stay without a doubt.” He murmurs into your neck, attempting to explain himself. You just hmm affirmatively, your hands tracing a pattern from his head down his back to try to soothe him. Or maybe to ground you, your emotions are a mess that you can’t tell.
“And it’s because I love you that I know you need to go.” You pull back to look at Clark in his eyes, your heart breaking at the tears and anguish painted all over his handsome face.
“Those humans need some of your light, too. And you could use some sun; you’re looking pale, God of Spring.” You tease him lightly, your hands resting on his neck. As you share a look, a flurry of emotions passes between you. With your decision set, you lean into his space and kiss him firmly, potentially for the last time.
This kiss held all the unsaid words between you two, as well as something more, as a blast of your magic burst throughout the land when you kissed Clark, both of you too engrosssed into your goodbye to notice it. With several smaller kisses placed, you back up, wiping the last of his tears away.
“It was a pleasure to have you here in the Underworld, Clark, God of Spring. May your journey be plentiful and filled with light.”
Clark admires you in your entirety before softly nodding back, his own fragile smile in place. “Thank you for your frugality, Lord Hades. You have a beautiful domain; it was a blessing to be welcomed and accepted here the way I was. May your continued reign be strong and bountiful.”
With a glance that exchanges thousands of words and touches, Clark backs up slowly before turning around and joining Barry as part of the traveling group Olympus sent to retrieve him.
As you watch him leave, your hand tenses and flexes, missing the weight of his hand on yours. You roll your shoulders, attempting to calm yourself and hold yourself back from sprinting after him. He needs this, but despite knowing this, you feel a part of your heart break as he walks away. As the escort approaches the barrier of the Underworld, Clark turns back to see the pain and tears in your face, feeling something in him shake loose at seeing you, the powerful Hades, God of the Underworld, looking so small and vulnerable.
As if sensing his doubt, you struggle to smile through the tears and nod your head in encouragement.
“It’s okay. I love you.” You then muster all your strength to smile at him, granting him a devastatingly beautiful image of you as he crosses the path.
As he leaves your realm, you drop to your knees, your head bent, sobs finally escaping you. As you cry through your heartbreak, it's as if the warmth that Clark effortlessly brought into the Underworld left, leaving you feeling empty.
—
Olympus' celebration was loud. Too loud and the wrong kind of noise compared to the celebrations they had in the Underworld that Clark hadn’t realized he’d gotten accustomed to.
Gold and light and voices rising in triumphant praise, but not for Clark, not really. For themselves, for their. percieved success.
Their golden boy had returned, their order restored. Hades alone again, percieved weak for giving into their commands.
Still, Clark stood among them, smiling when expected, nodding when required, playing the role they had carved for him long ago. It felt wrong, like stepping into clothes that no longer fit. All night long, he could think about was how tight this persona felt on him now.
By the time he finally made it back to his quarters, exhaustion dragged at every part of him. It felt like something was missing, or really, someone.
He stepped onto the balcony without thinking, wanting some crisp air to calm him. Leaning on the railing, Clark observed the gardens below, watching as some of the partgoers trinkled around, the perfect spot for people watching. Gives him something to look at while he processess all that just happened.
Eventually, Clark sighs heavily, dropping his head when something catches his gaze on his right.
There, resting against the small table, was a flower, delicate and luminous. A night bloom that only grew in the Underworld, powered by the ruler herself. A quiet, impossible thing, yet a gift clearly from you.
His breath caught as he stepped closer, fingers brushing the petals. It was perfect, stronger than any he’d seen before. More vibrant and alive, and clearly proof of your immense amount of power to grow it in Olympus, without anybody feeling your power mark. And to risk that for him?
Clark’s throat tightened as he stared at it, the weight of everything he’d left behind settling heavy in his chest. Even here, you had found a way to give him something beautiful, one last time.
a/n: after literally forever, here's the next part! angsty pain but necessary for the story! thank you for still being around and reading!
i hope you all enjoy! as always, likes and comments are always appreciated! 💗 and here’s a kiss from me to you! 😘 this was updated for inspo for my 1 year 1k event, where i update some of my ongoing fics! check out some of the others here! softhandz 1 year 1k celebration!
