Do you think the Robins have to train themselves out of responding to the name “Robin” in public?
Like how in a grocery store a million little kids can say “Mom” and like four women will turn without thinking. Because there are definitely civilians named Robin. Places where people’s names will be called out: coffee orders, doctor’s offices, school attendance, across a busy street.
(There may even be an increase in how many children in Gotham are named Robin, like how the name Sabrina increased after the show Sabrina the Teenage Witch.)
So how much do you think they have to tap down on that reflex? To make sure their eyes don’t twitch, no startled inhale, no visible sign that it’s a name they would respond to.
this is part one - part two - part three - part four
pairings ━ steve harrington x fem!pregnant!reader with features of lucas sinclair, mike wheeler, and close friend!nancy wheeler x pregnant!reader
synopsis ━ when a nurse accidentally outs your pregnancy in the hospital waiting room, nancy, mike, and lucas become the first to know... and they are the first to insist that steve deserves to know of the truth before the world falls apart again.
warnings ━ pregnancy, reader is 13 weeks along. comforting angst. stancy fully ended in 1984 in this AU, since this takes place in season 5 aka 1987. some HIPPA violations from a nurse (even though hippa was not a thing until the 90s).
notes ━ steve looks like he is holding the title lol... anyways not my gif.
hawkins memorial hospital, that is a building where you visited multiple times in the last three months.
tonight, it is not for any of your appointments.
right now, the cool bright lights buzz overhead like a swarm of angry bees since your heart pounds in your chest, a present drum that is echoing the fear swirling inside of you. you're bundled up in an oversized sweater, a navy blue one that's two sizes too big, hanging loose over your frame to hide the secret you've been carrying for thirteen weeks now.
thirteen weeks... three months, but it feels like it has been a year since you found out about your pregnancy from the bi-monthly routine checkups that is mandatory by the government. your baby bump is small, subtle, but it's there. your baby bump is a gentle swell that presses against the fabric when you move just right.
sitting the hospital chair, you have your legs criss crossed (right over the left) so lucas, who sits across from you, does not notice how your sweater holds against your belly.
you've been so careful. no literally, you've went as far as to avoid steve's touches, pulling away from his hugs with excuses about headaches or work for the past crawls. he has not noticed that something is wrong with you yet, since you only act that way once his hands reach down to your waist.
the world is falling apart again with vecna, and here you are, selfishly bringing a new life into this mess. yes, you know it took two to tango with steve, but guilt swallows you whole before you go to bed every night, since you are so scared about the future.
nancy sits beside you, her posture is straight and composed as always, though her eyes betray the worry that is deep within her features. mike paces nearby, his lanky frame casting long shadows on the linoleum floor, while lucas slumps in a chair across from you, his face drawn with exhaustion.
you're all here because of holly... sweet, innocent holly, snatched away by vecna's dark monsters... and karen, who's upstairs in a room, is recovering from surgery and bandaged from whatever horror unfolded at the wheeler house. the air smells of antiseptic and fear.
that is a cocktail that makes your stomach churn which is not good for your baby. you've been throwing up a lot lately, but you blame it on nerves whenever someone asks.
inside of the hospital, you can feel flutters inside of you, a remembrance to the fetus that you are growing into a baby. you're due in may of 1988, but that feels so far away knowing what is going on in hawkins currently.
as mike starts sighing, thinking of a plan to get holly back, a nurse approaches with her white scrubs crisp and her smile too bright for this grim place during the middle of the night.
she scans the room, and her eyes light up when they land on you.
"oh, hi there! y/n, right?"
you smile, forgetting about the reason why this nurse knows of you so well, "yes! hi, nurse kelly! how are you?" you ask. nancy, lucas, and mike listen and watch this interaction, silently wondering if this nurse could be another plan to reach karen in the back of the hospital.
"oh I'm doing fine for someone on the overnight shift! but enough about me... how's the baby doing? everything okay with your check-ups?" the nurse asks in concern, due to your presence in the hospital waiting room during the nighttime.
however, her words hit you like a punch to the gut. your blood runs cold, and you freeze with every muscle in your body locking up.
the baby.
your baby!!!
nurse kelly said it out loud, right here, in front of the very people in your friend group that are super quick to connect dots. panic surges through you, making your vision blur at the edges even though you try to keep a normal face.
you force a laugh, shaky and unconvincing, shaking your head vigorously, "what? i... i think you have the wrong person. i don't know what you're talking about."
the nurse frowns, tilting her head as she looks down at her clipboard, which had a blank paper on it, before she looked back up at you with curiosity, "huh- well aren't you the one who came in for the prenatal visit last month? you were eleven weeks along at the time? i remember because you because you seemed so nervous and alone, but everything looked great."
your throat closes up, as nancy's head snaps toward you, her eyes wide with surprise. mike stops pacing, staring openly, and lucas leans forward, his brow furrowed. the nurse, sensing the tension, mumbles an apology and hurries away down the hall, leaving you exposed like a nerve ending laid bare.
silence stretches, and you nearly want to cry since your biggest secret, your child, is now known to someone else that was not you.
a minute passes with the boys looking at you in shock, while your closest friend tries to find some words to say.
once she finds them, nancy stands, gesturing softly to the hallway, "y/n, can we talk? just for a minute?"
you nod numbly, your legs feeling like lead as you follow her out. the hallway is quieter outside of the waiting room with the beeps of machines and other distant echoes.
once you stop walking, you nearly wanted to cry as nancy turns to you, her expression a mix of concern and gentleness, the kind that makes your chest ache. she's always been strong, but has a softness that sneaks up on everyone.
you remember the days when you both navigated the tangled web of high school mess. before 1984, you were pining after jonathan... and her after steve, only to switch in that fateful year of 1984.
now, three years into your relationship with steve, and here you are, hiding the biggest secret of your life from him.
"what was that about?" nancy asks, her voice low and careful, like she's handling fragile glass, "the nurse… she mentioned a baby. your... um... baby."
tears prick at your eyes, and. you wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the sweater tighter, as if it could shield you from this confrontation, "it's nothing, nancy. she must have mistaken me for someone else."
nancy doesn't buy it, of course she does not. you've looked... different, lately. nothing too noticeable, but it is clear that you've been much more tired.
she steps closer, her hand hovering near your arm before she touches it lightly, "y/n, please. we've been through too much together for lies. if something's going on, you can tell me."
the dam breaks a little, emotions flooding out in a whisper, "i… i didn't want anyone to know.... not yet.... not with vecna and everything happening."
mike and lucas have followed, lingering at the hallway's entrance, their faces a blend of curiosity and worry.
mike rubs the back of his neck, awkward as ever, "wait, is this for real? like, you're pregnant?"
you shoot him a glare, but it's laced with fear, "mike, drop it."
mike doesn't, "hold on, a month ago, i heard you throwing up at the house before the 14th crawl. i thought it was that sketchy deli food downtown, the one with the bad tuna. but… was it morning sickness or something?"
lucas nods slowly, piecing it together, "yeah, and you've been wearing those huge sweaters for a few weeks, even on days when it's not that cold."
the boys, and their smart words pile on with each one stripping away your carefully constructed facade. you feel cornered, trapped, the weight of your secret pressing down until you can't breathe.
"fine," you snap, your voice trembling almost with shame, "yes, okay? i'm pregnant. thirteen weeks. but I can't... i don't want to talk about it right now."
nancy's eyes soften further, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing yours.
"y/n, can i… with your permission, can i see?"
you hesitate, terror clawing at your throat. unfortunately, they're right... everyone will find out eventually. with a shaky nod, you let Nancy lift the hem of your navy blue woven sweater, just enough to reveal the small, rounded bump beneath.
it's not huge, but it's unmistakable now with a soft curve that speaks of the life growing inside you.
nancy gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
"oh my goodness," she breathes, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and shock, "it's real. you're really… y/n, this is amazing... but.... but you have to tell steve, if you haven't."
the mention of his name sends a fresh wave of panic crashing over you since steve... your beautiful and loving boy steve, with his easy smile and protective streak, does not know about his child growing inside of you.
you've been dating for three years, but this changes everything, "i can't, nancy. not now. what if he freaks out? what if he thinks it's too dangerous with vecna around?"
she shakes her head, her grip on your arm firm but kind, "steve adores kids. you know that. he's always talking about them, how he'd be the best dad. he'd be over the moon."
lucas chimes in, his voice steady despite the chaos around you, "yeah, man. steve's like, the king of babysitting. remember how he handles the kids? he'd be the happiest guy on the planet. well, besides all this vecna crap."
you swallow hard, tears spilling over now, "but holly's missing. taken by vecna and karen's in this hospital, hurt. i can't distract from that. it's not the time."
nancy pulls you into a gentle hug all of the sudden, with her arms wrapping around you with a warmth that makes you sob quietly into her shoulder.
"holly's disappearance isn't your responsibility, y/n.... not right now. your only responsibility is this baby. the rest of us... we'll track her down, we'll fight but you need to take care of yourself and that little one."
nancy's words are meant kindly, but they stir a fear of uselessness inside of your body. you've always been in the thick of the fighting, fighting alongside steve, wielding whatever weapon you could find. now, with this bump, this life depending on you, you feel sidelined, like dead weight.
"i don't want to be useless," you whisper, pulling back to wipe your eyes, "i hate feeling like i can't help."
mike steps forward, his usual sarcasm softened, "you're not useless, y/n. come on. you're carrying a whole kid in there. that's like, the opposite of useless. that's creating life while the upside down world is trying to end it."
nancy nods, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, "exactly. and does robin know? she's your best friend... she'd want to be there for you."
you shake your head, "no. no one knows. just me… and now you guys."
the hallway feels like it is closing in smaller. there is a tiny spark of joy buried deep under the terror, but still. nancy's presence grounds your emotions since she is supportive, and her friendly gaze reminds you of the bond you've shared through battles.
"you have to tell steve," she says again but softer this time, "he deserves to know, and you'll feel better once it's out."
the thought terrifies you since what if he resents you for keeping it secret? what if the world crumbles before this baby even has a chance?
you nod anyway while staring into nancy's bright eyes, because deep down, you know she's right.
you all head back to the waiting room, and you feel exposed even with the navy blue sweater pulled down firmly over your belly. nancy settles beside you again, her hand finding yours under the armrest, squeezing gently.
it's a small gesture, but it reminds you that you're not alone in this nightmare while carrying a child. mike and lucas exchange glances, trying to act casual, but you can see the wheels turning in their heads... the shock, the questions they are biting back from you.
"i'm almost four months," you murmur, correcting yourself slightly from the thirteen weeks, but it feels close enough, "i'm about three months along, and i found out right when things started getting weird again with vecna in the summer time. i thought… i don't know, maybe if i ignored it, this pregnancy wouldn't be real.... or maybe i could protect my child by pretending."
nancy's thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand, her touch soothing, "that's a long time to carry this alone, y/n. why didn't you say anything sooner?"
tears well up again, and you blink them away furiously as you adjust your body in the chair to accommodate your back, "because the world's ending, nance. again. holly's out there somewhere, scared and alone, and karen's back behind that door fighting for her life. how could i drop this bomb? it feels so selfish... like, who am i to bring a kid into this nightmare?"
nancy leans in closer beside you, her voice a whisper meant just for you, "it's not selfish. it's human.... and that baby? it's a piece of you and steve. that is something good in all this bad."
you think back to how it all started with those cute moments with steve after the switch in '84. you and nancy got caught up in the upside down stuff and at the time... you'd crushed on jonathan hard since his quietness sparked a curiosity in you. this is while nancy was unhappy with steve. however, fates twisted and suddenly steve's eyes were on you once the both of you started working at mall together with robin.
three years later, and steve's become your heart, but this secret has built a wall between you, any happiness around you.
lucas clears his throat, trying to lighten the mood, "steve's gonna flip in a good way. remember how he was with us kids during the upside down stuff? guy's a natural dad."
mike snorts, but it's fond, "yeah, he'd probably start building a crib tomorrow if he knew."
the boy's words spark a flicker of warmth in your chest, cutting through the cold dread.
you looked to your right and took a glance toward the doors, where doctors rush by and wyou onder about holly... tiny holly, with her wide eyes and innocent questions. the guilt resurfaces, "but what about holly… we have to focus on her. i can't be the reason we get distracted."
nancy's eyes meet yours, "stop that. we're a team, y/n. we handle multiple fronts. your baby is priority one for you now. let us worry about the rest."
the woman's kindness undoes you a little more, emotions bubbling up with gratitude mixed with fear, and a love for this friend who's seen you through hell.
you squeeze her hand back, hoping to draw strength from her.
the waiting room clock ticks on, each second a reminder of the battles ahead. you feel the bump shift slightly as you move, a tiny reminder of the life within.
you could tell that the conversation was unfinished, since nancy keeps looking at you. it takes her a few moments before she pulls you into another quiet exchange.
