#lex luthor fluff

“you’re quiet today,” he says, crossing the room to sit beside you. his suit jacket shifts, the faintest scent of his cologne wrapping around you. “everything alright?”

you smile, shrugging. “just staying out of your way while you handle… whatever that was.”

his hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “that was business,” he murmurs. “this… is the only part of my day that matters.”

it’s jarring, how his voice softens just for you. the same man who could make an entire boardroom tremble now tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear like you’re made of glass.

“you have no idea what i’d do to keep you out of that world,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “the things i’ve done already…”

and you believe him—because everyone else gets the devil, but you get the man.

your presence has actually saved a few people’s jobs. if you’re in the room, he won’t go full lex luthor on them—though he’ll still mutter sarcastic comments under his breath for your amusement.

you’re perched on the edge of lex’s sleek glass desk, flipping through a magazine, when his assistant bursts in looking pale.

“mister luthor, about the shipping error—”

lex doesn’t even let them finish. “don’t,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut steel. “do you have any idea how much that mistake cost me? how much time i’ve wasted because you can’t do your job?”

you glance up from the page, watching as the assistant’s throat works nervously. they’re about three seconds away from being unemployed.

lex leans forward in his chair, hands clasped like a predator ready to pounce. “give me one good reason I shouldn’t—”

“lex.”

your voice is soft, but it stops him mid-sentence. his eyes flick to you, and the fire in them dims.

you tilt your head. “maybe let them fix it. everyone makes mistakes.”

there’s a long pause. you can see the war in his expression—the part of him that wants to make an example out of incompetence, and the part that just can’t bring himself to refuse you anything.

finally, he sighs. “fine. fix it. don’t let it happen again.”

the assistant stammers a thank-you and all but runs out of the office.

lex leans back in his chair, eyes on you. “you know I just gave them a free pass because you’re here, right?”

you smirk. “you’re welcome.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “you’re the only one in this building who could talk me down like that.”

and you know it’s true—because in lex’s world, mercy is rare, and you’re the only reason it ever happens.

and in the bedroom…he’s more tender and loving than ever.

the bedroom is dim, lit only by the city lights spilling in through the tall windows. you barely have time to set your things down before lex is on you—his hands gripping your hips, his mouth at your throat.

“do you know,” he murmurs between kisses, “how many people I had to deal with today just to get back here to you?”

you shiver at the low, heated tone. his lips trail along your jaw, slow but insistent.

“they waste my time, they try my patience…” his hands slide up your sides, fingertips brushing just enough to make you melt, “…but you—” he pauses to press a deep, unhurried kiss to your lips “—you’re the only thing I want.”

there’s possessiveness in the way he moves you backward until the back of your knees hit the bed. he eases you down, following you, bracing himself above you like he’s caging you in—not to trap you, but to keep the rest of the world out.

every touch is deliberate, almost reverent, but there’s an underlying claim in it too, like he’s reminding you that you’re his. his thumb drags across your lower lip, eyes dark with something that’s equal parts hunger and devotion.

“i can be cruel to anyone else,” he says, voice like velvet and smoke, “but with you? i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine, and you get all of me.”

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.”

his expression shifts - sharper than usual, quieter too. without warning, he crosses the space and curls his fingers around your wrist, tugging you from your spot beside his desk.

“wait-” you start, but the words don’t get a chance to finish.

the coat closet swings open, and suddenly you’re inside it - pressed between fine fabrics and tailored wool, the dark swallowing you whole. lex shuts the door behind you with a barely audible click, his body flush to your back.

his mouth is at your ear.

“don’t speak,” he breathes.

your spine stiffens.

“why?” you whisper, but you already hear it - heavy footsteps in the office, a voice laced with rage.

“luthor!” the man growls, loud and close. “i know you’re in here.”

lex doesn’t answer. doesn’t move. just keeps one hand braced against the inside of the door, the other landing gently against your abdomen to still your shaking.

you grip the lapel of his suit coat without thinking.

the man outside throws something - glass, maybe. it shatters. your breath stutters, and you flinch before you can stop yourself.

lex’s hand moves quickly, firmly, over your mouth.

“quiet,” he whispers, voice low, dry. “you don’t want to make this more complicated than it already is.”

you nod, barely. his palm stays.

through the door, you hear the commotion shift - angry pacing, muffled shouting. then, another voice joins in. calmer. firm. security.