ೃ & ︭𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛ⁱⁿᵍׁׅᩧ⃝ alien dick/non canon kryptonian anatomy corensupes!clark intended big dick!clark this is inspired by that comic scan people brought up again on twt ( creds to nebezial ) ྀི mating press internal ejaculation/creampie premature ejaculation monster fucking ( ?? ) ྀི breeding kink if you squint a lil
You tilted your head slightly, as if that would give you a better angle to confirm whether your wide eyes may or may not be deceiving you. “Are those…p-pincers?!” You finally managed to sputter after having been speechless all of five seconds.
They were at the base of his cock—symmetrical, long, and had a distinct girth, like a lobster’s claws on either side of its body. Your eyes hesitantly met his. What were you even supposed to say? “Why on Earth does it look like that?” or “Oh! I get you’re an alien, but pincers on either side of your dick are beyond a little strange.” There was no sure fire way to avoid hurting your boyfriend’s feelings bone deep even if he understood that human male anatomy differed from a Kryptonian male’s. Even extended down to the genitalia, apparently.
“You’re staring…and not in a good way,” he said, realization dawning on him as he stood there bare with his cock already erect after just a little kissing and dry humping. You both were sweaty from doing farm work together. He could’ve done everything himself, but you insisted you’d join him as it would be a fun way to bond and get to know his life a little as you were from the city. He still did the heavy lifting to ensure you wouldn’t pull or strain a muscle. Who knew coming back to Smallville to visit his Ma and Pa to have them meet his sweet girl would still allow him room to want to fuck you deep into his old mattress if it could take on the weight and pressure. If you could take on the weight and pressure too.
“I’m sorry, Clark. It’s just–” you gestured toward his dick, peeking down at the pincers again before meeting his eyes with an awkward smile sheepishly making its way onto your face.
“We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable,” he reassured you gently, reaching for his flannel from the mattress beside your bare thighs. “No!” you blurted, your hand shooting out to grasp his forearm. “I’m not saying I’m uncomfortable at all. It’s just definitely something new. Guys who are human have everything else you have down there except the pincers. But I can work with it. Promise you.”
Your words drifted off into a murmur as you allowed the pads of your fingers to rub along the underside of his cock. Hesitantly, you pressed your index finger against the side of a single pincer to which he whimpered and bucked his hips without necessarily meaning to. So they were sensitive to touch. Noted.
“So, how do they work?” You curiously asked, batting your eyes up at him, peering through your curled lashes like you weren’t shocked mere minutes prior. “They swell up when I’m inside and it won’t hurt at all. You’ll feel a bit of stretch at most. Think of it like you twisting a lid tightly on a jar ‘er bottle so you’re sure nothing drips out.”
Something in the pit of your stomach felt warm within seconds and your clit throbbed at hearing something it clearly liked. You nodded and lay back on the mattress. Clark sighed in relief and stepped forward, crawling atop you on the bed. He slowly bent your knees until they met your shoulders, then carefully kneeled down with his thick, toned thighs bracketing yours. As his arms came down and his elbows met the cool sheets, you reached your hands up to rest against his upper back. A gasp was knocked straight out of your lungs as he eased his cock inside, slowly but surely. “Good gosh,” he uttered, trying not to cum instantaneously upon being buried to the hilt inside of you. You felt too good being stretched around him. His brain felt fuzzy and a little drunk on the sensation.
He rocked his hips once and poor ol’ you whined as his balls smacked the bottom of your ass and you felt the pincers pressing surprisingly soft against your labia. He settled into a steady rhythm, his half lidded eyes set on your face as it contorted in pleasure. That only added fuel to him needing to hit impossibly deeper. He adored you and loved making you feel good in any way he could which naturally extended to sex. Another honeyed moan out of you would do wonders for this sweet farmer boy and his dick was just waiting to shoot.