"tell me more," she says softly, "how have you been feeling? physically, i mean."
you hesitate, "tired. so tired. and the nausea... god, it's been awful. i threw up every morning for weeks. that's what mike heard, i guess... and emotionally… i'm a mess. happy one minute, terrified the next. what if vecna comes for me? for the baby?"
nancy listens, "that's normal, y/n. pregnancy's hard enough without monsters but you're strong. you've fought demogorgons, mind flayers. you can do this."
mike interrupts while leaning in, "so, uh, is it a boy or girl? or too early?"
you shake your head, "too early... but i don't care, as long as it's healthy."
lucas grins, "steve or stevia junior, maybe."
the banter helps, and you laugh for the first time since you saw steve this morning.
speaking of steve, you wonder when you'll have the guts to tell him about his child...
how re9!leon would handle your pregnancyㅤㅤㅤangsty at the start. fluff mostly. a little suggestive at places. wc: 1.7k.
when leon first learns of your pregnancy, it hits him in a way nothing has ever before. he was ecstatic, yes. but more than that, he was scared. now, he didn’t just have one reason to come home to, but two. two reasons to stay alive.
when leon learns of your pregnancy, he fills out the request for early retirement. he was done with that life because he didn’t know if he would return home in one piece if he left you one more time. he couldn’t—and he simply wouldn’t—take the chance. he needed the stability. he needed you. and now, you needed him too. more than ever.
it wasn’t just the fear of not being able to see you ever again; it was the fear of finally becoming a father. because let’s be honest, he was forty-nine, not exactly in his prime. did he even have it in him to be a good father? could he give his child what he never had?
but you comfort him throughout and shut down all the doubts, like you always had. through every nightmare, through every breakdown, through every problem. “you’re going to be the best dad, leon,” you say, caressing his jaw. “you know the difference between you and bad fathers? bad fathers don’t spend nights worrying they’re bad fathers.”
leon, who buys a big house in the suburbs right before retirement, because he wants his baby to grow up comfortably, and because he wants nothing more than to live the rest of his days right by your side. and after moving in, he spends most of his time baby-proofing the entire house, and it takes him a considerable amount of time because of the sheer size of the house.
when he first sees the ultrasound, he freezes. not because he didn’t love the baby. but because the baby was so tiny, and your pregnancy finally started to feel real. it finally felt like there was a baby on the way. he was overwhelmed, not because he was scared of being a father, not since you comforted him anyway, but because he was going to be responsible for a baby. a tiny baby.
leon, now retired, spends his time building cool shit for the baby. a fancy crib from scratch and the changing table, and a book shelf. yes, he’d bought the wooden planks, and he already had the supplies in the garage. he had also researched furiously about cribs, so much so that he could recite the entire history of cribs at this point. when you had walked in on him writing something over a large paper on the dining table, you were confused. turns out, he’d drawn a blueprint of the crib.
for him, creating something so meaningful after watching destruction everywhere he went time and again, it was healing, to say the least.
leon was learning one baby-related skill every single day—how to install car seats, how to baby-proof the lower cabinets, infant cpr, how to swaddle, how to burp the baby, how to check if the temperature of the milk is right, and on and on. you were happy to see that he’d crossed the line from scared future father to hopelessly excited dad.
as your pregnancy progressed, he would accompany you to the routine checkups and would make sure all your files were meticulously arranged in order. people sitting in the waiting area would sometimes stare at leon, because he did not look young exactly, but he didn’t care. well, it did bother him at first, because, he said and you quote, “i’ll be seventy when our kid’s twenty. that’s sooo old...” and you comfort him again, saying that it’s alright because the kid won’t remember his age, they would only remember the man who taught them to ride a bike or embarrassed them at school events (which he’d taken an offence at, because he’d never embarrass the kid, he would be the epitome of cool dad!!), that they would only remember their dad. not his age.
leon ends up creating an emergency binder with all the emergency numbers and pediatrician contacts, allergy information, vaccination schedules, and hospital routes (and backup hospital routes) and it was giant. the tabs were colour coded too, your husband wasn’t playing around. “jesus, is that laminated too?” you ask. and leon looks up at you. “yep. laminated.”
and because leon was scared of his joints fucking up as he grew older, once the baby was here, and not being able to give the child an active father who would join them in adventure, he began working out every morning religiously. you’d watch him work out in your backyard through the kitchen window while making breakfast, and he would look so handsome like that, all hot and sweaty. once, you accidentally burned the pancakes a little, but leon was content eating those because it was proof you still found him attractive.
leon refused to let you do any physically taxing work at all, and decorated the nursery all by himself. he painted the nursery and put in the crib, changing table, and the bookshelf he’d made all by himself. you had to admit, those looked better than the ones you would’ve gotten in the market. to show your appreciation, you kiss leon on the cheek, and somehow that turns into an hour-long makeout session and showing your appreciation in other ways as well.
the nursery still was incomplete, so leon takes you shopping for rugs and curtains, soft toys and children’s books you would need for the nursery. you return home well past into the evening with a lot more stuff than you had anticipated. you had to hire a mover with how much stuff there was, because in no world would everything fit in the car.
now that the nursery and baby-proofing the house was done, leon mostly read books about pregnancy and tried different tasty and healthy recipes to feed you. you were well into your second trimester and the bump was more evident now.
when you decided that you wanted to grow a garden, he was more than happy about it. he helped you do everything, and would also help you water it every day in the morning. it didn’t take long for the garden to finally take shape and blossom. the flower beds looked professionally done, and leon was very proud of you.
weirdly enough, leon had also learned how to make sourdough bread. you couldn’t do that even after multiple tries! and this guy somehow made the perfect one on first try! long story short, no more sourdough from the market, your husband always made the fresh ones for you.
sometimes, when you were asleep during the night, he’d talk to your belly. and it wasn’t anything specific, too. like he’d be gently caressing your baby bump and talk about cars, the engines, the braking system, and whatnot. once, you had caught him talking to the baby when you weren’t fully asleep yet, and he was talking about naval history. it had made you snort so hard you almost choked on your own spit.
leon’s frequency of telling you a dad joke had increased too. it was so stupid yet it made you laugh till you were crying. he told you he was practicing those for the baby. he was already excited about pissing off your kid by telling them dad jokes.
you both discuss names. “lily if it’s a girl, and benjamin if it’s a boy,” he suggests. and you nod because lily was a beautiful name. benjamin though... definitely not. “benjamin? that’s such a founding father ass name. maybe james...?” and he nods at that, “james is good for a boy.” lily if it was a girl, and james if it was a boy.
baby’s first kick was a huge turning point for both of you. you were well into your third trimester when it happened, having a movie date night with your husband, where you two were watching some cheesy rom-com. his hand was up your shirt, resting on your bump, caressing it absentmindedly. and when the baby kicked, both of you looked at it each other to see if the other noticed it. it was the most amazing thing in the world, leon decided. “hey there, little one,” he said, talking to the baby again, a big smile on his face.
you also had extremely specific cravings sometimes. because you wanted those potato wedges from that place. and he was left wondering what place was that place. you said the place had a red sign, because that is all you remembered from the last time you went there. so leon would drive around the whole city for forty-five minutes before it clicked into his brain and he remembered what place he’d taken you to.
when you got emotional and tried to apologise for your food cravings and making him run around for snacks, he’d immediately shush you. “you’re literally growing an entire human. i’m pretty sure i can survive a trip to the grocery store twice a day.”
when the day of delivery came, leon kept repeating the breathing exercises and urged you to do the same. he’d stood beside you the entire time you were in labour, which was nine hours. and he also did as you asked. held your hand, brought you ice chips, or fruit juice, whatever you wanted.
when the baby was born, leon checked up on you first, tuning out the wails of the newborn. the baby already had doctors and nurses cleaning them up and doing the necessary medical checkups. you were more important. you had just pushed out another human.
before leon takes the healthy newborn in his arms, he presses a kiss on your forehead, thanking you for being so strong. and the baby was so tiny and delicate he was afraid he might crush her if he held her too hard.
it took leon exactly one second of holding lily to fall in love with the precious bundle and know with certainty that he would do anything to protect her. you watched it unfolding in real time through teary and tired eyes, a big and beautiful smile on your face. he looked so at peace, it made something in your chest tighten.
zayne still has your name written down in his calendar for a routine checkup next tuesday, but he’s already holding your hand for the last time.
the emergency room is a blur of bright lights and shouting nurses, but everything goes perfectly silent the moment he reaches the gurney. your hunter’s uniform is torn, stained with a deep crimson. you took a fatal blow protecting your team during the cleanup and the damage was down before the ambulance doors even flew open.
zayne’s white coat is ruined, stained with your blood. his fingers are pressing down firmly against your chest, his knuckles white from the pressure.
“stay with me,” he says. his voice isn’t the calm, cool one the hospital is used to. it’s low, rough and trembling. “keep your eyes on me.”
“z-zayne.....” you whisper, voice barely louder than a breath. you slowly lift your hand, fingers shaking as you reach for his face. “it’s okay... you don’t.... you don’t have to f-fix it.”
“be quiet,” he commands softly, but his voice completely breaks on the words.
zayne catches your fingers mid air, bringing them up to his chest. his hands are usually cold but right now, your skin shedding its warmth so fast makes him feel like the warm one. “save your energy. i am not letting you close your eyes.”
“i’m just so tired,” you mumble, vision blurring as the bright ceiling lights begin to fade into darkness. “it dosen’t hurt anymore....j-just really dark.”
“look at me, please,” zayne shouts, his composure shattering. he leans down close, forehead almost touching yours, his breath hitched. he uses his free hand to cup your pale cheek, his thumb desperately wiping away the blood near your mouth. “don’t you dare close your eyes. you....you can’t, don’t leave me. stay right here.”
you wish you could stay. you wish you could stay with your zayne. but it seems death is pulling you towards its side. you try to give him one last, faint smile, fingers weakly squeezing his.
“zayne..” you breathe, using every last ounce of strength left. “i l-love you, okay?”
zayne’s heart stops. no no no. he will not lose you. he will not survive in a world where you don’t exist. where he can’t hear your sweet voice. where he can’t lay next to you. a world where he fails to save you.
“no, don’t say that. you are going to be okay.”
“say it back,” you whisper, voice slipping away as the darkness closes in. “p-please..? i want to hear it one last time.”
a look of pure agonizing panic washes over his face. “i love you. i love you so much. so stay with me, keep your eyes open–”
but your hand goes completely limp in his, your head rolling slightly to the side. beside the bed, the heart monitor lets out a long, flat, agonizing scream.
beeeeeeeeeeep.
