Work Text:
Working for LuthorCorp as Ultraman’s handler was not ideal. You didn’t grow up with the aspiration to work for a bald man who had a suspicious obsession with the golden boy of Metropolis. The hours were long and irregular, but the pay was good- no, the pay was great. It was enough to move you out of your shoebox-sized apartment and into a place in a nicer part of the city.
Working with Ultraman had become routine. You were the only person he would tolerate. You fed him intel for missions, de-escalated him during his rages, logged his vitals, made sure he ate regularly, bathed, the whole nine yards.
He never spoke, but you’d learned to understand him: his gestures, expressions, raw instinct.
The other handlers were terrified of him. Lately, they had good reason to be. Ultraman had grown more aggressive. Whether it was Lex pushing him harder and harder, you weren’t sure.
In all of the aggression, you had also started to notice that his behavior around you had recently changed. Your skin crawled every time you felt his eyes linger on you. How his body had tensed up anytime another staff member got too close to you, or the low rumble in his chest. It was a clear warning: stay away.
The others were right to be afraid. Maybe you should have been, too.
You stifled a yawn as you stood at the console. It was late- much later than you would prefer to be at work on a Friday night. The bright, fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you worked, causing a headache to build behind your eyes. The entire room was white, sterile, uninviting, and it matched the room, no, cell, that Ultraman had been caged in.
You were doing your final checks in the observation wing when Mark, one of the junior techs, offered to help run the last diagnostics. He must’ve noticed the deep, dark circles that were under your eyes.
“Hey, let me handle that,” He nudged your shoulder lightly as he squeezed past you at the console. His laugh was harmless, warm. You almost smiled.
Behind the reinforced glass, Ultraman watched. He was still, statuesque, broad shoulders squared, and eyes fixed on you.
You tried to ignore it. Brush it aside like you always did while you focused on the blinking readouts.
He never took to the other handlers. Not like how he was with you. You just figured it was due to the fact that you were the main caregiver. He relied on you for everything: feeding, bathing, emotional regulation, all carefully planned by Lex.
Mark leaned in again and pointed out something on the screen of the console. His arm brushed yours, just a casual touch, normal. Human.
A low, guttural sound rattled the glass. Your body tensed, and you stared at the console.
Mark glanced up. “Shit- he’s doing that again. You think he needs another sedative?”
Another rumble, deeper this time.
“Mark, go,” you said, voice too soft. “Go. Now.”
He frowned at you like you were overreacting. “Go? Why-”
The lights flickered. The reinforced door behind you slammed shut. Both of you jumped at the hiss of hydraulics. Emergency lockdown.
Mark’s eyes widened, and he backed away from you. “What the fuck?”
A loud bang made you whip your head around. The observation glass cracked.
The crack spread like a spiderweb, inching across the reinforced pane with a sound like ice splintering underfoot. Mark stumbled back, eyes flicking from you to the glass and back again.
“Shit, shit, shit- do something!” He hissed and grabbed your shoulder.
Your mouth was bone dry, and your hands shook uncontrollably. The console’s security override blinked uselessly at you- the failsafes at the console were sealed. The sedative gas vents stayed dark. Any chance of fixing this would be up to those who were outside of the observation and control room.
The crack in the glass widened with another low rumbling boom that rattled your teeth.
Through it, Ultraman’s blue eyes locked on yours. He didn’t move like a man. He prowled, slow and deliberate. His shoulders rolled back as he pressed a huge palm to the now frail barrier. Another crack splintered out like lightning.
The glass exploded with a deafening crash, and both you and Mark screamed. Shards rained on the floor, and you raised your hands to shield your face. You stepped back, tripping over your heels, and fell back onto the floor.
Ultraman stepped through the breach with ease. The sound of heavy footsteps grew as he made his way towards you. You looked through your fingers, dread filling you, seeing him move closer.
“H-Hey! Back up!” Mark rushed in between the two of you, arms outstretched as if he could shield you from him. “Stand down!”
“Mark, no!”
Ultraman’s stride didn’t falter as he swung an arm out with inhuman speed. A loud crack filled the air, and you watched in horror as Mark flew across the room, slamming into the wall. His body crumbled immediately, and you couldn’t help the raw, ragged scream that ripped from your throat.
You clenched your eyes shut, tears escaping, falling down your cheeks in heavy streams. You couldn’t look at Mark, terrified of the damage that had been done to his body.
You forced yourself to breathe in and out slowly, trying your best to calm down. You opened your eyes, looking up to see Ultraman towering over you. You didn’t flinch and didn’t run. This was what worked- what helped regulate him and his emotions.
“Easy,” you breathed. Palms on the ground, you pushed yourself up, standing at full height, which was still much shorter than the large clone. You raised your hands slowly and took a step back, bumping against the panel. “Hey, look- it’s me. You know me. You’re okay.”
