twitchy witchy girl 💫

. . . 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.

“Try not to offer to pay the strippers college tuition,” Steve spoke up, slapping him harshly on the shoulder before some girl in a red bikini pulled him away. 

“They’re exotic dancers.” He whispered under his breath, doing his best to maintain eye contact with everyone. He gave his awkward no lip smile to any girl who batted their eyes at him. It was painfully obvious he didn’t wanna be there, and as much as the girls kept gawking at the giant man, his nervous energy kept them away. That was until you sauntered onto the stage, all confidence and glitter. 

Jimmy ushered him to sit down in the chair next to him, throwing a stack of ones on his lap. This was, of course, Jimmy’s element, already tossing dollar bills on the stage the moment your hands touched the pole. You noticed him the moment your eyes scoured the crowd. Used to the prying eyes of men all night, a man looking down at his lap, doing his best not to look caught, your attention more than anything. His friend next to him was hollering, women already flocked to his side. Continuing your routine, the Charli XCX song drummed in your ears. Your hips saying sensually to the beat.

In a simple move, with your legs crossed around the pole, you slide down it, leaning your head back. With the blood rushing to your head, you were mere feet away from the shy, sulking man in his chair. 

“Clark, you asshole, look.” His friend yelled, making Clark snap his head up, meeting your upside-down eyes. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, doing his best not to look at your breasts spilling out of the pathetic excuse for a top. 

He fumbled around with the dollars on his lap, knocking them all over the floor. “Oh golly. Gosh um. H-hi. Here. I’m so sorry.” He mumbled nervously, tossing a few dollars onto the stage. You couldn’t stop the boisterous laugh from leaving your lips as you came back up, sliding back down the pole into the splits. 

You kept your eyes on him, putting a little extra sway in your steps than you would normally on a slow night like this. His friend stood up, brandishing a large spread of bills in his hand, waving you over once the song began to fade into another. Unable to resist, you took a beat, walking over to the pair. 

“Hey! So it’s my friend's birthday over here. And he’d love a private or public dance. I’ll pay whatever.” The ginger spoke while his friend, Clark, shook his head, apologizing profusely while he spoke. 

“Birthday boy, huh?” You spoke, Clark’s knees immediately going weak at the saccharine sound of your voice. All he could do was push out a pathetic nod, pleading with his eyes. 

“Don’t look so afraid. We don’t bite,” You gave him a smile with teeth, “Unless that’s what you’re into. In that case, it’ll cost you.” 

He took in a deep breath, nearly choking on his own air. Jimmy let out a whistle, sliding you over, probably a couple of hundred dollars into your hand respectfully. You slid the bills into the side string of your bottoms, heels clacking on the floor as you walked to Clark’s chair. 

“Room 14 after my next set. No pressure if you don’t, but I’ll make it worth your while.” You whispered the last part into his ear, letting your chest fall purposely in his face before sauntering back on stage. 

He felt as if his heart was going to burst out of his chest, his palms were sweaty, and he was fighting for his life to not pop a boner around his best friend. “I’m gonna kill you.” He breathed out to Jimmy. 

“You won’t be saying that after she rocks your world. Loosen up. If you don’t like it we can leave after this and go see a movie or something boring. How’s that?” This did little to calm his nerves, but he appreciated his friend. He knew Jimmy just wanted him to be more fun, more adventurous, but it didn’t help how painfully nervous this all made him.

He kept his eyes on you, respectfully, during your last set. Watching how graceful you were on the pole. In a move where you arched your back on the floor, other patrons tucking dollars into your top, he had to look away, fearing he was interrupting a private moment. He knew this was just your job, but that’s why he hated this. He wanted it to be all for him, selfishly. 

When the music came to an end, he felt his blood rushing to his head, your eyes locking on his almost immediately. You beckoned him with a come-hither motion with your finger, basically dragging him behind you with an invisible force. 

“And you can sit here. Make yourself comfortable.” Pointing to the lush red couch in the darkened back room. He let himself fall into the velvet fabric, hands gripping his knees, unsure what to do with his hands. There you stood, glitter reflecting off the low lights, highlighting all your prominent features. You took a moment, placing all your money into a bucket in the corner, turning on a slower song than what was playing outside these four walls. 

