Hi guys, it’s Bambi. With my account growing I wanted to have all this stuff easily accessed so here you go. The links below will help you get familiar with myself and this account. Much love!
Husband clark kent who has a breeding kink. This man would be literally desperate to cum inside his gorgeous wife, just waiting for the day he hears that second heart beat. He definitely uses his xray vision regularly to check if his wife is pregnant too.
୨୧ Clark had always been a good husband. he cooked when you were tired, he carried the groceries in one trip, he rubbed your back after long days. but there was one thing. one single gnawing obsession that consumed him more than any chore, any duty, any heroic responsibility.
he. wanted. you. pregnant.
not just in the vague, someday way. he wanted it now. he wanted it every time he looked at you, every time you bent over in the kitchen, every time you slid into his lap with that sweet smile. he wanted to breed you so full that you could never doubt who you belonged to.
and tonight, he couldn’t hold back anymore.
you were on your back beneath him, skin almost glowing in the dim lamplight, legs spread wide around his hips. your cunt was already dripping, the slick sound of his cock sliding through your heat filling the bedroom. he was so deep it almost hurt, his thick cock stretching your walls, the fat head kissing your cervix with every thrust.
“Clark— oh god,” you gasped, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he ground into you.
his face was buried against your neck, his breath ragged and hot, “baby, fuck— i need it. i need to fill you up. gonna make you mine— gonna make you a mama—” his voice was hoarse, every word punctuated with the deep slap of skin on skin.
your pussy clenched around him, squeezing tight, milking him for every drop he promised.
“Clark,” you whimpered, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t even slow down. his hunger had him shaking, pounding into you with a desperation that bordered feral.
“you don’t—ahh—you don’t understand,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. his own were wild, faintly glowing in the dark. “every morning i check, every morning i look inside you to see if you’re carrying me yet. and when i don’t find it i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind.”
your breath caught, arousal flooding you at the confession. you opened your mouth to reply with something but all that came out was a ragged moan.
his cock throbbed inside you, heavy and thick, every vein, every ridge, all dragging deliciously against your walls. you were clenching around him uncontrollably now, wetness gushing down to soak his balls. “cum inside me, Clark,” you whispered, breathless, “give it—ahh—give it all to me.”
and he did.
with a guttural moan, he pressed his forehead to yours and thrust deep, grinding against your cervix as his cock pulsed violently, hot ropes of cum spilling into you, flooding your cunt, filling you until it spilled back out around his shaft. he held your hips down, desperate to keep as much of it as he could inside. “take it, take all of it— oh god— hold it in,” he was babbling now, his thrusts messy, needy, as he painted your walls white. but it wasn’t enough.
even as his orgasm wracked him, even as your pussy squeezed tight around his spurting cock, Clark couldn’t stop moving. his hips kept rolling, grinding, forcing his seed as deep as he possibly could.
you cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss even as he whimpered into your mouth, still cumming, still spilling inside you like he’d never run dry.
when he finally collapsed against your chest, his cock was still twitching inside your soaked cunt. he pulled out slow, cum and slick dripping out, streaking your thighs that were already soaked with sweat, but Clark reached down between you and shoved it back in with his fingers.
“don’t waste it,” he begged, almost broken. “ don’t let a drop go, sweetheart. please, i need you pregnant.”
his big body trembled against you, his face buried in your neck as he whispered it again and again like a prayer, “please, baby, please let it stick.”
you stroked his damp hair, soothing him as the both of you came down from that intense high. he kissed the soft part of skin where your throat turned into your jaw, an unspoken promise that he would fuck you again and again, until you were bred so thoroughly, until there was no doubt left.
thinking david corenswet is hot is the most embarrassing reputation ruining annoying thing I could have done tbh like ohhh my god really? tall big muscles dark hair and blue eyes kind man is hot? god fucking really. are you fucking stupid I hate myself. oh you think superman is hot? fucking superman? groundbreaking type shit going on here oh my god he’s tall should we tell everyone he’s tall and his jaw is nice wow she thinks the attractive man is attractive. you and everyone else. is pizza your favorite food too. fuck you. everyone look at her she thinks SUPERMAN is hot boundaries are really being pushed over here should we get her a medal because she thinks Mr Smile is easy on the eyes. “hear me out” and it’s a fucking marching band. should we call people magazine. vanilla. I DISGUST myself. summer blockbuster. I should be killed
warnings/tags: 18+, dark themes, DUBCON, implied NONCON, woc!reader (south asian coded but yk), office worker!reader, toxic workplace, obsession, manipulation, possessive behavior, forced intimacy, Lex sucks but what's new, implied murder (blink and you'll miss it), workplace abuse, these tags are not exhaustive
wc: 6k
summary: Your job as one of Lex Luthor's corporate drones sucks, but at least the paycheck is steady. So when Lex asks you to care for his newest prodigal monster, you think nothing of it. The thing about monsters, as you come to find out, is they don't only exist in the dark.
dividers by @/cafekitsune
ultraman's anakin allure got me a little bit...
please let me know your thoughts and happy reading!!!
Lex asks you to care for Ultraman.
“At least make him think you do,” he says dismissively.
He takes another cursory look over the file in hand before he slides it to you, uncaring of how some of the papers spill out. A photo loosens from the paperclip, and you catch a glimpse of the masked figure that is now slated to be Superman’s rival. Marketing must’ve had a hand in this given the white background and his stiff demeanor. You wonder if he’s smiling behind the mask—if he knows how to smile—then shrug off the thought.
You take the file, straightening the paperwork inside by tapping against his desk obnoxiously. Lex’s left eye twitches, but he says nothing as you shuffle through the admittedly sparse file. It has little past his basic information.
“You want me to be his friend?”
Lex chews over this for a moment. And then he gives you a half-nodding, half-shrugging gesture. “Essentially.”
It is only the two of you in his office. You’re sure that goes against HR protocols, but Lex has never been the sort of boss to give a fuck about proper channels and all that.
“For how long?”
Lex lets out a heavy breath. “For however long it takes,” he emphasizes, glaring at you. “It’s not that hard of a task.”
Years of working underneath and now alongside Lex has taught you how to pull off the illusion of patience. A smile will gain you sharper vitriol whereas any visible dissatisfaction will earn you an increased workload. You press your lips into a line, not because you care to give Lex the impression you are overlooking the venom coating his tongue but because disappointment haunts Lex’s every step, and you love to give him a reminder.
“My apologies for wanting a deadline, Mr. Luthor,” you say flatly.
From how Lex explains it, your new role sounds much simpler than the current one he has you doing. But you’re not sure of the ethics involved in befriending a creation of his and taking a paycheck for it. Nor are you sure you can pull this off.
He presses his fingers on either side of his nose. “Don’t call me that.” It takes concentrated effort for him to loosen his shoulders and unclench his jaw. “I’m sorry. Things have been a little…stressful on the social media front.”
You relax your own defensive stance. Lex is an asshole, but he’s never been unreasonable with you. The history you two share is too storied for him to treat you so carelessly. He’s consumed with not only getting rid of Superman but tanking his reputation, so that all that’s left is a tarnished legacy and a vacuum of power Lex can take advantage of. You’ll cut him some minor slack. You get paid more than enough to do so.
“The monkeys aren’t ragebaiting properly or what?”
His eyes close for a moment and then reopen with a sigh. “They are. But public opinion is still quite high,” he admits.
The dark circles under his eyes are pronounced, and his cuticles have been torn to shreds. The red of his eyes is from days-old exhaustion, but you would not be surprised to find out he cried right before calling you into his office.
“And you think giving Ultraman a friend will help because…?”
“Because he’s a fucking idiot,” he finishes, throwing a pen at the door.
You glance back down at the picture now peeking from the top of the file. No, he doesn’t know how to smile, you decide. With Lex as his creator, there is nothing to smile about.
-
“This is Ultraman.”
It’s strange to say you are impressed Lex has provided him an apartment. It’s within the LuthorCorp campus, and you assume his freedoms are severely limited, but it’s much better than those pocket dimension prisons Lex is entirely too fond of. For as rancorous as Lex has been about Ultraman in the short time you’ve learned of him, he must hold some derivative of fondness for him if he’s willing to also include furnishings to Ultraman’s home.
“Hi,” you greet with a wave.
The man looks to Lex.
“You see what I’m saying?” Lex says out of the corner of his mouth. He clicks his tongue, motioning towards you. “Say hello.”
“Hello,” the man says robotically.
A slight chill touches the base of your spine, sending threads of unease reverberating up your back. His instant obedience is nothing to marvel at, your stomach twisting uncomfortably at the sight.
Lex waits a beat then snaps his fingers. “Be polite. Take off your mask.”
Immediately, he goes to unclasp whatever mechanism connects his mask to the suit. There’s a brief moment where his fingers spasm as if reluctant, but it’s gone before Lex notices.
