#lex fluff

And your mind spirals the moment he looks at you. You can almost – almost see something light in those eyes. Because they aren’t holding any hatred. And he’s driven by it, sure. By hatred, jealousy. He wasn’t always that man. He wasn’t always looking for power – the need to rule the world.

Something inside him always shifts whenever you’re close to him. Because you have something different in you. Something completely ordinary, compared to the others. You don’t flinch at him.

He walks in the office. His shoes clicked against the floor. He’s once again all tailored from head to toe. His hairless head shines against the sunlight.

“Mr. Kent” He drawls, voice carrying easily across the newsroom “Still defending the boy scout in blue?”

Clark doesn’t look up from his monitor “Still obsessed with him, Lex? That’s what… twelve visits in six weeks?”

A few people stifle chuckles. Someone actually claps quietly behind you. But Lex doesn’t even blink. He turns toward Clark’s desk, but not before his gaze flicks to you.

He always does that.

Even when he pretends he’s not watching, he is. Every time he walks in, you feel it. That subtle pause. The way he lingers just half a second longer than he needs to when passing your desk. You’ve told yourself it’s nothing. But it’s not. That day, you don’t play it cool. Because you know what his infatuation is for. And you’re done with the way you hold it back when he shows up. And you know that he keeps showing up there, using Clark as his punching bag, pretending it’s all some brilliant PR move.

He knows he’s not there for Clark. There’s a beat of silence, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t deny it. He looks at you as though you’ve lit a match and set him on fire. He finds it very interesting.

“If you have anything to say, just say it to me” You snarl, hands balled into fists on your sides.

You have to tilt your head back to face him, because he’s tall, just like Clark. Lex doesn’t want to open that door when he thinks of the way you look when you’re angry – especially because you’re shorter than he is.

“And if I do?” He asks, a little lower.

“Then I’d stop ignoring you.”

He ponders, huffing. He mumbles something along a “good morning” to you and Clark, who stands there baffled. He leaves the office and the whole bullpen starts murmuring as soon as his shadow is gone.

⋆˙⟡♡

You don’t see him for the next couple of days. There’s no sign of him striding arrogantly through the office, no passive-aggressive comments directed at Clark. No lingering glances in your direction like he’s making you figure him out. You think maybe he’s got the message, maybe you rattled something deep.

But the phone on your desk starts ringing.

“There’s a Mr. Luthor here to see you.”

You nearly hang up. You nearly tell him you’re busy, or tell him to go argue with a mirror like he usually does. But your curiosity is a living thing. You buzz him up, he doesn’t walk in with swagger this time. There’s no announcement. No performance. And in he walks, without ceremony, no performance whatsoever. He asks if you have a minute quietly. At first, you don’t say yes – but you stand and ask him to follow you.

Lex usually doesn’t follow people. He’s the one leading them, either during a conference, or a reunion, or whatever it is he’s doing. But somehow you manage to actually make him be the one who’s being led this time. He thinks he’s going to lose his mind at some point.

There, in the small conference room, he says things he knows would never come out of his mouth, wouldn’t it be you. He says every time he gets bothered or bitter, or starts thinking too much he throws himself in this cycle. It’s what he does best, it’s easy. It’s familiar.

He glances up at you. “But lately, I’ve noticed something. When I leave the office, it’s not what I said to you that replays in my head. It’s you.”

You keep your face still. He continues.

“You’re sharp. You don’t flinch. You don’t flirt to manipulate or praise to gain something. You speak like someone who isn’t afraid of being right or wrong. And I think… somewhere along the way, I got addicted to how you see me.”

You stagger on your spot, your fingers twitching as you try to reason with yourself. Because you know he’s dangerous territory, you know he’s up to no good and he’s probably not fixable. But there’s this pull between you two that makes things seem... easy. He doesn’t give you a hard time, he doesn’t snap at you. Lex has never treated you awfully. Not even so much as harass you.

This isn’t the same man who despised Superman, just because he feels inferior. He has built a fort around himself, but it becomes see-through when you’re together. He says he wants to be better, but he’s greedy – he always wants the attention, the credit. Wants to be the smartest man in every room, and if he’s not, if someone threatens that he doesn’t matter, he lashes out.

You say nothing.

He looks down at his hands “Jealousy and hatred are familiar. They’re easy. Change isn’t.”

Lex says he’s there because there’s a part of him, maybe a small stupid part that wonders if he can be different when he’s closer to you. That it might be quieter.

“Lex. I don’t want to be your moral support. I don’t want to be the reason you try not to self-destruct.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looks at you. And this time, there’s no performance. No smirk, no deflection.

