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.
content: inaccurate depictions of greek stories, afab reader, clark is still male, genderbent!hades x persephone, cursing, past trauma discussions, eventual angst, comfort, discussion of death, tags still being added
ongoing series
part one | part two | part three
part four: coming soon
a/n: had this beautiful thought and have not been able to get it out of my head. this will be a series, around 6 parts. 5+1 times with Clark Kent, our beautiful sunshine boy, as the God of Spring, and reader being Hades. featuring a traumatized clark and a patient reader who shows clark that not everybody is out to get him. note: this is not accurate greek lore, nor will it be comic book accurate, as this is fanfiction and an au. if things don't make sense, pretend it does, and i'll give ya a smooch.
p.s look at my banners. yes, i did them myself, and yes, i am very proud.
Summary: When Clark, the God of Spring, is 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.
chapter summary: As Clark's second month in the Underworld passes, he's determined to find out more about his temporary home. Even if it takes him to some unexpected places.
wordcount: 3.7 k (the longest one yet, but chapter 3 is still being written and passes this)
content: inaccurate depictions of greek stories, afab reader, clark is still male, genderbent!hades x persephone, cursing, past trauma discussions, eventual angst, comfort, discussion of death, tension, longing, pining, idiots not knowing they're falling in love, tags still being added,
a/n: had this beautiful thought and have not been able to get it out of my head. this will be a series, around 6 parts. 5+1 times with Clark Kent, our beautiful sunshine boy, as the God of Spring, and reader being Hades. featuring a traumatized clark and a patient reader who shows clark that not everybody is out to get him. note: this is not accurate greek lore, nor will it be comic book accurate, as this is fanfiction and an au. if things don't make sense, pretend it does, and i'll give ya a smooch.
masterlist
< prev . next >
ongoing series; part three coming soon
Clark had learned, in the month he’d been in the Underworld, that its people weren’t so different from those above. The castle staff — cooks, attendants, and guards — had warmed to him surprisingly quickly. Maybe it was the polished manners Olympus had drilled into him, perhaps it was that he listened when they spoke, or maybe it was just that he wasn’t the cold, untouchable figure they’d probably expected from Olympus.
Still, the sting of his arrival lingered. He’d barely set foot in the throne room before Barry — Hermes — had clapped him on the shoulder with a fleeting grin, mumbled something about schedules, and vanished back to Olympus in a blur of wind with no lingering farewell. That quick, efficient departure had lodged itself under Clark’s skin, a sharp reminder of just how disposable he was to the people who claimed to be his ‘family’. Even so, the Underworld hadn’t been unkind.
In his time here, Clark had also started to notice small details that didn’t line up with Olympus’ stories. The ruler’s fingers bore that dark, permanent stain the legends spoke of — but most people, even those high in rank, didn’t. Not the captains of the guard, not the advisors, not the stewards. It made him wonder if the stain meant something more profound than simple association with the realm of the dead, though no one had volunteered an explanation.
The food, too, defied the bleak images Olympus liked to paint — rich, warming dishes layered with spices and flavors that stuck pleasantly to the tongue. Limited ingredients didn’t mean limited skill, and the cooks here proved it with every meal. Clark made sure to praise their work after every meal, something that never failed to bring a bit of a spark into the staff, as nobody in the Underworld was a voracious eater. They were all too happy to have someone to attend to, to feed, to dress. While still early in his stay, Clark feels sure that he can eventually turn these people into friends.
Still, for all the Underworld’s vastness, the ruler herself remained a kind of distant orbit in Clark’s days — glimpses caught between duties, a nod exchanged in the hallway, a meal surrounded by the chatter of others. And yet, he found himself looking forward to each encounter, small as they were.
When they occasionally shared a meal in the grand dining hall, and wasn’t that a surprise — to find out that the feared ruler of the Underworld chose to eat at the long table alongside her staff as often as she could. There was no throne at the head, no separation of rank, just a seat among the others. You listened more than you spoke, but when you did, the conversation always leaned toward warmth and laughter. Clark had learned quickly that these moments were rare, and perhaps that was why they lingered with him longer than they should have. Your beaming smile and soft laughter coming to him at random moments throughout the day bring his smile out.
Most days, your paths only crossed in passing. He might catch sight of you striding down a corridor, your pace quick and your attention locked on some unseen list of priorities, while he wandered the castle’s twisting halls in search of another hidden alcove or sunless courtyard. On one such exploration, he met Cerberus — and it had taken exactly one thrown stone and a burst of superhuman strength for the massive hound to decide Clark was worth its attention. Now, whenever the three heads spotted him, they bounded forward with enough force to shake the floor, demanding a game of tug-of-war no one else seemed willing to play.
Today, though, he was ready to see more than the castle and the streets closest to it. The Underworld was layered, its heart deeper than the first impression it gave, and he wanted to find it. He stepped out into the pale, muted light of its endless twilight, determined to follow the paths that wound downward, toward whatever truths might be hiding there.
As Clark walks through windy lanes and crooked alleys, he notices the stalls draped in weathered canvas dyed in shades of slate, moss, navy, and muted wine. The air was cool here, carrying the faint tang of mineral-rich water from the river that cut through the city and the smell of fresh food from the stalls. Overhead, the sky hung in a perpetual twilight — not quite night, but with a depth that swallowed the horizon.
The people he passed moved with unhurried ease, their laughter and conversation drifting between the clatter of pottery and the muted clang of a blacksmith’s hammer. Their skin carried a faint blue tint, as if the memory of moonlight had settled into them, but their eyes were bright and curious. A woman with translucent hair haggled good-naturedly over the price of fabric; two children darted past with armfuls of candied fruit, their giggles echoing through the stalls. Clark couldn’t help but notice that once again, their fingers were free of any staining.
Clark had expected the dead to look… mournful. Hollow. Instead, the marketplace felt alive in its subdued way — the way winter might be alive, quiet and slow but no less full of motion. The Underworld was not Olympus’s polished marble or the wild greens of his home Above. Here, color bloomed in careful pockets: a pile of pale violet roots, the burnished gleam of bronze trinkets, the faint phosphorescent glow from jars of preserved river moss.
It wasn’t the realm of endless despair Olympus whispered about. It was… a place people lived, even after life. Olympus described the Underworld as an empty, heated place where people languished in despair. They rumble about beings with mottled skin and stenches so atrocious that people cry.
The Underworld is nothing like that. He’s seen small schools, factories, apartments, and stores. There’s even a University here with libraries, multiple buildings, and dorms. The city is vast and is alive in a multitude of ways. Walking further down this path, Clark feels excitement starting to flood through him. He loved to be moving, to be helpful, and finding what the Underworld holds has his heart racing in a positive way that he hasn’t experienced in a while.
Clark’s home above had always been his sanctuary — a stretch of land carved into rolling meadows and sun-soaked fields, framed by dense groves that whispered with the wind. The main house was built from pale stone and warm wood, its expansive windows thrown open to let in the scent of wildflowers and ripening grain. Beyond the back porch, an orchard spilled in gentle tiers toward a clear stream, where the sun caught in the water until it looked like molten gold.
He’d kept the fields himself, hands deep in the soil when no summons from Olympus dragged him away. Rows of herbs, fruit trees, and bright flowers grew in careful harmony, a quiet rebellion against the marble-and-bronze grandeur of the gods. Vines crept along trellises, heavy with blossoms; bees moved lazily in the summer air. Every corner of the place had something alive in it, and he knew each leaf and petal by heart.