The file had informed you he is a clone, but you are still not prepared for how much he looks like Superman. His hair is longer and greasier with eyes not quite as bright, but other than these minor differences, he’s an exact copy of Earth’s strongest defender.
“Impressive, right?” Lex says. He’s watching you with rapt interest.
The knot in your stomach begins to crawl up your throat. You thought you’d be able to think of Ultraman as an identical twin of sorts but seeing him in front of you like this is more horrifying than you could have imagined.
Memories are not stored in DNA, so you know without a doubt Ultraman does not hold a single connection to Superman outside of appearance and physicality. Did he wonder what he was rather than who he was when he opened his eyes for the first time? Did he inherently know he was different? Or was that shown to him through whatever cruelty Lex deemed satisfactory as a teaching tool?
“Don’t let Mr. Handsome hear you say that,” you say instead.
Lex scoffs at that, but his lack of argument is telling.
It doesn’t take him long to deem other matters more important and he leaves you with Ultraman, muttering about how he’ll leave a few PlanetWatch members to stand guard outside. His gaze lingers on Ultraman, a frown pinching his brows before he heads back.
You’re left standing in the middle of Ultraman’s living room. You gesture towards the couch, a question in your eyes. He nods, taking a seat on the ottoman opposite of you.
Sweat slicks your hands and you wipe them off, forcing a smile when he continues to sit there. He steals a glance at you. His bottom lip is chewed raw and the hair on the back of his neck sticks to his skin, dampened by sweat.
What do you even talk about with a man whose entire live revolves around Lex’s next order?
“How has your day been so far?” you ask, infusing cheer into your voice.
He turns to look at you fully. His expression is completely slack, and his hands sit in front of him. He looks neither comfortable nor uncomfortable.
“Okay,” he says.
The corner of your mouth cramps. “That’s good! Have you been to training yet?”
He’s not due back to the lab until lunch, but it won’t hurt to ask. From what you can tell, it is one of the few things he does, so maybe he finds some enjoyment when he is able to go.
His face remains placid. “No.”
Well, you concede, it hurts a little to ask.
“Is there anything else you do other than train?”
And be Lex’s punching bag?
Immediately, you exorcise that train of thought. It’s a right of passage at LuthorCorp. If Lex hasn’t used you to vent out his frustrations, it does not bode well for your tenure at the company.
It takes Ultraman longer to answer this. The silence stretches between you two until it snaps, and you’re shifting on the cushion of the couch. The threads of your cardigan fray further underneath your twitchy fingers, unraveling a seam or two in the process.
“I sit,” he says finally.
You smile freezes in place. Lex is going to hell. He has to be.
“That’s” —you swallow, biting your bottom lip—“that’s definitely something you can do.”
The silence makes an appearance once more, and you desperately scavenge your limited small talk topics. He doesn’t go out often, so you don’t think bringing up the weather will spark any conversation other than a blank stare. You do not want to talk current events with him, and you’ve seen his schedule. He doesn’t do much at all. And you have never been that talented in making conversations out of nothing.
“Do you like being called Ultraman?” you ask without thinking.
You immediately bite your tongue. That is not the question you should’ve asked, but it’s the question that’s been at the forefront of your mind since Lex informed you of your new task.
You close your eyes and reopen them to find Ultraman’s head tilted as he takes in your question.
“I’m sorry. You do not have to answer that. I don’t know what came over me,” you say, holding a hand up. You wrack your brain for some common ground between you guys, but the file Lex gave you was fairly bare. “Um, I heard you—“
“I don’t like it,” he answers quietly.
“It’s a pretty shit name,” you agree heedlessly. For as smart as Lex is, he lacks creativity. And humanity. A correlation exists between the two but finding it won’t mean much in changing Lex. He likes who he is.
“What’s his name?” Ultraman asks suddenly.
You blink. There is no one else inside this apartment other than the cameras as far as you know. “Who?”
He points behind you.
You don’t want to turn around. From his expression, or lack thereof, whatever is behind you should be harmless, but in your line of work, anything can happen. If mutants are real, who’s to say ghosts aren’t? But you are being paid to follow Lex, and subsequently, Lex’s creations so you turn around slowly, eyes half-closed as if to stave off any fear that will close your throat.
Behind you is a picture. It takes up nearly the expanse of the narrow wall and if you were to guess, it’s at eye level with Ultraman. The photo is protected by a sheet of glass with a plain black frame surrounding it. It’s much simpler than you’d think it to be for being the only wall decoration in the apartment.
Superman stares back at you, eyes crinkled and teeth gleaming as he stands amongst the rubble. His hands are on his hips. Small tears rip at his suit, but the ’S’ is untouched, a hint of blood smearing the sharp corners. In the background stand cheering citizens, the sun shining brightly down upon them.
Your stomach churns, queasiness unspooling in your gut. There is too much to unpack here, so you decide to look away. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Superman?” you clarify, jerking your thumb behind you as you turn back to Ultraman.
He nods.
“It’s Kal-El. Supposedly.”
For all you know, the naming conventions of Krypton are more complex and Superman keeps it simple for the sake of it being an easy name on most tongues. It’s not a name used often anyway in regards to Superman. Lex has searched for every anagram iteration of Kal-El to see if it would yield any hints as to Superman’s alternate identity if such one exists. So far, his search has led him nowhere.
“Kal-El,” he repeats slowly. He thinks for a long time. “Can I be called Kal-El?”
This is above your pay grade.
“Do you want to be called Kal-El?” you ask hesitantly.
He studies you, searching you for an answer you cannot provide. Then he shakes his head.
“Is there something you’d like to be called?”
“I don’t know.”
His honesty splits you at your fault lines. There is no weight to his words. He has no opinion which is natural given what Lex has done to him but unnatural to his humanity. And despite how Lex portrays him, Ultraman is as human as you are.
“Would something similar to Kal-El work?” you offer. “We can always change it later. It’ll be like a placeholder until you find a name you like.”
He thinks this over. He looks ridiculous without his mask on in this suit, and the sight touches something tender in you.
“Okay,” he agrees, quicker this time.
Off the top of your head, you cannot think of any names similar to Kal-El. Kal seems too on the nose. Kyle does not suit him whatsoever along with any other K name that crosses your mind.
You settle on one after a few minutes.
“Does Kol sound okay?”
He brightens.
You smile, relieved.
“Kol it is then.”
-
It gets easier the more time you spend with Kol.
He’s not talkative by any means, but he no longer blinks as a response. Getting him to voice an opinion, however, is akin to pulling teeth.
“Do you want to watch one of my favorite movies then?” you ask after waiting a full five minutes for him to speak.
Seeing how regimented Kol’s life is, you opt to give him choices whenever possible. The first few days were incredibly boring given Kol doesn’t have many likes or dislikes and seems disinterested in finding out what those things could be for him. The only interest he has is watching you work, carefully placing himself behind you so he can watch over your shoulder.
He nods, a careful tuck of his chin, and hands the remote to you. You hold you hand out, palm flat and fingers relaxed. Sometimes, when your patience runs thin and you breathe in deeply and repeat your question for what feels like the nth time, Kol’s attention will involuntarily flick to whatever object is nearest to you. His shoulders will straighten slightly, and his jaw will jut out as he bears down on his teeth.
You take to quiet breaths and neutrally asked questions.
“I don’t think I’ve shown you a romcom yet, huh?” you say, more to fill the air than get an answer.
Predictably, he says nothing, but he watches intently as you scroll through the options before settling on a tried and true. You haven’t heard Kol laugh in the few weeks you’ve known him, so you’ll be pleasantly surprised if this movie earns a chuckle from him.
The first ten minutes are slow as the story finds its footing, but Kol’s attention is fully on the TV. At the beginning, Kol expected you to quiz him after each and everything you guys watched together. He’d sit at the dining table with his back stiff and straight against the uncomfortable wood, hands placed in front of him. It was unnerving to look up and find him in that position after throwing all of your things onto your couch.
It took seventeen times before he broke the habit.
Your stomach grumbles, and you place your hand over it. Kol tears his eyes away from the screen.
“Are you hungry too?” you ask sheepishly.
He considers this for a moment and then nods. It takes two minutes for you to order at the Thai restaurant down the strip that he likes so much, and then another two minutes to order some ramen for yourself. Once that’s done, you turn the movie back on and resist the urge to check your phone mindlessly.
The first time you saw Kol’s meal prep in his fridge, you thought he had provoked Lex to punishment. The food was bland, and it was rows of the same thing in his shelves. It took more questions than you expected for Kol to confirm this was how he always ate.
You took it upon yourself to order from every restaurant in a mile radius, curating each dish chosen to what you knew you and your friends enjoyed.
He had been overwhelmed by both the amount of food showing up at his door and the smell of it. It took some coaxing for Kol to eat the food, most of it given to him by your hand, but he seemed surprised by how much he enjoyed it.