“sir, we’re going to have to escort you out.”

the man protests, voice climbing into something frenzied and incoherent, but the footsteps get louder - closer to the hall - and then fainter, pulled away. a door opens. slams.

silence settles in.

lex waits a moment longer, just to be sure.

then - slowly - he peels his hand away from your mouth.

you take a breath that tastes like wool and adrenaline.

“...what the hell was that?” you murmur.

lex doesn’t immediately respond. his breath is still warm at your ear. his arms, still braced around you, don’t loosen.

finally, he hums. amused.

“he’s a client who doesn’t know when to quit.”

“and you knew he’d show up?”

“i knew he might,” lex says simply. “so i buzzed security. unfortunately, he made it farther than i expected.”

you exhale, head tipping back against his shoulder.

he still doesn’t move.

“...thank you,” you say, just barely.

lex’s voice drops lower.

“for what? protecting my own property?”

there’s no bite to it. just a smug softness that makes you want to roll your eyes.

still, when he finally lets you go and the closet door opens, the hallway seems a lot colder than the space you just left.

***

You hated owing anyone.

But luck, or maybe fate, had you owing the worst person of all, Lex Luthor.

To understand how you got in such a sticky situation, you had to go back to a dark, cold night in April.

You were fresh out of cash from your last heist as Catwoman in Gotham and bruised up more than you liked to admit. Times were rough, and every job was getting riskier.

So you decided to leave Gotham for greener pastures, where the sun actually shines: Metropolis. 

Though your plan had been to lick your wounds and settle into the city, a headline on the evening news caught your attention. Lex Luthor was throwing a gala next month. Bound to be a big, garish affair. A disgusting display of wealth and power, a.k.a. the perfect target.

Anyone who was anyone would be there.

Lots of jewels, designer wallets, and careless millionaires sipping champagne.

And if luck was on your side, lots of soon-to-be-empty pockets.

The plan had taken a month to put together, just to get in. Luthor took great care in everything, and his security would be no exception. Cameras on every wall, guards at every corner, digital invites tied to biometrics, but you know a guy who knows a guy who can sneak you into the kitchens.

From there, it’s child’s play. All you had to do was change into the black-and-white uniform of a server, giving you enough time to blend in, circulate with a tray of champagne, alleviate a few of the guests of their possessions, and slip into the shadows again.

It was now May, and you were prepped. Every step had been rehearsed in your head a thousand times.

Sneaking through his mansion with practised ease, champagne glasses balanced effortlessly in your hands, you kept your eyes downcast but sharp. Careful to blend in. Careful not to linger too long in anyone’s line of sight. Careful to make it look like you belonged there, because for tonight, you did.

You stole like it was second nature to you, and they were none the wiser. They might not even realise it until they get home. 

You’re about to leave a whole lot richer, but you couldn’t resist the temptation. His surprisingly unguarded upstairs called to you, so you decided to have a look. What’s the worst that could happen?

Looking around, it was much too pristine for your liking, all marble and glass and cold, sterile perfection. Very Lex Luthor, you suppose.

“Jackpot,” you whisper to yourself. There’s a beautiful vase, definitely something that would fetch a hefty sum on the black market, sitting right in front of you, practically begging to be taken. From the looks of it, no special locks or security features to worry about.

You loved an easy job.

“Find something you like?”

The voice slithered from the shadows, smooth and amused. It startles you, sending you stumbling back from the vase into a pedestal, too slow to catch it before the priceless statue wobbles once, twice, and then topples.

The head snaps clean off, rolling across the polished floor until it stops neatly at the polished shoes of one very displeased Lex Luthor.

“A thief and a vandal,” he drawled, stooping just enough to nudge the severed head with the tip of his shoe.

“I haven’t stolen anything,” you shot back, chin tilting up in defiance, though your bra currently held about five grand worth of jewellery stashed in there.

“I highly doubt that,” he bites back, looking you over like you’re an experiment. 

“I’ve seen your work, Catwoman, the Gotham Museum of Antiquities robbery, the Wayne Industries vault heist, stealing priceless artefacts from right under everyone’s nose. Impressive stuff for a street rat,” Lex sneers. Those eyes of his. You hate the way he looks at you, like you’re property or he’s already figured out how to take you apart. It pisses you off in ways you don’t know how to articulate. It comes off clearly in your expression, the epitome of fuck you.

“A street rat doesn’t dress like me.”

His eyes drag over you, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Debatable. Still, I have use for your talents. Consider this your way of paying me back.”

“How charitable, but I must disrespectfully decline. I have places to be.”

