warnings - 18+ minors dni, explicit sexual content + dark themes, masturbation, breeding kink, pregnancy fetish, blood kink / hes aroused by blood lol, stalking, mild objectification. slight ooc cause he talks at the end :(.
ultraman x fem!reader
5 sfw + 5 nsfw headcanons
sfw
ultraman who… melts into literal putty when you style his hair, his eyes rolling back as your fingers work through the coarse and brittle curls, transforming them into softer waves— he’ll press his face into your palms and sniff the hand cream you use, quietly letting out a few hums and whimpers. he’s nuzzling into your touch like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin where it’s warm and nobody can hurt him, neither lex or superman. just warm and comforting, you.
ultraman who… definitely tilts his head like a dog whenever you speak, listening to every change and tremble held inside the sound. he’s so used to the short prompts of attack moves lex says, frustrated that your voice makes him weak in the worst ways.
ultraman who… has sensory overload issues. and your solution, a weighted blanket. one day, after a severely bad attack, you wrapped the blanket around his shoulders to ground him. days later, when you aren’t around, luthor finds him cramped up in his cell desperately trying to replicate the feeling of safety you give him, but it doesn’t work without you there :((..
ultraman who… doesn’t know how to ask for affection, so his way of seeking it or physically demanding it, is crawling up to your feet and leaning his massive frame on you, cuddling closer until his head rests on your lap and he takes a BIGG whiff, he one hundred percent has a weird obsession with your scent. completely drunk on the proximity.
ultraman who… doesn’t understand the concept of dating or romance, but his primal, yet, flawed kryptonian dna understands territory. he will deliberately smother his face into your neck, rubbing his scent onto your skin.
nsfw
ultraman who… whenever enters a store, he wanders into the baby section every time you take him, his fingers delicately rolling rattles and squeezing onto the plush toys with this aching look on his eyes. his broken biology screams to be a father, protector and more specifically, a breeder. he passes by the milk formula and salivates, already missing the feeling of your tits in his hand. he’s thinking about putting a baby in you instead so they grow plumper, rounding out.
ultraman who… gets boners from murdering.. since whenever he kills for lex, he’s developed this unhealthy relationship with it. killing or completing a mission = praise and appreciation. his brain has wired these things to pleasure and stimulation. conditioned it to.
ultraman who… keeps your soiled panties hidden in his cell like a prized possession, the musk of your dried arousal making him drool and rut against the thin mattress, huffing it into his lungs.
ultraman who… can literally smell when you’re ovulating, his head snapping up from across the room, nostrils flaring. especially if this happens during a mission debriefing, his breathing deepens and he clenches his hand to stop himself from sliding across the room and onto his knees taking you in.
ultraman who… gets obsessed with your lower belly, with the idea of it swelling, rounding, and growing heavy with his own baby. he’ll press his ear there after he comes inside you, listening like he can already hear the pregnancy. and you swear, you hear him softly murmur, “gonna be such a good mommy..”
Contains: Ultraman, Jedi Fallen Order, Miraculous, Until Dawn, Assassination Classroom, Goat, Httyd, Big Hero 6, Dispatch, Creepypasta
If you are ever wondering if I had accepted/viewed your requests and wanted to know if I was working on them just look and if you see words in Purple Under a fandom you requested for. It means I’m working on a headcanon that is from a request! But if it’s Pink It’s just a headcanon that I have thought of making.
This is to reassure the people whose requests I accepted since I don’t want them to be sitting there a just be like “why haven’t I gotten any news of my request? :(“ so this is to assure the requester if I had accepted it or not 🗿
🌸 = Platonic
🌶️ = Suggesting 18+
📜 = General Headcanons
💙 = Angst
❤️ = Single Character Focus
- if you would like me to add a character to any of my posts just request me. State the character and which post you wanted to add them.
Main Characters: Kenji
• Nothing right now but request for what you’d like!
Main Characters: Cal,Merrin
• Nothing right now but request for what you’d like!
Main Characters: Marionette,Adrien, Luka,Felix,Kagami
• Older!Sibling reader (ft: Marionette) ❤️🌸
Main Characters: Sam,Josh,Mike,Emily, Matt,Jessica
• Nothing right now but request for what you’d like!
Main Characters: Nagisa,Karma, Karasuma,Jelavić
• Nothing right now but request for what you’d like!
Main Characters: Will,Jett,Lenny,Olivia, Modo,Mane
Please not that this chapter was written a looong time ago, like were talking ancient times, so please bear with me if you find the writing to be a bit cringe, i will definitely edit this soon.
["Now, please join me in welcoming him back to Japan, the newest member of our Giants family, Ken Sato!"]
["Thanks for waiting folks. All right who's first". ]
Your eyes flickered away from the screen for a moment onto the crowd of people who seemed utterly fixated on what Kenji Sato had to say.
Kenji Sato –
The man whose arrival was being celebrated across all of Japan.
An international baseball star, an icon, all media coverage on him has left him to be regarded as nothing less than a living legend...
His presence alone speaks for himself, eccentric mannerisms and his terribly corny one-liners that always seemed to have "-bro" as a suffix for some reason.
If anyone could ask you what your opinion of this man was to be, you would have your completely unbiased answer locked and loaded—
He's a fucking idiot.
But unfortunately for you, most humans are wired to eat this kind of shit up. And man did they practically inhale all his absolute bullshit. The Ken Sato show, really? Were all humans this arrogant?
It will forever be a mystery to you that out of all other lifeforms that populated the planet, it was humans who ended up winning the prehistoric game of evolutionary Russian roulette.
Talk about beginner's luck with no do-overs.
Your attention is once again drawn back to the screen above you when your ears pick up a rather intriguing question asked by a female reporter.
["Mr Sato, why did you come back to Japan?" ]
["I...I'm sorry. What's your name?" ]
"What's the point of asking for her name, this isn't a private scoop it's a public interview. Just answer the damn question.", you grumbled out and ignored the poorly contained snickers generated by your input.
What playboy tactics was he resorting to now?
["Ami Wakita" ]
Ken Sato seemed to recognise her based on that answer with a sudden look of amusement and a hint of...nervousness? You could practically feel the sudden tension that had been formed in the atmosphere, connecting two opposing sides across from each other.
Like a spider cautiously weaving its web.
You glanced around, secretly hoping that someone would take note of it, finally, this interview was getting interesting.
Perhaps they could see it too?
Unsurprisingly, they didn't. Sometimes you wish you had the same amount of grains of attention span as humans did, maybe that would make them less disappointing.
Maybe...
You took another glance around the bar, picking up comments from every inch of the room, some unrelated to the interview, light banter about the next betting slots that would open, even a few young women grumbling, apparently sour that The Kenji Sato himself had just asked the woman for her name?
What the hell...?
Ok, now you were definitely sure that the tension had gone unnoticed by virtually everyone.
Everyone except Kenji Sato.
You huffed, Miss Wakita really knew what toes to step on, didn't she? Blunt and straight to the point, you liked that.
She must have caught on to his bullshitting technique, he hadn't said anything substantial that was worth reporting in all the time he was sitting on that fucking chair and hence wasting everyone's precious time.
As much of a fan those reporters were of Ken Sato, they were still reporters with a job to do.
So since he wouldn't say anything worthwhile, she decided to make him say something.
Nice.
["Hold up. Hold up. You're the Tigers fan, right?" ]
You overhear giggles, cackles and snickers from the audience present at the interview and even around the bar garnered by the throw of Ken's playful question.
Your facial expression morphs into one of confusion and barely concealed irritation. Once again you scoff. You're getting tired of his repeated antics.
Just answer the damn question.