It’s easy enough for you to get his meals changed, but he still vastly prefers the food prepared by a restaurant than whoever his personal chef is.
It will take fifteen minutes for the food to be dropped off, and he opts to wait to restart the movie until it does come. His fingers tap against his thighs as you guys wait, eyes flicking to the preview the movie has taken to play. He answers whatever questions you throw his way, but it takes him longer to come up with a response whenever the preview replays the moment when the main leads kiss in front of the male lead’s apartment. The scene cuts right before the male lead drags the female lead into his apartment, hiking her dress up her thigh and slipping his tongue into her mouth.
Kol watches as you unpack the food when you come back after grabbing the delivery from Langdon—your very own PlanetWatch bodyguard. His eyes trail after you, darting to your mouth for a too long second before dropping down to the food you place in front of him.
You don’t want to share your ramen, so you take a seat far from him.
“Ready?”
With his approval, you press play.
As the movie moves into the second act, Kol becomes more invested. He all but abandons the last of his food, leaning in closer as the two leads argue on screen. Worry furrows his brow when it seems the argument is spilling into territory that should be unexplored until the male lead swoops the female lead into a kiss. The fight leaves her all at once, hands going up to pull him closer.
Kol’s eyes widen as their breathing gets heavier. The male lead breaks the kiss just enough for his lips to brush against hers as he whispers something adoring. She smiles, nearly teeth to teeth with him as she teases him.
Having watched this movie more times than you can count, you know this scene is the calm before the storm. It never gets old, but you are finding Kol’s rapture far more interesting.
He doesn’t move until the movie finishes, eyes flitting all over the screen as the credits roll. The couch creaks underneath his weight as he turns to you, wonder making the blues of his eyes especially bright.
You grin smugly. “I have good taste, huh?”
The wonder quickly bleeds into anticipation, and he shifts closer to you. His lips part as if to speak but he remains quiet. Instead, he stares at you, waiting.
You frown, unsure why he has such an expectant look on his face.
“Do you want to watch another one?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.
You turn back to the TV and begin scrolling the available titles.
And if his shoulders slouch, you pay it no mind.
-
Kol begins to look to you for approval.
It’s a subtle change, one you don’t even notice until Lex invites you to observe his training. Kol’s intense training schedule usually left you with two to three hours to yourself during the work day, and you long to tell Lex no, but Lex isn’t asking.
Kol completes the sequence of moves flawlessly under Lex’s orders and immediately looks up to your viewing station. Lex is an arm’s length away from you, fingers curled over the railing until the skin over his knuckles are a bloodless white. He waves his hand towards The Engineer and a new sequence commences.
The kick thrown to Kol’s is dodged once he drags his attention from you which is only done when you nod at him encouragingly.
He reminds you of a dog, you think.
“He’s only good for following orders,” Lex mutters, hand pressed to his lips. He barks out a random assortment of numbers, growing increasingly frustrated as Kol does all of them. “Why can’t he think to do these himself?”
“Because no one is as smart as you, Lex,” you say dutifully.
Your answer doesn’t impress him.
Kol throws a truck at The Engineer. The metal crumples as it flattens her against the wall. A spare part—a broken part from the transmission perhaps—spears into her gut, pinning her to the wall. She spits something out, nanotechnology crawling across her skin to staunch the wound, but Kol’s not paying attention to her. He’s turned back to you. Even with his mask obstructing his face, you get the feeling he wants praise.
You suppose you’d find it impressive if he wasn’t a literal meta human. You count yourself lucky for not having to witness him crush a man’s skull between his hands as Lex had bragged about. Nonetheless, you give him a smile. He turns back, satisfied.
Lex is scowling when you look at him. One of his orderlies takes initiative and begins calling out numbers, but Lex brushes them off.
“What was that.”
The phone in your hand buzzes at that same moment. Helena from HR needs your help drafting an email to Lex about one of his preferred data engineers resigning for an opportunity at InfiTech.
Please, please, please!!!!
I’m scared he’ll throw a stapler at me again
The skin on the back of your neck prickles. Did Lex have undiagnosed phone telepathy?
“What was what?” you repeat tentatively. Is it less suspicious to keep your phone screen unlocked but with your palm covering the bottom half of the screen or lock your phone?
“Why did he do that?” Lex says. Each syllable sticks to the roof of his mouth.
It’s very rare for a competing firm to offer a salary higher than LuthorCorp or a benefits package as comprehensive, but you doubt either of those contributed to him leaving. Working for LuthorCorp as a whole is like any other large corporation: long hours, pay that sounds good on paper until they make you work for every cent, catered lunch, bullshit performance reviews, and the like. Working directly under Lex poses a different challenge and while many believe they welcome it, the reality of it is much worse.
Platitudes skitter around in your mind, too slippery for you grab onto one and hope for the best. Fuck, his nostrils are flaring.
“Why was Ultraman looking at you like that?”
“He wasn’t looking at me,” you deny reflexively. Then you process his question and its implications and amend with, “Maybe a little bit.”
“What did you do to him?” Lex snarls. He takes five fast and sharp steps towards you, chin tipped upwards and lips curled.
“What you asked of me,” you say evenly.
Your chest aches with how quickly your heart races. Luckily, he ignores your shaking fingers, entirely too focused on seeing if you’ll cower.
“I did not ask you to make him even more useless,” he says excruciatingly slow. His hand lashes out quicker than you can react, and he has your face between his boney fingers, turning your head to look down. He pushes your cheeks in harshly, forcing the soft flesh into the grooves of your teeth. “You are to be a companion. Nothing more.”
You meet his stare, trying not to blink too much. You’re hyperaware of your breathing and slow your breaths to match every second beat of your heart.
Lex tilts your head slightly and then seemingly appeased, he lets you go.
“He’s not human,” Lex says, stretching his fingers. He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, bordering on dismissive. “Don’t think that you can make him one.”
-
“You won’t be needed today.”
Langdon holds his hand out to bar you from the entrance. His mouth twists uncomfortably as he relays to you Lex’s latest order.
“Mr. Luthor needs you to go over some videos of Superman.”
“Does he now?” you ask, intrigued.
You touch your tongue against the roughened imprint of your teeth on your cheek, mentally rolling your eyes. Yesterday must’ve done a number on his pride.
“He’d prefer if you worked from home today as well,” Langdon carries on, adjusting his watch. “As a precaution, of course.”
“Of course,” you parrot back, a disbelieving amusement weaving itself through you. He won’t even risk the chance of seeing you. All because Kol wanted some encouragement while he was working. Unbelievable. “I’ll see you later then Langdon.”
He rearranges his stance so his helmet obstructs his mouth from the cameras. “Good luck with Lex.”
A wry smile curls the corners of your mouth. “Don’t I need it.”
-
“You want to try a matcha?”
Kol rolls the syllables on his tongue, raising his eyebrows at you when you say nothing else. He’s been attached to your hip since you were allowed back. He follows you around the apartment like a duckling as if fearing you’ll disappear the moment his eyes aren’t on you.
Your stomach swoops uncomfortably when you catch the moments of relief that cross his face when you are exactly where he expects you to be. As the only person who he sees outside of his mandated training and missions, the last few days must’ve been gut-wrenching. But perhaps it was a good thing. Codependence is good for no one.
“It’s a drink,” you explain.
You don’t think he’ll like it, but you’ve learned to not inject your beliefs into what you say even accidentally. Kol will act accordingly because he thinks it’s what you want rather than go along with his own tastes.
“Okay.”
You go to grab a hat and face mask for him. He spends so much of his time suited up, and you loathe to add to it, but his face is too recognizable to risk for an outing. You hand him the mask, laughing when he goes to tuck the strap behind his ear and gets confused when there is no hair to keep it from chafing against the thin skin.
You offered to trim his hair when you came back, having spent your unexpected week off watching videos on men’s haircuts. He had acquiesced, sitting motionlessly on the edge of his bathtub as you took careful snips of his hair. When you trimmed off the front pieces, he stared unapologetically at you to the point where you were beginning to feel shy.
You did a decent job considering your inexperience. Now that it has been a couple of days and his hair has grown out, the haircut is looking a lot better.
Not that Kol cares.
It’s a ten minute walk to one of your favorite cafes, and you talk his ear off the entire way. He’s unfamiliar with the area and will likely continue to be, so you try to give him a glimpse of the world outside of the small one Lex has provided him.
He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps himself angled towards you as he walks. It’s nice. You’re almost tempted to tell him about how much Metropolis Generals are pissing you off and genuinely ruining your day by killing their chances at the playoffs but keep it to yourself. Just because he’s a willing participant doesn't mean you should take advantage.
You leave Kol to loiter outside, unsure of what sort of reaction a small and crowded space will cause for him. When you turn to check on him after ordering, he’s nearly pressed up against the glass window staring at you, face shadowed by his hat. You make a subtle motion for him to back up, a quick flick of your fingers, but he remains where he is. Two passersby slow their gaits and exchange looks with one another as if trying to decide if something should be done.