“Then I’ll call the police…”

You step forward. “And I’ll escape. Evading the police really isn’t all that hard.”

“Then I’ll use my influence and resources to track you down and ultimately kill you.”

“I’ll be expecting you tomorrow at eleven p.m., ready to work.”

You curl your lip in disgust and look at him in disbelief.

“…over a statue?”

He starts walking off, but before he disappears down the hall, he waves a dismissive hand. “And keep your spoils. It’s obvious you need it.”

You look down at the broken head of the statue and scoff, kicking it aside before disappearing out the window, half wishing it were Lex’s instead.

If you’d known things would’ve ended up this way, you would’ve stayed in Gotham.

***

One of the joys of being a thief, a criminal, a scoundrel of the night, is being your own boss.

Work the hours you want, unlimited holidays.

He sent you to offshore black sites, abandoned labs, and top-secret facilities with electric piranhas guarding the place.

Lex had stolen that joy from you.

He was the worst boss.

Demanding, meticulous, with no regard for your safety.

How the fuck do those exist?

You’re sitting in the backseat of his car, haphazardly tossing an apparently very important hard drive from one hand to another.

“Why do you need me to steal?” you ask. “You’re crazy rich, can’t you just… I don’t know, buy whatever you want?”

He sighs, turning to you with that look, the one that makes your stomach twist. “Tell me something.”

You sit at attention instinctively, back straight, eyes locked, when he suddenly jabs a finger at your forehead.

“Is.”

Jab.

“It.”

Jab.

“Your.”

Jab.

“Job.”

Jab.

“To.”

Jab.

“Think?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You wanted to cuss him out, then find the nearest flight of stairs to throw him down, but alas, nothing. The sooner you paid your debt, the sooner you were done with him. You didn’t need him tacking on dollars if you decided to perhaps break a finger or two.

“That’s right,” Lex says, almost lazily, leaning back in his chair. “It isn’t. It’s your job to do as I tell you. Understand?”

"Understood,” you mock in a funny voice, one he doesn't appreciate one bit. “I’m just saying, clearly you don’t know how to spend your money.”

“Get out of my car.”

***

Lex was a grade-A asshole. It's actually quite impressive, the little ways he gets under your skin.

You waltz your way into his house and find it empty, like you always do after your “missions”.

So you make yourself at home, raid his fridge and watch his TV. May as well enjoy some of his many amenities.

Your relaxation is short-lived, as a few minutes later, a Lex-shaped silhouette stands in front of the screen.

“You're blocking my view.”

He snatches the remote from your hand and turns it off.

“You're early.”

“Au contraire, you're late.” You smirk. “Seriously, you work too much. You don't know the meaning of work-life balance. Don’t you have lackeys to do all the soul-crushing corporate evil…?”

Lex straightens his cufflinks with that bored precision of his. “Nothing wrong with being thorough. Now where’s my—”

“Calm your tits,” you say, savouring the visible grimace at your choice of words, digging into your bag before dramatically pulling out a giant diamond. It glints at him under the low light, big enough to buy a small country.

“What do you need a diamond for?” you ask, tossing it from hand to hand like it’s a stress ball, a habit that Lex has come to despise. So flagrantly careless, taking risks for no reason other than the thrill, treating priceless objects like toys because you were so confident in yourself. Arrogance only looked good on him, apparently. “I love a diamond, and I’ve stolen my fair share, but this is like…Bond-villain-type stuff.”

You catch your distorted reflection in the diamond’s facets, and even now you look stunning. 

With a big stretch, you stand up from his couch. Part of you almost doesn't want to leave. Verbal sparring is good for the brain. You might even call it fun.

“Is that all you require of me tonight, Lex?” you ask, lifting a brow.

“Not quite. Follow me,” he says, already turning on his heel.

He walks away without giving you so much as a second to catch up.

You hurry after him, trying not to limp too obviously, eyes fixed on his broad, perfectly tailored back.

You step into his office, and immediately jolt at the sight of a massive portrait of Lex dominating the wall.

“Big ego,” you mutter under your breath, staring up at the giant, hyper-dramatic rendering of his face.

He looks evil.

Is this the real-life Picture of Dorian Gray, or in this case, Lex Luthor?

“I’m aware,” he says calmly, not even bothering to look at you as he crosses the room.

“So what do you want from me?” you ask, arms crossing.

He pulls out a sleek tablet, tapping the screen before turning it toward you. Your next target is some prototype quantum stabiliser from S.T.A.R. Labs, whatever the fuck that means.