His chest rose and fell in ragged, silent heaves. His jaw flexed, and he made that low, deep rumble that you had heard a hundred times before when he was angry. This time, however, it didn’t fade away while you spoke. It deepened.
You and Mark were stuck with him with no failsafes, waiting for other staff to take over. You reached your hand out and pressed it against his chest. You could feel the heat radiating off the solid wall of muscle, along with the immense strength that coiled beneath the surface.
“Try to calm down,” you whispered. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Calm down.”
He leaned in close, trapping your hand between your bodies. His eyes didn’t leave yours, staring you down in a way that made you think about how a predator would look at its prey. His hair brushed against your skin as he dipped his head, nose brushing against your hair, your cheek, inhaling you, low and hungry.
Your fingers twitched uselessly against his chest as your mind raced. There was no protocol for this. Any commands you had would be useless now, especially since he seemed to be the one taking control.
His hands moved before you could blink. Massive fingers curled tight around your wrists, causing you to yelp out as he pinned them flat against his chest. His other hand slipped down to your waist, fingers flexing and digging into your skin painfully.
“U-Ultraman,” your voice came out in a shaky whisper. “Listen to me, please, listen to me. You need to let me go and-”
You didn’t get the chance to finish. He pushed you back against the panel, your spine slamming onto the cold metal. The edge dug into your hips as he crowded you, pining you with his weight.
The low rumble in his chest vibrated against yours as he dipped his head again, nose dragging against your hair onto your throat. His mouth hovered so close that you could feel his warm breath against your skin, causing goosebumps to quickly cover your skin.
You tried to move back, squirming between his body and the console, trying to twist away. He growled, a warning against your throat, and you felt your heart stutter. He used the hand on your waist to press you closer, lifting you so that your feet barely touched the floor.
Your fingers curled against the rough fabric of his uniform, “Hey, you’re okay. I won’t go anywhere. Just let me-”
You choked on your words as you felt something hard and distinctive against your belly. You knew Ultraman had developed some feelings toward you, but you figured it was just because you were the one who cared for him.
This was a threat you couldn’t outrun.
“No, no, no, no,” The pitch of your voice grew higher as professionalism and rationality left your mind, leaving you in primal fear. “Please, no.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes flicking from your own, down to your mouth, down to your throat. The hand on your waist moved down slowly, gripping your hip before moving around to palm your ass.
Your breath hitched. You tried one last, soft plea, the same tone you’d used to calm him so many times before. “Ultraman, please-”
It only took one sharp tug for the fabric of your skirt and underwear to tear. Cold air hit your skin where your uniform split under his grip, falling to the ground. You gasped, heat flooding your face as shame overtook you. Your eyes flickered over to Mark’s unconscious body and back up at a security camera. Your eyes stung as a sob rattled through your chest.
His head dipped down again, breathing you in before his open mouth dragged along your throat, growl vibrating against the sound of your pulse. Using the hand he had on your ass, he moved it down to your thigh, forcing your leg higher, hooking it around his hips. The hand he had wrapped around your wrists snaked around your back to your waist, caging you against him as he held you in a bruising grip.
He rutted his hips against you, and you cringed, feeling his straining dick confined by his uniform against your bare pussy. His growls turned into groans, and you clenched your eyes shut, praying that this would be over soon.
He removed the one hand that was on your hip, moving it between your bodies. The sound of a zipper made your blood run cold, and the panic that you had been doing your best to suppress for self-preservation quickly took over. His free hand braced his body against the console.
“No! Ultraman, stop!” Your hands beat against his chest, pushing against him as hard as you could as your body twisted and squirmed wildly.
He growled again as he tilted his hips and pressed the dull tip of his dick against you. He pushed against your folds, back and forth. He kept missing your entrance, and you felt the wet head of his precum rub against you. The grip on your waist tightened, and he huffed in frustration, moving against you faster and faster, and you felt his dick glide even better as he unintentionally, or intentionally, began to arouse you.
When he pushed in, rough, thick, stretching you around him with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs, you came to the sickening conclusion:
You were not his handler. Not his keeper.
You were his territory.
Your choked gasp echoed off the walls as he bottomed out inside you, the stretch forcing your legs wider. Pain coursed through you, and you cried out. You were no virgin, but you definitely weren’t ready for something of his size to pierce into you.
Ultraman didn’t hesitate. There was zero patience, no gentleness, no time to catch your breath. He drew his hips far back enough so that you could feel every inch of him dragging against you before driving back in, harder.
Broken sobs tore out of you, your pleas becoming garbled as you hung your head limply, letting your body fall against his. You weren’t dumb. You knew there was nothing you could do. You just had to wait him out.
Your forehead fell against his shoulder, tears soaking his uniform. The sound of metal creaking came from his strong grip as his fingers broke through the console. The hand holding your waist tightened as he started to lift your body up and down so that it met the fast pace of his hips.