“get back!” zayne screams at the rushing nurses, his voice cracking.
he locks his fingers onto your chest and begins CPR, forcing his weight into every compression with a terrifying, rhythmic desperation. he is a surgeon who knows exactly how much pressure a human body can take, but right now, he’s fighting a losing war against death itself.
“come back,” he whispers, his voice thickj and raw. sweat drips down his temples, his shoulders tensing as he tries to force your heart to remember how to beat. “breathe for me. i can fix this. i can’t survive without you. please.”
the monitor stays flat.
“doctor zayne... stop. it’s over,” yvonne whispers softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “let her go.”
zayne’s arms slowly lose their strength, locking in place above your chest. his fingers stay pressed against your skin, shivering from pure grief.
he doesn’t yell. he doesn’t smash the equipment. he just slowly collapses forward, burying his face into the hollow of your neck. his shoulders shake violently as he lets out a silent, broken sob against your skin.
zayne was a brilliant surgeon, but for the first time, his hands feel completely useless.
summary: alex moves to monaco and suddenly his cats need vet checkups all the time, or maybe he just wants to hang out with the pretty doc
folkie radio: MY FIRST ALEX FIC!!!! y’all said that albono didn’t very much appreciation so i decided to do something about it, enjoy!
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 48,936 others
yourinstagram Monday mood: When your favorite patients make your whole week better! 💕🐱 Special shoutout to Jimmy and Sassy who came in for their routine checkup. These two are literally the most well-behaved cats I've ever met (yes, I'm biased).
Their dad @/maxverstappen1 definitely knows how to raise the sweetest cats in Monaco. 🏎️🐈
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username1 aweeee jimmy and sassy are so big now!
username2 vet to the stars
username3 THATS MY BFF AND IM PROUD
maxverstappen1 They only behave for you 😅 At home Sassy keeps knocking everything off my shelves and Jimmy steals my socks. But at least they're healthy. Thanks doc!
↳ yourinstagram haha, that's because they know I'm the treat lady!
↳ landonorris Mate your cats have better healthcare than you do
↳ maxverstappen1 Shut up Lando
↳username4 i’m dying over this
alexandrasaintmleux Leo says he misses his favorite doc 😢
↳ yourinstagram My little Leo!!! please bring him in soon
username5 cutest patients ever
username6 the way max is a softie for his cats
kellypiquet Jimmy and Sassy have the best vet in Monaco
↳ yourinstagram They already have the best parents! Say hi to little P from me
username7 i love her vibe i bet she’s the sweetest person ever
username8 this is my dream job actually
username9 f1 pets favorite doc
liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,328,044 others
alex_albon Finally made the big move! 🇲🇨 Horsey has already claimed the best spot in the apartment: a shoe box. After years of everyone telling me to join the Monaco crew, here we are!
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username1 omggggg alex moved to monaco
username2 horsey is an icon tbh
username3 ALBON CATS TAKE OVER MONACO
charles_leclerc Finally!! Only took you 4 years 😂
↳ alex_albon Better late than never
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy have a new friend to judge from the balcony
↳ alex_albon As long as they don't teach him their sock-stealing habits
username4 they finally made him join the tax heaven crew
username5 monaco said ANOTHER ONE THANK YOU
username6 not me thinking that jimmy, sassy, roscoe, leo and the albon cats are now neighbors
williamsracing There goes our last UK-based driver 😢
username7 i can’t believe a man who radiates this much golden retriever boyfriend is single
username8 HE LOOKS SO CUUUUUTE
username9 alex do your pets need a mom? cuz i’m free
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liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1 and 50,439 others
yourinstagram Late night emergency turned into meeting this gorgeous new Monaco resident! Everyone say hi to Horsey 🖤
Poor baby had a rough first week in his new home (pro tip: cats and moving box debris don't mix well!), but he's already feeling much better after some treatment. Such a brave boy who purred through the whole examination despite feeling under the weather!
PS: His dad @/alex_albon gets extra points for being so attentive and calm during an emergency situation - exactly what we love to see! Always nice when pet parents take such good care of their fur babies 🏆
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username1 thank you for sharing your life as a vet! i love your posts
username2 such a cute boyyy horsey
maxverstappen1 The best 👊
↳ alex_albon You were right! Thanks for the recommendation 🙏
username3 you just got another f1 patient no biggie
georgerussell63 Good to see Horsey feeling better!
↳ yourinstagram He's such a sweet patient!
username4 she’s so popular among f1 drivers heeelp
charles_leclerc The Monaco pets collection grows
username5 ok but why is no one talking about how she called him attentive and calm?? ma'am we've seen him drive 😭
username6 ALEX GOT A VET ARC THIS IS NOT A DRILL
↳ username7 manifesting this storyline
↳ username4 y'all are too much omg 😭
username8 everyone in the comments being like 👀
↳ username5 THE DRIVERS ARE SO OBVIOUS I'M CRYING
username9 the group chat must be WILDING rn
username10 "his dad" MA'AM-
liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc and 1,604,948 others
f1 When your local vet becomes paddock royalty!
Spotted at the #MonacoGP: The woman responsible for keeping the grid's furry friends healthy and happy! From Max's mischievous cats to Charles' pup, Lewis’ bulldog, and Alex's newly-relocated cats - @/yourinstagram has become the unofficial F1 Pet Doctor! 🏎️🐾
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username1 THIS IS SO CUTE OMG???
username2 SHES SO BEAUTIFUL
username3 this is definitely the coolest job in the world
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy's favorite human
↳ lando more like their only well-behaved moments
↳ username1 JIMMY AND SASSY JUST LOVE HER
oscarpiastri The real paddock MVP 🏆
alex_albon ❤️
↳ lando very articulate there alex
↳ alex_albon shut up lando
↳ username2 OMGGGG WHAT DOES THIS MEAN
↳ username3the way alex just hearted it i-
↳ username4 we're watching a romance novel unfold in real time
username5 someone check on albon nation they're probably hospitalized
username6 the drivers exposing themselves in the comments 💀
username7 lando stirring the pot we love to see it
username8 not max immediately claiming her as his cats' favorite 😭
username9 THE HEART EMOJI???? ALEX???
username10 everyone in f1 moves to monaco for tax evasion and this vet
lewishamilton The best vet Roscoe's ever had! 🙌🏾
liked by alex_albon, lando and 68,934 others
yourinstagram Still pinching myself! 🏎️ From late night emergency calls with your pets to watching you all race through the streets of Monaco - what a surreal experience! Thank you @/f1 for having me and huge thanks to @/williamsracing for the incredible hospitality (and the merch! 🤫).
Special shoutout to all my four-legged patients watching their dads race from home and from the paddock today! 🐾
PS: These cars are LOUD! Now I understand why @alex_albon's cats get scared during race replays!
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username1 im her fan now
username2 SHES SO COOL
alex_albon Thanks for coming! Dinner to celebrate? 🤔
↳ lando smooth
↳ alex_albon I will block you
↳ landonorris worth it
↳ username1 WTF DID WE WITNESS
↳ username3 ohhh my god alex albon you have no shame
maxverstappen1 Thank you for coming !
williamsracing You're welcome any time! 💙
username4 DINNER??? ALEX???
↳ username2 THE SMOOTHEST DRIVER ON THE GRID FR
↳ username5 SOMEONE HOLD ME
username6 SO SHE WAS ALEX’S GUEST???
username7 can we talk about how pretty she is tho
georgerussell63 Next time bring your vet skills, my ego needs healing after that race
↳ maxverstappen1 same here doc
↳ yourinstagram Sorry boys, I only treat actual puppies 😂
username8 i ship her with alex idc idc
username9 WE NEED TO KNOW IF SHE ACTUALLY GRABBED DINNER WITH ALEX
username10 this is my roman empire
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liked by username1, username2 and 14,033 others
f1gossip 🚨 BREAKING: Alex Albon spotted having dinner with Monaco's favorite vet at Le Petite Maison in Nice! Sources say they arrived together and have been there for over 2 hours.
Multiple fans confirm they looked "very cozy" and were "laughing all evening" 👀
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username1 OMFGGGG I DIDNT SEE THIS COMING
username2 i love this pair actually
username3 Max Verstappen was seen at the same restaurant last week... did someone play matchmaker? 👀
username4 EVERYBODY STAY CALM IT'S HAPPENING
username5 interesting timing right after her Monaco GP appearance 🤔
username6 I SHIP THIS SO HARD
username7 seriously guys? let them eat in peace
username8 THE WAY HE TOOK HER TO A NICE RESTAURANT NOT JUST ANY PLACE
username9 our boy got GAME
username10 manifesting worked girlies
username11 the way this isn't even a netflix script this is REAL
username12 ALEX BOYFRIEND ERA INCOMING
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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, alex_albon and 69,035 others
yourinstagram When your Monday morning turns into an impromptu F1 pets reunion!
Apparently EVERYONE needed an urgent check-up today... how convenient 🤔 (I'm looking at you @/lewishamilton @/maxverstappen1 @/charles_leclerc)
All patients are perfectly healthy, just as they were last week! Though Roscoe did get extra treats for being the most honest about this setup 😉🐾
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username1 this is too funny
username2 why are they planninggggg
lewishamilton Roscoe said he was feeling under the weather!
↳ yourinstagram He was sleeping and snoring when you carried him in Lewis 😂
↳ lewishamilton ... he was conserving energy
username3 THESE DRIVERS ISTH
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy needed their... annual... weekly checkup
↳ yourinstagram Max, I literally saw them yesterday
↳ maxverstappen1 They miss you already?
charles_leclerc Pure coincidence 😇
alex_albon guys...
↳ georgerussell63 👀
↳ alex_albon I can't with any of you
↳ username1 WHATS GOING ON
username4 THE WAY THEY'RE ALL TRYING TO HELP I'M CRYING
username5 not them all showing up at once 💀
username6 they’re as subtle as a brick through a window
username7 ARE THEY TRYING TO PLAY MATCHMAKER??
username8 sassy looks so adorable i cantttt
username9 coolest job ever ! thanks for sharing your life as a vet <3
username10 alex just kiss her
liked by yourinstagram, georgerussell63 and 1,804,539 others
yourinstagram Tell the babies their favorite vet misses them!
↳ alex_albon They knocked over their food bowl as soon as I showed them this comment
↳ yourinstagram Sounds about right 😂 Remember their anxiety meds before quali!
↳ alex_albon Already packed them! See, I can be responsible
↳ lando the cats or YN got you being responsible? 👀
↳ alex_albon blocked.
username3 WHAT JUST HAPPENED???
username4 did lando just exposed him?
username5 someone's cats getting a lot of vet attention lately 👀
maxverstappen1 Your cats have better race prep than you do
↳ alex_albon At least my cats like me
↳ maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy said that's a lie
↳ yourinstagram Can confirm, all F1 cats talk about each other in their check-ups
↳ alex_albon et tu, doc? 😭
username6 ALEX SOOOO LIKES HER I CANT
username7 most wholesome grid dad
williamsracing Cat dad era > any other era
username8 ALEX IS PRETTY MUCH IN LOVE WITH THEIR VET I CANT
username9 crying he’s so obvious
username10 if the vet doesn’t want to be his girlfriend i volunteer just saying
liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 102,549 others
albon_pets Guess who we saw today? 🤔 Our favorite doc @/yourinstagram! Dad said we needed vaccines but we think he's just bad at making excuses 😽
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username1 ALBON PETSSSS
username2 THE CAPTION 😭
yourinstagram My favorite trouble twins! ❤️ Horsey only knocked over ONE thing this time, we're making progress!