You listen to him drone on and on about security rotations, sensor arrays, his voice becoming smooth background noise.

You drift, your attention sliding off the science jargon as you sidle closer, the faint scent of his cologne, clean and expensive, dancing under your nose. What gave him the right to smell that good? 

“…Understand?” he asks suddenly, his voice fading back in.

“Uh, yeah…” you lie, blinking.

Maybe you’ve been alone a little too long, because you're staring at him like you might actually devour him.

“You have nice eyelashes,” you blurt out because, yes, you are close enough to notice that. 

He lets out a sigh.

The kind he uses when he’s about to say something to devastate you.

“You’re not my type.”

Your lip curls in annoyance, frustration burning inside you like a fireplace.

“First of all, rude. Second, I wasn’t even—”

“You’re an open book,” Lex counters dryly. “And frankly, it’s not a very complicated one.”

You're offended. You pride yourself on being quite a complex character.

“Well, you’re… emotionally constipated with the personality of a tax audit.”

“Is that right?” he says, tilting his head.

“You wouldn’t survive me.”

He steps closer, close enough that you can see the faintest shift in his expression, the almost-smirk that he tries to bury. 

“Are you trying to challenge me? Think you can use reverse psychology to bait me into giving you what you want?”

“Is it working?”

You take advantage of how close he is and shove him down into the nearest chair. Lex merely raises an eyebrow as you box him in, your hands braced on the armrests, caging him.

“From that look on your face,” you say lightly, “I’d say yes.”

“The look on my face?”

“You’re intrigued,” you deduce, watching him closely.

He smirks. “Who knows. I might drop twenty grand off your debt.”

“How kind,” you reply dryly.

You lean in, close enough to kiss him, then stop, just short of his mouth. “But don’t take money off the debt for this. This isn’t work for me.”

“Then what is it?”

“Fun.”

You tug him that little bit closer until your lips finally meet. It’s brief at first, almost testing, but he kisses you back with fervour, hands finding your hips like he’d been waiting for permission.

And you hate to admit it, really do, but Lex Luthor is a good kisser.

***

Lex wasn’t at all what you expected. 

You thought he’d toss you out without a care once the two of you were done having sex, but that wasn’t what happened at all. 

He leans up next to you as you're getting your breathing to return to normal. 

“You alright?” he asks softly. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard Lex sound like that. It’s deeply unsettling. 

You nod tiredly. “You weren’t that good,” you lie, a lie he sees through. Anyone could see that he fucked you into next week. 

Looking you over, he makes a small, disapproving noise, and without asking, he slides an arm around your back and another under your knees, lifting you straight out of the bed as if you weigh nothing.

“H–hey, what are you doing?”

“Taking you to the shower.”

“Okay…? Why?”

“To help you wash up. Is your brain slow today or…?” he mutters, already nudging the bathroom door open with his foot.

He sets you down on your feet gently as you try to figure out if you’d fallen into an alternate universe where he was actually nice. 

Steam begins to fill the small tiled room as he adjusts the water, then he’s guiding you under the spray, the picture of irritated competence.

He steps in behind you and starts to lather you up in soap and warm water, his touch unexpectedly gentle. It’s almost clinical, but with an underlying care he’d deny to his grave.

He’s surprisingly good at taking care of you for an evil genius… annoyingly so.

“I’d offer to wash your hair but oop—” you start, reaching toward his bald head.

“Watch it,” he warns, narrowing your eyes.

After washing up, he gives you a set of pyjamas that fit like a glove. You don’t want to know how he knew your size.

He climbs into bed once you’re dressed and pats the space next to him. 

“You want me to stay here?” you ask, genuinely confused. Despite the fact that the two of you had just slept together, you’d always felt that Lex barely tolerated your presence, which was not exactly a secret. He’d made you jump out of a moving car last week and laughed when you told him your ribs hurt.

This was also the man who regularly tuned you out entirely, waving you off mid-sentence and having his assistant take notes in lieu of actually listening. And yet here he was, pulling back the covers and offering you the right side of his bed.

“You’re free to leave,” he says coolly, “and sleep on the solid brick you’re used to, if you please.”

You had to admit, Lex’s bed was ungodly soft, and there were worse places to rest your head. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll grace you with my presence.”

“How fortunate am I,” he says sarcastically, the sound of his voice vibrating against you as he wraps his arms around you.

This was unexpected, yet again.

You assumed that he just wanted a body next to him, not that he wanted to curl around you like a boa constrictor. 