He was using you like a toy.
Humiliated, you tried to twist away, but he pressed closer, caging you. His mouth dragged against your jaw, throat, collarbone- every piece of skin he could reach as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses and bites across you. Marking your skin.
The sting of his teeth mixed with the relentless thrusts he speared your body stirred a warmth in your belly.
Your mind scrambled for training, for protocol: calm him down, redirect, disengage. But the part of you that had once believed you were in control was gone now, crushed under the reality of his raw strength and mindless need.
You tried anyway. “Stop, please! Ultraman, you have to-”
He cut off your words with a snarl that vibrated against your throat. His pace quickened, slamming into you so hard you were unsure if you would be able to walk again. The sounds were obscene- wet slapping of skin against skin as he forced you open again and again. Your own helpless noises betrayed you.
The sounds coming from you seemed to spur him on. It should have ended once he came, but to your horror, it didn’t.
He barely paused, shifting your weight in his arms while he was still inside you before laying you against the cold metal of the console. You shivered at the feeling, squirming in his hold before his hands landed on either thigh, holding your trembling legs open. He pulled out until only his tip was inside you, his blue eyes watching intensely as he stared at the cum that had started to leak out.
Without warning, he thrust back in, as hard as the first time, dick never softening, and continued to fuck you against the machine. His hips snapped against you harshly, and you cried out in pain, feeling the console dig into your back with each thrust.
Your thoughts fractured. You felt your own tears mixing with sweat where they streaked down your temples, your breath catching on half-sobs each time he forced you open all over again.
He didn’t speak. But every thrust, grunt, every bruising grip of his hands on your thighs, waist, hips all said the same thing over and over:
Mine. Mine. Mine.
And you were powerless to do anything except let him take it and claim what was his until he was finally satisfied.
That is, if he ever would be.
You lost count of how many times he had finished in you. It blurred together. His pace never slowed, and he continued his frantic rutting, grinding, and pushing every drop deeper inside you.
Any movement other than this was just to reposition you, and you found yourself facedown with your hips dragged up on the poor excuse of a “bed” that was in his containment. One huge hand on your neck kept you bent, pliant, while the other gripped your hip.
He didn’t care about the mess. The mixture of his cum with your slick arousal spread over your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets. If anything, the smell seemed to spur him on, a deep rumble in his chest every time you clenched, trembled, or begged, the harder he pinned you down to take more.
In the other room, you could hear Mark’s ragged groan drifting in and out of your fogged mind- a reminder that he was still alive, and just as trapped as you. You wondered if he could see you, bent, shaking, used, but the thought flickered out when Ultraman’s teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder, sharp enough to break skin, to mark you for good.
You whimpered, but didn’t cry. Your eyes were dry, unable to produce any more tears.
When he came again, deep, hot, seemingly endless, you hoped for a moment that he would stop. His body stilled, and relief started to wash over you before you felt him throb inside, still hard while you were stretched open, raw and ruined.
Your breath hitched, the last fragile piece of your voice coming out as a broken whisper: “Please, no more. Please-”
His answer was another low, satisfied growl. His hips drew back, slow and heavy: the threat more undeniable in every inch he took back from you just to force it in again.
You weren’t his handler anymore. You were just here to keep him satisfied.
However long that took.
By the time he finally stopped, you’re limp. There is no strength left in your body to brace yourself against the hard mattress when he slides out, letting you fall into the pooled mess beneath you.
He loomed over you, chest heaving as he took in his work: you were covered in cum, blood, sweat, tears, with bite marks and bruises darkening as time went on. His eyes flicked over you as if he were memorizing every patch of flesh he forced into submission.
A deep, satisfied rumble in his chest, a sound that used to mean he was calm and safe to approach, erupted from him. You didn’t know whether or not that applied to you or other workers.
Mark’s breathing cut through the buzzing in your head. You manage to turn your head to look through the broken window and see him staring back at you with wide, horrified eyes.
Ultraman’s hand drifts down over your hair, soft and gentle, and you can’t help but think of Lenny. You were the rabbit. He smoothed the sweat-soaked strands away from his face. The same hand that forced your legs open. The same hand that held you down. The same hand that cracked the glass. The same hand that caged you in. The same hand that turned you from handler to prey.
He brushed his thumb across your cheek slowly, smearing your tears.
Possessive. Silent. His.
When he finally steps back, it’s not because he’s done with you. It’s only because he’s satisfied for now. He lifts his head, staring at the sealed blast doors as if daring them to open, daring anyone to try and take you from him.
But nobody comes.
You hear the hiss of the hydraulics when the lockdown releases. The heavy door creaks open. Harsh overhead lights flicker back to life. You know what they’ll see when they look inside: you half-naked, raw and shaking on his bed, dripping with the proof of what you are now.
No one rushes in to help. No one calls your name. They write it up as a handler error.