When he wasn’t tending the land, he was in the sunlight — sprawled in the grass with a book, or lying in the orchard with the warmth soaking into his skin until he felt it in his bones. Clark was busy often enough, but here in the sun and soil, Clark had been content, unguarded.
The sound of children’s laughter carried across the square, sharp and bright against the low hum of the marketplace. Clark slowed instinctively, following it toward a squat, slate-roofed building tucked between two taller structures. The carved lintel above its door was worn smooth, but the mark etched there — three spirals woven together — still held a faint shimmer. And then he saw you.
You were kneeling in the open doorway, a child tucked under each arm, listening with exaggerated seriousness to their rapid-fire retelling of something that had been the funniest thing in the world five minutes ago. When you laughed, the sound was softer than the children’s but carried farther, pulling more of them in like moths to flame.
Clark lingered at the corner of the building, half-hidden behind a carved pillar. He told himself he was observing — learning about the ruler he’d been sent to live under. But he couldn’t seem to look away. You moved through the group with practiced ease, adjusting a crooked scarf here, smoothing the back of a tangled braid there. When one boy barreled into you, you caught him without flinching, spun him in a playful circle, and deposited him neatly onto a low step.
“Lady, that was incredible! Let’s do it again, but this time I’ll run at you from further back, okay?” The blond boy you had spun excitedly yelled back at you, with a massive smile on his face. There’s that laugh of yours again, grabbing everyone’s attention. Paired with your smile in that moment, unguarded and bright — it was nothing like the measured politeness you’d worn in the throne room. Clark couldn’t help but be a bit mesmerized, along with all the kids around you. How is it that you’re so kind?
Lost in the view and his thoughts, he didn’t notice your eyes flick toward him until it was too late. Instantly, you dropped your smile and tensed your muscles lightly. You subtly straightened your shoulders, brushed dust from your hands, and crossed the small yard. “This is certainly a surprise,” you start lightly, leaning against the near wall towards the Prince of Spring, “What are you doing out here, Clark?”
The gentleness in your tone wrong-footed him. He’d braced for annoyance, maybe even a cutting remark about spying. Upper Olympus would have snapped at him for intruding without an invitation — even over something so small. Clark has learned from his mistakes in the past one too many times to count. He opened his mouth, and before he could stop himself, the excuses started spilling out. “I was just walking, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything — it’s not like I was watching you, I just heard the kids laughing and—”
You tilted your head slightly, listening, but your gaze shifted past him as a small hand tugged insistently on your own. Without hesitation, you bent at the waist, lowering yourself to the brunette girl’s height. She cupped her hands around her mouth and stage-whispered with all the subtlety of a lightning strike, “Who’s the handsome glowy guy? Is he our future king?”
Clark blinked, his ears warming. You bit back a laugh, managing only a faint twitch at the corner of your mouth before straightening again. “This,” you told the girl, “is my new friend, the Prince of Spring, Clark. And he was just about to join us, wasn’t he?”
“Wow, a real prince?!” The girl exclaimed, gaining the attention of the other children in the courtyard. Whispers broke out amongst the children, along with pointing and growing excitement. Clark hesitated — he wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the invitation or the fact that you’d made it sound like his idea. However, once he glanced at you, he saw a smile on your lips, and gained an uneasy feeling.
“Come on,” you added, a spark of mischief in your eyes. “Unless you’re afraid you’ll lose a game of tag to someone half your height.”
Instantly, cheers erupted from the children and the workers alike. Well, that did it. Clark huffed a quiet laugh and stepped forward, letting himself be tugged into the little whirlwind of warmth you’d built here.
—
After an exhausting game of tag — where Clark could proudly say he won one match before losing the next four — you finally called a halt. The courtyard was littered with giggling, breathless children, and Clark, to his surprise, was one of them. His hair was mussed, his shirt wrinkled, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness across his shoulders had eased.
Somehow, the next activity became flower crown–making, a hobby you’d done with them before, judging by the quick, eager way the children fetched baskets of blooms from the garden beds. Clark found himself seated cross-legged in the grass, the brunette girl from earlier — Yuki — plopping herself right in front of him with a determined, “You’re helping me. You can pick the best flowers.” He laughed and obeyed, his large hands delicately selecting the best flowers before weaving them into the desired pattern quickly. Gently holding it, Clark extended his offering to her great pleasure, before he was quickly put back to work by one of the other little girls.
Every so often, his eyes betrayed him, drifting over to where you sat among a cluster of children. The late light caught the faint shimmer that marked your divinity, gilding you in a way that stole his breath. You weren’t posing or performing, yet there was something about the way you leaned in to listen to the children’s stories, smiling like every word mattered, that made his chest feel strangely full. Peace radiated from you in waves, and even here, surrounded by the dead, you looked so very alive.
He ducked his head quickly when Yuki caught him not paying attention, muttering something about “just checking the flowers,” but his gaze kept wandering back.
Across the courtyard, you were having a similar problem. You were busy weaving flowers into Shika’s hair as he took a nap on your lap, but you couldn’t seem to stray away from the beautiful sight of Clark seemingly in his element with the plants and children. The blond boy from earlier, Naruto, had sidled up beside you and followed your line of sight for a moment before loudly blurting, “Why do you keep looking at the glowy prince guy? You like him or something?”
A faint flush crept into your cheeks before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “That’s a very big question for such a small crown,” you said smoothly, plucking a blossom from his hand and tucking it into the weaving. Then, with a deft pivot because you were not about to answer that question, you called over a few other children and launched them all into an animated debate over whether or not purple flowers were superior to white ones.
It was a clean deflection, one you’d probably done a thousand times before. But it didn’t erase the fact that Clark had heard every word. Nor did it stop the slow warmth from curling in his chest, a mirror to the faint color now touching his own cheeks.
Leaving the orphanage took longer than either of you anticipated. Every time you tried to say goodbye, one child would remember something else they needed to tell you — or him — and the conversation would loop back around. Clark didn’t mind. There was a gravity to this place, the kind of pull that made you want to linger.
Now, he stood outside in the cool courtyard air, hands tucked loosely into his pockets as he waited for you to finish speaking with the staff. From where he stood, he could hear the soft murmur of your voice, occasionally interrupted by low laughter from the women you talked to.
Today had given him a glimpse he hadn’t expected. Not from the ruler who, by all accounts, kept the dead in their place with an iron will. There had been no performance in your smile, no carefully calculated move to impress anyone. Just… a quiet, unshakable joy that clung to you and radiated outward. And as he stood there, Clark recognized it for what it was: warmth. Life.
How in the hell had everyone gotten it so wrong?
When you noticed him lingering, you finished your conversation and crossed the courtyard toward him. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to wait,” you said lightly, falling into step beside him. “You don’t know what my next plans are.”
Clark nodded sheepishly. “Yes, that’s true. I guess I was hoping you were on your way back to the castle as well.”
A small laugh escaped you, warm and genuine. “You’re lucky, because that is where I’m going. Unfortunately for me, it’s to face a mountain of paperwork. Were you exploring before we commandeered your day?”
“Trying to,” he admitted. “I’ve kept to the upper streets so far.”
“Good to see you venturing further,” you said, your gaze flicking over the market road ahead. “Just watch your step near the west quarter. Not dangerous — just easy to get lost. Plenty of winding alleys and overlapping stairways. The kids use them for hide and seek.”
Clark chuckled softly, perfectly picturing the orphans wreaking havoc in the twisting streets. “Sounds like they’ve claimed it as their own.”
“They’ve earned the right,” you replied, a faint smile touching your lips. “Too many of them were cheated out of their first chance at life. I’ll be damned if they don’t have one here.”