Luckily your name is called and with two drinks in hand, you meet Kol outside. The passersby wait for a moment longer and you meet their curious stares over Kol’s shoulders with a small nod.
You hand Kol the matcha, amused by the gleam of distrust in his eyes when he lifts the drink up.
“It’s green,” he says.
“Pretty, right?”
He flattens his mouth into a line and then takes a long drink from the cup. When he finishes swallowing, he immediately hands it to you and takes the pineapple juice from your other hand. You’ve taken one sip but not nearly as a large of a one as Kol.
“That bad?” you laugh, accepting the trade.
He wrinkles his nose. “Grassy,” he grumbles, sticking the straw in his mouth.
“It can be an acquired taste,” you admit. “But I’m glad you tried it. Maybe we’ll try a papaya next.”
You lead him towards the park and sit yourselves on a bench. It’s a pleasant day with clear skies and no monsters in sight. For once, Superman is taking a break, so Kol hasn’t had to work at a breakneck speed. It might be nice for him to feel the sun on his skin and the breeze through his hair.
Kol sits close to you, ignoring the other side of the bench. His thigh is flush against yours. You move an inch over, and he follows you. You don’t know how to feel about it, so you choose to ignore it. It doesn’t work quite as well as you hope.
Moving again so you can brace your hand in the space you’ve forced, you lean back on the bench. “Being stubborn won’t get you what you want with Lex,” you say, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. The matcha goes down easy.
He sips the juice, lips wrapped around the straw. When he releases it, there’s the tiniest smattering of your lipgloss in the center of his lips. It’s so out of place, you can’t help but stare. You quickly look away from his mouth when he looks down at you, confused.
“He won’t bring me back to training just because you don’t want to impress him anymore,” you clarify. “He doesn’t believe in rewards.”
Charles, Langdon’s replacement after a sudden transfer, had let you know Kol threw his version of a tantrum the first day you were absent. He was less obedient than usual, and it sent Lex into such a rage Eve had begged you to let her crash at your place. You obliged, obviously, and lent her your phone, so she could spend the night with that Jimmy guy she’s been talking to.
Charles was reluctant to let you know of anything else no matter how much you pestered him. You can only assume Kol was difficult enough to warrant Lex giving you a thoughtful look when you dropped by his office. He had said nothing inflammatory nor insulting. His ‘welcome back’ hadn’t even been sarcastic.
Kol reaches out, brushing a knuckle against the phantom bruise Lex has left behind on your face. He’s gentle, exceedingly so, but you flinch before you can stop yourself. His mouth twists, eyes downcast as he keeps his hand still.
“He shouldn’t have done that,” he says. His voice is barely more than a breath.
“Lex shouldn’t do a lot of things, and yet he does them anyway,” you shrug.
It’s a tale as old as time.
Nothing will be done to change it.
-
You wake up to an arm around your waist.
It’s early, so your brain is foggy and unable to process the strangeness of your situation with the urgency it necessitates. The weight around your waist is a chain, pinning you to the mattress when you try to shake it off.
Fear skitters throughout you immediately, your heart rate rising into something you almost can’t feel with how quick your heart flutters in your chest. You twist to try and loosen yourself from their grasp but find yourself in the same predicament no matter how you move.
They allow you only enough space to turn around.
“Kol?”
Your heart pounds heavier when you realize who it is in your bed. Something tight curls around your throat, preventing you from getting a full breath in.
He mumbles in his sleep, wrapping his arm tighter around you and dragging you to his chest. His bare chest. Which you do not have enough bandwidth to be thinking about, so you focus on what you can. His breaths are even, but you aren’t fooled.
“Kol, what are you doing here?”
In my bed.
He cracks open an eye, gauging how serious you are before committing to waking up. “I missed you,” he says, tender and terrible all at once.
“Kol,” you groan, bringing a hand up to press the inner corners of your eyes with your knuckles. It somewhat alleviates the pressure accumulating in your head. “That doesn’t mean you sneak into my bed.”
“I’m not in your bed,” he says plainly. “I took you home.”
“What.”
He adjusts you, so you are on top of him. There is a red crease line on his cheek and his hair is messy having grown out significantly in the past two weeks. His skin is hot, branding you where your shirt has ridden up. And alarmingly, he looks happy.
“Your bed is too small,” he explains. “I thought you’d be more comfortable at home.”
You sit up. He allows this but moves his hands upwards so they rest on your hips. You try to slide off of him, keeping the movements contained, but Kol catches on quickly and adds pressure until you are flush against his stomach. His expression hasn’t changed, but his fingers dig into you warningly.
“I was home,” you say slowly. “And I would like to go back home.”
“But you’ve already been away for three days,” he says, almost whining. “Charles said you’d be gone for another two.”
“Because I am on vacation, Kol,” you say, fighting to keep yourself calm. You are trying to keep your breaths measured but failing spectacularly at it. The room feels hot, your vision narrowing in until all you can see is Kol. Everything else is blurry and smudged.
“I missed you,” he says, disregarding what has just come out of your mouth. He tilts his head, eyes rounded out innocently. “Didn’t you miss me?”
“Okay, we need to talk about boundaries,” you say lightly. You blink away the spots dotting your vision and take a deep breath. It resets you just enough to focus. “You can’t just kidnap me, because you missed me.”
“I didn’t. I took you home,” he repeats. He loses some of that innocence, eyes hardening. “Didn’t you miss me?”
“My home is my apartment. This is your home,” you say. Bringing your hands down to one of his, you try to pry his fingers off of you.
“No. Your home is here,” Kol states firmly. He traces his name against your hipbone. “With me.”
Your breath does not seem to fill your lungs. You struggle to swallow over the lump in your throat as your fear swells. A shuddery breath is all you can manage as Kol stares at you, unyielding.
“Lex gave you to me,” he continues.
Bile burns at the back of your throat. As awful as Lex is, you do not think he would tell Kol as such. It goes against his plan to humanize Ultraman.
Right?
You shake your head, hand tightening on top of his, but Kol doesn’t stop.
“His gift to me for being good, for listening,” he stresses. “Superman will never have you.”
“Kol, I’m not—you can’t just—” Your tongue twists uselessly in your mouth. The thoughts scrambling in your brain are incoherent, and you can’t grasp at a single one to drag to the front. They fracture even further when Kol adjusts his hips slightly, and you feel how hard he is.
His hands then move, trailing up your body, reveling in all the places he has not yet written into memory. His touch steadily grows more bold as you still.
“Lex does whatever he wants,” he reminds you, his fingers tracing the underside of your chest. There is nothing human left in his eyes when he looks up at you.
“Why can’t I?”
this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!
ultraman (dcu) with feminine reader. sfw but anatomy (dick, breasts) is mentioned. he comes back from a mission covered in blood; you help him clean off. + masterlist.
. . . he comes back with his suit half-destroyed and his eyes focused on the floor. lex berates him, per usual, but ultraman shoulders past the bald man, making his way towards you. every part of him not covered by his suit is coated in raw reds and pinks. he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t raise his gaze to meet your assessing eyes, either. the clone only has it in him to lift your hand to his cheek, gently pressing your palm to the dried blood. battered and wrecked, he comes to you, you first—
the viscera along his body covers him more than his suit does. small bits and pieces of people cling to his form, his skin caked with layers upon layers, gallons of blood. the sheer number of people he’s just disposed of for lex... the thought makes your body shudder, your gut churning inside of you. still, you brush his cheek with your thumb. you step closer, murmuring something soft that makes ultraman’s eyes close. you humanize him, always.
maybe that’s why he comes to you first.
the sound of lex scoffing at you both draws you out of your thoughts. “baby him all you like. he won’t get any softer. we all know kryptonian genes crave violence,” he mutters, adjusting his suit as he moves to leave the room. he pauses before gesturing vaguely at you. “clean him up.”
right… your hand leaves ultraman’s cheek, and you swear you hear a soft whine from his lips.