He trembled slightly as he held back on slamming down into you until your fingers wove into the dark loose curls at his nape. A noticeable shiver coursed through him as you rubbed right there on that sensitive spot. He didn’t resist any longer and began driving his hips harder, a stuttered moan slipping from his lips as his eyes nearly fluttered shut. His tip continuously brushed against that sweet spot inside. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he huffed out between soft grunts and whimpers. Utterly weakwilled after getting the opportunity to be buried between your legs. The springs in the mattress creaked and the wooden frame rocked in protest. Boy he was so grateful it was just you two here. Only noises outside of here were the moos of unamused cattle outside and the sound of the AC blowing hard. Your pussy squelched around him, clenching with every other push was undoing him too easily. A gasp fell from between your two toned lips as your thighs spasmed pathetically against his biceps, digging your nails into his tanned, freckled back. His skin hardly indented with crescent marks but he relished in the feeling.
He’d probably talk about how warm and wet you were, teasing you about how submissive your soft whining sounded or how you clawed at his back like a cat. But, him fucking your brains out had his brain melting like a toasted marshmallow. “Fuuhh-uck, Clark.” You whined, toes curled as your eyes briefly rolled back. “Oh my…god!” You moaned, manicured eyebrows furrowing in intense pleasure as you looked down between your legs. The glimpses of him pounding into you nearly sent you over then and there. “I know, honey,” he choked out, his voice trembling. A deep throaty moan left your mouth, breaking off into a sob of pleasure as your head fell back. The sound faded as you came hard while your body jerked from him still trying. “Mhm, I know, I’m almost there too.” Clark pressed quick kisses to your throat and your collarbone, his mind fraying further. Your gummy walls pulsed and clamped down around him, so wet and frantic it was enough for him to finally plunge the pincers deep inside. You whimpered as he emptied out his balls with a slow shaky breath while the pincers expanded to hold his cum inside. A noticeable pressure built up as they swelled to fill every crevice just like he promised. Clark tried to pull back just an inch or so but couldn’t.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is this still a little weird?” A chuckle drifted between his lips, the sound was soft and barely audible over your blood pumping in your ears.
SUMMARY - the whole team pretends to forget its peter's birthday, plus peter juggling to hide his feelings for you from tony, who happens to be your dad
CONTAINS - 2020-2022 marvel fics, established found family, not proofread at all this was made in a jiffy
A/N - partly insipired by @/summr.am's post on tiktok. And also bcs i just miss old marvel fics so much im sobbing. Late happy birthday to peter!!
The smell of coffee and butter drifts down the floor of the kitchen at eight in the morning. Sunbeams stream through the glass, illuminating the domesticity of the Avengers Tower.
Steve stands at the stove in a fitted t shirt, flipping pancakes onto a mountain of a platter. Beside him, Thor sits at the marble island, casually devouring his fourth bowl of cereal alongside a box of pop tarts while Clint lounges on a high barstool, tossing blueberries into the air and catching them in his mouth.
Natasha rests her elbow on the counter next to Bruce, calmly swiping through a glass tablet with a mug of black coffee in hand, while Wanda hums quietly near the pantry, wiping a stray smudge of flour off her cheek.
At the head of the island sits your father. Tony has a pair of glasses perched on his nose, a greasy smudge on his cheek from an all-nighter in the workshop, and his eyes tracking your every movement as you pour yourself a mug of tea.
“You’re up early,” Tony mutters, not looking away from his holographic blueprint. “Usually I have to send someone in with an air horn to drag you out of bed before ten.”
“I have things to do, Dad,” you say lightly, flashing him a smile as you lean back against the counter. “Unlike some people...”
“Excuse me,” Tony replies, adjusting his glasses. “Did you just–”
The elevator chiming at the end of the hall breaks the air.
Peter steps out onto the floor, clutching his backpack by one strap. His brown curls are neatly brushed, his hoodie slightly wrinkled, and there is a bright, hopeful spark in his eyes that he is trying—and failing—to hide. He pauses on the threshold of the kitchen, taking a subtle breath, his chest lifting as if bracing for a chorus of cheers or a party popper.
Instead, Steve doesn't even turn around from the griddle. “Morning, Peter. Don’t touch the top pancake, it’s burnt.”
Peter blinks, his smile wavering just so at the edges. “Oh. Morning, Cap.”
Clint continues eating his grapes. “Hey, kid. Pass the orange juice if you’re standing by the fridge.”