He glanced sideways at you. It wasn’t the sort of statement he’d ever heard from someone in power above. It carried no grand speech, no claim to selflessness — just certainty.
The road narrowed, guiding you both into a smaller square. Here, a modest fenced garden sat in stubborn defiance of the dim sky. The plants were hardy but muted, their leaves shadowed and their blossoms small. You paused at the gate, with a bit of a bitter smile at the greenery. “My attempt,” you said. “I can make things grow, but not truly alive. Not like above.”
Clark stepped inside without asking, crouching near a bare patch of soil. He pressed his palm to the earth, letting his energy seep downward. Warmth radiated through the dirt, coaxing green upward until a stalk twisted into bloom far too quickly. The stem leaned awkwardly; the petals layered unevenly in deep red and burnished gold. He frowned at it, a bit embarrassed by his creation. “It’s… not very good.”
You stepped closer, kneeling beside him. The faint shimmer around you bent toward the flower, as if curious. “Oh, Clark. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen here in centuries.”
Clark looked at you, startled, but you were already tracing the edge of a petal with the tip of your finger. “Life doesn’t have to be perfect to matter.”
The words struck somewhere deep — into the hollow place he’d been ignoring since Olympus had sent him here. When you asked, almost shyly, if he might plant a few more in the castle’s garden, Clark heard himself agree before he’d even thought about it. Something about the spark in your eyes made it impossible to refuse.
You both lingered in the garden a while longer. You pointed out the few plants that managed to thrive here, telling him their Underworld names and some practical uses. He told you about his fields above — how certain flowers followed the sun through the day, how some plants could grow stronger when paired with others. You listened, not politely but attentively, asking questions that made him want to keep talking. By the time you reached the castle gates, the sky above had shifted to deeper twilight, the ever-present stars beginning to pierce through.
“I enjoyed today,” you said simply as you stepped ahead to open the gate. “It’s… been a while since I laughed like that.”
Clark felt the corner of his mouth lift. “I did too. I hope now that you’ve seen we can have fun together, you won’t go back to avoiding me around the castle.” He teases lightly, a smile already on his lips.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been very busy, being a ruler of the Underworld and everything. Plus, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” You lower your voice slightly, leaning in closer to convey the need for secrecy between the two. Clark finds himself eagerly leaning in to hear more.
“There’s been a new guest in the Underworld. Has stirred up quite the fanbase within the castle, especially with the kitchen staff proudly stating they’ve found their muse.” You continue on with your own smile.
Clark bites into his lower lip in an attempt to stop the large smile that threatens to overtake his face. Who knew Hades could tease and would be doing so with him? His voice is a bit gruffer, from holding his laughter, but he continues with this joke between you two, leaning closer unconsciously to be more face-to-face with you.
“Oh, that guest seems like a troublemaker. Maybe you’d be better off cutting him loose. It would free up some of your time.”
There was something about the way Clark said the words that had you tilting your head and your eyes considering him. You let there be a pause, so that Clark understood that whatever you were about to say next had meaning and feeling behind it.
“I don’t know about that,” you said at last, your voice carrying a quiet conviction that made Clark straighten almost imperceptibly. “I think he’s something special. The kind of presence that changes the air in a room… and makes you wonder how you ever went without it.”
You didn’t break his gaze, and in that stillness, the words seemed to settle somewhere deep in him — somewhere untouched by the polite praises and rehearsed compliments Olympus had continuously fed him. There was no flattery here, no political motive — just truth, offered freely.
For a moment, Clark found himself struggling to find his voice. His pulse thrummed in his ears, his earlier grin fading into something more uncertain, more vulnerable.
“That’s… quite the endorsement,” he managed, though it sounded weaker than he intended.
You simply smiled, stepping past him to push open the heavy iron gate. The soft shimmer of your halo caught in the deepening twilight, and for one disarming moment, Clark’s first thought wasn’t of titles, realms, or obligations — it was of how your words had felt like an anchor and a promise all at once.
As you disappeared into the inner halls, Clark found himself standing there longer than necessary, replaying the curve of your smile, the softness of your voice. He wasn’t any closer to understanding why you’d kept your distance all these weeks. But he knew one thing: the picture Olympus had painted of you — cold, detached, severe — was wrong. And maybe, he thought, he wanted to learn just how wrong it was.
a/n: here's part two! i thought i had it done yesterday, but when i looked it over before i posted today i had to add the flower crown scene and our little flirtation with clark. and then, i almost posted the unfinished part 3 instead of part 2, so that would have been confusing.
thank you for your support, and i hope you enjoy this chapter! like, comment, reblog if you liked it! comment below if you would like to be added to the 'equinox' tag list! let me know if i missed somebody!
after posting i'll be eating an acai bowl, smoking, and watching our mans Superman at home since I immediately bought it when it was available. then let the thoughts take over!
summary: When Clark, the God of Spring, is 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.
wordcount: 2.5k
content: inaccurate depictions of greek stories, afab reader, clark is still male, genderbent!hades x persephone, cursing, past trauma discussions, eventual angst, comfort, discussion of death, tags still being added
a/n: had this beautiful thought and have not been able to get it out of my head. this will be a series, around 6 parts. 5+1 times with Clark Kent, our beautiful sunshine boy, as the God of Spring, and reader being Hades. featuring a traumatized clark and a patient reader who shows clark that not everybody is out to get him. note: this is not accurate greek lore, nor will it be comic book accurate, as this is fanfiction and an au. if things don't make sense, pretend it does, and i'll give ya a smooch.
masterlist
ongoing series; part two
Clark was, pardon his language, pissed off. He’s good at his job as the God of Spring and a Protector of Mortals, and yet he gets banished to the Underworld? All because some old Upper Olympians are too selfish and scared to lose their power.
So they made up a rumor, lower gods and demigods spread it to human lovers who spread it further, and alas! People, we have a scandal!
He rolls his shoulders back and gives his Underworld welcoming crew his best attempt at a warm smile for now. Regardless of how he’s feeling, he knows that he has a job to complete. That’s how he’ll think of this; it’s another job that Olympus needs him to complete.
"Wow, they must have really pissed you off if you're quiet now. That's not really like you, Supes." Barry says from further ahead of the group. He's been zooming ahead and coming back at random times due to his impatience with the group's slow pace.
Clark clenches his jaw, but manages another terse smile towards Barry. "I'm fine. And you would stop calling me that? Look at where being a "super god" got me." Barry purses his lips but wisely says nothing. Even he knew the truth, and not what Olympus was passing off as it.
Lost back in his thoughts, Clark turns over the events again in his head. It’s just that they must honestly think he’s dumb if they think he doesn’t see the political moves happening. Like he said, he’s good at his job, at frankly any task you put him at.
He’s heard the rumors, the whisperings between both mortals and gods alike about the blatant favoritism the mortals had for Clark, as well as the petition for Clark to secure a more prestigious position.
But if anyone asked Clark, he would have gladly told them that he was fine with his roles; he was content. He’s not actively striving for more, and truly, he doesn’t pose a threat to them or the order of things. He just wanted to bring life to the mortals and protect them from battles they can’t handle.
Somehow along the way, his message and purpose got twisted, and Upper Olympus had bigger plans for Clark, more delicate missions that they insisted only Clark could handle. And that wasn’t true, now was it? Because Clark knows that —
“We’ve arrived.” Tory chirps from in front. Clark quickly focuses on his guides, two small gremlin creatures that are escorting Barry and Clark to meet you.
"Finally! Let's get this going!" Barry exclaims.