↳ alex_albon that's because you bribed them with treats
↳ yourinstagram Professional secret 😉
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy are offended they weren't invited
↳ albon_pets Tell them we'll see them at next week's "emergency" appointment 😸
username3 NOT ALEX’S OWN CATS DRAGGING HIM
williamsracing Our mascots looking purrfect 🐱
username4 those must be the most thoroughly examined cats in Monaco
username5 these cats getting more action than their dad
username6 whatever you do don’t picture alex trying to come up with excuses to take the cats to the clinic just so he can see doc yn
username7 alex stop using your cats as matchmakers
username8 THIS IS SO FUNNY
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liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1 and 70,198 others
yourinstagram Long night at the clinic with this tiny fighter. Found abandoned in the rain, severe hypothermia and malnutrition, but pulling through like a champion. Sometimes the hardest nights remind me why I love this job. Will keep everyone updated on this little one's progress! 💕
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username1 oh shes the sweetest ever
username2 poor little thing 🥹
monacoanimalrescue Thank you for taking this baby in! Let us know if you need anything
↳ yourinstagram Will do! Already showing good signs 🙏
username3 Nothing hits harder than these late night rescue cases. You're doing amazing work! ❤️
↳ yourinstagram Thank you! Hour 16 and counting, but worth it
username4 need any supplies or volunteers?
↳ yourinstagram Actually yes! DMing you now
alex_albon Need any help? I can bring coffee or food or anything
↳ yourinstagram Actually could use both if you're up?
↳ alex_albon On my way!
↳ username1 OMG ALEXXXX
↳ username2 i see 👀👀
kellypiquet This is why you’re the best! 💘
username5 Those overnight kitten cases always get to me. Sending strength!
↳ yourinstagram The tiny ones are always the fighters!
username6 this is why we're in this field 🥺
username7 this is the perfect girl for alex
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liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1 and 98,736 others
yourinstagram First night off in ages! No emergencies, no sick pets (real or imaginary), just dinner with good company ❤️
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username1 OMFGGGGG
username2 am i dreaming???
lando FINALLY!!!!!
↳ georgerussell63 Only took 47 vet visits
↳ charles_leclerc And 3 house fires
↳ alex_albon guys please 😭
↳ username1 NO WAY
↳ username2 they’re so annoying oml
maxverstappen1 My cats send their congratulations
↳ yourinstagram Tell them thanks!
username3 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED
username4 FINALLY HAPPENING
username5 the way the whole paddock was invested in this 😭
username6 best storyline of the season
username7 About time! Have fun you two!
username8 the slow burn we've been watching all season
alex_albon ❤️
↳ lando Look who learned how to use the heart emoji
↳ alex_albon I'm still blocking all of you
username9 ALEX BOYFRIEND ERA IS HEREEEEEEE
username10 i knew this was going to happen
liked by lando, yourinstagram and 1,089,478 others
alex_albon Turns out I didn't need a sick cat excuse after all 😊❤️
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username1 AHHHHHH
username2 THIS IS SO CUTE
lando WHO HAD "ALEX POSTS FIRST" IN THE BETTING POOL
↳ georgerussell63 Pay up everyone
↳ charles_leclerc I lost 50€ 😭
↳ username1 NO WAY THIS IS REAL
↳ username2 THEY’RE SO ANNOYING
yourinstagram ❤️
↳ alex_albon ❤️
↳ username1 THE WAY I JUST DIED
↳ username2 they're using matching hearts I can't 😭
username3 local man discovers real dates better than fake emergencies
username4 CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT
username5 Finally! You two are adorable ❤️
username6 ALEX FINALLY GOT HIS SHIT TOGETHER
maxverstappen1 My cats want to know if they're invited to the wedding
↳ alex_albon MAX !
username7 most wholesome character arc
username8 ALEX BOYFRIEND ERA IS REAL
username9 they make the cutest couple ever
username10 THE WAY THE ENTIRE GRID JUST WANTED THEM TOGETHER
liked by username1, username2 and 19,736 others
f1gossip BREAKING: After months of "emergency vet visits" and mysterious cat illnesses, looks like @/alex_albon finally got the real thing 👀❤️
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username1 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN PUBLIC
username2 SOMEONE HOLD ME
username3 the growth we've witnessed 😭
username4 the way the whole paddock was invested in this storyline
username5 the slow burn we deserved
username6 this is better than any romance novel
username7 ALBON NATION HOW ARE WE FEELING
username8 he way we watched this unfold all season
username9 ALEX DATING A VET FEELS SO RIGHT
username10 the clinic's security cameras probably have a whole romcom stored
username11 THE WAY HE'S SMILING 😭
username12 protect them at all costs
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liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1 and 103,685 others
yourinstagram Trading my stethoscope for some racing earmuffs this weekend! Marie's handling the clinic while I watch someone who definitely doesn't have any more sick cats race around Silverstone 😉❤️
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username1 AWE THIS IS SO CUUUTE
username2 best couple ever i swear
clinicvet_marie Have fun! The clinic will survive 😊
username3 THE HELMETS IM CRYING
lando look who doesn't need to fake emergencies to see him anymore
↳ alex_albon I will crash this car into you
↳ landonorris worth it
username4 POWER COUPLE
username5 the most wholesome storyline ever
alexandrasaintmleux welcome to our crew 🥹🥹
williamsracing We can’t wait too see our favorite doc 😉
username6 i can’t believe alex got himself a girlfriend
alex_albon ❤️
↳ yourinstagram See you at the finish line ❤️
↳ username2 THIS IS TOO CUTE
↳ username3 I COULD CRY
username7 first race as girlfriend!
username8 she’s so supportive of him i’m sobbing
username9 this picture is so pinterest coded i’m crying
username10 I NEED THEM TO ADOPT ME
liked by yourinstagram, lando and 1,308,577 others
alex_albon First race with my lucky charm in the paddock! Turns out having a real girlfriend is better than having sick cats 😉 Thank you everyone for the amazing support today ❤️ Special thanks to @/williamsracing for the incredible car
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username1 AWEEEEEE
username2 this is the cutest post ever
yourinstagram So proud of you ❤️
↳ alex_albon ❤️
↳ username1 STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE IM CRYING
username3 MY BF HAS A GF I CANT
maxverstappen1 Once again you’re welcome
↳ username2 HES SO ANNOYING
username4 driver finds success with real girlfriend instead of fake cat emergencies
username5 THE WAY THEY'RE BOTH GLOWING
williamsracing Petition to make the lucky charm permanent
↳ alex_albon Already planned 😊
↳ username1 IM SOBBING HES SO IN LOVE
lando so this is what happens when you stop inventing diseases
↳ alex_albon I should have tried this strategy sooner
↳ charles_leclerc Ya think? 🙄
↳ username3 lmfao they’re never going to let him live that down
username6 SOMEONE FRAME THIS PICTURE AND PUT IT IN THE LOUVRE
username7 they’re so aesthetically pleasing i could cry
username8 THEY NEED TO GET MARRIED
liked by alex_albon, yourinstagram and 102,665 others
albon_pets We have a new brother! Meet Bruno Albon, the newest addition to our family! 🐾 Mom @/yourinstagram and Dad @/alex_albon adopted him together (and this time it wasn't an emergency visit excuse 😉). He's already best friends with us and loves watching F1 races!
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username1 MY HEARTTTTT
username2 oh my god bruno albon you sweet boy
f1 The family grows !
yourinstagram Our big boy ❤️
↳ alex_albon Family complete 🥰
↳ username1 STOP I'M SOBBING
username3 THE ALBON FAMILY HAS MY HEART
lando my cats demand a playdate
↳ alex_albon Your cats aren't even real Lando
↳ lando Neither were your emergencies 🤷♂️
↳ username1 IM WHEEZING
username4 they’re parents now what if i sob
username5 look at this beautiful family 😭
username6 the way they got a DOG together
username7 best F1 pet family
williamsracing Bruno already has his paddock pass
liked by yourinstagram, lando and 1,098,447 others
alex_albon A year ago I moved to Monaco and started inventing the most ridiculous cat emergencies known to veterinary science. Today I have the most amazing girlfriend, a beautiful family (including a dog who actually exists!), and somehow @/yourinstagram still hasn't banned me from her clinic 😅❤️ Best decision I ever made, even if my cats supposedly had everything from fever to existential crisis
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username1 IM SOBBING
username2 this is what to precious i’m so parasocial about them
yourinstagram From "my cat has seasonal depression" to "I love you" ❤️
↳ alex_albon Best character development 🥰
↳ username1 THE WAY THEY FLIRT IN COMMENTS NOW
username3 im so happy they found each other
lando emember when he googled "can cats get jetlag"
↳ georgerussell63 While his cats were literally at home
↳ alex_albon It was a valid question
↳ username2 ALEX WAS IN THE TRENCHES
username4 the cutest butterfly effect ever
username5 I HEAR WEDDING BELLS TIME TO START PLANNING
albon_pets mom and dad 💘
username6 this is just too sweet
username7 THE WAY ALEX HAD FAKE CAT DISEASES AND A DREAM
what if an au, where robert is still mecha man but he has to take beef to the vet, and he ends up meeting a guy in the waiting room (who is there for a checkup for one of his cats). and they get to talking, and he found out that the guy’s name is chad. and they kind of bond over their love for their pets, and all the shenanigans that can happen when owning a dog or a cat.
and then, they start doing things like meeting up for walks (chad will rotate between which of his cats he brings with him on his routine walks to get them out of the house). and they slowly become friends (maybe even boyfriends) through these sort of meet ups.
meanwhile, you have the hero, mecha man, and the villain, flambae, who wears a sort of mask to hide his identity in this au, who utterly despise each other. but don’t know who the other person is. and they keep having to make up excuses to their boyfriend in their civilian life as to explain away any injuries they get.
hi there! I truly do love your writing and I would love to do an Ultraman request; where reader is like the doctor that keeps track of his health, his vital signs and genetic stuff and Ultraman is like super attached to her and falls in love with her but doesn’t know what that is? I don’t know I’m think angst with happy and smutty ending
That abstract, distant concept had no place in his programming. Ultraman wasn’t just an imperfect clone of Superman; he had been forged in Lex Luthor’s laboratories with a single purpose: to obey, to please, and ultimately to eliminate the Man of Steel. He was a weapon, a flesh-and-bone automaton designed not to feel. An almost perfect robot, almost like a man.
At first, he didn’t even know how to inhabit his own body. How do you hold something without crushing it between your fingers? Of course, after that first clumsy exam, Luthor subjected him to a new cycle of “learning.” They reprogrammed him so he wouldn’t be so “mediocre,” as his creator shouted at him. He learned the exact pressure it took to hold a simple donut without destroying it. He learned that a slap was the correct response to a mistake. He assumed the insults were well deserved, because they didn’t affect him at all. He learned that pain was an irrelevant variable, an erroneous datum in his system.
Was he human? He didn’t care in the least. The answer—whatever it was—wouldn’t change his reality. It wasn’t important.
It wasn’t… until you appeared.
He remembered that afternoon with absolute precision. Your white lab coat, immaculate. The way your gaze settled on him—not on the instrument, but on the being. And the frown that creased your brow when Lex, with his voice dripping disdain, tossed out his comment:
“Do whatever you want with him—tests. I want my work done right. Just order something and this idiot will do it.”
He remembered. He remembered your grimace, a quick flicker of disgust that you hid so well, but which his hyper-aware eyes caught. He remembered your posture, rigid, as you pointed to the door with a seriousness that admitted no rebuttal.
“Leave, Luthor.”
Lex looked at you, a spark of irritation crossing his face, but finally, with a snort, he left. The silence he left behind was new territory, unknown.