“So, birthday boy. How’s your first time at the Pony treating you?” His eyes were focused on your dark red lips, which he hadn’t noticed before. He hadn’t had a chance to see you up close yet, and golly, were you strikingly beautiful. 

“Oh uh- I’m having f-fun yeah. I'm a little nervous. If you can’t tell. I’m not one to do this at all. I respect sex workers, I really do! I just uh- yeah.” 

You found his nervous rambling adorable, watching his face contort with each word he spoke. 

“No reason to be nervous. Just tell me what you like. What you don’t like.” Smiling, you got closer to him, standing between his legs. 

“W-wait, are we having sex?” His eyes were wide once again, looking as if he wanted to run screaming out of the room. 

“Oh my god, I thought the innocent thing was an act at first, but it’s not.” Another laugh tears out of your chest, “We’re not having sex. It’s not that kind of establishment. We can just talk, or I can give you a dance…” Trailing off, as you gave him time to think about what he wanted to do with his 20 minutes. 

The color slowly drained back into his face, tension still not quite leaving his shoulders at your words. “You don’t have to give me a dance. My friend is just being nice.” 

“Do you want a dance?” Cocking your head at him, letting him squirm under your gaze yet again. 

“U-uh. Don’t feel like you have to” 

“No one tells me what to do. Unless I want them to, of course.” You winked, letting one of your knees slot in between his, straddling his thigh. Hovering so there was no actual touching, but being close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. 

“No touching, but you can look all you want.” You whispered seductively to him, letting your hips and body move to the beat of the song. 

“Oh my gosh.” He whispered under his breath, his eyes shiny like a kid on Christmas day. 

You let your hands squeeze your chest for him, his eyes drinking up every ounce of skin he could see like a man dying of thirst. You stood up, dancing for him that way. With each shake or grind into the air around him, he had to clench his fists harder. The evident hard-on in his pants caught your eye immediately, making it a point to watch the large bulge.

“You still having fun, pretty boy?” You asked, reaching behind your back, fumbling with the strap of your top. 

“Y-yeah.” He whimpered out, watching the black fabric fall to the floor, your back now bare to him. “Oh my, is that? O-okay.” 

Turning around, you pushed your hair to the side, bare chest on display for him. Your nipples pebbled in the cold room. Leaning forward, you let them hover over his face, watching his eyes nearly bulge out of his head. 

“Any plans after this?” He was so zoned out you had to repeat yourself a few times before he snapped out of it, stuttering out a pathetic ‘no.’ 

“Really?” Pouting at him, you let your legs swing over his hips slowly, “This okay?” You checked before putting the slightest bit of weight onto his hips, his bulge pressing against the thin fabric of your bottoms. 

“C-can I?” His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides still, fingers pressing so hard into his palms you wouldn’t be surprised if he left marks. 

With an amused giggle, you nodded, grabbing his hands in yours, slowly dragging them up to your chest. He held them awkwardly, his calloused hands admiring the supple skin. “Don’t tell anyone you’re getting special treatment.” 

Your hands still covered his, squeezing his hands over yours, urging him to properly touch. His eyes closed softly, fondling them gently. Thumbs grazing your hardened nipples, causing a chill to roll up your back. Here you were, almost dry humping the hottest, most awkward man you think you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“You’re so gorgeous.” He let out a whimper that went straight to your core. His hips jolted up out of instinct, accidentally thrusting up into your clothed cunt. His eyes opened, apologizing profusely. You were ashamed to say his kindness was turning you on. 

“It’s okay.” You cooed to him, moving your hands gently up to his shoulders. “Would it be okay if we tried something?” 

He didn’t even have to know what you were asking, his head nodding frantically anyway. He’d let you do anything, gladly taking whatever you'd give him. 

With a wide smile on your face, you let your hips drop down on his, settling right down on the very evident outline of his cock. His face scrunched in pleasure, resisting the urge to buck his hips up into yours again. 

“I have to make your birthday special, right, baby boy?” His hands tightened on your chest, letting you take the reins as you began to shift your hips, rocking against him. “Keep those hands on my tits, baby. Gonna make you feel good.” 