It’s sooner than he thought the meeting would occur. You know, really, for small creatures, they are surprisingly fast walkers. He should have slowed down and admired the scenery more. Maybe even ask a few questions to prolong this moment. As if knowing Clarke’s internal questioning, Tory grants him a small smile, delicate eyes smiling back at him. That was enough to give Clark the courage he needed. Taking in a deep breath, Clark looked up, coming face to face with an immense obsidian door carved with constellations.
“This way,” Ogni, the other gremlin guide, murmured. The doors swung open on soundless hinges, and Clark stepped into the chamber.
He expected darkness — oppressive, choking, the kind that swallows every trace of light. Instead, the room breathed shadows and gold. Shafts of illumination cut down from high, narrow windows set with stained glass, painting the black stone in fractured reds and ambers. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams, catching the light like embers suspended in water. The vaulted ceiling rose impossibly high above, its ribbed arches drawing the eye toward a carved structure at the far end — part throne, part altar, and wholly regal. The space hummed, as if every stone had been placed with purpose, carrying the weight of centuries.
It was… beautiful. And then there was you.
He felt you before he truly saw you — a presence that filled the room more completely than the light itself. Grace wrapped in quiet authority, the kind of stillness that was not passive, but deliberate. Power radiated from you in waves: not loud, not showy, but undeniable. It was the power of deep waters, of roots that ran beneath every living thing. Every word you spoke carried the sense that it had been weighed, sharpened, and then set free.
You sat not on the high throne but at a broad table scattered with scrolls and obsidian tablets, advisors flanking you. A handful of underworld guards lined the walls. You did not look up immediately — your voice, calm and steady, carried as you gave quiet orders about border patrols and harvest rites. Despite your focus, your advisors started eyeing Clark with visiousness barely being restrained in their eyes. Ah, it seems like the Underworld isn’t exactly ecstatic about this arrangement either. They can join the club, maybe even have weekly meetings.
When it was clear you had finished your point, you adjourned the meeting, then finally turned to face Clark.
Heart-stopping.
In everyone’s talks regarding the infamous ruler of the Underworld, Hades, it seemed they forgot an important aspect: how stunning you are. An elegant grace that speaks of power within the posture and the measured steps you took to approach him. Clark’s been around Olympians for years and can confidently say none of them measures up to the absolutely devastating beauty that you seem to have in spades.
Power didn’t cling to you in restless sparks the way it did with the Olympians above; it flowed, deliberate and unhurried, in every measured step you took toward him. It was not the volatile grandeur of those who acted on whim, but something sharpened and intentional, as though every motion had weight and meaning.
Gods had surrounded Clark for years, yet he couldn’t recall a single one who carried their authority with such quiet precision—and, to his reluctant amazement, such devastating allure. Being attracted to Hades was certainly not in his 6-month plan.
“Hello, Clark, God of Spring. I hope your journey here was pleasant, considering the circumstances.” Your voice travels out melodically. You extend your hand, and it’s a nod to Clark’s training that stops the instinctual gasp that nearly pops out when he sees the black stained fingertips you have. The stain seems to go till the middle of your hand before it blends with the rest of your flesh.
It was his hesitation and confusion that lasted a moment too long, making everything awkward. You slowly start retracting your hand, before Clark shoots his out quickly to grab and shake it.
“Hello, Hades, Goddess of the Underworld. Thank you for your hospitality for the upcoming 6 months. I hope not to be too much of a hassle.”
Before you could open your lovely mouth, and truly, had there been better lips? A sharp laugh cuts through the room.
One advisor — older, with a mouth like a knife — finally turned to regard Clark. “Olympus moves quickly when a golden boy outlives his use. I guess we can try our best to find something you can do. Gotta earn your keep, right, boy?”
Booming laughter from the advisors who were left in the room. Some were smart and left immediately after the meeting. Why stay longer and risk annoying Hades? A warning, the others would soon wish they had heeded.
The words were smooth, but the cut was deep. Clark froze, jaw tightening before he forced a polite, non-committal smile — the kind Olympus had trained into him. But there was no missing the shadow in his eyes.
You turned directly to the advisor, with a gaze that was sharp enough to pin the advisor in place. “Careful, Sergio,” you said, your voice as cool as the stone beneath your feet. “You speak of a guest under my roof. Not to mention one who is significantly ranked higher in terms of importance.”
The room stilled. Even Clark glanced at you, surprised. You return your gaze to Clark, and for the second time, he is taken aback by the full weight of your power wrapped in poise, a crown that seems less worn than welded into place.
A low whistle cuts through the room. "Wow, what a start to these 6 months. I can already tell it's gonna be interesting. Well, what fun! Nice to see you, Hades, truly, but I do have to go. Errands to run, messages to deliver, people to see, food to eat. You know how it is! Best not to overextend my stay anyway, you look plenty busy. Maybe I'll see you around, Clark, but if not, definitely when you come back to the Upper! Alright, see ya!” And with a gust of wind, Barry was gone. He did complete his mission. What else was there left for him here? Besides, maybe someone who thought they were somewhat friends — something you determine by the brief look of shock on Clark’s face.
You could sense it — the way he was holding himself together for the audience in the room, the polite mask hiding the raw sting of abandonment. He needed to be alone, not to perform. A part of you, thought long dead and buried, tosses around at that familiar feeling. And it’s even more heartbreaking to see it on a face as handsome as the Spring God. You moved toward the doors and inclined your head for him to follow. “Shall I show you your quarters?”
With another tight smile, a polite thank you to Tony and Ongi for safely guiding him here, and a surprising slight head nod of acknowledgment to the other advisors, Clarke followed Hades out the door. Before you followed Clark, you turned back and gave a scathing look to the other advisors. One that told them to be cautious, as you were not done with them.
The corridors of the palace were long and hushed, their walls carved from the same dark stone as the throne room but softened here by low-burning sconces and intricate reliefs depicting the history of the Underworld. You walked a pace ahead, the sound of your steps echoing faintly. The walk to his chambers was quiet, your steps echoing through the long hall. It was a comfortable silence, but maybe you’re biased; you’ve never minded the silence. You never had a choice to.
Slightly tilting your head to the right, you glance at your new… roommate for 6 months? He radiates warmth, even now, as his emotions are fragile, a bit worn down; he’s equivalent to sitting next to the fireplace. Due to Clarke being such a light-hearted and loving god, he even radiates a bit of a glow around him, barely noticeable - if you weren’t a thousand-year-old goddess.
Even in your age, you’ve seen plenty of beauty, from other Gods and Goddesses, to nymphs, sirens, and humans, plenty have been described as beautiful. Even the newspapers written by both mortals and Gods alike name him as “a handsome benefactor for humanity”. Screw them all.
None of them did any justice to the ethereal being that is the Clark, the God of Spring. With broad shoulders, and wide arms, and frankly wide everything, (everything?) this God was structured in the ways of old. In the ways that humans made statues of, but real Gods and Goddesses hardly live up to that potential.
“I trust the accommodations will be… sufficient,” you said, voice light but precise. “You have free roam of the castle. The gardens, the library, and even the training halls, if you need them. If you require anything, speak my name, and it will reach me.”
His eyes lingered on the carvings, but you could feel his attention split between the space and you. “And if I… roam too far?” Clark asked carefully. There had to be some kind of drawback; he'd heard the tales of the Underworld.
“Then you may find yourself face-to-face with Cerberus,” you replied, a faint curl at the corner of your mouth. “He’s harmless if you’re me. Less so if you’re not.”
Clark’s brow lifted slightly, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced of the ‘harmless’ part.