“I want to know what it’s like to be wanted for more than what I built. I want something that isn’t calculated. Something human. Something real.”

You're not sure why he wants that with you, or when it suddenly hits him that you would be the perfect fit for him. You don’t let it show that your heart aches for the man standing in front of you. He can’t just show up when he feels like it. He needs to speak, to listen – to grow up.

He spends hours of his days just nurturing himself. Thinking he needs this to feel human again. He wants to relish on something real. But whenever he sees Superman, he gets infuriated, his palms become sweaty and his eyes twitch. His shoulders tense and his head pounds from the blood rushing.

Hatred. Why does he need so much hatred? What would taking down Superman reward him with? More money? More recognition? His feelings are too aggravating. And when he can’t stand them anymore, he lashes out. Of course he does. He’s just like a spoiled boy who didn’t get what he wanted. This time, he breaks things, he pushes everything over his desk and just bursts. God, why can’t he be normal?

You don’t expect to see him so soon. He doesn’t present himself, but there’s an expression on his face that shows too much. Like he didn’t get any sleep lately, like he’s holding the whole world over his shoulders. Although he has sent you a LexCorp press release through e-mail, he stays polite. Which doesn’t seem weird to you.

He doesn’t want to look vulnerable to you. His demeanor shifts just a little when he focuses on Clark, but you can see the way his fingers fiddle with the rings he’s wearing. He keeps shifting on his foot and his shoulders are slumped. You crease your brows but don’t say a word. You don’t even pay attention to their short conversation until he glances back at you with a curt nod.

Lex doesn’t show up often after that day. Only then, one Thursday, you get a message from him.

Dinner. Just to talk. No pitch. No strategy. No press. Unless that’s the excuse you need to say yes. — L

You read it three times. You don’t respond right away.

But you find yourself later that night stepping into a private restaurant at the upper flor of his LuthorCorp building. There’s a glass window that reflects the city lights. He stands when you enter. He’s not wearing a tie tonight. His sleeves are rolled, he still looks like Lex Luthor though. Composed, commanding, crisp. But… different.

Softer.

You sit. The conversation starts slow – he questions whether you prefer white or red wine. To which you almost demonstrate being dumbfounded. But you brush it off and act like you didn’t just feel surprised. But somewhere around the second course, something shifts. He laughs a little here and there, and talks about trivial things. He opens up just a bit, but it’s enough.

“This. With you. This... honesty experiment.” He tilts his head “I’m not trying to win you over so I can twist it later.”

You pause “Then why now?”

His eyes soften “Because you make it hard to lie to myself when you’re around.”

Your stomach does that annoying thing, and he notices. Of course he does.

You breath catches in your throat and you sip on your wine to leverage “You’ve probably said that to other people.”

Lex huffs a laugh. To him, it’s almost impossible for someone to actually give him a second to talk. He’s always too stubborn, too flauntful. Doesn’t let people step on his words, they always come first.

Now, when it comes to you...

“I haven’t” He says, simply.

There’s silence between you. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged. Like something is trying to settle between you, but neither of you will name it yet. You reach for your glass at the same time he does, and your fingers brush. Just a light touch, but he freezes. And then, slowly, intentionally, he lets his hand linger half a second longer before pulling away. Your breath catches. It’s stupid. It’s nothing. 

But it’s not.

No, it’s worse than that. Because if you can honestly fix him, maybe there’s a chance. But do you really want to take the risk? He watches you carefully, like he’s studying the moment. Not calculating. Not scheming. Just… looking. You look back. And in that quiet beat over candlelight, over a city buzzing below you, you feel something tilt. A little deeper. A little closer.

You see how his shoulders settle differently now when he’s not posturing. How the set of his jaw isn’t clenched with ambition but worry. How the lines near his mouth only soften when he’s looking at you. And that’s when you realize: his walls don’t crack around you. They drop, and he lets them. Not because he’s weak, but because he wants to be known. He really wants to try. You think he wants to, you want to believe he does. 

⋆˙⟡♡

He’s not exactly complying with his own promises. When you cover a press event he’s doing, you notice he’s not being subtle. Although he smiles, it doesn’t have warmth in it. Lex is slipping up like it’s muscle memory to him. He said things he shouldn’t have, and Lex doesn’t look at you. Because he knows. Afterward, he seeks you out. Predictably. Asks if you liked the show and you confront him. His smile fades instantly, his jaw tenses and his fingers twitch under the sleeve of his suit. Because he knows you’re right and he’s wrong.

He got scared. Scared because of what happened the other week, the dinner. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it means to actually change, what he has to give up, what he might never get back. But his answer was showing he’s still the villain. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth this time.