Your focus drifts upon overhearing two friends engrossed in deep conversation beside you discussing a noteworthy article written by Miss Wakita.
She must be quite the notorious reporter amongst Kenji Sato fans considering how rowdy the bar became when she revealed her identity.
["The question isn't who I root for Mr. Sato. The question is why on the verge of your first championship, you choose to walk away and start over.]
Oh, this changes things a lot now. A championship title isn't something that virtually anyone could just throw away, except they had a serious reason to.
But even still, what could make a man like Kenji Sato walk away from a golden opportunity like that?
You were dying to know...
["Some suggest it was emotional stress. Due to family–"]
["THIS IS BASEBALL, NOT GOSSIP HOUR!!"]
That snide remark was made by some random douche reporter in the crowd.
You clicked your tongue in annoyance, she's the one asking the real questions rather than shamelessly stroking his ego and this clown still has the guts to clown her for it?
Well, if he's so bold why can't he stand up and say it again?
Despite your annoyance, you continued to study the interaction to see how its would unfold. You were ashamed to say this but you were completely engrossed in this interview.
Maybe it's The Kenji Sato Effect™?
That made you laugh a little.
["Guys, play nice okay? I'm happy to answer the question."]
Oh?, You don't recall her ever finishing the question, how could he be so sure he would be ready to answer it?
His answer reeks of pride and overconfidence. You inwardly scoffed as you overheard side comments praising him for being so understanding and considerate.
Can't they sense the understated condescension in his words? It was truly baffling to see how humans choose to turn a blind eye to the obvious and keep deluding themselves into a lie.
By now you had a few guesses about what she was about to ask and you were pretty confident that it would most definitely render him speechless and possibly damage his confident facade by drawing out a reporter's best meal, emotional vulnerability.
["Miss Wakita, please continue".]
Here it comes...
[Thank you. Some speculate your departure was connected to the loss of your mother, that there was some sort of unfinished family business..]
.
.
.
Well damn... You didn't think she would go that far in a public interview. Couldn't she have phrased the question in a more subtle manner.
You're not sympathising with him, but, you feel like there was another way to phrase this question. She cornered him a bit too quickly, a real hunter knows to silently lure their prey in before going in for the kill or else—
Kenji appeared very disgruntled by that question and took a quick swig of water and swiftly replied.
[My apologies Miss Wakita, unfortunately, I have a fan event to attend. Uh– I look forward to seeing you all in a couple of days where I promise that the Ken Sato show will be in full effect.]
—They'll make a quick escape.
How disappointing, you mused.
Well it is to be expected, they're just human after all.
Miss Wakita failed your expectations by being too hasty in cornering Ken Sato. It seemed to you that she forgot she was in a public interview, of course, the person being interviewed could just walk away when the felt like it. That kind of bold move should be used in a more private setting.
Ken Sato, however, met all your expectations given the attitude he blatantly displayed during the course of the interview.
Eccentric, proud, egotistical, condescending, no regard for anyone but himself, arrogance at its finest.
All components of a well-built mask he wears to show to the public eye to hide numerous insecurities and self-doubt. Miss Wakita had attempted to crack it and she had failed because he simply ran away.
You should know this, you've been around humans long enough to comprehend their bizarre mannerisms.
Oh well, at least you were sufficiently entertained tonight.
Time to head back home...
.
.
.
.
.
.
Walking along the sidewalk, your current destination was the Tokyo Port. You observed multiple pedestrians doing their best to keep as much distance away from you as possible.
It was understandable considering the fact that you have both a hoodie and a face mask on, you probably look like a very suspicious individual.
You didn't care though, it was best if they kept their dirty selves as far away from you as they possibly could.
You noticed a little girl and her mother walking ahead of you, the little girl looked back and pointed right at you, most likely commenting on your appearance. You glared at her in return, despite your mouth being covered by a mask and a hood concealing your hair, your frightening eyes seemed to do the trick as the little girl began crying.
Under your mask, you smiled.
You continued walking down the sidewalk and were about to cross an intersection but came to a sudden stop when you felt a rather familiar and unwelcome presence approaching your location quickly.
"Not this guy again, he's probably come to settle the score", you quietly groaned as you felt the ground quake with the giant stomps of an approaching kaiju.
Dammit Neronga, I have to take the long route because of you. Expect a serious ass-kicking if you manage to make it back to Kaiju Island.
You swiftly made your way between two apartment complexes into a random alleyway before the kaiju could pinpoint your presence. In your hurried journey, you manage to catch the voices of KDF officials, here to capture Neronga as well as snippets of the battle between Ultraman and Neronga, and to your surprise, he seems to be...struggling?
This isn't the Ultraman you knew, his disappearance piqued your suspicion and now his current behaviour confirmed them. This Ultraman was most likely his successor.
And his successor absolutely sucked ass. Didn't the previous Ultraman have any better candidates to succeed him than this bozo?
You got even farther away from the scene of the fight stopping in an abandoned alleyway to take a small break, Neronga would most likely not be able to sense your presence from this distance, he was far too stupid to be able to do that anyway.
Your gaze drifted to the sky as you heard the sounds of aircraft above you carrying the captured body of Neronga away.
That fast? That idiot must have run away then.
As you prepared to step out of the alleyway and into the street, you sensed another presence rapidly approaching your current location. You quickly hid back into the shadows and concealed your presence as you observed the figure descend.
Ultraman?...
You watched Ultraman descend from the sky as he transformed into rays of light that seemed to illuminate the dark alleyway forcing you to shrink down to avoid being detected. You watched with wide eyes as Ultraman unknowingly revealed his identity to you.
Kenji motherfucking Sato...
To say you expected it was painfully, not true. But given his attitude, it adds up to his poor and lacklustre performance as Ultraman.
You watched as he limped toward his motorcycle that was parked across from you and drove off. Once he was a safe distance away you emerged out of your hiding place and grew back to your normal height and walked off as if nothing happened.
Originally you thought your night in Tokyo would be as uneventful as the other times you tried to kill boredom by venturing into human civilization but you were pleasantly surprised that you turned out wrong.
You now knew the identity of Ultraman, you remembered his scent and could easily track and kill him if you wanted to.
It would be so easy...
But fortunately for him, you had no interest in him and the affairs of other humans or kaiju.
.
.
.
.
.
You finally reached the docks as you glanced around for witnesses. Luckily there was none to witness you diving heads first into the sea.
You swam quickly and swiftly far away from the docks, further than any human had ever reached towards an island that looked rather ancient and intimidating. As you emerged from the sea, you stood at your full glory, flexing your two pairs of arms, you glanced down at your body, your human torso which seemed to disappear into your enlarged patterned abdomen that had eight claws that adorned every side.
Kaiju's of all types seemed to be wary of your presence, hissing and snarling as you made your way away from them.
You eventually got to a cave and let out a chitter to signal your arrival to the being that resided in it.
When you heard an approving growl that melted into a purr, you ventured further into the cave.
You felt a large and scaly tail wrap around one of your arms and you pat it affectionately as you gazed up at the towering dragon-like kaiju.
"I'm home mother.", your tone full of affection.
You turn your gaze down to the large egg she was holding tenderly.
You gave a soft smile.
"And hello to you too, little sister."
On an island inhabited by monsters of all forms, far away from human civilization, you felt at peace.
You were home.
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Kenji Sato got home feeling very irritated.
After having his press conference cut short by the presence of Neronga and having his ass handed to him by said kaiju, life seemed to give him the middle finger as he had another uncomfortable interview with the nosy reporter Ami Wakita.
Now his shoulder is busted and he had an upcoming game and he couldn't disappoint after making all that big talk.
The Ken Sato show must go on...