“let’s get you cleaned up,” you murmur to him, urging him to follow you.
he doesn’t reply. he rarely ever does. the words seem to get lost somewhere between his brain and tongue, perhaps behind his melancholic eyes or maybe they’re stuck in the ridges of his throat. it doesn’t matter, not to him. all that matters to the large clone is the gentle way you guide him down the fluorescent halls towards his bathroom. his, because no one else showers here at lexcorp. everyone else has a real home to go to.
you open the door for him, but he doesn’t move until you go in first. briefly, you wonder where he learned that from. he shuts the door behind himself, relaxing his posture only once he hears the familiar click of the door fully closing. carefully, you peel the remains of his bloodstained suit off of him. your breath hitches when you glance at his dick, your cheeks burning warm as you note his sheer size. ultraman’s cheeks start to flush as well, growing rosy, but for a different reason. he stands before you in his rawest, most human form. he stands before you, beaten, but more importantly, naked. even an idiot like him knows to blush at vulnerability.
not to mention the intimacy of it all— never would the public see red dripping down his chest to the (now stained) white floor. they’d never be able to appreciate the way his body shivers against the sudden cold now that his suit wasn’t protecting him. they’d never realize that the blood was even in his hair, long and unruly. they’d certainly never have the pleasure of stripping down to accompany him for a much needed shower.
you did, though. just you, with just him; ultraman shakes his head gently, hoping to force the thoughts away. even an idiot knows vulnerability is weakness. lex doesn’t like weakness. lex doesn’t like rosy cheeks and wondering about how special this moment might be. his blue eyes briefly dart over to you, now naked alongside him, reaching to turn the shower on. you offer a small smile, and he feels his blush growing worse.
once water starts running, you hum softly. it’s comforting, the sound of your made up tune. it could’ve been a song from the radio. ultraman wouldn’t know. to him, you’re the inventor of everything: music, warmth, comfort, love.
you start with washing his hair. you’re noticeably tender in the way you scrub at his scalp, letting the shampoo lather before you gently move his head down to rinse all the grime and gore out. one or two rounds of this occur, just to be thorough. you hum all the while, filling the room with your melody as you finish and switch over to using conditioner. your conditioner, or maybe one similar to it, judging by the smell. as the clone lets the conditioner sit in his hair, he thinks about how he’s going to smell almost exactly like you by the end of this. doesn’t that makes him closer to you, in a way?
with his body, you’re even more careful. your touch is slow and cautious as you get to every nook and cranny, even the ones free of blood. you seem to spend a little extra time around his chest, fingertips grazing along his pectorals. ultraman can’t say that he doesn’t like the way you not-so-discreetly feel them up. the way you lean in to give his cheek a kiss shortly afterwards. you’re not being sexual. you’re just being… affectionate.
“mmm.” a hum escapes his lips, finally. and then, to your surprise, words. “i’ll… smell like you.”
you tilt your head. “hm?”
he doesn’t repeat himself, merely glancing at you shyly before drifting his eyes over to the conditioner. it takes a moment, but you piece things together. it’s not your conditioner, but it does smell similar. of course, the kryptonian clone would pick up on your smell.
“you might,” you shrug, “i can buy a different conditioner for you.”
he’s quick to shake his head no, water flying along the walls of the shower as his wet strands of hair move. “don’t.”
you chuckle softly, then gesture for him to turn around. he obeys, silently, letting you wash his back. you start to scrub gently as you speak again, “i take it you like the smell, then.”
“i,” he starts, frowning to himself before huffing softly, “like the smell. yes.” it’s not the full truth. he likes you, but admitting that would make him vulnerable, even more so than being naked does. his hands fidget at his sides. the moment you’re done with his back, he turns around to face you again. he glances at you, taking in your nudity.
“something wrong?” you ask.
“you’re already clean,” he mutters, “i don’t… get a turn.” a turn to wash you. to return the favor, to feel your curves, to be tender for once. his big blue eyes shift to his feet, his frown deepening as an unmistakable pout forms.
you have to hold back a chuckle at his behavior. he was a big baby underneath, wasn’t he? “no no, i’m plenty dirty. promise.”
ultraman’s eyes dart up to you, narrowed and petulant. “you’re lying.”
“am not,” you insist, “i’m just not as dirty as you. do you want your turn or not?”
a stubborn grunt is all you get as an answer. even so, he reaches towards you, his hand almost shaky as he touches the skin of your stomach. an odd place to start, but you don’t judge him for it. your touch was careful; his touch is reverent. he goes slow, just like you did with him. his eyebrows furrow in concentration as he cleans all around; you’re quiet, even as ultraman half-palms your breasts while trying to wash them. he gets to your hands, cleaning each finger. he lifts your index to his lips, kissing a small papercut along the side you’d gotten the other day. his lips are chapped, but the care is there.
and then the shower’s over. the water gets turned off and you both step out to dry off. this, you let him do on his own. you open a few drawers, finding one haphazardly stuffed with spare clothing for him.
“here,” you murmur, handing him a t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.
he takes them, putting the clothes on without second thought. you’re still naked, though, which is an issue. he reaches past you, digging through the drawer before handing you some of his clothes. another t-shirt, one that’s too big for you, and some pants that probably won’t stay up around your waist. “here.”
you could argue with the clone about the clothes not fitting, but it’s impossible to say no to his soft, expectant expression. “thank you,” you say instead, smiling at him before getting dressed. “you’re sweet.”
“i’m not weak,” he replies quickly, huffing. he stands in front of you, crossing his arms. it’d be intimidating if you hadn’t seen him soaking wet and pouting a bit ago like a puppy in the rain.
“i never said you were weak. i said you’re sweet,” you correct him, putting on his shirt. it’s a poor fit, but it’s coverage.
ultraman shifts, taking in your expression. “for you.”
“for me, yes. i like that you’re sweet for me.”
he turns his head away, suddenly taking an interest in the edge of the sink rather than your warm eyes and cute smile. “i like… being sweet for you,” the clone admits under his breath, his arms crossing a little more. “just you.” a familiar warm sensation returns to his cheeks, making him pause. after a second, though, he speaks again. “i don’t feel like talking anymore.” his eyebrows furrow as he sits in his own sudden embarrassment.
you don’t push, but you do chuckle a little as he goes quiet. and lex thought he could never be soft.
i want to hold that big man to my chest and baby him so bad…. bruh… is there even a market for ultraman?? idek. i'm honestly surprised this didn't turn into smut. anyways, lmk what u guys think and as always like and subscribe!!
CW: clear signs of neglect, work place abuse, and power imbalances.
Summary: you have been elevated to a new position in Luthercorp and with great pay bumps come great responsibilities. As a cognitive psychologist your job is to monitor the psychological capabilities of the elusive ultra-man.
WC: 3.3K
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Chapter one: eyes without a face.
After a lengthy debrief and taut negotiation, you conceded with a huff and a handshake. In the past hour you had spent much more time with Lex than what you, or anyone for that matter, would usually be comfortable with. The encounters shared between the two of you before he called you to his office this morning were nothing short of fleeting and dismissive. Yet apparently, he recently had the genius revelation to give his prized specimen another opportunity to have his cognitive abilities tested, it had been a year since any extensive analysis had taken place. Therefore, he was due for some scrutiny apparently. Your one bargaining chip was that promoting within a company is always cheaper, hence why when he scoured his employee base and found you with your prestigious degree rotting in the LuthorCorp HR department you were called forth immediately and offered an eye raising salary with flexible hours you simply couldn’t refuse.
The only qualm you held now was the very real threat to your life posed by taking this position. The wage and hours offered were no doubt a symptom of it, an incentive to sell your soul if you will. Supposedly in the past there would’ve been nothing to worry about, after all the clone only responded to Lex’s beck and call. However, you had been told during this meeting that there had allegedly been recent developments in behaviour showcased by the clone, possibly indicating higher cognitive function than what was shown in the past. Great news for what Lex was trying to achieve, but not so great with the myriad of risks that could come with that and the fact you would no doubt be bearing the brunt of those risks due to the nature of your sessions with him.
The first scheduled session with the clone came before you knew it. Two weeks had passed since that meeting had concluded with Lex; in those two weeks your brain was filled with every possible way this all could go sideways. From the clone waking up on the wrong side of the bed and searing a red-hot hole through your skull on a whim to Lex retracting the newly adjusted salary when you don’t give him the results he wants. In truth you overall felt ill equipped for this and that you just so happened to be the person with the highest qualifications in this area already employed at the company. You hadn’t worked in this particular field for three years at this point. The more you dwelled on this the less it felt like an irrational inkling and more like the utter truth of the matter.
The night before was a late one, you had left preparation for the task way too late, courtesy of the panicking in the time leading up to this dreaded day. With the help of a coffee and some dubiously sourced benzos you managed to make it out of your house at a reasonable hour, the walk to work that morning felt like a death march. Even now when simply walking down the hallway towards where he dwelt in his time away from fighting; the nerves burned all the same. Despite the fact you had an armoured and armed foot soldier escorting you with the heavy metal of his attire leaving a clank with every step. While you’re certainly not some type of super-man-super-fan, the thought of having to spend prolonged one on one time with the only person in the entire world who has defeated him is enough to make the bile rise from your stomach and sting something fierce in the back of your throat. Supposedly he only did so when told exactly how according to Luther, not that you’d take that man’s word as gospel. Yet every time you felt like you were over the tipping point, your mind drifted back to the pay increase. The initial wage was enough but this improved wage was nothing short of life changing. The years after graduation hadn’t been the smoothest of rides, hence why you were stuck being employed by someone who quite frankly scared you. Your debt was probably half of what any of the people the graduated were stuck with. Selling out had never been so easy.