You continued, “And there are the lost souls, of course. They won’t harm you — not physically — but some have… ambitions. It’s rare, but every few centuries, one gets bold enough to try to escape. They become cautionary tales for mortals.” You glanced at him sidelong. “It’s very embarrassing for them, really. But you have to admire their dedication to new tales.”
It earned you a small, reluctant smile. Brief, but there. You didn’t let your expression change, but internally, you were assessing him. The golden aura that haloed his form was impossible to ignore — warm, steady, alive in a way the Underworld rarely saw.
Gods and goddesses all shimmered, but his was… different. Larger. Brighter. That telltale mark of power only the Big Three could truly measure, and you didn’t need to measure to know it was formidable. It wasn’t just strength — it was goodness, threaded through every strand of that light.
No wonder your sisters and the other Upper Olympians were so adamant about Clark's temporary relocation. They had to have panicked at his potential, for surely even now, he already eclipses some of the lower Olympians' power.
And heat. You could feel it even from a step away — the deep, life-born warmth that clung to him like sunlight against your skin after centuries in shadow. You stopped at a door inlaid with gold sigils.
“Here,” you said, pushing it open to reveal the room within. His breath caught.
His room was spacious, surrounded by obsidian walls and floor, with a gold marble pattern weaving throughout, catching sparkles of the dimming light outside. The bed was on the left wall, massive and filled with pillows and other soft, luxurious textiles, even though the God of Spring might need to remove some pillows to sleep comfortably with his large frame.
To the right of the room were two doors. One he could see as the bathroom, and from the open door frame, it appeared to be as luxurious as the rest of the room. Clark walks towards the second door and slowly opens it, revealing a large walk-in closet with ample space for clothing for three people.
Clark couldn’t wait to get a look at the absolute stunner of the room: the balcony. The balcony stretched outward in a graceful arc, framed by towering Gothic pillars draped in thick, dark-green vines that climbed toward the carved stone arches above. Two wrought-iron chairs sat side by side, angled just enough to invite conversation or quiet observation of the Underworld’s strange, haunting beauty.
Beyond the balcony stretched a sprawling garden — nothing like the manicured perfection of Olympus. This was wilder, stranger. Black-petaled roses shimmered faintly under the dim sky, ghostly vines glowed along trellises, and flowers bloomed in impossible colors, each one alive in a way that defied sunlight.
It was a mess, to be honest. But in a way that there’s beauty in its refusal to be tamed and its perseverance to continue growing. The urge to create was massive, sparks flying out of his hands as he considered all the possibilities at his fingertips.
You saw it — the way his eyes widened in pure wonder. Without meaning to, you smiled. He reminds me a bit of Ceberus — with puppy-like excitement, he suddenly displayed.
Clearing your throat softly, you said, “You are free to roam the castle. If you prefer, you may dine here tonight. Speak to the ones who brought you, and the kitchens will know.”
His gaze snapped back to you, a little dazed. This is nothing like how he thought his first day here would go. Nothing like he thought his interactions with you would go. This is beyond a pleasant surprise. His emotions are heightened and frazzled, seemingly everywhere, with only one evident emotion he can name: gratitude. For the first time since he was told of his future, Clarke gave a genuine smile.
Holy fuck, he’s beautiful. Desperate to maintain decorum, you clear your throat slightly and incline your head, formal once more. “Rest well, God of Spring.”
“Clark, please. This is… everything. Thank you, truly.”
A genuine smile, and then you were gone, leaving him in the doorway — still watching the garden, wondering why the Queen of the Underworld was nothing like he’d been told.
a/n: there we go! part one of equinox has been released! like, comment, reblog if you liked it! comment below if you would like to be added to the 'equinox' tag list. the first post i created will serve as the masterlist for this series!
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.
wc: 5.7k
chapter summary: It's in his third month that Clark discovers that the Underworld has a rhythm all its own — one that blurs the line between duty and desire, and tempts him with truths he never expected to find.
content: 18+ readers only, mdni, inaccurate depictions of greek stories, afab reader, clark is still male, genderbent!hades x persephone, cursing, past trauma discussions, murder, mental abuse discussion, minor character deaths, eventual angst, comfort, discussion of death, kisses, suggestive content, praise kink, dom/sub tones, tension,
ongoing series
part one | part two | part four
The garden had become your quiet meeting place in the late afternoons — a pocket of stillness in the Underworld where neither of you needed to play your roles so sharply. The air was cooler here, touched with the faint scent of soil and stone, and dotted with the stubborn blooms Clark had coaxed from the earth over the last month. His awkward first flower still stood in a place of honor, its red-gold petals slightly crooked but standing tall among the darker, hardier flora you’d cultivated long before he arrived.
Today, he was working on something new — a creeping vine he was trying to persuade along the wrought-iron trellis, encouraging it to twist into an arch. You knelt nearby, sleeves pushed back, planting a cluster of shadowy, almost-black blossoms into a half-moon bed.
“You’ve gotten better,” you remarked without looking up.
Clark’s mouth curved. “Better than terrible isn’t exactly high praise.”
“Yes, it is,” you countered easily, voice warm enough to take the sting out of the jab. “Do you remember the first one you planted? The stem leaned so far to the left, I thought it was trying to escape.”
“It had character,” he said, straight-faced.
“It had a death wish. Trust me, I would know. I could hear its tiny pleading voice begging for mercy. Please, Hades, put me out of my misery.”
That earned you a low laugh — the kind he didn’t give away lightly — and when he looked at you, you were already smirking. For a moment, the easy rhythm between you felt like something dangerous if left unattended. You take a quick moment to admire the beauty that is a happy Clark before realizing your mistake and moving the conversation along.
“I’ve also noticed,” you went on, leaning back on your heels to study him, “ that you talk to the plants.”
Clark’s shoulders bunch up slightly, with faint hints of red appearing on the top of his ears and cheeks, revealing to the public his slight frustration. It’s a heady feeling to know that you can fluster a god like Clark so easily, with non-provocative words.
“Helps them grow,” he said finally, shrugging, but the blush was still there at the tips of his ears. His voice lowers slightly as he says the next part, “And I’m nothing if not a dedicated God.”
Fuck, why did he have to say it like that? It immediately conjures ideas of other ways Clark could prove his dedication. Once again, you refocus on the conversation and try to act normal.
“Oh?” you tilted your head. “And what do you say? Do you sing them songs or tell stories? The children were quite impressed with your story abilities last week, maybe you’ve practiced with the plants.”
Yet another change in routine. Clark had started joining you on your weekly visits to the children, often ending up staying until their bedtimes, where Clark regaled them with a dramatic children’s tale complete with a variety of voices. You don’t think Clark realizes how special he is, that these little acts of kindness that he provides mean so much to people, when to him, he’s just lending a hand. To have such hubris in a god as popular as him is rare, and you hate how it makes you like him a little more for it.
Clark laughed once again, this time one that made him tilt his head back to fully lean into it. He then glances at you, reading the glint of challenge in your eyes. “Trade secret. Can’t have you taking over my spotlight with the kids.”
You hummed like you might let it go, but the grin tugging at your mouth said otherwise. “So it’s that bad?”
“That private,” he corrected, and it was his turn to smirk. You rolled your eyes, but it did nothing to hide the flicker of heat between you when his gaze lingered a beat too long. These moments between you two are occurring more and more frequently — these charged moments of heat, of understanding, of unbridled desire. As the two of you have gotten closer over the past weeks, the number of heated glances has increased. You certainly know you have not done a good job of hiding your desire for Clark, as evidenced by the smirk that is currently getting larger on his face the longer you glance at him.