M.I.N.A, his robot assistant projected the news report of the fight between Ultraman and the KDF.
M.I.N.A suddenly speaks up, "Kenji, I think you should know something, it's very important".
Kenji sits up straight at that statement, "Well, spill it, what's up?"
"When you ran away from Neronga into that abandoned alley–"
"I didn't run away, it was a tactical retreat—".
"When you ran away, I sensed another presence in that alley with you."
Kenji felt his heart drop to his stomach, "M.I.N.A... are you saying–"
" Yes, Ken, someone was in that alley with you, and they saw you transform."
"Shit!." This was bad as if his day couldn't get worse...
"We DO NOT speak of this to Dad, understood? He can never know about this M.I.N.A"
"Of course Ken."
He was tired of this. Kenji just wanted to go home...
might be the only one in the world that misses ur ultraman stuff rn
girl i miss him too.
something i've been wanting to experiment with for him is teaching how to be intimate in a much gentler way. like just coaching him through everything and slowing him down sm because he's overly pornbrained and rushes through everything. like i think it would be sweet to have him moving softer, learning exactly where to kiss and taking his time with his hands. thankfully he's a quick learner and he actually really likes when he can pause and look at you falling apart under him so. :3
Breeding Program: Ultraman/Lex Luthor l C.K. & L.L.
w.c.: 9.6k
T.w.: Dark-ish fic, Smut, PinV, dub/non-con, Sex drug/a/b/o like arousal, Voyeurism, Threesome (Lex, Ultraman, Reader), Breeding Kink, slight Lactation kink/Pregnancy kink, LuthorCorp Secretary!Reader, Lex Luthor x Superman/Ultraman (one-sided and psychotic), Cum play/eating, Sex pollen, Reader has glasses, Reader loses her autonomy, Possessive Ultraman, Possessive Lex, Possessive Clark, Reader is pregnant throughout this part and next
a/n: Please read all warnings before interacting with my works. 18+ Only! Oof… long awaited part two, will I make part three, I sure hope so. Thank you all who have waited for this and have given me motivation to continue this plot. Kiss kiss
Summary: There are some lasting effects from Lex’s aphrodisiac fumes. Even after all these months, your body and Superman’s have become attuned to each other. Coincidentally, your body attuned for another Kryptonian with his DNA.
Breeding Program Masterlist
“Good morning,” you greet curtly, your words clipped from carrying in several bags of groceries though the front door.
Lex had Ultraman stay in the LuthorCorp building. He had his own apartment right at the very top of the skyscraper. He even gave the man a semblance of privacy. He wasn’t watched in his room like a lab rat in a cage. Not like he was everywhere else.
You were one of the many caretakers that would visit the clone, take him for training, to medical exams, testing. The important stuff Lex couldn’t trust many others to see. Most of his employees knew the clone as Ultraman.
Lex thinks it would be too shocking for them to understand. Some part of him wants to keep Ultraman's true origins a secret. To see the face of his enemy all for himself. For now, they all think he was a mutilated, scarred soul. Perhaps from the advancements Luthor had tested on him just like he did with the Engineer.
He was ranked amongst some of the most powerful metahumans in the world. Right next to, what was predicted by his team, Superman. The strongest based on observations alone.
Luthor's scientists and technicians would never see how inquisitive Ultraman’s eyes really were. How opinionated he could be. Lex saw him as nothing less than a mindless henchman.
You didn’t.
Ultraman lifts the spoon from the bowl you placed in front of him. He eats the porridge slowly as you restock his cabinets.
He had a kitchen in his suite, he doesn’t use the high end oven or stoves. He doesn’t cook by himself. He did enjoy a home cooked meal, but he only waited for you to visit to pull out ingredients. You had the cupboards stocked with microwavable food and gallons of water for the times you couldn’t be there to cook for him.
“How is it?”
His eyes were bright. Alert. Especially when you were in the room with him. He nods. You nod back with a pursed smile.
He was kind of weird. Lex didn’t teach him how to take care of himself, claiming he was too dull to remember anything anyway.
You pick up his bowl when he’s done. Washing it as he lounges in nothing but sweatpants and watches the television on his bed. He sits by the edge, waiting for you, not bothering to dry his wet hair from the shower he took before you had come in.
He liked the news. He liked National Geographic. He liked documentaries. He was a thoughtful guy. At least that’s what you liked to think.
Lex thought he was too dumb to even earn a name.
He would hand you the remote and let you put on the shows you liked. He was very polite.
You were currently binge watching a telenovela on ViX. It was about a farm girl falling in love with two men.
The protagonist had to choose between the rich man who shows her clear devotion or the poor man she falls in and out of love with since they were in high school.
The sound of violins and other strings filled the room as the protagonist on the screen inched her lips closer to her lover’s. The farm boy, Ulises, pulls her in close by the waist, she looks pained. Sure, she knew he loved her, but he made horrible choices, he was unstable, he got into too much trouble.
He was the bad boy.
The rich man, Sebastian, provides for her. He was good and kind. Stable and loved by everyone at the hacienda. His love never wavered for her because of other’s opinions, or commands.
Ultraman sighs as the kiss was cut short, one of the farm boys' exes storms in and demands he take care of her and their baby. You gasp at the revelation, he grumbles.
It breaks the protagonist's heart, not knowing that the other woman was lying and manipulating Ulises into a loveless marriage.
Your hand had paused on his head at the dramatic scene.
He tilts his head back to press against your hand to urge you to continue braiding his hair. The weight of his back presses against you as you sit behind him on his bed.
Your fingers brush against his face as you take strands to intertwine together. His hair was lighter than Superman’s, almost as if it were bleached or toned.
It was also incredibly soft because of the lack of sun exposure and frequent hair conditioning products you sneaked in from a shopping spree on Lex’s card.
He was warm and smelled good. Clean. You fight the urge to ogle further. His chest was bare. His sculpted, almost soft looking mounds of muscle were out on display after his shower. You let out a breath, your hand sweeping past his toned shoulders briefly to feel his soft skin.
The heat pooling in your lower belly from his proximity and weight as he leans against you, his bare body almost on display, was hard to ignore. But you do it. You ignore the heat rising to your cheeks, making your cheekbones ache in prickles.
He glances at you, as you use a hair tie to keep his two braids in place. You were smaller than him, soft. He wanted to put his mouth on you constantly.
He didn’t know how, or in what way. He sees it on the tv. Telenovelas you put on when you were supposed to watch him for the night after he had to heal after a battle.
They kissed passionately, dramatically. He wonders what it would be like to kiss you like that. Would you respond back the same? He would like that.
You pat his shoulders when you’re done and he moves to the side to let you scoot off the bed. He almost wishes you could stay. You did that sometimes. When he was in bad shape after a quarrel with Superman.
It made you feel bad. Almost to the point of wanting to find Superman and scold him for being too rough.
You’d sometimes sleep in the bed with him, it was spacious enough and he made sure you had a lot of room as you dozed off from exhaustion, the tv still playing softly in the background.
He grabs your bag from the edge of the bed and hands it to you as you stand. You smile down at him from where he’s sat on the bed.
It makes his chest warm. He likes what he feels when you smile at him.
You walk out the door with a quiet goodbye.
…
Three months later:
You’ve been ignoring Lex as best you could for the past two months, after the reveal of his latest scheme and after you had found out you were pregnant with Superman’s baby.
Despite this, you were still working with him, still his personal assistant. The threat of a legal battle looming over your head like a grey sky.
He looks down from his computer monitor, standing in a room full of screens with his team and watching as Ultraman once again attempts to defeat Superman.
He’s already thinking of what the news would say about this one. Superman was getting hit more and more frequently, people have started to notice that the hero of three years has been faltering.