“Uh–yeah. Sure thing, Mr. Barton.” Peter reaches into the fridge, grabbing the pitcher and handing it over. He lingers by the island, his gaze darting from Natasha—who gives him an upwards nod—to Thor, who simply beams and takes another massive spoonful of cereal without saying a word about the date.
Tony finally lowers his glass tablet, resting his chin in his hand. He looks Peter up and down with terrifying precision. “Parker. You’re late. I expected those web fluid reports on my desk by seven.”
Peter’s mouth opens slightly. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, his fingers tightening on the strap of his bag. “Right. Sorry, Mr. Stark. I... I got caught up. I thought maybe today we were...” He trails off, eyes instinctively flicking toward you.
Your heart tugs in your chest, but your face remains unchanged, taking another sip of tea. “Morning, Peter.”
“Morning,” he says softly, the word carrying a faint, wounded dip. He searches your face for any sign, any tiny hint of a secret, but you give him nothing.
“So…” Peter tries again, clearing his throat and attempting a casual lean against the marble island that almost results in his elbow slipping off the edge. “Big day today, huh? August ten. Very... notable date on the calendar.”
Tony doesn't even look up from his screen. “If by notable you mean the quarterly board meeting at three, then yes, kid, it’s a thrill a minute. Don't forget to eat the pancakes.”
“Right,” Peter murmurs. The spark in his eyes dims into defeat. He drops his bag onto an empty chair, sliding onto the stool right next to yours.
Beneath the marble counter, out of Tony’s line of sight, Peter’s hand drops down to his knee, his knuckles tense and restless.
You don't hesitate. Under the cover of the furniture, your fingers slide over his, lacing through his hand and giving it a grounding squeeze.
Peter stiffens for a split second before his fingers instantly wrap tight around yours, anchoring himself to the touch. He doesn't look at you directly, keeping his head turned toward the stove, but the faint crimson flush rising up the back of his neck gives him away completely. A tiny, imperceptible breath of relief escapes his lips.
“Anyway,” Tony’s sharp voice cuts through the room, his eyes narrowing across the island as he catches the slight shift in your posture. He leans forward, resting both forearms on the marble. “Kid.”
Peter jumps, nearly pulling his hand out of yours, but you hold fast under the table. “Yes, Mr. Stark?”
“Why were you on the eighty fifth floor near the residential quarters at one in the morning last night?” Tony asks, his tone dangerously smooth. “FRIDAY logged a security ping outside my daughter’s door.”
Nat’s head immediately turns.
Peter turns red, his thumb pressing hard against your palm under the counter as he tries to make up an excuse. “I–well, sir, the–the water pressure! In my quarter’s bathroom. It was... making a super weird noise. Like a whistle. And so I was... checking the pipes. In the wall. Externally.”
Tony stares at him for five long seconds. “The pipes.”
“The pipes,” Peter repeats, his voice pitching up an octave.
“Right,” Tony says slowly, pulling his glasses off and twirling them by the stem. “Because you’re a plumber now. Next time you feel the urge to inspect things in the middle of the night, don’t.”
“Understood, sir,” Peter squeaks. He slowly disengages his hand from yours, grabs a single dry piece of toast from the rack, and stands up so fast his chair screeches against the tile. “I have a lecture in twenty minutes. I’ll just... go.”
“Have a good day at school, man of spiders,” Thor booms cheerfully, giving him a heavy slap on the back that nearly sends Peter flying into the doorframe.
“Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Thor.” Peter slings his bag over his shoulder. He shoots you one last long, hopelessly puzzled look before the elevator doors slide open and swallow him whole.
The moment the elevator chime signals his descent, the kitchen explodes into suppressed laughter.
Tony drops his glasses onto the counter and turns to you, pointing an accusing finger. “He was checking the pipes? The pipes? That kid is a terrible liar. What is he doing lingering outside your room?”
“He’s harmless, Dad,” you laugh, hiding your amusement behind your mug.
Natasha sets her tablet down with a faint smirk. “The poor boy looked like he was gonna cry.”
“Did you see his face?” Clint snorts as he leans over the island. “He really thinks we all forgot. He looked like a kicked puppy.”