“Here are his living quarters, this is where I see you off. Someone will be back to collect you in about 20 minutes as today is just a trial, prepare for these hours being longer in the future.” With that the armoured man left you to your own devices as he plodded his way down the hallway you both came from.
after inhaling a drawn-out stilling breath through your nose all you could think about was how stuffy the place is, the lack of ventilation in this particular wing of the facility was suffocating. Though based off description in the case file the clone wouldn’t have much to say about that, never complained about anything by all accounts. You pressed the pass you had dangling around your neck to the keypad and entered the 4-digit code to his quarters, the doors slid open with a hiss of air releasing the pressure of the doors that were previously air sealed shut, they close as soon are you step into the room, likely operating off motion sensor. Immediately your eyes fall upon the clones hunched form seated on the couch, just… sitting and seemingly gazing at the wall. He was sporting his signature black and— now that you’re looking at it a bit closer—dark purple regalia. You’re not sure why you assumed he’d have an ‘off-duty’ look when he was home but seeing the clone looking fresh from a fight was exceedingly off putting in both the personal anxiety and ethics department.
You have to physically force yourself to move when he finally reacts to the commotion of you entering his room and sends you a sparing glance from over his shoulder. One in front of the other you repeat like a mantra in between shallow breath. With your clipboard tucked under your armpit, you drag over a dining table chair that screeches against the drab vinyl floor and situate yourself across from him. When you speak you name to him it rouses no response aside from that his gaze was now fixated on you instead of the captivating shade of grey the wall is painted. Instead of wincing out of embarrassment, you continued to explain your purpose for intruding on his… staring at wall time. “I am to be someone who will come and see you semi-frequently, I can’t say exactly when just at least a few times a month.” You leave a lull in the conversation so that he might ask why or when or frankly literally anything, yet he simply sits there facing you with that weird mask on, those beady goggles reflecting the glare from the sun. “Our interactions are important to Mr. Luthor’s work. For my line of work seeing someone’s face helps a lot for gauging reaction, may I see yours?”
He reaches up behind his head and unthreads the knot fastening the mask to his face then tugs it off. His sooty unkempt hair tumbles forth from its confines, dishevelled by the friction of presumable having it on unless asked otherwise. He gently places it on the coffee table in front of him, resuming that alarmingly unblinking stare. “er- lovely, thank you.” Is all you manage to utter. Only a select amount of people who are employed by LutherCorp are aware of how Ultra-man came to be. Due to the nature of your assignment, you became one of them after being debriefed by Lex. You really tried not to show your thoughts regarding the ethics of that on your face when he personally imparted that knowledge on you. The shudder that racked your body when what you previously had recognised as superman’s glinting eyes bore back into yours with a pallid film over them was completely involuntary. You were alarmed by the clear lack of haircut besides someone taking scissors to his bangs every time they grew long enough to impede on his vision. Judging by the uneven length of each curl likely in a panic right before he is scheduled to make an appearance. Seemingly, no one could be bothered to take the 15 odd minutes every two weeks to maintain a military style buzz. You couldn’t help but be appalled, though not surprised at all.
“…I suppose I should just call you Ultra-man?”
He nodded.
“Unless you go by something else in private?”
He shook his head. Not a good start, while there likely hasn’t been a study on it before due to the glaring ethics of doing so. You imagine that the usage of a personal name to separate a ‘title’ from an actual identity is rather important for emotional development, though how that would translate over into a clone is beyond you. You really ought not to dwell on it however as you haven’t quite gauged if the clone is even capable of having “mental health”. This seemed like a serious work balance issue at the very least, typical of Lex, anybody else in this building could probably attest to that.
“Okay… Ultraman, I’m supposed to have a hand in your development. You’re not supposed to formally know exactly what that entails or what exactly I am helping you develop, as that could interfere with what I’m trying to do here. So, I’m going to ask you to do things, and while they may be confusing and not make sense initially, I want you to promise me you’ll attempt to fulfil them to the best of your ability.”
He tilts his head to the side, studying every word that come out of your mouth, his eyes fixated to each syllable. You don’t know when it happened but his gaze feels heavier, like he stopped looking in your general direction and instead started looking directly at you. This realisation makes your hands clammy. Although tentative, the listening he demonstrates is a good sign of cognitive function. Based off the debrief Lex personally gave you, listening is a strong suit of his. The level of listening and instruction following he demonstrates is actually very high for someone who is supposed to be extremely incapable, especially that of what you witnessed first-hand during a fight against superman you were allowed to spectate in the viewing room of Luthor Corp tower. It’s actually one of the reasons you felt like you could take on this task at all, despite how bereft of hope Lex seemed even after the alleged new developments in his cognitive abilities. Someone who is allegedly completely mentally incapable would not be able to follow the intricate instructions he is given as well as the memorisation required to execute them. Your only problem is you’re not sure what the actual root of the problem is then.
“Can you promise me?” your eyes catch his etiolated yet brazen gaze.
“I promise.” You try not to physically jump at the timbre of his voice, though your face betrays you as your eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. Truthfully you expected another one of the curt nods of affirmation he has been giving you for the past ten minutes. You hadn’t explicitly told him to talk, merely asked if he could. A very good sign, you jot that down on the relatively blank page in your lap. When you flash him a smile, his eyes dart to the crinkles that form around your mouth.
“Good. Thank you, Ultraman.”
-
You leave him to fend for himself on the couch while you dart around his living area and take inventory of the place. The stark lack of mentally stimulating… well anything is concerning. Every single wall was painted the same stone gray, every floor except the beige carpeted bedroom and beige tiled bathroom was a beige vinyl. The monotonous patterns made your eyes hurt. All furniture in the place was purely practical. Upon closer inspection the kitchen had no equipment in it. It became clear why when you opened the fridge and every inside of it was premade, likely eaten by him in a systemic manner. The only warmth in the entire place was the sunlight let in by the singular window in the entire place. You’re surprised Lex even remembered to add it in the first place. Though the view it gave wasn’t much to see, just a peek into the centre of the facility, the bustling image of LuthorCorp employees rushing around was not particularly interesting. Nothing compared to actually seeing the outside world.
The lack of phone and live TV was not something you would personally agree with but it was understandable. However, the lack of books, music, or at the very least art around the place was unnerving and a serious oversight on Lex’s behalf. While there isn’t a person on earth that would earnestly call the man stupid, he has this tendency to be so damn head strong and tactless that it causes him to overlook even the most obvious of discernments sometimes. The place had about as much personality as the padded room of a mental hospital.
After poking around the place scrawling down notes on your brief ‘conversation’ and how to nicely convey to Lex the guy is going to need a bit more than a grey wall and the odd fight with superman to work with if Lex wants him to be consistently mentally stimulated as well as spur on his mental development. While you hypothesize the development of a Kryptonian clone is not as linear as any human that you or literally anyone else on earth has ever worked with before. Traditional methods of brain development should not be ruled out or overlooked and usually need to be done continuously over a period of time, for humans this usually takes years. When you circle back to Ultraman, he is in that same hunched over position he had been since you got here. He ever so slightly perks his head up when you sit across from him.
“Before I take my leave for today, I need you to do something for me. Everyone gets urges. as in they get an impulse or overwhelming feeling to do something. It’s a fundamental part of the human experience. This can be anything really, from an activity to a certain behaviour. When you get an urge, I want you to recognise when you are having one and act on it so long as it isn’t harming someone or something else, or at least remember that you had it at all. Do you understand?” You explain as comprehensively as possible. You’re not sure if anyone had ever bothered to talk about such things with him.
That earns you a steady nod from him.
“I’ll be seeing you again soon enough. I want you to give me an example of you getting an impulse the next time I see you, okay?”
For the second time ever, you hear his voice. “Okay.” He murmurs in a drawn-out manner.
You flash him another pleased smile, his eyes rake over your face again. Usually, this attentiveness would greatly unnerve you, but the manner in which he studies your face is yet another good sign as it could possibly be a demonstration of empathy or possibly a symptom of him having the mask on and therefore not used to having to control his wandering eyes. Nonetheless, it pleases you that he seemed to be somewhat engaging in conversation with you.
As if on cue the doors to his quarters whir open with a hiss of air, revealing an armoured figure in the doorway. You see Ultraman off with an amicable smile and a terse pat on his knee. He does nothing to return the goodbye and remains in his sturdy position, on the couch and staring at the wall.
As you slip out the door, you face him while the doors slide close and watch as he slips that black mask back over his face, retreating back into the comfort of anonymity.