You looked away, attempting to be casual, focusing on plating the next blossoms. “Well, I suppose I won’t press a god about his mysterious ways. Wouldn’t want to risk your wrath.”
You glance at him just in time to see him lean slightly closer over the trellis, voice dipping in mock gravity. “You’d survive it.”
The banter left the air thinner somehow, and Clark found himself turning back to his vine just to ground the moment. He could feel the awareness of you — your presence, your steadiness — settling under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.
As you started digging the hole, it was then that you added, almost absently, “You’ve always had a knack for persistence. Even when people above… made things difficult for you.”
The words slipped past his guard before either of you realized they’d hit their mark. His hands stilled on the vine, the warmth from a moment ago cooling into something heavier. The garden blurred at the edges of his vision, replaced by memories he’d spent months pushing aside — the condescension in the voices of Olympus, the endless parade of impossible tasks disguised as favors, the quiet isolation when their praise turned to silence. The memory of being their golden boy until he wasn’t.
When you finally glanced up, you caught the subtle shift in his posture — shoulders just a little too tight, gaze fixed on nothing. “Did I say something wrong?” you asked, quieter now, but without retreat. You’ve worked hard to show Clark that he can feel comfortable here, and you’d be damned if you made a mistake without apologizing for it. Turning around, you sit so your back rests against the plant bed to truly focus on Clark.
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head, then moved towards your right, mirroring your seated pose. “No. Just… reminded me of some things.”
You tilted your head in question, but he kept going, his voice low, as if he said it too loud, Olympus might still hear. “Up there, I was never still. Always running the errands they assigned. Paraded in front of mortals to smile and shake hands, to ‘inspire hope.’ Every move I made was for their image, not mine. They knew exactly how to use me. They called it an honor to be Olympus’ symbol, while I called it exhausting.”
He dug his fingers into the soil like it might ground him. The earth shivered faintly beneath his touch, and a single green shoot pressed upward, trembling toward the dim sky. “And if I ever slipped? If I wasn’t perfect?” His laugh was humorless as more sprouts sprang. “The disappointment. The way they’d make sure I knew I’d failed them. That I’d failed everyone.”
As his voice dropped, the little sprouts beside his hand faltered, their stems sagging as though they, too, bowed under the weight of expectation.
“There was one mission — I still dream about it. A building fire in the mortal city. I pulled out as many people as I could, but the flames spread faster than even I could move. Perry, Lois, Jimmy—” His voice cracked at their names, his throat tight. “They were among the ones I couldn’t reach. I tried. Gods, I tried.”
You said nothing, though your chest ached at the grief hollowing his words.
“They never listened when I explained. Another god had stalled me, but they didn’t care. They said mortals don’t remember excuses — only failures.” His fists pressed into the earth, and the little plants bent further, leaves crumpling in on themselves. “So they punished me. Do you know what they made me do? Relive it. Over and over again. Every scream, every last breath, burned into my skull. Sometimes they even twisted it, made the fire burn slowly, or changed the faces — so it wasn’t just Lois or Jimmy, but strangers I didn’t know. Children. Families. Each time I failed, the faces got closer to home.”
The confession dragged itself out of him, raw and jagged. His shoulders hunched like he was bracing for another punishment, some unseen hand about to push him under again. You open your mouth to tell Clark he can stop, he doesn’t have to keep going, but he’s already moving on, lost in the memories, the feelings, the guilt.
“I couldn’t stop them. That was the lesson — that no matter how much I gave, it was never enough. Perfection or punishment. And I…” His voice thinned, a breath breaking unevenly. “I started to believe them. That maybe I was the problem. That maybe I deserved it.”
Beside his hand, the sprout gave up entirely, wilting flat into the dirt.
What Clark didn’t notice was the way your entire body had gone rigid, fury curling through your veins like a storm. Not at him. Never at him. But at Olympus — the cruelty, the casual way they carved someone good into a tool they could break at will. A skill you only know too well.
You forced yourself to breathe, to still the fire, because this wasn’t about your rage. This was about his pain.
When you finally exhaled, it was steady, and you leaned just enough that your hand brushed the soil near his. A faint pulse of your own power stirred the earth — not to interfere, only to ground. Slowly, the wilted sprout shivered, and as Clark’s breathing steadied, it lifted its head again, stretching timidly toward the starlit sky.
Together, you both stared at the sky while processing what was told. The longer the silence was, the more nervous Clark was about your words. When you spoke, your voice was softer than he’d ever heard it. “I know something about trials designed to break you.”
Your gaze shifted toward your hands, flexing slightly before curling into fists. “Olympus didn’t give me my crown. They made me earn it. The others—Zeus, Poseidon—they inherited theirs. But for me? I had to prove that I was worthy of having a throne. Three trials. The first meant to humiliate, the second to weaken. And the last…”
The pause was heavier this time. Clark straightened, sensing the weight in your voice. He tilted his head towards you, in a silent acknowledgement that he is listening to you. “The last to break my spirit. To ensure that I knew that while I was one of The Three, I would always be under their rules.”
“My sisters and I always knew what realm we were destined to rule until the next generation was ready. We knew what our responsibilities required and prepared for our roles. It was at that time that I made a friend. Celia. She was a demigod, never knew which of The Last generation of Gods parented her, but it never bothered her. As we got closer, we made a pact to ensure that we would rule the Underworld together. Even though we would only be in the same realm for a little bit before we took over our responsibilities, my sisters didn’t care to spend time together and made sure to exclude me. But Celia never left my side. We formed our own kind of sisterhood, one forged in blood.” At this, you raise your right arm and show Clark the healed scar on the inside of your right palm.
“We grew older, and the day of Ascension quickly approached. While my sisters had crowds screaming their names, nobody in the realm above wanted to be associated with Hades except Celia, my sole supporter. On the day of ascension, everything was happening so fast, and I lost track of her for three minutes, and she was gone. I figured she went to the restroom or to get some air and continued on. It was only after my sisters were crowned that they turned to me and informed me of my additional trials. By that point, I was so focused on accomplishing them that I pushed Celia to the back of my mind. At least until the last one.”
“They had her tied up in the middle of an arena. My childhood friend, my only friend, my sister. Someone I trusted more than anything. They told me that to take my throne, I had to… end her.” You drew in a slow breath, steady but tight. “They said it was a test of my resolve to rule the Underworld — that if I couldn’t take a soul myself, I didn’t deserve to guard all the others.” A bitter laugh. “How could the others trust me in their afterlife? Like I was corrupt.”
Clark’s brow furrowed, but you kept speaking, quieter now. “Celia told me it was okay, that she understood. She said, “It would be my honor to help you achieve your throne. I kept begging her not to, that we could figure something else out. She was stubborn like me and insisted. She steadied my sword and walked towards me, trying to make it easier on me.” Your eyes seemed to darken with the memory. “And I did it. I took her life, and in the same breath, Olympus made me immortal. I regretted it, I wanted her back immediately, and I tried to reach for her soul in the Styx before it passed to Elysium… but I was already changed. Only my fingertips touched the water before my body sealed against it. The stains stayed. Everything else…she was….” You shook your head. “Gone.”
The sky above was shifting now, twilight pooling into deeper blues, the first stars winking faintly overhead. You raise your hand in the sky, and both of you look at it. You wonder what Clark sees when he looks at your hands, now hearing everything. Hearing a story few knew. None of the other nine major Olympians had ascended yet, so the only people who knew the truth were The Three, The Last generation of Gods, and now Clark. Something about sharing such a pivotal part of who you were left your emotions raw. You felt like you were there again, reliving the whole horrid affair all over again. Slowly, Clark’s left hand appears in your peripheral vision, and you both watch as he grabs your still floating one, gently curls his hands around yours, and brings it to his lap. Without looking at you or releasing your hand, he starts rubbing slow circles with his thumb, which you begrudgingly acknowledge is comforting. The shadows lengthen around you as the stars twinkle and move above, but neither of you moves.