“It was painful to watch,” Bruce admits with a sympathetic smile, adjusting his glasses. “Are we sure the surprise tonight isn’t too cruel?”
“Are you kidding?” Tony scoffs, leaning back with a smug grin. “He should get a little psychological warfare before he gets the actual loot. Speaking of which, Wanda, how’s the cake coming?”
Wanda smiles softly as she wipes her hands on an apron. “Three layers of dark chocolate with raspberry filling. It’s sitting in the other kitchen cooling right now.”
“Perfect,” Tony says. He turns back to you, his eyes narrowing again with suspicion. “And as for you... if I find out those pipes had anything to do with why you were smiling into your tea all morning, Peter’s gift gets downgraded to a bicycle.”
You just laugh, stepping away to rinse your mug as the team starts whispering about the final party details for tonight.
By seven in the evening, the sun has dipped below the Manhattan skyline, painting the lounge walls in warm shades.
Down in the residential hallway, you stand near the main lounge entrance, bouncing slightly on the tips of your feet. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to suppress the irrepressible grin threatening to spill across your face. Every few seconds, you check your watch, making sure your poker face is locked in place.
When the elevator doors finally chime and slide open, Peter shuffles out.
He is practically dragging his feet, his backpack hanging low off one shoulder. His hair is a wild, fluffy nest from a late afternoon patrol.
“Hey, Peter!” you greet softly.
Peter blinks, stopping in his tracks. His tired brown eyes light up the second he sees you, a helpless warmth spreading across his face.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice fond while carrying an exhausted sigh. “How... how was your day?”
“Pretty good,” you shrug. You step an inch closer and reach up, gently smoothing down a stray, messy curl sticking up near his temple. The affectionate touch makes him melt on the spot, his eyes fluttering slightly as he leans into your hand. “You sound exhausted.”
“Yeah, something like that.” His lips form a thin line. “Just... a really long day. Honestly, I think everyone in the building is having an off day.”
You offer him a sympathetic look, hiding the wicked little glint of amusement glimmering in your eyes. “Aw, rough patrol?”
“Something like that,” he sighs, “Mr. Stark had me reviewing reports, Steve gave me a burnt pancake, and Wanda didn't even say two words to me. I don’t know, just... felt like one of those days where everyone’s totally checked out.”
“Well, I’m not checked out,” you murmur softly, giving his wrist a gentle tug. You loop your arm tightly through his, pressing yourself close against his side. “Come on. My dad left some useless blueprint files in the lounge and asked me to grab them. Walk with me? I could use the company.”
Peter’s chest hitches slightly at the warmth of your arm hooked in his, the tension draining out of his posture as he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Lead the way.”
He has no idea. He doesn't suspect a single thing. He just leans into your side, completely content just to have you walking next to him down the hallway.
You guide him right up to the heavy double doors of the main lounge. You grab the brass handles, give Peter one last innocent, cheerful glance out of the corner of your eye, and throw both doors wide open.
“SURPRISE!”
The roar echoes off the high ceilings. Banner poppers explode in a shower of red and blue glitter.
Peter actually jumps two feet off the ground, his spidey senses clearly activating under the sheer volume of everyone's energy. He freezes dead in the doorway, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as his eyes take in the scene.
The entire lounge has been decked out. A massive banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETER hangs from the mezzanine, supported by web shaped balloons.
Steve stands near a table stacked high with food while holding a sparkling party horn. Natasha has a smile on her face as she leans against the bar, raising a glass in his direction. Clint is sitting on top of the sofa, letting out a piercing whistle, while Bruce claps warmly alongside Thor, who lets out a thunderous laugh that rattles the windowpanes.
Right in the middle of the spread, Wanda steps forward holding a magnificent, three tiered dark chocolate cake decorated with a bunch of candles. “Happy birthday, Peter.”
Peter’s head whips around to look down at you, his eyes wide with utter shock. “Wait—what—you—all of you?!”
You can't hold it back anymore—a bright laugh bursts from your chest as you squeeze his arm tightly. “Happy birthday, Peter.”
“I—you—you lied to me!” Peter breathes a laugh as he points a finger at you before clutching his hands over his face with a breathless laugh. “You were literally just acting like it was a normal day, I thought you all forgot!”