Because of you, he learned a different term, a sensation for which he had no name: “pleasant.” That was it. When you placed the electrodes with infinite delicacy to check his heart, when your fingers, warm and soft, pressed his wrist to seek a pulse he knew was artificial. It was a pleasant sensation. A caress where he had only known procedures. For him, who had no words, it was a mystery.
His weekly checkup became a routine, a beacon in the monotony of his existence. Even when he returned battered from some mission, when Lex dragged him to your office as if he were a broken toy and you the only mechanic capable of putting him back together, there you were. And there he was, waiting, in the silence of that white room—the one place where the world wasn’t a command but a question.
Lex Luthor’s voice sliced through the clinic’s silence like a knife, not even bothering to knock. He was already inside, his presence casting a cold shadow across the room.
“Doc,” he said, and his tone was an order in itself.
You looked up, slowly separating your hands from your coffee cup. The heavy circles under your eyes were a silent testament to long hours of work.
“Mr. Luthor,” you replied, with a calm that cost you effort. “I thought there was no appointment scheduled today.”
“Plans change. Turns out my project… has had a setback,” he declared with a gesture of annoyance. Then he snapped his fingers.
Ultraman’s massive figure crossed the threshold, obedient to the summons. His entrance was always so mechanical, so devoid of human naturalness. But the first thing he did, like a newly acquired ritual, was to look for you. If he had known how to smile, he would have. But he didn’t know how. So his face remained expressionless, an empty mirror, while his eyes fixed on you.
You observed him in turn, and your brow creased immediately. Your clinical gaze, trained to detect the smallest detail, quickly found what shouldn’t have been there: dark marks on his cheeks, a fine trail of dried blood at his temple.
“Why does he have injuries?” you asked, moving closer without missing a thing. “Have you kept him practicing and not brought him for me to examine these wounds the moment he got them?” Your voice carried a hint of incredulity mixed with a professional concern that bordered on defiance.
Lex stepped between you and Ultraman, his tall frame completely blocking the view of the artificial being. His smile was cold and thin as a razor’s edge.
“Let me remind you of the terms of your contract, Doctor,” he said, each word loaded with a subtle threat. “Don’t get overly involved. Don’t contradict me. Do. Your. Job.”
“And my job,” you shot back without yielding an inch, your voice gaining a metallic firmness, “is to make sure that your project—as you so coldly call him—doesn’t develop any kind of long-term issues. If he suffered a concussion or any external blow, his genetics, I remind you, are not identical to Superman’s. They’re more unstable. It’s my duty to assess the damage, sir.”
You shifted aside, slipping past his blockade with determination, and your hand settled on Ultraman’s arm. It was a brief, professional contact, but for him, that simple touch was a ray of light in the static of his existence. The softness of your skin, human warmth… it was what he inevitably liked, a sensation for which he still had no name.
“Put the gown on, please,” you instructed gently.
He obeyed at once, walking to the examination table without question, his movement a choreographed routine.
Lex hadn’t moved. His gaze was glacial.
“Don’t forget,” he whispered, so low that only you could hear it—but Ultraman’s sharpened ears caught it clearly—“that I’m paying you so you can maintain this lifestyle. Or do I need to remind you why I hired you specifically?”
You lowered your eyes to the floor, tension hardening your shoulders. Finally, with a huff of disgust, Lex pivoted on his heels and left the room, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.
A deep sigh escaped your lips. Then you lifted your gaze to Ultraman, who was still standing by the table, patiently waiting for the next instruction like a soldier awaiting orders. Seeing him there, so motionless and expectant, a tired but genuine smile softened your features, momentarily sweeping away the tension of the altercation.
“Sit,” you said, your voice recovering its warm, professional tone. “First we’re going to treat those wounds and make sure everything is all right.”
You turned to the instrument tray, letting your eyes drift for a moment to focus. You disinfected your hands with gel—the scent of alcohol filling the space between you—and slipped on a pair of latex gloves with a familiar snap. As you approached him again, leaning in to examine the cut at his temple more closely, you murmured to yourself, almost a sigh:
“It’s dried blood…”
With a decisive motion, you stripped off the used gloves and moved to the treatment cart, searching among the sterile supplies. Hydrogen peroxide, gauze, cotton. As always, he followed your every movement with an intensity that went beyond curiosity. His eyes recorded the delicacy with which you picked up each instrument, the precision of your gestures, the softness of your process. He watched with absolute attention, as if trying to copy not just the action but the very essence behind it. As if, deep within his programmed self, he longed to learn how to move with that same human grace. For you.
“Long week,” he whispered, his voice rough from disuse, like a stone dragged along a riverbed.
You couldn’t help but smile when you heard him. Every word he managed to articulate was a triumph. You valued that superhuman effort he made to communicate, a fragile bridge he himself attempted to build between his island of silence and your world.
“Yes,” you replied, dipping a cotton ball in saline solution. “It seems to be a long week for both of us.” Your gloved fingers began to clean with extreme delicacy the dried blood staining his temple. The contrast between the hardness of his skin—capable of withstanding a missile strike—and your deliberately gentle touch was abyssal.
You, better than anyone, knew the harsh reality. The exhaustive studies you had been conducting for two months painted a worrying picture: his lack of true instant recovery and, most alarming, his absolute absence of physical sensation. Lex Luthor treated him as what he was to him: a project, a prototype. A weapon. Not as a being with a body that, though engineered and altered, was structurally and biologically similar—far too similar—to that of a human. That similarity, without the counterbalance of a hypersensitivity that might protect him, was a time bomb. It could trigger catastrophic consequences—cascading neurological failure. He didn’t know pain, or sadness, not even the slightest pleasure—not by choice, but because that sensory channel was simply disconnected, like a loose cable at the center of his being.
“Does it hurt?” you asked, applying slight pressure to a particularly deep scratch on his cheekbone.
He shook his head in silence. His eyes, an intense but empty blue, didn’t even blink.
“You’re still not connecting that,” you murmured, your brow furrowing, carving a line of genuine concern across your forehead.
“Connecting?” he asked, confused. The word, abstract, was lost in the labyrinth of his programming.
“Yes,” you explained simply, passing the gauze over the last of the cuts. “Feeling.”
“I am not permitted to feel,” he declared, as if reciting a fundamental axiom, a law seared into his consciousness.
Your hands stopped. You looked straight at him, searching the depths of his gaze for some hint of the person you sensed was trapped inside. “You have to. If you don’t feel, you could injure yourself so badly you wouldn’t notice, and you could… die,” you said, your voice graver than you intended. With a brusque movement, you tossed the bloodied cotton and used gloves into the biohazard tray. The sound of latex hitting metal was dry, final.
“As Lex’s property, I do not—” he began automatically.
But you cut him off, your firm voice severing the thread of his programming. “You are not Lex’s property. You are no one’s property,” you stated, even though you knew those words sounded like a brutal contradiction to the life that had been imposed on him.
“Sure, he created you,” you acknowledged, adjusting your tone to sound more persuasive, “but that doesn’t make you his. You are still independent.” The certainty in your voice was a bulwark against the lie you both knew.
“Stay here. I’ll check your vital signs and compare them with the previous ones,” you instructed, turning your back for a moment to prepare the monitor. The cables hung like sleeping snakes, waiting to be connected to his body.
Then his voice—lower now, almost hesitantly curious—broke through the hum of the equipment: “Do you… belong to someone?”
“No one in this life has an owner,” you corrected him, your voice a beacon of certainty in the fog of his programming. He nodded slowly, a mechanical gesture that nevertheless seemed to absorb every syllable. “Now,” you continued, picking up the tablet, “you need to start associating feelings. Emotions. That’s a medical order.” Your fingers sent bursts of light skimming across the screen as you searched through his neurological studies. “We need to activate that part of your brain that’s… asleep. You’ll be like a child crawling, learning a completely new world.”
You sank into the graphs and readouts, brow furrowed in concentration. The task was titanic, almost philosophical: to teach feeling to one designed for insensitivity. “It’s necessary, but… Lord Jesus!”
The exclamation slipped out of you involuntarily. When you looked up, he was there, right in front of you. He had crossed the room with his predatory, supernatural quiet, so close that when you jerked back, your spine hit the cold of the instrument cabinet. A lash of adrenaline cracked through your chest.
“God, you scared me,” you breathed, one hand flying to your heart, which hammered against your ribs.
His eternally serene eyes didn’t blink. “Why?”
“Did you see how I reacted? The jump, the shout?” you asked, trying to steady your breathing. He nodded again with that curiosity of a scientist observing an unknown phenomenon. “That’s fear, Ultraman. Surprise and fear. You can’t approach people like that. If it’s someone you know and you… don’t plan to kill,” you added, with a thread of bitter irony, “then you need to signal that you’re there. A sound, a word… or make sure they notice you first.”
He processed the information, and another slow nod was his answer. “Come on, sit back down.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, a simple, devastating phrase crossed his lips: “I don’t like moving away.”
Your confusion was plain on your face. Did he mean the table? The positioning for the exams?
He clarified it with the same chill with which he would report a technical datum, yet the words thundered through the room: “From you.”
Your lungs seemed to forget how to function. Air snagged in your throat. Your heart, barely calmed, lurched again—but this time with a different rhythm, confused and quickened. He heard it, undoubtedly. His ear could distinguish the frequency change with machine precision.
“Right,” you managed, your voice a touch higher than usual. “I… will be here, during the tests. Don’t worry.” You tried to rationalize it, to fit it into a context your professional mind could digest. He’s surely confusing the terms, you thought. He associates my presence with the end of the tests that hurt him. It’s conditioning, not… not something else.
But deep in your consciousness, a small voice insisted that Ultraman wasn’t confused. His statements were literal, as precise as an algorithm.
When he finally sat on the table, his gaze never left you. He watched each of your movements as you placed the electrodes on his chest, the small adhesive discs that would transmit the electrical map of his heart to the monitor. Your fingers—now with an almost imperceptible tremor only you noticed—pressed against his cool skin.
You focused on the screen, on the lines beginning to dance, showing an artificially stable heart rate, a calibrated respiration. You clung to the data, to the measurable, to the safe. But in the room’s silence, the echo of his words—“I don’t like moving away from you”—kept vibrating, defying all logic and protocol, planting the seed of something you didn’t know whether to call dangerous, miraculous, or both at once.
“Everything’s fine,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. The ECG’s green line snaked with perfect regularity across the screen. “I think you’ve already got your heartbeat under control; it’s not as fast as at the start.” A small smile—almost professional pride—curved your lips as you jotted the datum on your tablet. It was progress, a thread of humanity won against his programming.
But you weren’t prepared for what followed.
You didn’t expect his hand—that hand capable of pulverizing steel—to lift toward you with deliberate slowness. It wasn’t a reflex but a conscious, calculated movement. He was controlling every muscle, every tendon, remembering the donut lesson: the exact pressure, the delicacy needed to avoid damaging something fragile. And to him, you were that: a soft texture, a being of exasperating delicacy that would shatter if he grasped with his inherent strength. And he didn’t want that.
So his fingers moved, barely brushing the air near your face. It was a ghostly contact, a shadow of a caress, as he tried to nudge aside a rebellious strand of your fringe to see your eyes better. You lifted your gaze, surprised, and met the intensity of his. Your cheeks flared at once with a treacherous blush, and your heart—an incorrigible tattletale—sped up in your chest. He felt it. His hearing, tuned like a seismograph, registered the frequency shift instantly.
But then he stopped. His arm lowered, falling inert at his side once more. He might not have understood the meaning of the flush on your cheeks, but the runaway pulse was a language he had recorded before. It was the same chaotic cardiac rhythm he had detected minutes earlier when he materialized behind you and you screamed in fright. And it was also the same pattern he felt thrum in your chest when Lex Luthor approached you, with that icy voice laced with veiled threats. And that he did understand.