-
A week had lapsed since the last encounter you had shared with him. Since then, Lex had taken a point to visit you personally at your modest flat in a drab part of the city. You don’t remember telling him where you live, though you assume it was on file somewhere. Imagine your surprise when you answered the door on a Wednesday to find his bald head gleaming in the 7 am sun. From the moment your eyes registered the person who was stood at your front door, you recognised this interaction for what it was; an intimidation tactic. An exercise of the dominion he has over you. He didn’t even give you time to greet him and possibly question him about what the hell he could possibly be doing before he had strolled into the conjoined living room and kitchen of your one bedroom rented flat with his signature scowl. In that moment, you don’t think you had ever felt so ashamed of your living situation in your life. Any urge to raise concern about the violation this intrusion was died on your tongue as he turned to face you expectantly. Wordlessly, you scurried into your room to retrieve the dossier containing your notes from your desk and began giving him the rundown on the session from the week before.
“Well, contrary to your belief, I don’t believe he is completely mentally incapable. He is exceptionally good at listening to direction, someone who is truly mentally inane wouldn’t be able to do that and especially would not have the capacity for following the complex directions you give him paired with the memorisation and high-level coordination needed to do them. Anyone who has seen him fight superman could testify to this. He also seems to perfectly understands language, he is just either unable or just unwilling to use it himself. He seems to have some type of mutism.” You gage Lex’s satisfied reaction to this wall of information.
“Good. That what I like to hear.” He says preening, clearly more than pleased with himself.
“The main problem lies in the fact he is extremely poorly socialised in general. To the point it has incapacitated and stunted his development. The only form of socialisation he has been subjected to since… “conception” is subservience, which is why listening and following direction seems to be the only thing he is good at. It is possible with more socialisation his development will continue to progress. I’m not sure what may or may not work for him because quite frankly I don’t think his development is as linear as humans are supposed to be. This gives me hope because for a human at his age the effects of this poor socialisation would be irreversible. Though maybe due to his kryptonian or clone status, he could develop these skills later in life and eventually be well adjusted. But that’s a heavy maybe.” You continued blabbing on for an additional 3 minutes about the session all while urging Lex to integrate a modicum of stimulation into Ultraman’s life.
“you’ll see him again tomorrow for a much longer time.” Lex says in a huff, apparently vexed by your desperate exhorts.
“How long?” is all you manage to squeak out.
“All day. From the morning to 5 pm, understand?”
You nod bluntly with your eyebrows knitted together. As he goes to turn on his heel, you couldn’t stop yourself from blurting out, “please, just let me take him to the park sometime?”
“He is already permitted to walk around the facility.”
“I don’t mean the facility; I mean a park. With real people walking around, it is simply the easiest way to give him a change of scenery.”
“Fine.”
As you closed the door behind him all that occupied your mind was the blatant conclusion of ‘this really could’ve been an email’.
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Notes from your humble author.
I was inspired to start writing this after I saw the BTS footage of David Corenswet voicing the hammer of Boravia. It implied that Ultraman could possibly have the ability to speak and I think that was interesting to explore.
Though this is obviously a deviation from canon because while Ultraman has the ability to do a lot of things that someone who is apparently profoundly mentally handicapped could not do, we are supposed to suspend our disbelief for the movie. Therefore this won’t be completely accurate as Ultraman isn’t completely mentally incapacitated in this, I personally feel very uncomfortable writing fan-fiction about someone who is supposedly mentally very young so I made it different in this work. I just like David with long hair too much not to write it unfortunately.
Also I myself am in no way shape or form a cognitive psychologist, so I quite frankly am not aware of how they operate aside from a very base level. While reader isn’t going to use traditional techniques that an actual cognitive psychologist will use I’m gonna have to ask you to suspend your disbelief with my writing! Please and thank you <3
ᥫ᭡ how the night clark got you pregnant, you begged him to cum inside you for the first time. his glasses were all foggy as he pounded into you, confused. “are you sure?” “do you promise?” “are you positive?” was all you heard, and you only nodded relentlessly until you felt him spill into you.
ᥫ᭡ how clark would touch your stomach whenever he got the chance. to feel the baby growing inside of you, to feel how big you’d gotten since the last…5 minutes he touched you.
ᥫ᭡ clark was excited. he was going to have a mini superman kent with the love of his life. he’d thank whatever god was out there that he’d been blessed with this life. with this family.
ᥫ᭡ clark had always been a big guy. 6’5 sitting at 230 pounds. your child looked so much smaller in his hands. and he’d only gotten toner, tanner, and impossibly hotter. he grew out his facial hair, and now he had a tummy, and if you weren’t already in love before— hell, you definitely were now.
ᥫ᭡ clark walked around shirtless all of the time now, the hair on his chest leading all the way down to his happy trail..you missed what was in those pants of his.
ᥫ᭡ clark kent who’s gotten incredibly comfortable slapping your ass during any activity. bending over to grab milk from the fridge? smack. in the shower? yes he’ll be there with you or sneak in just to smack. out in public? smack. he has no shame anymore.
ᥫ᭡ oh, and best believe he put your child onto the mighty crabjoys when they got older. converting the family one at a time.
ᥫ᭡ clark had gotten much more gentle than before— for the most part. when you both had had sex after going months without it (just in case, he said.) he almost whined slipping back into you. his fists balled next to your head as his hips smacked against yours. your hands were on his sides, his beard poking your skin every-time you kissed him. he closed his eyes for a split second, just to take it all in. he could ruin you right here right now— but you were the mother of his child, his soon to be fiancé (not that you knew that), so he caressed your face, burying his cock deep inside you, but at a slow pace.
ᥫ᭡ clark who makes the best father the worlds ever seen. he loves you and your child more than anything and he’d go to hell and back to ensure you knew that.
“I KNOW YOU FEEL ME BURN UP JUST LIKE THE HEAT OF THE SUN. . . I'M CHARMED TO KISS YOU LONG. ”
₊˚✧ ﾟ. summary ₊˚✧ ﾟ. The only way Clark Kent can resist your enchantments is by working on the family farm, knowing what awaits him once he steps inside the house, and the best part? You're totally thrilled to have that effect on him.
₊˚✧ ﾟ. content warnings ₊˚✧ ﾟ. +18 minors dni !! FARMER!CLARK KENT AU · size difference · breeding kink · overstimulation · slight dom!clark · semi-public · marking · aftercare · clark is deeply in loveeeee · mutual masturbation.
₊˚✧ ﾟ. word count ₊˚✧ ﾟ. 2.7K
₊˚✧ ﾟ. notes ₊˚✧ ﾟ. Istg wanna start doing my masterlist but it takes too much work and my tumblr soul was interrupted all month, but superman officially dropped in digital and my re-watches haven't stopped, and I saw THIS tiktok and farmer!Clark just clicked for me, hope you all like it — english isn't my first language, reblogs are appreciated <3 my requests for any DC character are open!
farmer!Clark who always comes home with dirt-stained hands and a fatigue that seems to be etched into his bones. But when he sees you, he smiles as if all the weight on his shoulders lifts away in just seconds, he pulls you close and hugs you even with his shirt damp from the sweat that makes you sigh, the scent of the countryside clinging to his skin, and there’s nothing in the world more comforting than sinking in there, into the chest of the man who leans towards you as if you were his most sacred rest.
farmer!Clark who loves you from the very beginning with a patience that even he himself can't understand. No matter how tough the day has been, no matter how many calluses he has on his palms: he will always be the gentle and soft man his parents taught him to be with you. His hands exploring your body with that shy clumsiness that only you know, as if he’s afraid of ruining the only perfect thing he has, and each kiss he leaves on your neck tastes like a promise, a home, something he wants to keep forever.
There are even nights filled with that urgency for you that he can feel coursing through his veins, and still, even in the depths of his despair, there's sweetness. He lifts you in his arms as if you were the lightest feather in existence, presses you against the wall, and even though the rhythm is intense and your breath is breaking, Clark doesn’t stop looking at you with those loving eyes that you love to recognize, he never stops seeking your gaze to make sure you’re with him in every thrust, and his pleasure always comes with that devotion that makes everything feel bigger, more real, and more devoted.
farmer!Clark who is always sweating though it wasn’t unpleasant, and why wouldn’t he be? He was always busy doing the work that needed to be done. You didn't complain anyway, that sticky sweat from the field, soaking his white shirt while he moves hay or fixes the fence that Krypto destroyed. And in the afternoon, when you're under him, you catch a whiff of his neck, drawing you in with his scent.
farmer!Clark who is one of those men who seems made of the sun itself, which burns his skin as he bends over the field, and you watch him from the home you both share as if it’s a secret that only you and he should know. And when he comes to you, dragging his calloused hands across your neck, he holds you as if you’re more necessary than water. He doesn’t try to be gentle while all he thinks about is asking you for what’s already his.
farmer!Clark who's brutally big and full of huge hands and arms that lift you up like you weigh nothing. He is fascinated by seeing how your body struggles to accommodate it inside you.
"Look how you take me, baby, you don't even know how pretty you look when you cry for me".
farmer!Clark who when it comes to fuck isn't always fast, but he is always intense. He opens you up like he has all the time in the world, unhurriedly, knowing that you're never going to get tired of how he handles you because you're always just as desperate as he is. He takes you slowly, until he feels your tears fall against his neck, and he still decides not to stop. he whispers little phrases like prayers that a lady from Smallville would find scandalous.