“And you fell for it so easily,” you tease, nudging his side playfully.
“Forget?” Tony questions as he steps out from the crowd. “Kid, please. We spent three weeks orchestrating this.”
A huge smile slowly breaks across Peter’s face, so bright and genuine it makes your heart swell. “I actually thought I was going crazy.”
Tony walks over and loops an arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Now, before you gorge yourself on Wanda’s masterpiece, time for gifts.”
Clint hauls a ridiculously huge box onto the coffee table with a loud thud. It’s covered in star wars wrapping paper with a messy red bow slapped on top.
Peter dives over the back of the sofa, dropping to his knees in front of the table. “Is this... wait, no way.”
He tears through the paper and beneath the wrapping is the massive, ultimate lego star wars millennium falcon box.
“No way,” Peter breathes, fingers tracing the box. “No way. Mr. Barton, this is... this is the real one!”
Clint chuckles. “I know kid, I bought it.”
“I’m gonna build all of it tonight,” Peter declares.
“You’re gonna build it after you see the main event,” Tony corrects, taking a sip of his drink and nudging Peter’s shoulder. “Up. Hangar floor. Let’s go.”
The team files into the elevator, Peter glowing with excitement between you and Tony. Under the lights of the elevator, you reach down and give Peter’s hand a quick squeeze. His thumb strokes the back of your hand before reluctantly letting go as the doors open into the sleek garage floor.
Parked right in the center of the polished concrete floor, sitting beneath a spotlight, is a custom built, black supercar. It gleams with subtle red details, looking impossibly expensive.
Peter stops dead in his tracks. His mouth drops open so wide you think his jaw might hit the floor.
“Uh,” Peter chokes out, pointing a trembling finger at the vehicle. “Is... is that...?”
“It’s nothing big,” Tony says casually, waving a hand in the air as if he were talking about a used toaster. “Just a little daily driver. Custom Stark-tech engine under the hood, bulletproof glass, run flat tires, full AI integration with your suit. You know, basic starter car stuff. Nothing crazy.”
“Mr. Stark,” Peter says with disbelief, turning around slowly with a look of absolute terror and awe. “This–this is a supercar.”
“It’s a safe car,” Tony corrects sternly. “And consider it a late payment for all the times you’ve saved the city without sending me an invoice. Keys are on the dash.”
Peter looks like he is about to burst into tears. He throws his arms around Tony in a tight hug. Tony freezes for a second, looking over Peter’s curls at Thor and Steve, before slowly bringing a hand up to pat the kid’s back with more affection he would dare show on any other day.
“Alright, alright, don’t get emotional on me, kid. You’re ruining my reputation,” Tony mutters, though the smile on his face says otherwise.
When Peter finally pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, his gaze lands right on you.
You walk over with a warm smile, holding out a small, velvet box from your pocket. “I know it’s not a supercar,” you tease, eyes shining, “but... happy birthday, Peter.”
Peter takes the small box, his hands pulling the ribbon. Inside sits a simple, beautifully crafted silver spider engraved with his birthday.
His eyes soften into something so tender that the rest of the noisy garage seems to fade into background noise. “I think this is my favourite,” he smiles, tone dropping low enough so only you can hear. “By far.”
You let out a soft laugh, reaching up to gently hold his cheek. “Don't let my dad hear you say that.”
“Hear what?” Tony’s sharp voice suddenly slices between the two of you as he steps up, his eyes darting suspiciously between Peter’s flustered face and your hand on his face. “What are we whispering about over here?”
“Nothing, Mr. Stark!” Peter explains instantly, taking three dramatic steps backward. “Just thanking her for the gift.”
Tony narrows his eyes. “I’m watching you, kid. I have sensors in that car. If the heart rate monitor spikes past a hundred while my daughter is in the passenger seat, the ejector seat activates.”
Steve shakes his head, slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Leave the kid alone, Tony. Let him enjoy his car.”
A bright chorus of laughter ripples through the whole team while Peter just looks back and forth between the supercar, Tony, and you, still in disbelief.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” you tease, “turn it on already!"