He eyes the way you were standing. You were starting to wear looser clothes, shorter heels. You take frequent breaks to go to the bathroom. Most likely to puke your guts out. Or maybe you just didn’t want to be around him much.
He couldn’t help but feel something stirring in him whenever he saw you.
You refused to speak with him privately, you didn’t even bother to take your stuff out of his penthouse. Instead, wordlessly moving back to your apartment. But you did everything he demanded of you.
Keep the pregnancy. Go to the appointments. Change your diet. Take your supplements.
It was all for the child. Never for your wellbeing. Through heavy introspection, he felt what could be described as bad for his moral discrepancy. He was using your body like a vessel. As if he didn’t miss having someone to hold at night. He refuses to believe any negative emotion came from missing your company, your laugh, or your wit.
He felt bad that he cared more for the offspring, and Superman in turn, than he did you. He felt bad for the discomfort that was pushed onto him whenever you were near. Your disdain was palpating, making his ears ring and his spine crawl.
He stands up straight and glances in your direction. You were wearing a sweater, one of his favorites. A long skirt and those mary janes he’d gotten you when you were briefly together for a couple of weeks. It was one of your usual outfits, always looking for comfort, damn the professional uniform he mandated the rest to follow. You glance at him from your peripheral, knowing he was going to command something of you.
“Call-“
You were out of the office before he could finish, his phone rings on his desk from a transferred call in less than a minute and he sighs as he picks it up. You did what was asked, you did it well. So well he barely saw you anymore.
It was late in the afternoon when Superman had defeated the ‘villain’ and Ultraman had retreated from the hero.
You were in his apartment, having cooked him chicken cutlets and pasta as doctors patched him up and he bathed. You let out a shaky breath as his pained face flashes in your mind. He had clung onto you after he shed himself from his costume, his face melding into the side of your neck as he groaned.
The sudden contact had shocked you, enough to knock you over to the floor. He quickly gathered you up on his lap, hands fisting your sweater. You reciprocated instinctively, the feel of his body engulfing over yours sending your heart racing.
Lex had pulled him away from you. As you separated, it felt like you had gotten shot with adrenaline. Lex noticed. He noticed how you took a step toward Ultraman as he was pulled to his feet by medical, as if you were aching to be near him again.
He had left a faint trail of sweat on your neck, a hint of blood from a split lip on your cheek. Bodily fluids clearly have lasting effects on you.
You swallowed thickly as you attempted to regain your composure, Lex having put a hand on your stomach protectively as Ultraman was led away.
“Are you alright?”
You nodded slowly, pushing his roaming hand away, adjusting your sweater over your belly. You kept staring at the door from which his tall form left. With narrowed eyes, Lex nudged you forward, mumbling under his breath about licking wounds and babysitting overtime.
The lighting in the apartment was warm. You hoped the soft hues of orange and yellow soothed him, anything other than hospital bright white at least. You feel your body cringe and tense as Ultraman walks out of his bedroom. The battle was all over the news, every social media feed discussing it as if there wasn’t a new one every other week. Your focus was clouded ever since you were toppled over by the quiet giant. You think your brain went southbound, right between your legs.
You avoided logging onto instagram or twitter. Any semblance of Superman made you nauseous. It made your stomach curl.
You felt a mix of shame and anxiety fester in your chest whenever you thought about him and his perfect dimples and the way Lex antagonizes him every chance he has.
Lex made a call with a news channel earlier in the day. He wanted to put his two cents in on the latest battle, which he procured. He stated that Superman was not as efficient as he used to be. The news was running the interview call he had given them now.
You tune out the words and cringe when they display images of Superman to go with the audio of Lex’s lecture increasing in ferocity.
You turn away from the small screen set up in the kitchen with your plates only to find Ultraman bare, boxers and sweatpants in hand. There was a brief moment where your eyes connected, your breath catching in your throat. He had a slight bruised swell around his cheek.
You feel your heart thrum quickly. His dick was soft. And yet it reminded you of Superman’s. But unlike him, Ultraman didn’t trim, he didn’t know how to, nobody did it for him. It wasn’t necessary.
Superman was well groomed, trimmed. Dark hairs that curled ever so slightly when you had made a mess of his pelvis with your arousal.
You look away with a shaky sigh. You had excused yourself from every opportunity to tend to Ultraman after your coupling with Superman for this very reason. You knew you'd be comparing. You’d look at the similarities and be reminded of how good Superman made you feel.
You wonder if the superhero thought of you too.
You stare holes into the floor as he approaches. He needed help putting his clothes on, his body too sore to bend down and do it himself. His hair was wet, slicked back and darkened by the moisture.
He looked so much like Superman. Your brain tells you for a brief second that you saw him in the room with you. It made goosebumps crawl all over your skin. The hairs on your arms lifted.
You kneeled down to lift his boxers up his thighs, then his sweats, avoiding looking at his crotch. He sits down on the kitchen island’s stool as you stand and he starts to eat from his plate. He noticed the way you reacted to him nowadays. Your body would flush with heat, your breath would stutter. He liked it.
He briefly recalls what he has seen on television. The tv shows where the girls have a crush on someone and start acting how you were now, shy and bashful.
He decides to let you have your time to process your new feelings for him. He watches as you struggle to maintain your composure as you eat your meal. You ate slowly, as if you were seconds away from puking. He thought it was because of the baby you were carrying. He could see it, he thought you had a tumor when your belly had started to become rounder, so he checked only to find a fetus floating inside your womb.
He knew more than he let on. No one ever asks him so why would he tell them he was starting to read books on medicine, culture, and so much more. At first jealousy rose within him, but he quickly found out the baby was Superman’s. Lex’s team liked to gossip, most of them already knowing your situation because their boss had tasked them with watching you.
The revelation, in a strange way, calmed him.
He knew they were practically the same. So his children were his. The baby was his.
You look bothered most of the time, full of discomfort that would make you squirm. The more you spent in his room, the more uncomfortable you seemed.
You swipe your forehead lightly and feel droplets of sweat wet the back of your sleeve. It was so hot in the room. You glance at the thermometer near his open bedroom door. It was set at 70 degrees.
He eats quickly, as if he needs to be ready at a moment's notice. You don’t even think he savors the food. The water he drinks spills over the corners of his lips. Almost sensual in the way they drip down his neck and drag against the lines of his collarbones.
He stands suddenly.
He makes his way over to his bed, opening the bedside drawer to reveal the hair ties you kept there. He sits at the edge expectantly, his hand already holding the tv remote in hand.
With a sigh you make your way over.
Your stomach clenches as you braid his hair, his weight was heavy on you, eyes closed as your fingers lightly massaged his scalp. It must be a hot flash or whatever pregnant people deal with.
Your eyes wander. You didn’t see him like this when he had the full suit on. He was pure muscle, some softness to him but otherwise built like a machine. His biceps were the size of your head, his thighs equalling yours and maybe being even thicker.
You lean closer to the side of his head. He leans into you, you feel yourself shiver against his back as his head rests against your shoulder and his nose nudges your jaw.
You imagine Superman's shoulders, how broad they were when he pounded into you. The way you grasped them and held on for dear life. You let out a breathy low moan. The sound catches in your throat the second you let out the soft hum.
You pull away quickly.
He notices, you knew he noticed by the rising hard on he sported, bulging through his sweatpants obscenely. He could smell your arousal.
You wanted it bad. Your hand presses to your mouth to stop yourself from moaning at the mere sight of his arousal. What was wrong with you? You had more control than this?
You tie his hair in a misshapen braid and push away from him quickly. You felt like your body was on fire. Just from being near Ultraman. He doesn’t stop you, he just stares hungrily, eyes narrowed as if urging you to come closer.