"Just like that, honey, you take me well, just as if you were born just to keep us warm inside you" and they are those moments when you understand that I would never let you go.
Nights on the farm are heavy, and the Smallville wind isn't something that helps while the cicadas have the job of singing outside. Out of habit on nights like these, Clark drags you into the room and watches you under him while he devours you with an almost animalistic hunger.
farmer!Clark who covers you with kisses that turn into bites, and when you moan too loud, he smiles against your skin, like he wants to keep that sound in his chest. "More, baby… give me more of those beautiful sounds you make…" And you do, he takes you, holds you, and then keeps you in the softness of his embrace that turns out to be hotter than the sun itself.
farmer!Clark who if it were up to him, fucking in the barn would be a daily thing. He loves to bend against the hay bales as the dust sticks to your sweaty skin, and he makes sure you feel it deep. He is not bothered by sounds outside such as cows or crickets, because inside he can only hear your gasps that you think you have under control, and your breathy voice telling him not to stop. Clark takes you in his hands and makes you look down, where he pushes towards you.
"My love, don't worry, I want to hear you. Everyone here except the stars knows you're mine".
You don't know how he does it, but he's tender and brutal, all at the same time. He can fuck you like he's going to break you, he has you with all his might against the barn floor, and then he pulls you to bed and covers you in kisses as if you're the only holy thing in his world, repeating soft words in your ear, like "I love you" or "I'm so sorry honey, you know I can't help it."
farmer!Clark who loves the contrast he creates every time he decides to fuck you, as if it were a sacred and dirty act. Caressing your face tenderly, simulating a miracle and then having you open in his lap, moaning when with his fingers taking you he touches that point to which he is so obsessed, feeling your wetness dragging every shape of his soul. Murmuring your name as if he were saying prayers just by feeling you, and he sinks, his finger making circles on your while he marks you with his body and with his love until you don't know if what you have inside is sex, faith, or a sentence that neither of you would ever want to break.
farmer!Clark who turns him on too much in the domestic, on a long, sunny day where you cook for him, and he just watches you, taking care of him in ways no one has done before and the only way he finds to thank you is by fucking you.
"Honey, you will always be my home, my woman. God, I know there's nothing sweeter than this."
And after that, he doesn't step away. And he tells you that he doesn't want to do it, he just covers you with his arms as if the whole world could try to tear you away from his side and he was prepared to stop it. He does not stop stroking your hair, whispering your name in his low, broken voice; understanding that for Clark there is nothing more sacred than being able to stay with you in silence.
But the most intimate part of it all isn’t when he loses himself inside you, or when his moans intertwine with yours, but those moments afterward when he closes his eyes and you notice his flushed cheeks as he kisses your forehead once, twice, and three times. As if his tiredness were the least of his worries, and as if nothing in the world could compare to the miracle of having you in his arms.
farmer!Clark who after working all day in the dirt and sun, reddening his cheeks, takes off his baseball cap and flops down on his side of the bed while taking your hand and squeezing it as if he can't imagine a world without you. And even though his body is begging for a break to continue his routine normally, his eyes don't stop because he's searching for yours as if he’s pleading, like the selfish guy he is, for a little piece of you, until he finishes all his tasks and has you all to himself completely.
farmer!Clark who every time you watch him from the door while he cleans the barn, can't help but smile like the most lovesick fool out there. He looks at you with that sweet smile he keeps just for you, and he can't resist giving you a quick, intense kiss, then a wet and desperate one before pulling away for a moment, not wanting to really do that. He breathes in to feel you more deeply, because to him, nothing is more perfect than the way your bodies fit together, imperfect but perfect for each other.
farmer!Clark who's the kind of guy who kneels down on the ground without thinking twice about it; it doesn't even cross his mind how uncomfortable it would be on the rough wood of the barn because the urgency he feels in his skin to have you weighs more than anything he's ever felt in his life. He grabs your legs, spreading your thighs to the point where he can bury his head, making it clear that he doesn’t want any kind of escape, and you don’t even think to deny him what he wants.
As he tends to do so, he doesn't just lick you gently, he sinks right in with his hard, rough tongue soaking you in his saliva. You are agitated by the obscene noises he makes against your pussy letting you know how much he needed to be satisfied, he moans like a hungry animal and the moment you try to push him away because of the intensity and overstimulation, he drags you back with a low growl implying that he is not finished yet while his nose makes circular movements against your clit.
"No, honey... I'll stay here until you give me everything."
A moan creeps down your throat when you feel two quick slaps on your clit, with his wet fingertips tapping just enough for you to feel it, then he kisses her again with the same desperation as before, and he only has to tell you, "Please honey, give me more, you can take it" and his mouth catches you with strong sucking until the only thing he gives you is with breathy moans longing for you to be I let you come.
You feel how your pussy relaxes from his previous intervention, but it doesn't last long because he puts two of his fingers in you without any warning, and pushes deeply and then plays again with his tongue brushing your clit; And it keeps you in that torture that prevents you from coming, tied to that pleasure for until after so much it lets you come against its face. And when you do, he doesn't move away at any time, he swallows, moans and kisses your pussy with a delicacy and love that he only saved for tender moments like those, he looks at you from below with those soft eyes, as if what he just did was holy, and when he sees you trembling because of how much he had you in his mouth, He gently kisses both thighs full of sweat and saliva, asking you in a whisper to apologize and to let him go on because it's never enough for him.
farmer!Clark who after all, always waits for you to relax so he can clean you up. He brings you a towel, then gently strokes your thigh with his shaking hands, kisses your forehead, and whispers apologies that you both know you don't need. It might seem like a small gesture, but it's in that care where you understand that whether messy or tender, brutal or sweet, he will always bring you back to calm
farmer!Clark who loves and hates to fill you with cum so deep inside you that he stays stuck, panting and trembling with his huge body covering yours, and just at that moment more than the pleasure he is used to, what he feels is a fear that crosses his heart. Fear of not feeling something like that again, because he loves you so much and feels so empty without you that you don't magnetize how much he tends to need and adore you. You see it in his eyes when he kisses you deeply and when he says "Good night honey" and then falls asleep inside you.
farmer!Clark who cries unintentionally when he runs too fast, is clearly not shedding tears of pain or suffering, but rather tears of that relief he's way too addicted to. They're tears of that feeling that tightens so much in his chest that he never wants to let it go. And while you hug him and stroke that little tuft of hair that always sticks out from his hairstyle, you realize that under that giant of a man is someone who has always feared wanting so much.
farmer!Clark who rides you on his lap in the old living room armchair, with his work pants still half-pulled on where he forces you to ride him until you can't take it anymore, holds you by the waist and handles you as he pleases, up and down over and over again, helping you sink into it, and when he feels that you are going to cum, he hits your clit with his open palm, full of calluses from working so hard and thus managing to get an orgasm that wets everything. Then he hugs you tightly, with his chest fluttering against your back, murmuring in your ear: "Don't get down yet, my love... don't leave me yet."
farmer!Clark who takes you on your knees in the kitchen, with your face covered by his scent while holding your hair with a clumsiness already practiced to make you feel good and although the gesture is dirty and moans when it comes in your mouth, the only thing he says afterwards is a trembling "Thank you darling, you always know how to take care of me" and thus stay cooing between you.
farmer!Clark who can't help but mark you all over, and he's proud of it; teeth marks on your neck, his fingers digging into your hips like they live there, and his name scraped against your throat like a song. And the best part is that he loves them, the best part of his morning is when he sees the marks he made on you the day before, he gently strokes them and kisses slowly where it hurt.
farmer!Clark who can't take any more of you because he always loses control when you provoke him. If you barely brush his thigh while driving, if you stare at him too long while carrying bags, his shoulders become tense and his cheeks darken with reddish hues. And already unable to stand another of your pranks he has you against the fence of the field, with his hands stained with dirt on your skin, and wanting to fuck you with that great contained fury as punishment for waking him up like this.
farmer!Clark who never settles for a single orgasm, whenever he can, fucks you in the stable, in the kitchen, on the floor of the room, in the doorway next to the white fence, and every time you think you can't take it anymore, he opens your legs again. He becomes obsessed with making you so many times that you end up crying and the best thing is that he doesn't stop even when he's inside: he keeps playing with your clitoris, hitting it with your fingertips, forcing you to come on top of him again. And as he does so, he whispers in a broken voice: "Until I can't take it anymore love, until you give me everything."
farmer!Clark who at the end of each day lies down with you in silence, and even though the world could be burning or his calls from The Justice League might disturb him, all he does is wrap you in his huge body, breathe deeply against your neck, and murmur in a husky voice "Always, you will always be my home" and there, in that moment, you know there's no turning back, you belong to him as much as he belongs to you.