He keeps using it like armor, and you saw it. You noticed it, and you still showed up. When he lifts his head, there’s something almost wounded in the way he looks at you. Like that means more to him than he can say.

“I’m trying. But I don’t know how to stop wanting to win.”

His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t trust himself to ask. You soften just enough.

“You’re allowed to fall. But I’m not going to stick around if all you do is reach for the ground.”

You walk away before he can answer. Because this time, you need to be the one who leaves him with the weight of it. 

He shows up at night when no one else is at the bullpen but you. Lex apologizes for the jab, for knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway. He really thought he could hide himself behind his ego, that you made it feel like it was possible for him to not perform. But that was a shot in the dark, because it didn’t stop mattering.

“I think about you more than I should. In the gaps between war strategies and board meetings. In the middle of empty victories. And it terrifies me” He says softly, his voice a tinge of wavering in it. 

Your heart stutters.

“You terrify me” He adds “Because you make me want to be better. Not for a show. Not for headlines. Just… for you.”

He wants to be right about this, he needs to be sure there’s still a chance for him. If he ever falls, he’ll turn back around and just pretend he never tried. He lets out a breath. It sounds like a surrender. Then he does something unexpected. He reaches out just slightly, and gently takes your hand.

Not to hold it, not to pull you close – just to feel the contact. A moment of quiet connection, skin against skin. And you feel the tremble in his fingers. The restraint in the way he doesn’t cling. The hope that flickers behind all his carefully built walls.

You try to convince him to go to your favorite Mexican restaurant. You’ve been doing things like that for a while, always forging a way to keep it quiet. Clark glances at you and smiles, but he knows. He’s not an idiot, especially since he’s Superman. He just doesn’t want you to get hurt, to get manipulated. But he sees the way Lex just falls short whenever he’s near you. He thinks he’s whipped.

You want nothing more than just one night. No five-star reservation. No silent rooftop with some impossible view. Just food. Like, real food. He’s reluctant, but he goes. He stands out like an oil painting in a crayon world. Black on black suit. Expensive shoes on sticky tile. He hesitates at the door, eyes darting to the neon cactus in the window.

But as soon as he downs a couple of tequila shots, he’s another guy. And by the third, he laughs at something you say, really laughs, low and surprised and unguarded. It’s like watching a mountain crumble and become sand. The night stretches into endless conversations. You talk, he listens. He talks, you listen harder. He takes you home, you ponder inviting him over, but the question only lingers on your tongue.

You drag him over the museum one day. He doesn’t want the attention, doesn’t want people wondering, guessing – gossiping. Not because of his frame. No, he doesn’t care what people think about him. He doesn’t want all eyes on you. Because someone who has the boldness to be next to Lex Luthor must have gone insane. Not that you don’t think you did. But only you know what you’ve both been through.

You catch him smiling softly at a photograph of a youthful inventor.

“That was me” He rasps in a low voice “Before... everything. Before the suits, the boardrooms.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

“I was curious once. Idealistic, even. I had dreams, not just for power, but to make something meaningful.”

In the back of your mind you wonder how he let himself become something so drastically different. Someone who disgusts people only by looking at his face. And behind this entirety of armor and selfishness, there’s a soft man.

He’s the one to offer a ride to your favorite sushi bar. He tries to listen more to your stories, to know more about you and your work. Lex doesn’t even want to distract himself by thinking about tomorrow. About his personality and his feelings and everything he has to rebuild.

He thanks you for the night, for knowing you’re giving him a chance.

He lies on his expensive bed and drops his head to the pillow. His mind a wandering mess. What if Superman is planning something against him because of you? What if he wants to protect you from him, taking you away and ripping apart the only thing he knows won’t be easy to pick back up? He tosses and turns. His head aches in uncertainty.

He accidentally lets his guard drop in public when he walks into the Daily Planet. But he shouldn’t be there. There’s no press conference, no urgent rebuttal to a Superman conversation. And no armor. You glance up just in time to catch it. He sees you from across the room, and he softens.

It’s fleeting, for barely a second. But it’s unmistakable. You notice the way his posture falters and how his mouth twitches like he’s about to smile. The way his eyes light up like they recognize you.

And it’s not subtle.

Clark notices – so does Lois. Even Jimmy, holding a camera by his side, stares like he just saw a ghost try to flirt. Lex catches himself a heartbeat too late. He tries to straighten his spine, sharpening his gaze. He clears his throat like he’s trying to swallow whatever feeling nearly slipped through. But the damage is done.

Clark marches toward him with arms crossed. But he barely looks at the man, his eyes flick back to you just once and it’s almost sheepish. You can tell he’s already regretting the moment, trying to bury it under indifference. But it’s too late, and everyone watches as you ask him if he wants to talk, and for a second it looks like he's going to deflect. But he doesn’t.