You make your way out of his apartment, not saying goodbye and shifting in your seat on the way home by how wet your panties had gotten.
…
You make your way out and into the balcony. You sigh out as the breeze passes through your body. Like a refreshing rush of water cleansing you. Lex’s been clinging to you like an octopus. His arm wound tight around your waist, long fingers caressing the slight swell of your belly teasingly.
You felt like a trophy wife. Paraded around the charity event, one you’re sure he didn’t even care about. That was your task for the evening, a work event. Like those times he’s attempted to convince you that going to dinner with him after your ‘breakup’ was work-related and not because he wanted you close.
You’d excused yourself to the bathroom and he had pressed a tight lipped kiss to the crown of your head, prompting those around him to look between themselves. He wanted them to assume a connection between you both, with the baby and bump that was barely showing.
All speculation for the moment.
Lex didn't like leaving you alone, you briefly wondered if he thought you would escape. If you were planning on leaving with the very thing he wanted growing in your womb.
He knew better than to underestimate you. Sometimes he hated the anxious feeling you gave him. He didn’t like not knowing.
You would be upset at work, you walked the halls of his office building with your head held high. Like you had something over him. And you did. He hated it.
You hadn’t come back from the ‘bathroom’, instead opting to find a way to get some fresh air. Ultraman walks out behind you and he could see the way the swoosh of the door made your shoulders tense.
He closes the door softly, the sounds of chatter inside mute and dissolve into unintelligible murmurs. The soft lighting of the lamps on either end of the handrails illuminated your cheeks as you turned from where you were sitting on a marble bench.
He almost wishes he could caress your soft skin. He bet it would feel like a peach. Would your mouth taste just as sweet?
He doesn’t really like peaches, he thinks as he inches closer. He thinks he’d just like the taste of you. Your mouth. The tears gathering and dripping down your cheeks, that musky place between your legs.
You turn and eye him suspiciously. You scoff. You hated Lex and everything that represented him. The man standing in front of you was covered head to toe in black. Lex’s branding and logo showcased on his shoulder pads as if he were an F1 racer. You wonder when Lex would take the initiative to charge companies for ads.
Your eyes trail over his form. Still and silent. You remember when you first met, without the suit or mask. It was jarring. Lex was beaming, hands wandering over his defined pectorals and shoulders as if he were a cherished lover.
He had stared at you, brows furrowed as if he thought you were just like his creator.
Lex indulges himself in the clone. It was his first seemingly successful creation. You thought he was mentally deranged. Vulgar with the way he treated him. Unfortunately, Ultraman was close to perfect. He was born with a fully formed brain. Blank. He needed to have developed as an infant, a child, a teenager. He skipped steps to be fully functioning.
But you knew he could learn, and he did. It just takes longer. It doesn’t stick as well. He can barely speak. Or maybe he chooses not to. Your hands were cradling your belly on your lap. You quickly move them away. Lex would get what he wanted. A perfect copy of Superman, able to be manipulated, learn, and grow. It made your blood boil.
Your dark blue chiffon scarf slides down your shoulders. He tips his head ever so slightly as your collarbone becomes exposed. His hands twitch, fingers flexing as if he wanted to reach out and adjust your gown for you. Your lips purse. He had big hands, you’re sure he could cover your face with his palm. Maybe even cup your breasts completely and squeeze- You shiver and you look away quickly.
He wasn’t Superman. You felt pity for him. For yourself.
He reminded you of Tarzan. You didn’t think you would like to be his Jane. You’ve known about his crush. Lex noticed it first. Ultraman seemed intrigued, no- enamored. You treated him like a person, and not like an ignorant child or machine. It clicked in your head after a while. When Lex had been testing that damn drug on him.
Your eyes make a path from one thick shoulder to the other. You take a shaky breath in. Superman's shoulders were so broad. He was so large. You think you’ve started to develop a crush on him. In turn, Ultraman as well. You were getting turned on by him, inadvertently so. He reminded you of Superman's dimples and thick voice and the way he held you close to him and asked politely if you wanted to ‘escape’, wrapped up in his cloak and taken to who knew where.
You stand and face him. Your eyes carry forced aggression against him. The memory of that night passing through you in embarrassment.You felt like a child that needed to be escorted back to their father.
He follows close behind as you walk past him and back into the event. You think Lex had you come for publicity.
Girlfriend? Friend? Who is this woman by his side? You knew it was because he wanted Superman to see you too. It made you anxious, as if you had been keeping a secret. You looked bloated at certain angles, Lex’s hand firmly on your hip, as if to highlight the slight swell of your stomach.
E! News had commented on how his new girl should hit the gym more often. It was all over the tabloids, the Daily Planet gossip column, TMZ, and even some news station who had nothing better to report on. Lex wanted to stir conversation. He wanted Superman’s attention, badly. You almost felt like a third wheel at this point.
You feel Lex’s gaze from the corner of the room. Your eyes connect with his and without breaking it he excuses himself and makes his way over to you, surely to remind you about your contract and how you were meant to follow his orders. Stay by my side tonight.
You scoot past guests as he inches closer, losing him quickly as you make your way to a crowd looking over a priceless vase from ancient Rome. Ultraman was hard to ditch due to his advanced senses but you found that he was easily overwhelmed by crowds.
You take a deep breath in and adjust your scarf over yourself, hiding your stomach. You hear your name being spoken throughout the crowd, guests gladly giving directions to your location or where they had last seen you walk past. You curse under your breath and make an attempt to hide behind tall figures.
You press a hand to your chest as your heart starts to pump so fast you fear it’s going to jump out of your throat. It was making your body heat in subtle thrums as you entered an empty hallway. Your breath comes out unsteadily. The feeling only gets stronger. You place a hand over your chest, panic rising at the thought of a sudden heart attack.
A trail of warmth leads from your mouth and slides down your throat to your lower stomach like thick honey. As if you had just drank in sweet rum. Your muscles were buzzing underneath your skin.
Someone grips your wrist, dropping it quickly as a shock runs through your spine and you turn sharply with a yelp. The man was clearly out of place, an old, too big tweed suit sitting upon his shoulders haphazardly. He was slightly hunched over and his cheeks were glowing pink. He adjusts his glasses and lifts his press badge.
You should have turned away, ignored him to oblivion but something told you to stay still. His touch sated your heart slightly, but your stomach curls in beats. Your eyes lock with his, you take a step forward, you swear you've seen him before. His face was so familiar. Your lips part and you felt an urge to reach up and touch his face-
A thick body slides itself in front of you. Ultraman's foot in front of you as the reporter attempted a step closer. He takes a sheepish step back, glancing at Ultraman's goggled mask. Your curiosity doesn’t waver. You place your hand on Ultraman’s forearm and his shoulders soften at the touch. He keeps himself between you both. His breathing came in and out in deep breaths, making his chest rise and fall deeply.
Your eyes lock with the reporter’s.
“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”
He swallows thickly and his throat bobs. Your eyes narrow. You recognize the name. The Superman guy. Writes about him so much and so eloquently that his writing could be reenacted by him gargling on Superman’s balls.
His eyes narrow back at you, almost judgementally. You’ve been ignoring the hell out of him. His emails, pleading you to at least give him a comment back. You feel a tinge of shame. You didn’t think he would be so cute.
You take a step closer, Ultraman shifts. Clark says your last name curtly after a stiff miss.
“I’ve been attempting to contact you in regards to the kidnapping that occurred three months prior.”
Your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. His voice was so deep. So hot. He was attempting to be professional but his words came out unnatural in verbiage.