“I thought you said cuddling was a remedy for the sad and poor," you jab, trying to stop yourself from melting into his touch.

He sighs but doesn’t respond, moving closer. You can feel his warmth through the sheets, each steady breath he takes tickling the back of your neck, the calm, rhythmic thump of his heart beneath your ear. It’s… relaxing, more than you’d like to admit. You can’t remember the last time you were held like this.

“I just didn't take you for a cuddler as all,” you add.

“Consider this charity.”

You elbow him in the stomach, satisfied with the breathless grunt he lets out.

"Asshole."

***

For the most part, you’re careful. A smooth operator, moving through spaces with quick, practised precision, like a cat, hence the name. But sometimes you slip up. It’s only natural.

During your latest job, you got yourself injured, badly. Who knew a knife could cause so much damage?

You torpedo your way into his living room, clutching your stomach. Lex is sitting in front of the fireplace, idly rolling a glass of something expensive between his fingers, not even looking up at the sound of you.

“I got your microchip.”

Hearing that, he finally looks up, his face at the usual level of smug, until he sees the state of you.

You slide it across to him with a pained grunt.

“The box is covered in blood.”

If you didn't know any better, you'd almost think he was concerned about you.

He stands up from his chair, making his way over.

“Don't worry, only some of it is mine.”

You try to take another step, but your knees give out, collapsing onto the floor. The world around you is turning into a blur, like some shitty abstract painting, the sound most clear in your head, your own slowing heartbeat. 

“You need a doctor.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

The sudden coldness you feel taking over your limbs is anything but good, but you don't need him knowing that.

“It’s already bad enough you’re bleeding on my 19th-century silk rug. I don’t want you dying on it.”

“Asshole,” you chuckle weakly.

He drops to one knee beside you with a put-upon sigh, calls someone on his comm, and presses his hand firmly against the wound.

“Stay awake,” he orders, the edge in his voice sharpening as he notices your blinks getting slower. His voice comes in fragments. Irritation, worry, and that Luthor brand of contempt all tangled together. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital first?”, the occasional “stupid” and “unbelievable” slipping through as your hearing fades in and out.

Is this how you’re gonna die?

On Lex Luthor’s old, expensive rug?

***

You wake to the sound of beeping somewhere above your head, and a soft, mechanical hiss every few seconds.

Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings. It’s a bright, clean, disgustingly pristine private hospital room.

Bigger than half your apartment. Maybe all of it, if you don’t count the closet.

Just then, a nurse enters, startled to see you stirring. With a rough, painful grunt, you try to shift, instantly regretting it.

“Take it easy,” she says, moving to your side.

“Where… how…?”

“You’re at Metropolis General, the private wing,” she explains, adjusting something on the monitor. “You were brought in last night.”

You glance down at the bandages, then think.

Lex.

“Doctor Harland is the best in the state, so you’re in good hands.”

“Okay…” you say, still a little dazed at the situation.

She leaves, and you’re left alone with your loud thoughts. As your world continues to bleed into focus, you replay the last few moments before you passed out in your head. Lex’s arms around you, the weakness in your arms, the effort it took to keep breathing. 

You’re so grateful to be alive.

If Lex Luthor were the last person you ever talked to, you think you’d haunt him out of spite. Eternal suffering for you both. 

The sound of the door sliding open pulls your attention from the ceiling.

Who else but Lex, immaculate as ever in a perfectly pressed suit, not a wrinkle out of place. He’d probably just come from work. He seems happy, so he probably ruined someone's day…or life.

It's one of his favourite activities.

“If it isn’t my little waste of money. You’re awake, finally.”

“Been waiting up? Losing sleep over me?” you taunt with a pout. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just need you back on your feet so you can get back to doing what you do best.”

“I’m more than just a thief, you know,” you argue. “I’m excellent at puzzles.”

“What good is that if you can’t dodge a knife?” he snarks. 

He sets something down with a dull thud, dropping a bag onto the side table. The smell of coffee and warm cinnamon buns instantly fills the room.

But you weren’t about to let that snide comment slide.

“Lovely to see that me almost dying hasn’t changed your glowing personality.”

He shrugs one shoulder, annoyingly unbothered, face unreadable.

“So you don’t want the cinnamon bun? I see—”

You shoot upright a few inches before pain smacks you back down. “Wait, wait—” you huff. Your pride is nothing against good food.

“Hand it over, Luthor.”

He drops the bag right on top of you.

You make an exaggerated, wounded groan, clutching your bandaged side like he just stabbed you there himself.