It was impossible to know how much time passed before Clark’s quiet voice spoke again. “You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.”
You gave him a faint, rueful smile. “We all do what’s asked of us. You never deserved the type of pressure they gave you, or their punishments.”
The garden settled around you in an easy hush, the kind that didn’t need filling. You straightened for a stretch, seeing Clark do the same, both brushing earth from your palms, and your eyes wandered upward. The first stars had begun to emerge, their slow arc shifting in ways mortals would never notice. Among them was a familiar outline — two figures locked together in the oldest of stories. You smiled faintly at the sight, only to find Clark watching you instead of the sky. The look on his face made your chest tighten, as if the quiet between you had ripened into something fragile and inevitable. For a moment, you thought you saw the exact second his decision was made.
He walked slightly toward you, stopping less than an arm’s width away, hesitation flickering in the tense line of his shoulders. His eyes darted across your face before he gently grabbed your shoulders to turn you so that the light hits your face. Immediately upon seeing it glow, he smiled, sure in that moment of his choice. His voice was low at first, almost testing the weight of each word before letting it go. “I think I’m gaining feelings for you. Potentially deep feelings.”
He spoke of it like something dangerous, like saying it too loudly might shatter it. The idea of your emotions, your heart, being held in Clark’s giant, but kind, gentle, true hands made your heart beat a bit faster. This night has taken a multitude of turns you never expected.
When you didn’t immediately speak, he pushed on, the uncertainty still there but tempered with a growing conviction. “Not because you’ve shown me kindness when I didn’t deserve it. Not because you’ve made this place feel less like a sentence and more like a place of freedom. It’s everything else. It’s the way you move through this world, like you carry it but refuse to be crushed by it. The way you see through me, even when I think I’m hiding everything. It’s the way you laugh at my jokes, even though some are grandly awful. It’s in the way you gently treat everyone around you, and show kindness in a realm where nobody expects you to.”
Instead of trailing off, it’s as if he gains more passion the longer he continues. “It’s in the way you consistently strive to make the Underworld the best version of this place it can be for the citizens you care for. Because despite how the world has tried to break you down, you still find hope and reasons to move forward. You find a way to show kindness and grace when you’re the most powerful person in this realm. You make me want to be more, not because I’m told to, but because I can’t stand the thought of being anything less for you.”
You stared at him, every carefully ordered assumption you had about the world, about your future, about him, thrown open like a door in a storm. Of course, you knew his heart was capable of depth, but to see it bare like this…
Your reply was quieter than you intended, and truer than you wished to admit. “I know. And it terrifies me.”
The words seemed to hang in the night air between you, both of you caught in the gravity of them — the weight of one of The Three admitting to fear. The knowledge that, despite the immense strength of Hades, Clark, a minor god, provokes enough emotions within the infamous ruler, leads to thoughts Clark knows he can’t stop.
Clark seemed to brace himself for that to be the end, for you to retreat into whatever distance you’d been keeping between you. This was more than enough; you admitted to feeling something. The two have discussed plenty, and if you needed more time, he would grant it to you. Instead, you surprised him again.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it too,” you said, your gaze locked with his. “You’ve become… something I didn’t think I could have. And I don’t want to pretend otherwise. I never imagined I would be able to lay out my past so openly for another, let alone someone I’ve only known for three months. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of you each night when I go to bed, and every morning when I wake up.”
The truth in your eyes was undeniable, and as you spoke, something within you — the rawness of your honesty — stirred your power. Without meaning to, the halo of blue that marked your divinity began to shimmer around you, faint at first and then brighter, framing you in a light that was both soft and commanding.
Clark’s breath caught. He’d seen halos before, the symbols of divine strength, but never like this — never paired with vulnerability so unguarded it could undo him. In that moment, you were not just Hades, ruler of the Underworld. You were something far rarer: someone who could look at him and see Clark, not a title, not a tool, but a man.
Fuck, he wants to be your man.
You take a slow, deliberate half step closer, the air between you charged enough to raise the tiny hairs along the back of his neck. His golden aura flickered faintly, reaching for you instinctively, drawn like sunlight to shadow.
“I’d like to make myself clear to you, Clark.” Your voice was lower now, intimate in a way that slid beneath his skin. “I thought I knew my future. I knew I was to rule till The Next generation came around and then retire to the Afters. I planned to dedicate myself solely to the Underworld, to my citizens, my people, and to create the kind of world they deserve. Then you came in and changed everything, changed all my plans. I still strive for the best for my people, but I consider you in my plans now. I wonder about what you would think about certain proposals, or how you would bring more life into an area or neighborhood. I’ve felt more focused, more alive these past few weeks than I have in decades. And when I see the way you look at me, I—”
You cut yourself off as your left hand lifted to his cheek. The warmth of his skin met your palm instantly, his lashes lowered slightly as he leaned into you without hesitation, the softest kiss pressed to the heel of your hand before his cheek settled fully against it, like he’d been waiting for this exact contact.
“You what?” His voice was rougher now, his control fraying at the edges. “Tell me. Please.”
Your thumb drifted across his lower lip, slow and deliberate, tugging just enough to make his breath catch. You felt it — the spike of heat, the unspoken invitation he didn’t dare make out loud. Your own pulse quickened in response to the game you’re playing.
“When you look at me like that,” you murmured, your voice dipping into something almost sinful, “I want to show you what it’s like to have a Major Olympian’s devotion. Not just to be desired, Clark… but to be the one I wake for, the one I fight for, the one I give every ounce of power to without question.”
Your thumb still toyed with his lower lip as you spoke, feeling the subtle hitch in his breathing with every word. Clark’s hands have come to rest on your waist, his inherent heat seeping through your clothes and into your skin. The space between you felt impossibly small now, yet charged like the air before a lightning strike. Your voice wasn’t just promising — it was claiming, staking a silent flag in territory you’d never dared cross before.
“You wouldn’t just have my attention,” you continued, your tone low enough to almost be mistaken for a confession. “You’d have my loyalty. My strength. The kind of devotion that would make enemies think twice before they even look at you the wrong way.” You paused, leaning just enough that the faint warmth of his breath mingled with yours. “And once I’ve given it, Clark…I don’t take it back.”
Clark’s hand involuntarily flexed and, for a moment, held you tightly. Slowly breathing out, Clark relaxes his grip, still intensely staring across your features. You let the words hang, letting him feel the weight of them, the permanence laced in every syllable. His pupils darkened, his jaw tightening as if the mere idea of that kind of unwavering claim both thrilled and terrified him. His aura pulsed faintly, answering yours, golden light brushing at the edges of your shimmering blue halo like the two were testing the shape of each other.
It was in his eyes — that restless hunger, the pull toward something he’d never been offered before. It was the look of a man who couldn’t decide if he wanted to step into the fire you were offering, or let himself burn in it completely. He wants you, and he’s willing to do anything to have you.
Clark didn’t answer you right away. His gaze was locked on yours, and the air between you felt molten — charged with something neither of you had the will to stop. You could feel his heartbeat in the space, quick and uneven, answering the rhythm in your chest. When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate, as if afraid to break whatever spell had wrapped itself around the two of you.