His eyes dart to your cleavage from your sudden heady breaths, his jaw ticking before looking away quickly. He takes a deep breath in and he clears his throat. You felt your mouth water. Your eyes were darting all over his frame. He had nice shoulders, even if he slumped them. His jaw was strong, his hands large.
You swallow thickly and shift. His eyes follow the line of your throat as it bobs. He remembers kissing a path down to your breasts. The way you arched your back as he held you up against him. The broken sounds you made when he curled his fingers in your cunt and suckled at your nipples. He remembers the taste of your milk, sweet, slightly musky. He salivates at the memory.
“I was-” he starts after your silence.
Admittedly he was so upset at you. He was ready to rip you a new one. You ignored him. While he was just trying to ensure you were safe. Given, you didn’t know [email protected] was Superman himself.
His eyes roamed over your figure.
Gosh, you were so beautiful. The fabric of your dress laid over your body perfectly, accentuating your best features in a way only he could compare with your bare skin. But he was upset!
He couldn’t stop thinking about you for the past three months. The taste of your cunt, your breasts. It would be too much sometimes whenever he saw you with him on the television or in a tabloid. It made him want to tear his hair out. Sometimes he almost did when he would see a picture of Lex giving you a kiss on the cheek. He remembers kissing you in much more intimate places.
He’d taken care of himself in the Daily Planet’s bathroom stalls far too many times because of that very train of thought.
You watch as he adjusts the collar of his suit, his face flushes. He looks as if he had just gotten out of a sauna. Your eyes zone in on his adam's apple. Your tongue peeks between your lips and your fingers twitch.
“I just wanted to write about how these attacks have…” he swallows thickly. You repress the urge to bite your lip. You almost lean into Ultraman, your head inching closer to his bicep to rest there. Your body rises in goosebumps, Clark’s voice was deep. He was so tall. As tall as Ultraman, no Superman.
You weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples hardened and pointed out to him, teasing him. Your scarf couldn’t hide that.
“Affected victims,” he finishes. He could smell your arousal. Ultraman could too.
“If you’re available, that is.”
Your head straightens and tips.
“If I’m available?” you ask. You weren’t paying attention to a word he said since you’ve noticed his bright eyes. You’ve never felt such need for a stranger before.
He steps closer, his voice lowers. “Are you available?” he asks with a hint of confidence. His voice only slightly unsure. Was he flirting with you? Even he couldn’t believe it. Your lips part into a lazy smile, you start to nod.
Ultraman grips your waist and lifts you enough to have you floating off the ground by a centimeter, placing you directly behind him. His chest puffs as he faces Clark Kent. You press against his back as you attempt to get a glimpse of the reporter again.
You're forced to turn the other direction.
You’re led away with a strong arm on your bicep. Ultraman drags you away, towards a shiny bald head all the way on the other side of the venue. You turn your head and watch as the reporter stands alone flustered.
“I am- available!” you choke out.
…
Ultraman wraps a hand around your bicep with a fierce grip as he drags you across the hallways and to his living quarters. He had taken off his mask in the elevator, right after Lex had placed a wet kiss on your cheek and patted your ass to send you off and tuck Ultraman in for the night.
You think it was a punishment of some kind. Forced to work late hours with what Lex thought was an airheaded nuisance.
Ultraman’s jaw was flexing, his brows furrowed in frustration. You think it was because of the reporter. He can be so rough, he wasn't good at controlling his emotions. His jealousy especially.
He got jealous when Lex spoke about Superman’s stats, how much stronger he seemed to be than Ultraman at times. He gets jealous whenever a seasonal intern speaks to you and follows you around for a couple of days.
He hates knowing other people have your attention. He hates the way that reporter was looking down at you, and the way you were looking up at him. As if you wanted to rip his clothes off.
He gruffs past you to his bathroom, coming out after a couple of minutes as you wait on his bed. You had placed your scarf on the back of the lounging chair in his bedroom. You were looking intently at your phone, eyes flickering all over the screen in great interest.
He thought you looked so pretty, head pressed against his pillows as if you were made to sleep next to him. Your dress flowed around your body, curling near your hip and accentuating the shape of your belly and waist.
He dreams of things like this.
He dreams of living in an hacienda, tending to horses, picking up haybells and coming home to you. You’d be head down and overwhelmed with paperwork. Like he sees you in his living room coffee table sometimes when you have to stay and watch over him during weekdays.
Then there’d be pitter patters of little sock clad feet. Running up to him as he came in through the door. You’d give him a look, soft and sweet. Like you had missed him.
Then he would wake up and realize that he wasn’t living the life of the man in the tv drama.
You stare at the man on your phone screen. You mimicked the same dopey smile from his dream. Clark Kent’s profile at the Daily Planet website looked like it was taken last minute. His tie was wrinkled and awkwardly bent to the left as if he had just put it on in a rush.
Ultraman makes a sound from the back of his throat. You slam the phone face down on the bedside table as if to hide the autobiography you were reading. He bet you didn’t even hear the bathroom door open.
He doesn’t know what comes over him. He thinks it was instinct. It just felt right to him.
His hair was slicked back, you noticed right before he dived in to kiss you on the lips. His hand maneuvers itself to the back of your head, the other makes the mattress dip as he crawls on top of you. A sound of surprise escapes you, lips parting slightly and allowing his tongue to peek between them to roam over your teeth.
His lips were soft and gradually as he continued, you melted into it, your hands running up his forearm and to his shoulders. He flexes them under your touch. You feel him harden into the crease of your thigh and a chill goes down your spine.
His hand meets the small of your back and presses you up against his chest. Your breath stutters as he pulls away to lead kisses down your jaw. He grips you tightly, lifting you up so that you would wrap your legs around him.
You were moving too fast, his hands were precise as they lifted the soft fabric of your dress up your waist, the strap falling down your shoulder and revealing your breasts. Your body pulses as his hand caresses your bare flesh, a sharp ache imbedding itself down your spine and to your cunt.
One hand cups your breast, calloused palm rubbing against your sensitive nipple. The other guides your hip over his lap, clothed cunt plopping right over his bare cock.
You grind against his hard on, mouth falling open as you move your hips against him. His precum moistens your underwear as you shift your hips erratically. His fingers trail along the waistband of your panties, sliding them down.
He’s watched porn. Lex had shown him some films for the sake of research. Could the clone feel arousal? How big did Superman’s dick get when he was hard? All questions Lex may or may not have been upfront with his colleagues about. He thought of you in place of those men and women, sinking his cock into your tight wet hole, pressing you into his bed as he split you open.
He wanted to feel pleasure, he wanted to pleasure. He bites down onto your neck softly, feeling your heart pulse quicken. He’s never touched anyone other than himself before, his hand shakes as his fingers part your lower lips. He sinks his fingers into you, making your back arch at the unexpected intrusion. You whine, face creasing as if you were mid-cry.
The feeling of his thick finger stretching you open made your stomach tense. His face was tight, brows furrowed in deep concentration as he tested out your give. He pushes in deep, your hand grips his shoulder tightly as he presses experimentally against your cervix. He squeezes your chest, pressing his head against your collarbone. You were so wet, dripping down his fingers.
He pumps you too fast, so fast that your pleasure starts to dissipate. He didn’t know how to finger, apparent by the stiff pointed fingers moving frantically against your inner walls which felt numb after thirty seconds.
He takes directions so well. Your grip on his shoulders tightens. You curl your fingers and his curl with yours. Your head falls to his neck, you mewl as he rubs against the spongy part inside you. His cock twitches on the swell of your belly as he imagines what the squeeze of your cunt on his fingers would feel on his cock.