“Do you feel fear?” he asked, tilting his head in genuine confusion. The pieces were slotting together in his mind with cold logic. “You are afraid of me.” He said it as a conclusion, believing he had cracked the code of your reaction.
“No, no,” you rushed to answer, reclaiming control of your voice and straightening your coat as if it were armor. “You’re just… crossing the professional line, that’s all.” The discomfort made you avoid his gaze.
“You reacted the same with Lex,” he insisted, unable to reconcile the discrepancy. “Your heart sped up. It is the same physiological response.”
You had forgotten. For a moment of disquiet, you had forgotten the superhuman abilities Ultraman possessed, identical to the Kryptonian he emulated. He could hear the whisper of your blood, the change in your breathing, the drum of your pulse. There was no way to hide your body’s reactions from him.
“It’s different,” you explained, searching for words in an emotional territory that for him was a minefield. “They’re different sensations that provoke similar reactions. But with you, it isn’t fear.” You assured him, looking directly into his eyes to give weight to your claim. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He nodded slowly. He accepted the data, but something in the depths of his gaze suggested the puzzle wasn’t entirely solved.
Maybe it was that very interaction—that near-touch and the confusion it sowed—that, when he finally left and you were alone with the clinic’s silence, you couldn’t shake from your mind the memory of his hand approaching, of the way he had looked at you. It wasn’t the empty stare of a weapon, nor the obedience of a servant. There was something else—something strange and profoundly unsettling.
And you knew, with a certainty that chilled your blood, that you couldn’t allow yourself to break that professional thread. For your sake, and perhaps for his as well. If Lex Luthor were to suspect even a hint of this… complication, the consequences would be unthinkable. The threat was always there, latent.
So you kept quiet. You drew a deep breath and locked the sensation away, in the darkest place in your mind. That reaction—that heat in your cheeks and that swoop in your stomach—had to disappear. The one who couldn’t afford to feel was you.
A week later, he was sitting across from you in the small break room attached to the lab. The quiet of the afternoon was broken only by the syrupy dialogue of a romantic soap opera playing softly on the television. Both of you were waiting for the results of his latest tests, which were taking longer than usual. You, stretched out on the couch, smiled now and then at some cheesy scene, lifting your coffee cup to your lips in a vain attempt to fight the heaviness dragging down your eyelids. It had been a long day: checkups on Lex’s other soldiers, complex sutures, endless reports. Your body and mind were crying out for rest.
Ultraman watched you from the stiff armchair opposite, his back straight as a steel post. He wasn’t looking at you directly, but rather at the television, as though studying it—analyzing human behavior through scripted emotion. You knew that, as a patient, he could easily lie down on the cot and enter his rest state, but since it was the hour you usually ate, and he seemed “entertained” by the show, you figured there was no harm in closing your eyes for a moment. The results weren’t ready yet, the silence was warm, and sleep claimed you.
You shifted on the couch without even opening your eyes, seeking a more comfortable position, and slipped into deep, immediate slumber.
You didn’t know how long it had been. When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the silence. The television was off. A second later, consciousness hit you: your head wasn’t resting on the arm of the sofa, but on something firm—yet strangely soft. You sat up abruptly, heart pounding, and your eyes met Ultraman’s. He was sitting beside you, on the same couch, and you had been sleeping with your head resting on his thigh. He had been watching you in silence, observing every detail of your sleep, from the moment he’d risen from the chair and taken a seat next to you, offering his leg as a pillow.
“The results,” you said, unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. Your voice was rough from sleep.
“There,” he replied, nodding slightly toward the table, where a tablet glowed faintly. You nodded, finally breaking eye contact, your face warming with embarrassment.
“Sorry, I’ve been so tired,” you murmured, trying to recover your professional composure as you adjusted your coat.
He stopped you with a single word. “You can sleep again.”
You smiled—a tired but genuine smile. “No, I should check your results,” you said softly, standing up.
He stood at the same time, and suddenly you were very close—so close you could really see him. Your smile faded. “What happened to you?” you whispered, your hand rising almost instinctively. There was a small, fresh cut on his cheek that you hadn’t noticed before. Without thinking, you brushed your fingertips gently over the wound.
For the first time, his pupils dilated noticeably—a flicker of surprise that rippled through him. You didn’t see it, focused on the cut, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you—off your lips, the concern in your expression. He inhaled deeply, overtaken by a sudden, overwhelming urge—a primal impulse that his programming couldn’t categorize or contain.
You didn’t see it coming. He leaned in, and his lips found yours.
It was a clumsy kiss—impulsive, charged with desperate urgency. You froze, stunned, eyes wide. He didn’t know how to react; he only felt that burning need to be close, to feel you. His hands, so careful a moment before, closed around your waist, tracing the curve of your body through the thin fabric of your coat, pulling you closer. And then, instinctively, his lips moved, seeking an answer.
And you gave it to him.
You closed your eyes, and all the resistance, all the professional caution, dissolved in a sigh. You kissed him back—softly, in contrast to his initial desperation. Your hands rose to his face, caressing his cheeks, sliding into his hair, pulling him gently toward you, allowing the kiss to deepen.
Because even though you’d tried to avoid it, even though you had forbidden yourself from feeling anything, you had grown used to him—used to his silent presence, his constant company during the long, stressful hours locked in the lab. And he, in turn, had grown used to you: to your gentleness, to the way you looked at him as something more than a weapon, to the calm your presence gave him. Without realizing it, without naming it, you needed each other.
And in that kiss—in the tremor of your waist beneath his hands, in the surrender of your lips—Ultraman discovered a sensation that surpassed any data, any order. And he loved it. He loved feeling you, knowing you were his in that fragile, forbidden instant—a stolen fragment of humanity in the dim light of the room.
The world narrowed to the taste of his lips, the firmness of his hands on your waist, the sense of floating in a void where only the two of you existed. You nearly fell, lost in the tide of a passion you hadn’t known you could feel—but he caught you, holding you with a strength that, in any other context, might have hurt. Now, though, it felt like the inevitable result of a desire consuming you both, dragging you into an abyss you didn’t want to escape.
Until voices came from the hallway, seeping through the door like a splash of ice water.
You pulled away at once, your heart pounding like a frightened animal. Both of you were breathing heavily, the air thick and heavy around you. Your eyes, still clouded with emotion, fell on his lips. They were stained with the faint sheen of your lipstick—a scarlet, incriminating trace of what had just happened.
“No. They can’t see you like this,” you whispered, panic sharpening your voice. You turned, fumbling for cotton and some water on your table. Your hands trembled as you came closer again, wiping frantically at his mouth. He let you, his eyes locked on you with a burning intensity. As you cleaned him, his hand lifted, and with awkward tenderness, his fingers traced the outline of your lips, mirroring the care you were giving him. A nervous smile escaped you—a fleeting spark of complicity—before reality came crashing back.
You stepped away quickly, grabbing the tablet with his results as if it were a shield. You wiped your own lips with the back of your hand, erasing any trace of the kiss just as the door opened.
The engineer—a sharp-featured woman with efficient manners—burst into the room. “Lex wants us in the main tower. Now.” Her voice cracked like a whip. Then her eyes landed on you. “Doctor.”
“Good afternoon,” you said, forcing a calm you didn’t feel. Your smile was tight, a professional mask over inner chaos. “Please, his results are ready.” You turned to Ultraman, avoiding his gaze. “Next week we’ll evaluate your neural system in depth.”
“That doesn’t concern me,” the engineer snapped, snatching the tablet from your hands. “But I suppose I’ll inform Luthor.” You nodded, waiting for her to leave. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned to Ultraman, her tone chilling. “Can we have a moment?”
Ultraman nodded, automatic in his obedience. But as he left, his gaze met yours for a fraction of a second. And then you saw it—a faint dimple forming on his cheek, an almost imperceptible twitch that wasn’t quite a smile, but something rawer. Satisfaction? Possession? Maybe you were imagining it, your mind still reeling from adrenaline.
When the door closed behind him, the atmosphere shifted entirely. The engineer stepped closer, invading your space. Your smile vanished, replaced by a mask of stone.
“He asks for you,” she said flatly. Her eyes searched your face, looking for cracks in your composure.
“I’m his doctor,” you reminded her, lifting your chin in a gesture of false confidence. “It’s natural that he feels... some degree of trust.”
“And you’re the person he loves being attached to,” she added, driving the words in like a knife. “You know what that means, don’t you? He’s developing something. An attachment. A... feeling. For you.” She paused, each syllable heavy with implication. “Does Luthor know?”
“It’s nothing,” you insisted, though your voice sounded weak, defensive—even to your own ears.
“And does Ultraman know about you and Luthor?” she pressed, relentless, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Does he know about your relationship with him—and why you ended up here, locked away in this lab, tending to his ‘project’?” Your silence was all the confirmation she needed. “He doesn’t know, then. Because if he did, the first thing he’d do is disobey him. And you know what Luthor would do then? He’d get rid of a multimillion-dollar project—and then get rid of you, for ruining his most valuable asset.”
You lowered your gaze, defeated. The weight of her words crushed you. You nodded slowly, swallowing your fear.
“I won’t tell him,” the engineer said at last, and for a moment, something like pity flickered across her face. “Just... think about it. You still have time to put distance between you. Before this... before this truly happens, and there’s no turning back.”
She turned and left, leaving you alone in the center of the room—with the taste of fear, the ghost of lipstick on your lips, and the terrifying certainty that it was already too late. The kiss had happened.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
And so it was.
With your heart in shards and fear tightening around your throat, you told Lex you wouldn’t be able to attend to Ultraman for a while, claiming illness. He agreed with a kind of indifference that cut deeper than a shout. He didn’t care. The truth was, nothing and no one mattered to him more than his obsession with surpassing Superman. That had always been clear.
What you hadn’t known, back when you briefly dated him years ago, was the depth of his vindictive nature. Lex Luthor didn’t just collect accomplishments; he collected broken souls.
When you ended things, his revenge was methodical and cruel. He used his influence to ensure that no job would remain within your reach. One door after another slammed shut until you couldn’t even afford rent for your modest apartment. Desperation drove you back to him, begging him to stop the harassment. And he, with a smile that never reached his cold eyes, gave you his ultimatum.
“No, I won’t leave you alone,” he said, savoring every word. “You’ll work for me. You’ll have to watch me grow stronger while you rot inside a consulting room. You’ll see me build an empire while you build nothing—with no one. Now you decide: that, or starve in the streets, because I’ll make sure no one, anywhere, hires someone with such… terrible employment references.”
And you accepted. You signed the contract that sealed your servitude—a document binding you to him with legal chains and sheer necessity.
Now, back in the present, your eyes scanned the empty office. Your plan was to evade reality for two weeks, feigning convalescence, and later claim that his “project” was stable enough to no longer require your services. It was the only way to sever contact with Ultraman—to save what remained of your integrity and, perhaps, your life. Your fate and his hung by the same rotting thread Lex held between his fingers.
And though you thought Ultraman, in his apparent detachment, wouldn’t notice, you were wrong.
He approached Lex in the command room, his body an imposing silhouette against the glow of the screens.
“Get back to your station, nuisance,” Luthor spat without even turning his head, his frown carved in habitual irritation.
“I have my weekly appointment,” Ultraman stated, his voice a flat echo devoid of the emotion beginning to consume him from within.
“No. The doctor is sick. She requested two weeks off,” Lex finally replied, a spark of perverse interest lighting his gaze. “You’ll go to Doctor Wallet. You know, if he treats you better, I’ll get rid of her. That woman is nothing but a waste of time and resources.”
Ultraman walked away, maintaining the external silence that had always defined him. But inside, something had changed. It was no longer the serene void of a machine—it was the heavy silence of a storm contained.