“Yes. Yes. Do whatever you want to me, please.” His pathetic whines had your hips moving faster, finding the spot where your clit rubbed delicately against the rough texture of his pants. 

“God. I’d bet you’d do whatever I said, huh?” You mocked, feeling him twitch underneath you. 

“Whatever you said.” He repeated, unable to believe this was real life. Here you were, the most beautiful person he’s seen, topless, grinding against him. He would take this over any Birthday gift, ever. 

Leaning forward, you brought your head to the crook of his neck, whispering in his ear . “I want you to cum for me.” 

Clark, being the good boy he was, obliged almost immediately, feeling his hips stutter and the wet spot grow. Cumming in his pants with zero hesitation. This control you had over him had your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for your own release. 

His face was red all the way to the tips of his ears, looking between you and his now cum-soaked pants. You expected him to thank you, pull a wad of money out of his pocket, or high-tail it out of there, but instead, he frowned at you. “What about you?” 

“What?” A soft laugh left your mouth. 

“You didn’t come.” 

“It’s not my birthday, silly.” Your manicured nail reached out, poking his nose. 

He took a deep breath, preparing himself before he spoke. “What if that’s all I want for my birthday?” The look you gave him had him rethinking everything he had said, “Or not. I’m sorry. I really don’t know what I’m saying-” 

“You talk too much,” You giggled to him, “Not in a bad way.” Adding, once you saw a frown beginning to form. Another apology was about to fall from his lips before you stopped him, moving over to straddle his thigh, the thick muscle slotting right into your clothed cunt. 

“Call me selfish, but I have to grant your only wish.” Guiding his hands to your hips, you let him help drag your cunt over his thigh, itching to find the right angle that had you mewling against him. 

“You’re so hot. Just wanna make you feel good.” His mouth was open, watching your face contort in pleasure at each harsh drag. His words had you soaking through to his thigh, your clit buzzing every time his hands squeezed. 

“You’re really hot. I don’t just do this by the way.” You felt the need to whimper out, your breath coming out erratically. 

“I’m honored. Truly. I think you’re a great, respectable woman.” One of his hands moved up to your chest, pinching your nipples. This had your back arching, frantically chasing your high. 

“Gonna come. Gonna come for you.” A moan escaped your lips. Your release had your nails digging into his shoulders, grinding until you couldn’t take it any longer. Watching you come undone over him had Clark shamefully precumming in his already cum filled boxers. He didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed when your body went slack against his, your head nuzzling into his chest. His large hands are rubbing your back softly. 

“Sorry, I ruined your pants.” 

“Oh, it was worth it. Best birthday ever.” This got another laugh out of you, standing up on shaky legs to grab the two of you towels to clean up. Between his own cum and your release on his thigh, his pants were basically unwearable. 

“We’ll have some sweats in the back. Let me grab you some.” Throwing on a shirt from your bag, you slipped out of the room, bringing him back some sweats. “I guessed your size. No boxers, but better than nothing.” 

He thanked you, turning around to awkwardly shuffle out of his pants. You gathered the soiled pair, throwing it in an empty shopping bag you had lying around your private room. Inside it, you also left a slip of paper with your personal phone number on it. Once Clark was dressed, the shy smile on his face had you melting. 

Handing him the bag with a soft smile, “I’m glad I was able to make this the best birthday ever.” 

“Thank you again…” 

“Y/n.” 

“Thank you, Y/n.” He smiled widely, letting you guide him out of the room. Bidding your goodbyes, you leaned against the wall, watching him sheepishly find the exit. 

When he found Jimmy sitting on the couch with multiple women kissing him, Clark had to clear his throat, signaling it was time to go. 

“Sorry, Ladies. It’s time for me to go.” They whined, begging him to stay, but he persisted, shooing them off with the promise of coming back, multiple of them handing him cards with their numbers on them. 

“The women here. Insane, right?” Jimmy said before pausing, his brows furrowed. Taking in Clark’s disheveled appearance, too-tight sweatpants, a random shopping bag in hand, and his face, a deep red.