The first brush of his lips was almost hesitant, like he was testing the reality of the moment. You matched his pace, the kiss soft and unhurried, letting it linger just enough to savor the warmth of him. The way he leaned into you like this was something he’d been holding back for far too long. There was no demand in it, no urgency — only the quiet, reverent press of two people memorizing the shape of each other in this single, perfect heartbeat.
When you broke apart, it wasn’t truly apart. Your foreheads stayed nearly touching, your breath mingling, your hands resting lightly against his chest as though you needed the reassurance of his solid form beneath your palms. His eyes searched yours, and in that look, you could read all the things neither of you had dared to speak aloud: longing, curiosity, the ache of having found something unexpected yet irreplaceable.
And then, as if you both realized in the same instant that holding back was a lost cause, you leaned in again — and restraint shattered.
This kiss was nothing like the first. It was hunger and heat and the surrender to months of tension snapping in one shared exhale. Clark’s hands found your waist, drawing you flush against him, drawing a slight moan from you, as the golden warmth of his aura bled into yours until blue and gold swirled like molten metal. Your fingers slid up into his hair, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss, the sound of it quiet but charged, almost dangerous.
It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, a promise, a confession you couldn’t bring yourself to voice yet but couldn’t hide either. His mouth moved against yours with a passion that felt like it could devour, like he wanted to map out every inch of you through the press and pull of lips, teeth, breath. Your hands roamed without direction — over his shoulders, down the hard lines of his chest, back to cup his jaw — as though you needed to touch everywhere all at once and still it wouldn’t be enough.
By the time you broke for air, neither of you truly moved away. You stayed in each other’s orbit, with Clark pressing kisses across your jaw and down your neck. You allowed him his fun before you tilted his chin just enough to make him look at you again, your thumb brushing along his jaw in a way that made his breath catch. Then, without warning, you closed the distance, claiming his mouth once more — slower this time, but with a deliberateness that left no question about who was in control. You kissed him like you were tasting the shape of his name, coaxing him into following your lead until his shoulders loosened under your touch.
When you pulled back, your lips hovered a breath away, your voice low enough to vibrate against his skin. “You look so handsome like that, Clark. Eyes all blown, lips swollen, a heaving chest. You’re gonna give a girl some naughty thoughts.”
The quiet praise had him melting under your hands. You could see it in the way his eyes darkened, the faint parting of his lips, the way his grip on your hips eased just enough to let you guide him back a step. You trailed your fingertips over his chest — slow, unhurried — feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, the way his body seemed to tilt instinctively toward your touch.
“Oh, you liked that. You take direction so well,” you murmured, letting your nails drag lightly along the edge of his collarbone before smoothing your palm over it in apology. “I can feel it — the way you listen. The way you want to.”
He swallowed hard, and the sound alone sent a spark down your spine. You rewarded him with another kiss, deeper this time, one hand cupping the back of his neck to keep him exactly where you wanted him. He sighed into your mouth, that subtle surrender so much sweeter than anything else you could have demanded from him.
When you finally let him breathe, you brushed your lips over his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, never quite settling back into a full kiss. Teasing. Keeping him in that edge-space between wanting and having. “You’d let me take care of you, wouldn’t you?” you asked softly, not needing an answer when his breath shivered against your skin.
Your hands framed his face then, tilting him just so, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’d make you feel like the most worshipped man in any realm,” you promised, the weight of the words sinking into him like sunlight into fertile earth. “Every morning, every night. Until you forgot what it felt like to go without.”
The sound he made was almost inaudible, but it was enough. You kissed him again, sealing the vow with the kind of slow, thorough attention that left him pliant under your touch — not because he was weak, but because he wanted to give himself over entirely. Clark has never felt like this before. He’s not inexperienced, but with the words you’re throwing at him and the way you’re practically molding him makes him feel like he’s young again, just discovering pleasure.
Your lips lingered against his until you finally pulled back, slow and reluctant, just enough to breathe. Clark stayed close, his forehead brushing yours, his hands still hovering at your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on tighter. The restraint in him only made you want to break more of your own.
The truth slipped out before you could stop it, low and trembling with honesty. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I let myself want someone like this?” The words hung between you, raw, startling even to yourself, but you didn’t take them back.
Clark’s eyes softened instantly, though there was heat in them too — the kind that unnerved you. His thumb traced small circles against your hip, grounding and maddening all at once. “Then why stop? You have me,” he murmured, though his tone carried something more dangerous beneath it.
You exhaled, your jaw tightening. “Because if I lose control, Clark…” You trailed off, shaking your head. The images were too sharp — how easily you could overwhelm him if you let yourself go, how devastating your power could be if you let it bleed too far into your want. “I don’t want to risk hurting you. I can’t, Clark.”
The strangest sound broke from him then — a short, breathless laugh. His gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up, and he leaned just enough closer to prove his point. “What if I told you I wasn’t afraid of that?” His voice had dropped, lower, huskier, laced with something unashamedly hungry. “What if I told you I could handle it?”
That sent a shiver through you, because you believed him — not just the words, but the conviction behind them. He was a god of life, golden and unyielding, with a strength that mirrored your own in different ways. And yet, he said it like he wanted the edge of your power, like he might even crave it. That makes it all the more dangerous. The tension between your bodies is building, and it’s reflecting in the way your auras were connecting and getting brighter, getting…warmer.
You searched his face, caught between the urge to give in and the fear of what would follow. But before you could decide, Clark surprised you again. His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, steady and reverent. “But not tonight,” he whispered firmly. “Tonight, we stop here. I respect that.”
Relief and frustration warred inside you — until he smirked, just faintly, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “That doesn’t mean I won’t make it difficult for you, though.”
The teasing promise made your pulse spike, heat coiling low in your stomach. For a heartbeat, you wanted to close the distance again, to test just how difficult he meant to make it. But instead, you let out a soft laugh, one that didn’t quite hide the edge of longing.
Clark was the one to pull away first, though the smile tugging at his lips did nothing to disguise the hunger in his eyes — or the taut line of his shoulders, the evidence of restraint still vibrating through him. Was that tension from holding back? The thought alone made something in you ache with want.
“Good night, Hades,” he murmured, voice dripping like honey as he caught your left hand in his much larger one and brushed a reverent kiss across your knuckles. Then, with a mischief that curled heat through your chest, he stepped back, walking slowly in reverse so he could take you in one last time.
“Dream of me tonight,” he teased, a wicked grin flashing as his gaze lingered over you like a touch. “I will of you.”
And then he turned, striding into the castle with the kind of unshakable confidence that left you frozen where you stood.
What the fuck. If that was only a taste, you were doomed. There was no way you’d survive him. But gods, what a beautiful way to go.
Above you, the night stretched vast and endless, constellations wheeling into their quiet stories. For the first time in centuries, you tilted your head back to watch them — and found yourself smiling.
a/n: part three is done! in case you couldn't tell, i do believe part four will be smutty, so please be patient as i haven't written smut before so im slightly nervous! but like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed!
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guess who wrote around 6k words for superbat x reader?
summary: You were there from the beginning - a Justice League founder, a guardian to Bruce’s and Clark’s children, and the glue holding two chaotic families together. Love grew slowly, quietly, in lingering touches and missed chances, until it was buried beneath years of duty and heartbreak. Now, when the kids are grown and your heart dares to look forward again, Bruce and Clark must face the truth they’ve both been avoiding: they’ve loved you all along. Will you let them, or has it been too long to let two of the world’s finest heroes into your heart?
should i release it?
LET IT OUT I WANT IT NOW
please give me the next part of equinox
Voting ended onAug 18, 2025
whichever the answer is, should i post it tonight or tomorrow?