His heart, an organ that had always beaten with the precision of a metronome, now pulsed with oppressive slowness. An unfamiliar pressure grew in his chest, a slab of ice. The memory of your kiss—the only true warmth in his existence—had become an obsession. He wanted to see you. Needed to feel your softness, that gentleness only you had shown him. He no longer desired mere blind obedience and destruction; he yearned to learn—with you.
And now, you had fled.
When the next week came, and Lex—absorbed in his latest scheme—took Superman to a pocket dimension, Ultraman found himself with an unusual freedom. But his thoughts didn’t turn to his nemesis. He didn’t care about Superman. His mind, sharpened by a primal need, focused on one goal: finding you.
He broke into your empty office. His eyes, able to analyze the entire light spectrum, scanned every inch for a clue, a paper, a trace—anything that could lead him to you. But there was nothing. You had vanished cleanly.
Then he remembered. His hearing, as superhuman as the rest of his senses, could distinguish the heartbeat of a person miles away. And yours… he had memorized it. He had heard it quicken in fear, in worry—and in something else, something he’d felt on your lips. He had analyzed you from the beginning, and your vital signature was imprinted within him.
He stopped in the middle of the city, closing his eyes. The chaotic sound of Metropolis turned into a symphony of data. And within the noise, he found the melody he sought—the unique, precious rhythm of your heart.
Without hesitation, obeying no command but the blind urge of his new and painful feeling, he launched into the sky. He was going to you. Because he had recognized you among the crowd from the very first day—and now, nothing would stop him.
The stillness of your small apartment was suffocating. You stared at the black screen of the television, as if its darkness could offer you an answer. Wrapped in your blanket, a fragile shield against a world closing in around you, you wiped away tears that refused to stop.
How could you escape? The question echoed in your head like a hopeless refrain. Lex Luthor wasn’t just a man; he was a web that bound your entire existence. Even if you managed to flee physically, his shadow would follow—poisoning every job opportunity, ensuring you never had a normal life, never had a life of your own.
A sudden noise froze you.
Your gaze fixed on the door. Your heart—already pounding like a war drum—stopped for a second as you saw the lock twist with a metallic click. It wasn’t the sound of a key. It was something more forced, more violent. Cold panic traced your spine. Had Lex found out? Had he decided you were too much of a liability and sent someone to eliminate you?
Without thinking, your hand closed around the only object that could serve as a weapon: a heavy metal umbrella resting by the door. You gripped it tightly, knuckles white, ready for the worst.
The door burst open.
And there, framed in the doorway, wasn’t one of Lex’s assassins. It was Ultraman. His towering figure filled the space, eyes glowing faintly in the dimness of your home. The tension shattered with a strangled gasp. You lowered the umbrella; it clattered to the floor with a dull thud.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a trembling thread. You rushed to the door, peeking into the empty hallway. No one had followed him. You slammed it shut and nervously dragged a chair to wedge it beneath the knob—a feeble barrier against the world outside. Only then did you turn back to him.
“I feel something,” he declared, his voice as flat as ever, but the words heavy with monumental meaning.
“Did someone hurt you?” you asked instantly—instinct taking over as a doctor—as you moved closer to examine him.
He nodded, a slow, grave motion.
“Where?”
Instead of pointing, his hand rose. His fingers—capable of unstoppable force—closed around your wrist with a gentleness that stole your breath. He guided your hand and pressed it to his chest, over the solid muscle where his heart beat, its rhythm thudding beneath your palm.
“Here,” he said. “It hurts. And I don’t know why. But it started when they said you were gone.”
Your eyelids fluttered rapidly, denying the reality of what you were hearing—of what you were feeling beneath your fingers.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, looking down, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. “I’m sorry. This isn’t… it’s not professional.” It was the last, fragile wall you could raise.
“Why don’t you want to see me?” he asked, and this time his voice carried something dangerously close to wounded confusion.
“It’s not that,” you rushed to explain, lifting your eyes again, pleading for him to understand. “It’s Luthor. He can… he can hurt you. He’ll destroy you if he finds out about this.” You swallowed hard, the bitter truth scraping your throat. “I can’t… I can’t fall in love with anyone. I’m as bound to Lex as you are. My freedom is an illusion.”
You took his face in your hands, desperate. “Go back to the tower, please. Because if he knows you’re here, if he even suspects—”
“No.”
The word—simple, clear, and firm—rang through the small room like a gunshot. You stared at him, and for the first time, you didn’t see blind obedience, the passivity of a weapon. You saw defiance, absolute and burning, carved into his jaw and blazing in his eyes.
“I don’t want to.”
And in that refusal—in that act of will born from a pain he couldn’t name but felt with the force of a hurricane—everything changed.
Lex’s cage, for the first time, had a bar beginning to give way.
The distance between you evaporated. He closed in and his lips found yours with an urgency that brooked no refusal. This time there was no clumsiness, only an overwhelming need that consumed him. He didn't care about anything else: not Lex's orders, not the consequences, not the world outside those four walls. His hands closed around your waist, pulling you against his body with a strength that would have been alarming had it not been so perfectly measured not to hurt you, but only to make you feel.
And you responded with the same desperation. Because you could no longer pretend. Because you didn't see him as a project, but as a being with a heart that raced at the sight of you, with a body that shuddered under your touch. You kissed him with all your pent-up fear and emotion, savoring the dangerous freedom he represented. An electrifying nervousness ran through you, a mixture of terror that Lex would discover him and a forbidden, intense excitement that only Ultraman could awaken in you.
He lifted you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. You tangled yourself around him, your legs wrapping around his torso, as he walked further into the apartment. Some object, a vase or a book, fell to the floor with a dull thud, but you didn't even register it. The universe had shrunk to the sensation of his lips tracing your neck, marking your skin with the burning imprint of his mouth. He wanted to taste every inch, claim every space as his own.
You fell onto the sofa, a small territory of normality that suddenly became the stage for something extraordinary. You beneath him, his weight a promise upon your body. When his hands, large and calloused, found the bare skin of your back for the first time, a moan escaped your lips, involuntary and laden with a pleasure that took you by surprise.
That sound, so new and primitive, resonated within him like a spell. His eyes, fixed on yours, lit up with a spark of wonder and fascination. He wanted to hear it again. And he did, when his fingers found the clasp of your bra and, with an adorably human clumsiness, unfastened it. The fabric gave way, and when his palms covered your breasts, another moan, deeper and more surrendered, mingled with his breath in a voracious kiss.
The heat between you became suffocating. He removed his shirt with a brusque movement, driven more by the fever coursing through him than by any protocol. And then, with a heart-rending reverence, he did the same to you, removing your blouse with a delicacy that contrasted with the ferocity of his kisses. He wanted to see you. He needed to behold the reality of you, without barriers.
When his lips descended, sealing your skin over the sensitive peak of a breast, your body arched instinctively, a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
“God…,” you sighed, tangling your hands in his hair, pulling it gently, anchoring yourself to the only certainty in the whirlwind of sensations. “Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice broken by desire.
He obeyed, but now it was completely new territory. He shed his pants, and you watched him, seeing the curiosity and confusion in his eyes. Perhaps he knew human physiology from books, from diagrams. But the sensation throbbing in his own groin, the tension and physical desire, were an overwhelming discovery.
He looked at you, seeking guidance, approval. When his hand, timid at first, passed over the center of your heat, a violent shudder racked your entire body. He felt it, and knew it was an intense reaction, but his analytical mind still struggled to categorize it. Was it pain? Was it rejection?
He did it again, watching your face with absolute concentration. And you, looking back at him, couldn't contain another moan, long and yielding. That was all he needed. He placed his whole palm over you, covering you with his heat, and began to move it in slow, deliberate circles. The pressure was perfect, instinctive. A choked sound caught in your throat; it was too much pleasure, an overload of sensations that left you breathless.
His voice, deep and charged with a newborn emotion, resonated in the stillness, asking with a genuine need to understand, to connect the action with your reaction:
“Do you like it?”
The air in the room was heavy, laden with the heat of two bodies and the weight of an irreversible decision. Your "yes," barely a whisper lost in the space between you, was nevertheless the clearest confirmation.
He, moved by a curiosity that transcended the scientific to delve into the visceral, explored your entrance with a finger. The contact, clumsy but deliberate, made you writhe with a mixture of surprise and a pleasure that was beginning to awaken.
"It feels good," you murmured, and that was all the validation he needed to continue.
But the initial curiosity was soon overpowered by a more primal, more urgent need. The truth was that his member was already erect, hard and throbbing, with a precursor fluid glistening at the tip. He withdrew his finger, soaked with your fluids, and spread them over his length with a tactile fascination. There was no preamble, no warning. With the same direct intensity that characterized all his actions, he sank into you.
He was large, much larger than your body was prepared to receive, and the initial sensation was a painful burning that made you hold your breath. He, unaware of the nuance of pain, could only process the overwhelming sensation of heat and tightness. He looked at your expression, seeking guidance in unknown territory. For him, it was pure, overwhelming pleasure. For you, it was an invasion that needed adaptation.
You shifted, uncomfortable, and managed to articulate a broken whisper: "Slower."
He stopped, his gaze fixed on you, waiting. "Slow," you repeated, this time with more firmness, as your hand rose to caress his cheek in an instinctive gesture of calm and connection. "I trust you."
Your words had an immediate effect. They were not an order, but a plea that resonated in something deeper than his programming. His gaze softened, and then he began to move with a deliberate, almost reverential slowness. Little by little, the initial pain subsided, replaced by a sensation of fullness that expanded with each measured thrust. Your body stopped resisting, stopped "clenching" him in tension, and instead began to open up, to accept him. The sounds filling the room were no longer of discomfort, but wet, lascivious gasps marking the rhythm of your union.
"Like that," you managed to say, your voice trembling with the intensity of the sensation.
Enraptured by your surrender, his hands found your waist, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. The change in angle allowed him to sink even deeper into you, provoking a long, guttural moan that escaped your lips without permission.
"You feel so good," he growled, his voice rough with an emotion he didn't know how to name. "So wet." His movements then acquired a hint of roughness, an animal urgency he could no longer contain.
He turned you over with his usual strength, and before you could recompose yourself, he was inside you again, from behind. He took your arms, crossing them, and lifted you against his chest. Your back arched against his torso as his hands, free now, settled on your breasts, toying with and pinching your nipples with a burning curiosity, without stopping his deep, regular thrusts inside you. A smile of pure ecstasy spread across your lips at the sensory overload, but it was too much, a tide overwhelming you.
"I… god… I'm going to come," you announced, but he didn't care to interrupt his rhythm. He continued, relentless, until your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably, announcing your climax. Only then did he turn you over again, laying you down on the bed. He caressed your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted with the ferocity of his movements, and sank into you once more, seeking his own release.
"Do it, let go," you whispered, surrendering completely.
And he did. His rhythm accelerated into a frenzy. Once again you felt the scorching heat running through your body, the sofa yielding under the thrusting of his hips. You clung to his torso, to the muscles of his back, while he buried his face in your neck, seeding it with biting kisses. One hand held your waist with a strength that would undoubtedly leave marks, while the other remained clasped to your breast. He accelerated so much that your moans became incoherent babbles, and then he came. A deep, guttural growl escaped him as his seed exploded inside you. The wave of your own orgasm, delayed but no less intense, shook you immediately, making you shudder violently, holding him with what little strength you had left.
He, in turn, wrapped his arms around you in an embrace that was both possessive and protective. In that moment, curled up and exhausted, that feeling of skin against skin, of breaths falling into sync, of a shared warmth, was all that mattered. He didn't care about anything else. When he took you in his arms, despite the trembling of your legs, and positioned himself under you like a living mattress, you curled up on his chest, seeking refuge in the very strength that had moments ago subdued you. The marks of his fingers on your skin were a reminder of his power, but the embrace that now enveloped you was the promise of something more, something they both secretly yearned for and that, for one night, they dared to take.