He continues, your fingers finding their way to your clit, rubbing as you ground your lips against the ridges of his cock. You shriek as his mouth finds your nipple, sucking at it harshly, the sudden action making you rut against him as you reach your peak.
Your body shakes, legs flexing on their own as he presses you as close as possible. He doesn’t let you go and even as his cock throbs he refuses to move an inch to not risk you moving away. Your body is crushed against his body as he moves to lay on top of you, his head curling against your chest, hands gripping your dress hard enough to make the seams pop.
Any attempt of moving away is met with a deep groan, his lips finding their way to your breast and sucking harsh enough to paralyze you. You stay there, body shaking, his hand coming up to caress the curve of your belly in worship, until you feel yourself drift from exertion.
You wake up on your side, pillows and blankets shifted to cocoon you. You were in a pillow fort.
For a moment you forget where you were but as you shift you feel the unpleasant wetness of your arousal and someone else's on your thigh, leaking down to the sheets in its thickened state.
You sit up groggily. Someone will come in soon. To change the sheets. Ultraman goes to train in the morning- Your heart stops for a moment as you realize he wasn’t there. Someone had come in to retrieve him.
The phone clatters against the bedside table as you fumble for it, your fingers shaking as you check for any messages or calls from Lex as you’re sure his employees would snitch about the state you were in if they saw you.
You find nothing. You take a deep breath. You’re sure Ultraman got dressed on his own and left you to sleep. You’re sure whoever retrieved him this morning didn’t come into the apartment and just waited for him at the door.
Judging by the way you were covered when you had woken up, he hid you as best he could. You bite your lip as you resist a smile. It was sweet…
…
You wear one of his spare shirts and sweatpants as you make your way out of the building. It would have made you feel less like a walk of shame. But judging by the heels you still wore, it might have made things look worse. You swipe through your emails again as you take a cab home.
Hello,
It was a pleasure meeting you at the event. I didn’t catch what you said before you had left. Do you have availability in your schedule to meet and talk? Just wanted to ask a few questions…
You skip the paragraph, instead your eyes bulge at the final question. Your heart hammers and your lips quirk into a smile. Oh.
Do you want to discuss it over dinner?
Best Regards,
Clark Kent
Despite yourself, you still feel that ache in your lower belly. Slowly building up again. You bite your cheek, exhaling slowly as you shift in the backseat of the taxi. Clark Kent seemed like he would be into pregnant women… at least you hope he will be.
Your fingers type faster than your brain could process.
…
Lex watches you smile at your phone, your shoulders hunched over as you type quickly and place the screen down onto your desk with a slam of giddiness. Discomfort develops in his chest. He feels awkward amidst your happiness. What was causing it? Clearly not him. Why were you giggling to yourself? You never did that with him. Maybe when you were dating… for a month.
His foot taps the floor impatiently as he hears your sharp snort. So much so that it starts to cramp. He hates not knowing. He stands from his desk and makes his way out the door to his office. It was kept open for a while, he always had an eye out for you.
Your head was barely visible from your desk, he leaned against the counter. Your smile falls, you slide your phone away into your pant pocket and look up with dead eyes. It almost made his eyes twitch.
“We’re going to dinner tonight.”
Your eyes narrow.
“Can’t,” you respond dully.
His head tips to the side. Wondering where you got the confidence to be dismissive of him.
“I’m meeting with a reporter.”
He stands up straighter. His brows furrow intensely, so much so they almost connect in the center of his face.
“You’re not allowed to speak to the media as a LuthorCorp employee, you know this.”
You shrug.
“It has nothing to do with my employment. It’s about my kidnapping, which I recall being after work hours. 5 pm sharp.”
Your eyes resisted rolling and trails to your monitor screen. You close up, picking up your coat and shrugging it on. It was starting to get cold, you twist your scarf over your neck and tuck it.
You start to walk away from him, having clocked out of work on your phone. He follows close behind, long legs catching up to your pace.
“With who?”
You barely turn your head to respond, you purse your lips anxiously. You’re sure his office will be trashed when you come in tomorrow morning. Your steps quicken to the elevator. You press the first floor button as he stands in anger and frustration, his hands at his hips.
“Clark Kent.”
You barely see the hints of splotchy red adorning his face as the doors close shut.
…
It was cold out, but you could feel the warmth building from your lower belly spread to the rest of your body. Clark had offered to walk you back home but there was a magnetic pull you felt towards him, making you want to rip him out of his clothes, to stay in his presence longer than you would with someone you barely met.
You think he felt the same. In fact, you knew he did by the way he gripped your upper arm to drag you to an empty dark alley. His hands were resting on your hips, yours on his suit jacket as both of your breaths quickened to pants.
Clark leans down, his exhale stuttering as you take a step between his feet, your chest meeting his. You were so wet, your cunt throbbing as slick runs down your inner thighs. You could see his massive boner poke through his trousers, pressing into your lower belly.
You whine at the sight of his frames almost falling from the bridge of his nose, yours fogging up from his warm puffs. You think Clark Kent was sick. He found out you were pregnant during dinner, with his friend's child no less and yet he's still here, the bridge of his nose nudging against your jaw.
His lips trace over your neck, he feels your pulse, the shake of your knees. He presses you against the side of the building, hand lifting your skirt to grab at your thighs.
Your fingers tighten over the lapels of his jacket as his fingers gather your slick, pressing it to his lips in a starved groan. He’s dreamt of your taste. To the point where he would catch a hint of it in the air sometimes, tasting it on his tongue and yearning for more.
It was like you were his favorite candy. A rich musky honey that he could never find anywhere else but in his own perverted mind. He gathers more of it, quickly flicking his tongue out to catch your arousal on his fingertips before dipping back in.
He would get down on his knees but he wants to taste your mouth, lick the sweat off your skin from attempting to take both of his thick fingers. Your noses smoosh together as his tongue explores your mouth, his scent surrounds you, he smothers you as he lifts you against the wall and steps between your thighs.
You pull away to take a breath and his mouth follows, only allowing you a heartbeat to inhale before he pulls you back into him.
Your phone vibrates as he starts to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal clacking making your spine straighten in arousal. He moans when he feels more of your slick drop down his fingers and collect over his knuckles.
“Clark..”
You attempt to shift away, your phone starts to vibrate again. The bag on your shoulder pressing the phone inside against your ribs. You push against his chest. It could be important. Given by the amount of call backs, it must be.
Even despite the heat and how good he makes you feel, your mind was clearer than his. He starts to tug your panties down, pressing the bulge of his boxers against the seam of your cunt.
“Clark-”
You push his shoulder hard, he instinctively grips your hand. The strength of it makes your breath hitch. He pulls away from your neck slowly, the cool air sending a chilling breeze as it meets your saliva slickened skin.
You stare at each other, he leans back to get a better look at you. Your eyes were hooded over and glossy. Lips swollen from his kisses. He hears the vibration, cutting through the tension. As he lets you down, his grip loosens, so much more delicate than before as his knuckles pass over your cheek.
The intimacy widens your eyes, but you let him continue, ignoring the urgency in your purse. He lifts your frames up to the crown of your head and your vision blurs slightly. His figure morphs into fuzz, and for a second your heart stops.
He looks down at you with tenderness, a serious look of determination you couldn’t understand yet. You resist the urge to pet his head. The dark hair, tall and broad frame. It reminded you of him.
You clear your throat as you bend to pull your underwear up from where they fell to your parted knees. He adjusts himself quickly as you make yourself presentable again.
“I have to go.”
He nods.
“I’ll find you.”
His words make you shiver. His confidence almost sounded like a threat.
You fish your phone out of your purse as it rings again, turning away and shakily walking into the street. You curse under your breath and hail a taxi when you glance at the contact.