He takes a breath, before asking if he could see you in private. You could say no. You should say no, by office standards. But instead, you nod slowly and walk toward the conference room without another word. He looks guarded inside the room. As he turns to face you, he says he couldn’t stop thinking about those nights you’ve spent together.

“I thought I could keep pretending” He continues “That this was nothing. That you were just a fascination. A glitch in the system.”

He steps closer.

“But you’re not. You’re the only thing that doesn’t feel like a performance.”

The air between you shifts.

“And out there” He says, gesturing toward the bullpen “I forgot to put my mask on. Because I saw you. And everything else just… faded.”

You don’t speak for a while. You just look at him. This man – who’d spent his whole life building walls so high no one could even hear him scream behind them. Now standing in front of you, cracked open, trying so hard not to fall apart. Trying not to fall for you. But he’s already there.

He steps closer again, close enough to touch you. But he doesn’t. Until you do, you lightly reach up, resting your fingers around his wrist. And as you stroke his skin, Lex exhales slowly like he’s holding his breath for years. 

Lex tries to find excuses to see you whenever he can. He pushes himself to the limit just to keep himself on the right track so he won’t lose himself halfway through it. He still waltzes into the building, making himself present, but he’s not loud. Not like he used to. He still mocks Clark a little, but there’s a different remark in his tone and the curly-haired notices it. Clark always shifts his head and glances at you. He knows you wouldn’t want to talk about that situation so he lets it slide, for now.

When you turn your chair to look at him, Lex is already boring his eyes into you. He watches you with vulnerability flickering behind his usual composure.

He starts picking you up for dinner and dropping you at your doorstep. He makes sure to walk you to the door and waits until you unlock it. You stand at your doorstep, the night air cool and still around you, Lex’s hand still warm in yours. The city hums softly behind you, but for a moment, it feels like time has slowed, like the noise and chaos can wait while you both exist here, just like this.

He looks at you differently now. Not the calculating, always-in-control Lex Luthor everyone knows. But someone quieter, softer, almost... hopeful. You shift slightly, the weight of the evening settling around you.

He takes you to places you want him to get to know. You pull him by his big hand and drag him down even though he seems reluctant. He tries to avoid fancy places because he knows you don’t need that – you don’t like the ambiance. Lex has laughed more in the past month and a half than he ever did before. He can’t even remember when he laughed that much. And they were simple things. Either a dumb joke you made or something you both came up with together.

Movie nights are usually fun for you, but he still feels a little uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to enjoy those with someone, because he didn’t grow up being around pop culture stuff. But when you start telling him about the new releases, he just tries harder, for you. You pull the armrest up so you can sit closer. You feel his warmth dissipating, along with his nervousness. He tended to shift a lot beside you. Now, he slides an arm around your shoulders and brushes his fingers over your hair.

You don’t know when this gesture started to make your stomach flutter.

“I wasn’t sure you would like the movie” You say, voice low.

He shrugs with a faint smile on his lips “I didn’t expect you to.”

You laugh gently. “I’m glad you did.”

He lets go of your hand slowly, but doesn’t step back. Instead, his fingers brush yours once more.

“Thank you” He murmurs, his eyes fixated on yours “For... giving me a chance.”

You meet his eyes, and suddenly the distance between you feels smaller.

“Maybe it’s not about chances” You say softly “but about choosing.”

His gaze lingers on your lips for a heartbeat. Then he leans in – careful, deliberate. He brushes his lips against yours, and it’s tender and brief. Your breath catches. When he pulls back a few inches, his eyes search yours, vulnerable and unguarded.

“I don’t want to lose this” He whispers.

You smile, reaching up to rest your hand on his cheek.

“You won’t, as long as you don’t let go.”

Slowly, he leans in again, and your heart stutters when his lips brush gently against yours. It’s tentative, like testing the waters, asking permission without words. Your heart races in the silence that follows. The kiss deepens just a fraction. It’s soft, careful, without urgency. His hand rises to cup your cheek, thumb tracing light circles as if memorizing every inch of your skin. You respond instinctively, your fingers curling into the collar of his coat. 

There’s a quiet connection as the world fades away. Your fingers linger on his cheek, warmth spreading through your chest as you watch him breathe you in like a lifeline. The city noise feels distant while here, in this small space between you, everything is sharp and alive.

Lex’s eyes hold yours, searching, hesitant.

 “I’m not used to this” He admits quietly “To feeling something that isn’t power or control.”

“Then we’ll take it slow” You promise “Together.”