The dream, heavy and restorative, wrapped around you as you lay upon his chest, completely oblivious to the outside world. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but when consciousness slowly returned with a flutter of your lashes, you were no longer lying on top of him. You were back on the couch, carefully covered with the same blanket that had been your only comfort before his arrival. You sat up, adjusting the fabric around your bare body while your gaze—still blurred by sleep—searched for his.
You found him on the floor, sitting in front of you. Not in his usual soldier’s posture, but with an expectant stillness. His eyes, normally so impersonal, were dilated, absorbing every one of your movements. And on his lips, a tense curve—an awkward, visible effort to hold what could only be described as a smile. The attempt, though imperfect, shattered your heart into a thousand pieces.
“He’ll know you’re here,” you whispered, your voice still hoarse. Your hand reached out, fingertips brushing his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment like a cat seeking sunlight. It was clear that he didn’t just tolerate your contact—he needed it.
Then, he shook his head, the motion slow but filled with a newfound certainty.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, and those simple words thundered through the stillness of the room.
Your anxiety bloomed instantly. “He’ll find us,” you argued, your voice heavy with the fear Lex Luthor had planted in you for years.
He shook his head again, and this time there was a flash of strategy in his eyes. “Superman escaped. I received a message from the engineer.” He took your hand—his grip firm, steady. Standing before you in the dimness of your apartment, he looked more human than ever. Not because of any physical change, but because of the absolute devotion burning in his gaze. To him, you were already his. And he, in turn, no longer belonged to Lex. He had reassigned himself. He was yours.
“You’re the only one who knows where my tracking chip is,” he said softly. “You were the one who implanted it.”
“I know,” you admitted, your mind racing, drawing up a plan amid the fog of panic and hope. “But I need my things and…” You stopped, a new thought forming. “We can go to my old office. I can get what I need from there. We’ll go to Nebraska. That’s where I left my last practice—it’s small, but I still visit sometimes. It’s in perfect condition for surgery.”
He nodded, without hesitation. “Good.”
The preparation was a silent whirlwind. You dressed quickly, and he, with his superhuman efficiency, helped you pack the essentials into two small backpacks. You took care of the money, pulling out every bit of savings you’d managed to stash away under Lex’s control. Money meant for emergencies—now it had a purpose: freedom. You slipped on your jacket and looked at him, a silent question in your eyes.
“To the rooftop,” he said, and you nodded.
The climb felt like a journey into the unknown. On the rooftop, Metropolis’ night wind whipped across your face. You tightened the straps of your backpack, but he, with one fluid motion, took it from you with one hand, lightening your load. With the other, his arm circled your waist—firm, protective, possessive. There was no countdown, no hesitation. He leaned forward slightly and then, with the force of a spring, launched into the void.
Not downward—but upward, toward the LexCorp tower that rose like a column of steel and arrogance against the starry sky.
Upon landing on the terrace of LexCorp, you rushed inside your office, heart pounding in your throat. Every second was gold. You grabbed only what was essential for the extraction: local anesthesia, scalpel, hemostatic forceps, sutures. Your hands, trained for precision, trembled slightly—not out of fear of the procedure, but because of the relentless countdown ticking at the back of your mind.
Just as you turned to him with the instruments, a violent tremor shook the tower, making the glass furniture vibrate. You staggered, bracing against the wall to keep your balance. Instantly, Ultraman’s arm wrapped around your waist, anchoring you with unbreakable strength. You moved to the window, and your breath froze in your lungs: a massive crack snaked across the neighboring building, a sign of the chaos erupting through Metropolis.
“They won’t take long to come for you. Luthor will want to see you—he’ll want his weapon,” you said, your voice a thread of tension.
“We have to go. Now,” he declared, and his tone allowed no room for debate. You nodded, clutching the case of instruments to your chest.
Once again, his arm was your only anchor as you both plunged into the void. This time, the destination wasn’t a temporary hideout—it was hope itself. He flew with such speed that it stole your breath away, the wind whistling in your ears, the city shrinking into a mosaic of lights beneath your feet. You held onto him, burying your face into his neck, and he didn’t let go, as if his very existence depended on keeping you close.
When you finally landed in front of the small Nebraska clinic, a wave of nostalgia and relief washed over you. It was your secret place—the one Lex had never known existed because you’d established it during your university years, a youthful dream you’d shut down when you moved to Metropolis. Opening the door, the familiar scent of disinfectant and cleanliness greeted you. The place was immaculate; you’d lent it to medical students for practice, which had kept it alive and functional.
You locked the door, sliding the bolt shut with a definitive click. Without needing instruction, Ultraman lay down on the examination table, his gaze fixed on you with absolute trust.
“It’s all right, we have time,” he told you, in a strange attempt to calm you—just before the needle of the local anesthetic pierced his skin. You nodded, focusing on connecting the monitors to his body, forcing yourself back into your doctor’s mindset, clinging to routine to avoid falling into panic.
The operation was quick and precise. Your hands regained their usual steadiness as you located and extracted the small tracking chip embedded in his arm tissue. You placed it in a steel tray—a piece of metal that had been his shackle. You searched for another, any backup tracker, but found none. While waiting for the anesthesia to wear off, you stored the chip in a small metal box. The best option would be to throw it into the sea, where its signal would be lost forever in the vastness.
He woke quickly—his enhanced physiology metabolizing the drugs fast. His eyes opened, immediately searching for you. When they found you, visible peace softened his features. He lay back again, watching you as you checked his pulse with expert fingers.
“All good,” you whispered, exhaling the air you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You’ll be able to stand in about an hour.”
“Have you thought about where we’ll go?” he asked. Every word that came out of his mouth sounded more human, more intentional, less mechanical. It surprised you every single time.
“I don’t know. If I leave here, the moment I set foot in an airport, I’ll be caught. Lex has influence everywhere.”
“We’ll fly,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious solution.
A smile curved your lips. “That’s exactly why Superman had trouble with border control,” you joked weakly.
“I’m not Superman,” he replied, and his tone was an affirmation of his own identity—whatever it was. You nodded, understanding.
“Norway,” you said, and the word sounded like refuge—like distance, like a new beginning.
And so it was. Norway became their sanctuary. Among the towering fjords and the northern lights, they built a life together. They pretended to be normal, and over time, fiction blended with reality. The news that Lex Luthor had been arrested—finally defeated by his own crimes—came like a breath of pure air. One morning, standing by the window of your small cabin overlooking the mountains, you read the headline in the newspaper, and for the first time in years, you breathed without the weight of Lex’s shadow on your shoulders.
You worked in small rural hospitals, your expertise finding a new purpose far from the oppressive luxury of LexCorp. Ultraman—who now called himself James, a common name for an extraordinary life—kept improving, learning to feel, to name the emotions that bloomed inside him. His humanity was born and grew, devoted entirely to you. The blind obedience had vanished, replaced by a deep devotion. His grip in bed was still dominant, possessive even, but outside of it, every gesture was one of exquisite care. Taking care of you, protecting you, had become his main reason for being. You were his humanity, his light—the one who had finally set him free.
You had heard rumors that Superman was looking for him, a shadow of a past that refused to die. What you didn’t know was that the Man of Steel found them almost immediately, his X-ray vision locating Luthor’s former weapon in the serenity of a small Norwegian town. From above, floating invisibly among the clouds, Superman watched them. He saw James—no longer even using his powers—completely absorbed in you as you arranged flowerpots on the porch. He saw you run to him when he returned from town, embracing him, and how he received you with an embrace that was both strong and tender. He saw you walk hand in hand, your silhouettes framed against the Nordic sunset, in a peace that seemed unbreakable.
And it was that image—not of a lethal weapon, but of a man found and a woman redeemed—that convinced Superman. James was no longer a threat. He was simply a man, protecting what he loved. With one last glance, Superman turned and flew away toward the horizon. There was no need to intervene. He had witnessed something more powerful than any battle: a happy ending, stolen from the jaws of tragedy and nurtured in the frozen soil of Norway.
Remember, if you want to be part of my general tags, just comment on all of them, or if you want a specific topic, just mention it (+18, fluffy, angs).
AND NOW, YOUR STARTING LINEUP!
seoul national university is known for many things—competitive majors, campus life ... and one of the hottest hockey teams in the country.
a series of oneshots following eight of our favorite boys on ice.
pairing: hockey!teez x reader (member-by-member oneshots)
tags/genre: college au, ice hockey au, bits of ice skating au, loaded with all of the tropes you've been waiting for
notes: 18+ content throughout (mdni!). disclaimer that atz is obviously not a real hockey team nor are they affiliated with any of the unis i mention, just needed them (and some other boy groups) for the plot LMAO—please enjoy and excuse any inaccuracies in the ice hockey lore!
status: 5/8 completed as of 07/07/26
ONESHOTS BELOW THE CUT ⤵️
THIN ICE (M) • kim hongjoong, #81
position: former captain turned assistant coach
synopsis: after an unexpected injury dethrones hongjoong as captain on the ice, he spends his time helping coach the rest of the boys to keep them in shape for playoffs. as much as you feel sorry for him, that doesn't change the fact that you needed to train with the girls' team and they were hogging the ice. it seems like you needed to find a compromise with him, whatever it took …
word count: TBD
POOR CONNECTION (M) • park seonghwa, #77
position: center forward
synopsis: after you transfer to a new university closer to home, seonghwa promises to do everything in his power to be a good boyfriend—no matter the distance. with playoffs in full swing, it might be harder than you'd expect for him to keep that promise ...
word count: 6.1k words
ROUTINE CHECKUP (M) • jeong yunho, #11
position: left defense
synopsis: how convenient is it that you're dating one of the star players of the university's hockey team as a sports medicine major? you couldn't ask for a better test subject. of course, it becomes a little too much of a coincidence that he constantly needs you to check him for injuries, each one in a more scandalous place than the last ...
word count: 6.0k words
HEAD SHOT (M) • kang yeosang, #99
position: goalkeeper
synopsis: your professor has been hounding you to update your portfolio for god knows how long, to the point that you're willing to take any assignment he throws your way. when he assigns you to support the university hockey team with their media coverage, a certain something—or someone—that you capture might become your new source of inspiration ...
word count: 6.5k words
SUCKER PUNCH (M) • choi san, #01
position: left wing
synopsis: you'd call yourself a certified wag for the university hockey team. you were at all of san's games, hung out with the boys after practice, wore his numbers proudly whenever you could. tension brews when a rival team challenges the boys—and your relationship—before playoffs end ...
word count: 5.3k words
MAKE UP (M) • song mingi, #89
position: right defense
synopsis: on the ice, everyone loves mingi. the way he plays, even the way he fights. off the ice, his grades are slipping and he's at risk of getting benched if he doesn't get his act together. if only there were a highly qualified calculus tutor that could help him out, and if only there were a way he could return the favor ...
word count: 7.4k words
OUT OF BOUNDS (M) • jung wooyoung, #52
position: left wing, second line
synopsis: hockey's never been your thing. even so, wooyoung insists you're his good-luck charm and that he needs you there at every game, no matter what. he's always taken your jokes in good stride, including when you talk about how overdramatic players can get during fights. when he ends up as collateral in the middle of one, it seems like the joke might be over ...
word count: TBD
POWER TRIP (M) • choi jongho, #00
position: right wing
synopsis: with nationals around the corner, you've never been so stressed. your routine is scrapped, your partner's out of commission and you need to practice asap. as if that weren't enough, the big, stupid hockey players loved to hog the ice. turns out one of them might come in handy when you least expect it ...