…
You quicken your steps when you hear more of his sounds of pain. Lex had alerted you of Ultraman’s injuries, claiming he was requesting you by name. It rang alarm bells in your head, he didn't speak, not unless he was mimicking what someone had told him to say.
But as you approach the medical lab, you hear it clear as day. Ultraman says it whispily, voice hoarse either from disuse or fatigue.
He was strapped to the table, no other person around him except for Lex. He was writhing, kryptonite crystals lined along the straps. The room was hot, musky. It smelled like sex and sweat. He was shirtless, only in his boxers.
What really made your stomach curl was his dick print, it was visibly pulsing, most of the front of his underwear darkened by pre and cum. You swallow a moan as Ultraman's stomach clenches, more cum staining his boxers, some escaping past the fabric to make a mess on the medical chair. Lex stands over him, now facing you with narrowed eyes, as if waiting for you to react.
He almost looks smug at how your chest starts to rise and fall quickly because of your surroundings. His bulge was obscene, Ultraman's body pulled like a corded wire. His neck was strained towards you. Your mouth parts and you swallow thickly.
Lex and his stupid experiments.
You feel anger rise within you, a hint of confusion in your voice as you step closer, dropping your bag and going to him as he calls your name weakly.
“Why aren’t you helping him?”
Lex watches closely, jaw ticked in irritation as you instinctively place a hand over Ultraman’s cheek, caressing lightly with your thumb. Your hands quickly move to take away the restraints as he moans weakly.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says boredly. You ignore him. Ultraman whines as your fingers graze over his skin. As the restraints fall to the side of the table he grips your wrists tightly, sitting up with minimal effort and pulling you up against him. You’re concerned by the way he shudders, panting into your ear as he tries to peel off your sweater.
You don’t really fight it. His wandering lips and hands over your bare skin make you shake. As if a deep part of you was satisfied. You already knew what Lex did to him. He was always cruel. You fight through the need to submit to the rough pull of clothing. Your glare is directed at Lex as Ultraman starts to rut against your side.
Your stomach clenches as his tongue slides over your throat. Your knees start to shake.
“You’re a sick fuck, Lex,” you say breathily. He rolls his eyes. He’d thought you would be more grateful, honestly. He’s sure you didn’t know that he had cameras installed inside Ultraman’s room. To better monitor you of course.
He felt a sense of envy and malice seeing you cuddle up with his creation, his brute. Then coincidentally, you had dinner with Clark Kent. Superman’s favorite reporter, most likely confidant and friend.
“I haven’t yet been able to see the side effects. Which- I’m sure- you’ve felt already.”
You frown. Lex always likes it when you pout. Your eyes flutter as your skirt is pulled down, panties along with it. Luthor walks around you both, shifting his belt to adjust himself.
“You want Superman so bad, take him,” he says hatefully, his words sounding more like a hiss.
Your eyes widen. Lex presses against your back, your back arches as his fingers reach the apex of your thighs. His fingers plunge into you, finding no resistance. Your knees give out but he holds you up against Ultraman’s chest, sandwiching you between them.
“Want someone to take the edge off, whore?”
His words were whispered in your ear, your body unable to move between the two broad walls of chests. Lex pulls away, leaving you to grip onto Ultraman to still yourself. You watch as Ultraman’s lips open obediently, Lex pushing past his tongue to gag him with arousal coated fingers.
His fingers pinch Ultraman’s chin harshly.
“Play with your toy.”
…
“Oh c’mon-”
Lex stands from his chair suddenly. He’s been watching him pound into you for an hour. Your body was draped over the bed, shaking with your knees pushed all the way to your shoulders. You were boneless, Ultraman kissing you sloppily on your parted lips.
Your glasses have fallen off, the sight of him on top of you bringing you pangs of arousal with every glance. It felt like you were on a perpetual high, brain turning to mush with his every grunt, every load.
You were covered in it, your thighs slippery and lower belly filthy in translucent white. You were on the edge of ecstasy, unlike your experience with Superman who had shown that he was as compassionate as everyone he had encountered made him seem.
Your face was hot, skin itchy from the lack of proper release.
Lex snaps you out of your haze for a moment, pulling Ultraman back by the root of his hair and pulling his hands away from the backs of your thighs. He stops mid thrust, your legs shaking as they fall on either side of his hips.
You feel Lex start to rub your cunt, thumb tracing over your lower lips as he whispers in Ultraman’s ears. You were too numb to fully understand his murmurs, but you catch Ultraman nodding. Your hips jump as he pinches your clit, showing where the clone should touch. He lets go of his hair and allows his fingers to replace his own.
“Don’t be greedy, understand?”
Ultraman nods stiffly, still in a daze of pleasure as his own fingers start to explore, circling over the hood slowly before pushing it away to place the lightest pressure on your exposed clit. Lex stays put, eyes roaming over your figure, covered in the clones cum. He couldn’t help himself, he bends down to lick at your neck, slowly making a path downward to where all of Ultraman’s spend had stained your skin.
Your breath hitches at the attention, his lips close around your nipple, now even more sensitive than before, and sucks harshly. You feel a letdown, a combination of milk and other discharge surging out of your nipple and to his mouth. It leaks as he lets go with a pop, the stimulation he began making you leak further. Your back arches almost painfully, the throbbing of your breast dying down but still present as he cups your belly.
He eyes you from where he leans his head against the swell, eyes sharp and focused on your reaction. You have the urge to slap him but your body was too weak to move on your own, Ultraman having changed his rhythm of thrusts from shallow to deep. Lex knew exactly what you liked, he just never did it for you. The prick.
He tongues at your lower belly, right where the baby bump starts, he kisses it lightly, almost hesitantly. His saliva acted as a balm, although Ultraman’s cum had a better effect on your body.
His head meets the edges of your cunt, he watches as Ultraman’s dick stretches you open obscenely, the delicate skin of your hole pulsing and sticking to his shaft like latex. Ultraman continues to pump himself into you, one hand moving to your breast, the other nudging at your clit.
Luthor kisses where you both connect, your sensitive hole and his throbbing member. The sensation of his tongue makes your eyes roll back, back arching impossibly to grind against his face. Ultraman throbs against his lips from the feeling of his tongue cleaning the combination of your arousals off his cock.
You feel yourself release, stomach cramping, head aching and cunt pulsing pleasure enough to make you scream.
And inevitably black out.
…
You haven’t been outside in a couple of weeks. All of your apartment’s belongings have been moved to the top floor of the LuthoCorp building. The walls were lined in lead and sound proofed. Clark had mentioned how Superman could hear almost anything at all times spanning the entire world. Clearly, Lex knew that too, as the second you were left alone you screamed Superman at the top of your lungs and no one appeared to save you.
You place a hand on your back, another cupping your belly, now bigger and heavier. Your feet slide into the slippers Lex had gotten you. You pull your shirt down, sighing as the fabric slid up again.
Lex refused to give you larger sizes. Judging by the bulges in his pants whenever he came “home”, you think he enjoyed seeing the progress of his “child”.
Your face morphs into silent contemplation, lips thinning out into a mute frown as you step out of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. You stare at the black velvet box on the kitchen counter. Several vases full of flowers adorning the living room and kitchen.
The note next to it wasn’t worth reading. Opening the box, you felt nothing, even if the ring was as beautiful as those you had pinned in your Pinterest boards. You put it down, placing your hands on the table and taking deep breaths in.
You shift the vases away as you prepare yourself breakfast, your chest festers with anxiety.
You think you’ll just say the ring didn’t fit. Your fingers were swelling.
He’d believe it.
------------------
Part three is mostly from Clark’s perspective, which will fill in some of the scenes… Lowk I don't know about this lol.