He tries to hide it, but the tiny twitch of his eyebrows gives him away. 

‘So he does have a soul, hm?’ you think. You drop the act and stick your tongue out at him, "Got you."

“Sprung for best doctor in the state, huh?” you mutter, already digging through the bag. Your eyes widen once you see the contents. 

‘Is he a mind reader? Or a stalker?’

It’s a treasure trove of snacks, your snacks. All your favourites. Stuff you never told him. Stuff you didn’t want to know how he figured out.

Lex pretends to scroll his phone, glancing up only once before quickly looking away again.

“Guess you care about me.”

“I care about what you can do,” he snaps automatically. “Don’t mistake my investments for kindness. The moment your debt is paid, I’m sending you back to the gutter you crawled from.”

You tear open a wrapper with your teeth, unimpressed. “You’re not slick. Cuddling with me after sex? Best doctor money can buy? A curated snack selection? You like me.”

He scoffs in response. Your attitude was intolerable; you were cocky and never seemed to back down with him, no matter how hard he tried to remind you who held the leash. He’d sooner become friends with Superman than like you. 

He flicks your forehead in irritation. You frown instantly, scowling up at him. He likes that face far more than the smug one that’s usually painted on you.

“Look at you. A hospital room and a few snacks, and you get all… self-important. Do you feel special?”

“Incredibly,” you say, taking a big bite of the contraband snack, the smug look sliding right back onto your face. He’s tempted to wipe it off again.

“You and me,” he says flatly. “Not going to happen.”

You pull him in by the tie, Lex’s eyes widening in genuine surprise as you press a quick kiss to his cheek. He’s completely thrown off, posture stiff and not nearly as annoyed as he should be. 

“Whatever you say, Lex,” you reply easily. “Whatever you say.”

his hands slide up your body, fingertips skimming over your waist, your ribs, until they settle on your shoulders. he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, and you feel the faint scrape of his teeth against your lower lip. it’s enough to make you gasp, and he takes advantage, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate sweep. you moan softly, and the sound seems to ignite something in him. his grip on you tightens, just slightly, but it’s enough to make your heart race.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath mingling with yours. “tonight, i’m taking my time with you,” he murmurs, his voice rough now, edged with desire.

and then he’s moving again, his lips trailing down your jawline, your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your skin. his hands slide under your shirt, fingertips brushing over your stomach, making you arch into him.

he doesn’t rush, doesn’t push—he explores every inch of you as if he’s memorizing it, cataloguing every gasp, every shiver. when his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear, you let out a sharp cry, your hands gripping his shoulders for support.

“lex,” you breathe, and the sound of his name seems to drive him wild. his hands drop to your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk behind you.

papers scatter to the floor, forgotten, as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours. you can feel the hard line of his arousal through his pants, and the thought of him—this man who commands fear and respect from everyone he meets—being undone by you is intoxicating.

his fingers work at the button of your jeans, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off, leaving you bare before him. his eyes darken as he takes you in, and for a moment, he just stares, his breathing uneven.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says, the words soft, almost reverent. “somehow each time i see you, i’m undone a little more.”

and then he’s on his knees in front of you, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he leans in.

the first lick of his tongue against your skin is electric, and you cry out. he doesn’t hold back, doesn’t tease—he devours you like a man starved, his tongue delving deep as his hands grip your hips, holding you steady.

you’re trembling already, your thighs shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent, until you’re gasping his name, your body quaking with release.

when he finally looks up at you, his lips glistening, there’s a smirk on his face—not the cruel one he wears in the boardroom or the battlefield, but something softer, more intimate. “oh baby,” he says, standing up and pulling you close. “we’re just getting started.”

your hands fumble at his belt, desperate to feel him, and he lets you take control for once, watching as you undress him with trembling fingers.

when you finally wrap your hand around him—hard and hot and perfect—he groans low in his throat, his forehead resting against yours. “you’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, but there’s no regret in his voice.

you guide him to your entrance, and he pushes inside with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes you both moan. he’s big—so big—but he moves with care, letting your body adjust to him before he starts to move. his hands grip your hips as he begins to thrust, his pace steady, unhurried. every movement is calculated, every stroke designed to drive you closer to the edge.

“lex,” you whimper, your nails digging into his back. “please—”

he silences you with a kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his pace quickens. you can feel the tension building inside you again, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, sending you spiraling over the edge. he follows you moments later, his body tensing as he spills inside you with a low groan.